Meanwhile Gardens (34 page)

Beck glanced at the rattling coffin and weighed up his chances. Crossing himself quickly he dashed back into the vault, grabbed the bag and ran out with it. In the safety of the corridor he pulled out the small pack of attachments. “Found it!” he waved the drill head at Gorby.

“What are you waiting for?” the guard urged.

“Holy Mary Mother of God,” Beck began as he charged over to Gorby. With shaking hands he changed the head on the powertool, all the while reciting the names of saints and the various promises he would keep if they would only let him out of there unharmed. With a final twist Beck secured the drill head and returned it to Gorby.

“Anyone got a match?” Gorby asked.

“He wants a cigarette!” Senior whispered amazed to Beck and Rion. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a box of Swan Vestas which he threw at the guard.

Gorby reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a ballpoint pen. He pulled out the ink cartridge with his teeth to leave only the plastic pipe.

Rion looked on agog. “What’s he doing?”

The guard started up the powertool and began drilling a hole in the coffin. He got through the first layer of wood with ease, the subsequent layer of lead took longer. Finally they saw his hand jerk forward. Gorby quickly removed the drill. He filled the hole it had made in the Earl’s coffin with the barrel of the ballpoint pen.

“Ooooh,” Rion said in disgust. She pinched her fingers over her nose as an overwhelming stench filled the space.

Gorby pulled out the box of matches and struck one on the bars of the vault. As the sulphur ignited he held the flame to the barrel of the pen protruding from the coffin. A whooshing sound was heard as a flare of green and blue flames shot halfway across the room.

Watching from the corridor the twins and Rion jumped back in horror.

The flare grew smaller. The flames changed from their initial colours to a more normal orangey red until with a final gasp they petered out altogether.

It was noticeable that the rattling had stopped.

“It’s ok,” Gorby said, seeing the awestruck expressions staring at him. “This sometimes happens with the older coffins. The gases just build and build until they reach feverpitch. Lead coffins have been known to explode. Imagine,” he looked at Rion and smiled, “what a mess that would cause.”

Gorby gave the drill to Senior, “We need to move.” He looked around the vault, “I feel we’ll have visitors tomorrow.”

Before the guard left he reminded the twins. “Make sure she has something to eat and
drink,
” he said pointedly. “We don’t want her getting dehydrated,” Gorby winked at the twins who nodded their understanding.

Even after the long drive from Bridlington, the wine and
spliffs at dinner, Ollie found he couldn’t sleep. By all rights he should be dog-tired. Hum certainly was. Ollie could hear the hound’s gentle wheezing from deep under the covers. His mind raced back to the vault in the catacombs – who had been in there? Were they still there?

Ollie inched his way out of bed, careful not to disturb Hum from his nest under the blankets and duvet. He dressed quickly, found his torch and tiptoed down the stairs. It crossed his mind to take the dog but in this situation, where stealth might be needed, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Feeling peculiarly defenceless without Hum Ollie avoided the canal. He ambled along Kensal Road, empty at this time of night, to the top of Ladbroke Grove. From the middle of the bridge Ollie looked over the shadowy mass of the cemetery. Remembering Jake’s words he tried the side door adjoining the Dissenters Chapel. He was both relieved and troubled when it opened to his touch.

Now there was no turning back.

Steeling himself Ollie slipped into the cemetery. It wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be. There was no need for the torch. The nearly full moon guided him along a small path by the canal that would, he reckoned, join Terrace Avenue.

Before he got halfway he stopped, his attention taken by the gentle puttering of an engine through the darkness. Moving closer Ollie could see a barge was moored on the cemetery side of the canal just below Rion’s old home. His curiosity piqued he crept forward.

Rion knew when they brought the tea that it would contain something extra. She also knew how she was expected to act had she drunk it. After fifteen minutes the young girl allowed her eyes to blank over and let her limbs fully relax.

The twins soon noticed.

“Give her another while,” Senior said, “then let’s take her down.”

Propped in the Countess’ elaborate chair Rion watched as the twins finished clearing up. They quickly soldered the bars together. After a lick of paint no one would ever know of their misguided attempt at robbery.

Senior stepped back to admire his handiwork. “As good as new eh?”

“Or as old,” replied his twin. “No one’ll come in here for years anyway.”

“Unless the Countess or one of the children should become overly gaseous,” Senior chuckled nervously. “Gorby said he expected a visit though.”

“Well, they won’t find anything will they?”

Senior took a last glance around the vault. “You’d never know we were here.”

“You’d never know she was here.”

Satisfied that no trace of their stay remained Beck pulled Rion to her feet. Acting entranced she was led along the passageways and up through the darkened space of the main chapel.

When they left the building it tested all of Rion’s powers not to jump for joy. By the light of the half-moon everything looked so bright – and so beautiful she thought, feeling a hymn stir in her chest. After the staleness of the catacombs the crisp night air tasted so good! She thought of running there and then until she felt the twins’ arms firmly grip her own.

Behind her blank eyes Rion looked to see where they were taking her. She tried not to show her excitement when they went down towards her old home on the canal, down past Jake’s!

As they trudged on the side of the muddy track, Rion flopping zombielike between the twins, she looked for the most opportune moment. She seized her chance where the track veered towards the hidden house in the trees.

In a burst of strength Rion struggled to free herself. “Jake!” she screamed, “Jake!”

Although caught unawares Senior and Beck quickly overpowered the young girl.

Rion wasn’t able to call out a third time. Beck’s hand over her mouth, suffocatingly close to her nose made sure of that. Still struggling she was hurried along the track, past the neglected graves and through the hole in the railings.

Ollie froze. It was Rion! He was about to move from his hiding place when he heard muffled curses nearby. He watched as two men carried Rion to the waiting narrowboat. The young girl kicked and scratched but was no match for the strength of the twins.

Ollie waited until all was quiet. The last thing he heard was a sound behind him. And then nothing.

The twins weren’t happy.

“What d’ye bring him for?” Senior asked.

“He knows the girl.”

“Finish him off. Leave him here,” Beck said.

Senior agreed, “Who’s going to look for a body in a cemetery?”

But Gorby had other plans. He carried the unwelcome visitor aboard. As they cast off Ollie lay crumpled on the floor of the wheelhouse, neither in this world nor the next.

They had stopped within the hour. Above them a junction of the M4 curved in the darkness.

“This’ll do. Tie up,” Gorby ordered.

The twins did as they were told.

Ollie was still dead to the world. He didn’t so much as groan as Gorby pulled him from the floor, slung him over his shoulders and carried him from the barge. “I won’t be long.”

Gorby trudged up the winding concrete steps. He carried Ollie over his shoulders as a fireman might carry someone from a burning building.

But Gorby wasn’t going to be saving anyone’s life tonight.

The guard slowly made his way above the tunnels and deserted underpass. He was breathing heavily by the time he came to the upper level. The motorway was quiet at this hour. All that could be heard was a distant rumble as juggernauts raced each other through the night. Gorby placed Ollie in the middle of the nearside lane. Powerful headlights bore down on them from the distance.

Perfect. Crushed beneath an 18-wheeler the young man would be unrecognisable.

And impossible to identify.

“T
his had better be good,” Inspector Devine said to Nicky as they pulled up in front of the Anglican Chapel in the middle of Kensal Green Cemetery.

“Something is definitely going on down there. We felt it yesterday.”

“I can’t act on feelings.”

“But you can tell from their faces, it was something really suspicious!”

“So suspicious that Mr Michaelson couldn’t be bothered to show up?”

Nicky also wondered where Ollie was. It was most unlike him not to be here. Even more unlike him to leave Hum alone.

“I’ve got better things to do as well you know. I’m only doing this as a favour to Em – ” he quickly corrected himself, “to Ms Nelson. Don’t make me regret it.”

The door on the side of the chapel was open for once. The Inspector gave a polite knock.

Oh God, Nicky thought, he’s not going to say ‘ello ‘ello ‘ello is he?

Before her fears could be confirmed or otherwise, a woman’s voice cheerily trilled, “Come in!”

The Inspector pushed the door open and led the way into
a cold, rather dismal office, a colourful print of Picasso’s L’Arlequin doing little to brighten the space.

A woman looked up from behind the desk. She had a kindly, plump face and glasses that were too big for her. Her tweed jacket, faded and worn, was the sort favoured by great aunts in the country – a breed to which she no doubt belonged. In front of her was a postcard rack crammed with black and white images of some of the cemetery’s more famous monuments.

There was something curiously familiar about the woman although Nicky didn’t think she had seen her before.

“Can I help you Superintendent?”

Auntie Em’s tame policeman coughed slightly to clear his throat. “It’s Inspector actually Madam,” he flashed his badge at her. “Inspector Devine, Notting Hill Police Station.”

The woman toyed with the double strand of fake pearls around her neck. She put her head to one side in what Nicky hoped was not a coquettish manner. “Inspector,” she deferred.

It was! She was flirting with Inspector Devine.

The woman came out from behind the desk. Her skirt, of the same tweed as her jacket, stopped just below the knee to reveal calves of a surprising thickness.

“I’m sorry to trouble you Madam it’s just – ” the policeman stretched his neck from side to side as if this would ease his discomfort, “ – we’ve had reports of odd goings on in the catacombs.”

The woman opened her eyes wide. “Really?” she said, clutching her pearls in alarm. “What sort of goings on?”

“That’s just it Madam,” the policeman again cleared his throat to try and cover his embarrassment. “We’re not exactly sure but if we could have a quick look?”

“I hope it’s not serious,” the woman said flustered.

The Inspector used his most soothing of voices, the voice that eased the trauma from even the most disturbed of victims. “I’m sure it’s nothing but we have to investigate every lead – ”

“Of course,” the woman said, indignant at the thought it could be any other way.

“ – no matter how false they may turn out to be,” the Inspector’s eyes slid round to Nicky who was looking elsewhere, her attention taken by the numerous toy figures gathered in clusters on the cabinets and shelves of the office. The small figures, all of dancing masked men in white knickerbockers, had the kitsch appeal of holiday souvenirs, perhaps memories of a trip to Spain Nicky thought.

“Let me get my husband. He knows more about the catacombs than I do.” The woman opened a side door through which Nicky could see a stone staircase spiralling into the darkness. “Ted!” she called in her shrill voice, “we have visitors. Ted!” She turned back into the room, “He’ll be here in a second. I’m Mary by the way, Mary McGrath.”

“We’ve also had reports of kids sleeping rough in the cemetery,” Inspector Devine said. “You haven’t seen any young girls bedding down – ”

Mary cut him off. “Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “We did have an old boy in a chamber by the canal but he died last year. The place has been blocked off now.”

Whilst waiting for Mr McGrath to appear Nicky took a closer look at the print on the wall.

“Picasso was a mystic of course,” Mary said upon seeing her interest in the masked dancer. “His model for this was a Morris Man. He wasn’t the only one inspired by their ancient dances.”

Nicky wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Really?”

“They go back to Celtic times you know,” Mary said as if sharing a secret.

“The Morris Men or the dances?”

“Both.”

Before Nicky could fully digest this information Mr McGrath entered the room. He was the perfect counterpart to his wife in that he gave off the same air of restrained jollity and wellworn tweed. He also looked slightly similar to her which, Nicky thought, was rather sweet. Maybe that’s what happens to old couples, they turn into each other after forty or so years together. With a pang Nicky thought back to her own life. She began to wonder if she would ever spend her life with someone, someone she might begin to look like after forty years.

As Nicky pondered her lack of coupledom, introductions were made and reasons for the visit given. She was jolted out of her thoughts by a gentle nudge in the ribs. Nicky glanced up to find herself being looked at with some concern by Inspector Devine and the McGraths.

“I said, ‘Were you with Mr Michaelson who visited us yesterday?’” Ted repeated.

Nicky decided that attack was the best form of defence. “I hope you’re insured.”

The couple seemed slightly taken aback. “Excuse me?” Mary queried.

“Insured?” Ted repeated, equally mystified.

“Yes. Corporate liability,” Nicky said. She ignored Inspector Devine who tried to silence her with a glare.