The Evil Beneath (26 page)

***

It was Saturday, 14
^th
. I’d barely slept: dreams of deep tunnels, thick brown water and putrid darkness came and went in waves. I kept waking up, and despite the danger Brad talked about - and the inevitable stench – I knew I had to be there. This entire sinister web was woven around
me
– I was at the centre of it, no one else. I couldn’t stand aside now that we had a date and a location.

Besides, it was
doing something
. Sitting about waiting was going to be far worse. I’d done enough of that.

I knew it would start to get light at around 7am and although Brad hadn’t told me exactly what time his crew were heading over to Blackfriars, common sense said they’d do it early, before the traffic started to build up.

Before I’d gone to bed, I’d tapped on Jackie’s door to ask a favour. Although I’d hardly ever seen him, I knew Tony was a mechanic. Jackie beckoned me into the kitchen and started delving into the wash basket.

‘This is his spare,’ she said, holding it up. The boiler suit was crumpled and spattered with oil and paint. ‘It’s not very clean.’

‘That will be perfect. Where I’m going it’s not going to matter.’

‘You really going down a sewer?’ she said, as if I’d told her I was going to walk off the edge of a cliff.

‘Don’t tell anyone,’ I cautioned. ‘I’ll give it a really good wash…twice…with disinfectant, afterwards. Tony will never know.’

At 5.30am, I climbed into the grimy boiler-suit. Infused with the sweat of a strange man, it felt unpleasant, with an inappropriate intimacy. Thankfully, it was going to be cold outside, so I had every reason for wearing layers of tatty clothes underneath, to keep Tony’s suit from touching my bare skin.

Tony was only a little taller than me, but portly round the middle and once I’d fastened the buttons up the front I looked like the Michelin Man. I gathered in the excess material under a wide belt at the waist and it looked marginally better. I put a pair of rubber gloves in my rucksack and pulled on my hiking boots. I scrunched my hair back under a clip and added a woolly hat, partly for warmth, but mostly for some semblance of disguise. I didn’t want Brad to spot me a mile off and have me escorted from the scene before I’d got anywhere near the sewer. My first problem was getting past my police protection. For the last few days, Penny had been my shadow practically around the clock, but I’d noticed that a new officer, sitting in a Ford Focus across the road, had taken over from Penny late last night. The whole plan would be scuppered if I didn’t get the next bit right.

From my bedroom window I could see the dark red estate, about ten meters away. The driving seat looked as if it had been set in the recline position and I sincerely hoped that the constable had lapsed in his duty and fallen asleep. At the front of my flat, there is a low wall, about six feet from the front door. I slowly opened the front door, squatting down, then slipped out keeping low inside the wall. I didn’t dare look over the top. I heard no sound, except a passing van. I followed the line of the wall around the corner. Being the property on the end of a row, there was a side gate. I slid through it and scurried down the side street away from the main road. My mini was parked a few cars down.

I got in, holding my breath and checked the main road through the rear-view mirror. Nothing stirred. Begging the car to start first time, I turned the key and slowly pulled out, driving through the back streets in three sides of a square, before joining the main road further up. I was now too far away to see if the PC was on the move, but after a few minutes there was nothing behind me, so I took that to mean I hadn’t been spotted.

When I got to New Bridge Street just after 6.15am, it looked like a serious incident had taken place. Around ten officers were organizing the traffic, putting signs and orange cones in place to clear two of the four lanes that led to Blackfriars Bridge. I parked in Bridewell Place and loitered on the corner of Tudor Street. There were a surprising number of ordinary people about: delivery men, street cleaners, staff appearing for their early shift at the Grand Plaza Hotel and shop assistants from an all-night convenience store, sharing a cigarette on the pavement.

Nearer the bridge, a group of men stood on the kerb dressed in waterproof suits and there was bundle of what looked like waders, hard hats and heavy rubber gloves, beside them. It was a major operation. At this point, I knew it had all been for nothing. I’d never get down. There were too many officials about and my collar would be snatched the moment I stepped out of line.

It felt safe enough to get a bit closer, as officers and onlookers had started to group together at the road-side. I was able to pick out Brad, already suited up with thigh-high waders and a lamp attached to his hard-hat. He was signing something on a clipboard.

It was only when I started to look for them, that I realised how many manhole covers there were embedded into the ground. I wandered along the kerb and started to read, for the first time in my life, what was written on these cast-iron sheets. Some said BT or Thames Water, others had cable companies inscribed on them or the words ‘street management’. That was without considering the fire-hydrant covers, coal-holes and gas covers. All of them doorways to hidden underworlds to which I’d never given much thought.

I looked up and things were starting to move. A manhole cover on the pavement had been levered open and a team were clustered around the hole. I moved closer. It was easier than I expected, as the bunch of onlookers was swelling all the time. I overheard an official explaining to a police officer how the main sewer tunnel was under a manhole in the middle of the road, with a fifteen foot drop into the water and no ladders beneath it. The crew were going down one nearby used for cleaning, with iron steps.

It was dawn by now and the city was coming to life. Car horns were tooting, traffic officers were adding more orange cones. I overheard someone ask if there had been an accident.

I crept as close as I could to the group of guys from Thames Water, making sure there were always figures blocking Brad’s line of sight in my direction. I didn’t recognise any of the police officers and hoped they would return the favour. I was stalling now, not sure what to do next. Was I really going to try this? Wouldn’t it be enough to wait on the surface out of harm’s way, with everybody else?

No. I’d come too far to be a bystander.

I was suitably dressed in Tony’s boiler-suit and Wellington boots, but the men poised to go underground were togged up in considerably more protective gear. If I tried to make a move in the direction of the manhole, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.

It was no use. There was no way I was going down.

I was about to turn back when I overheard one of them say that the crew was a person short.

‘One of our guys, Limmington’s, got a stomach bug,’ said a broad man wearing a Thames Water bib to a police officer. My heart-beat shot up a gear.

‘I think we all will after this,’ said the officer, pulling on a pair of waders.

The broad man strode over to the hole and started lowering himself down. Brad was behind him, tightening the fastenings on his gloves and hard hat before he disappeared underground, followed by two others.

I had to act now, but without the right protective gear I knew I wouldn’t get far.

I kicked at a small chunk of gravel on the pavement. I should have paid more attention to where the protective gear had come from. A man shouted an instruction to a colleague and when I looked over, I noticed the back of the Thames Water van wasn’t quite shut. I narrowed my eyes, trying to remember if I’d seen waders and bibs being pulled out of there. It was the obvious place. Surely it was worth a quick look.

I looked back towards the hole in the pavement. The last man in the team was about to go down. If I didn’t get over there soon, I’d not only lose track of which way they’d gone, but also draw too much attention to myself.

I marched over to the van, giving a winning smile to the man leaning against the side and without hesitating, pulled open the rear door. Inside, a spare set of waders, gloves, a Thames Water bib and hard hat lay waiting for me in the corner.

This was my chance.

I had to take it.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The key was to be quick and look completely confident. I began pulling on the spare pair of heavy waders as the last figure was disappearing under the pavement. My pulse was bolting like a runaway train. I didn’t know what to expect down there, but I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

At the same time as the crew going down the manhole on the pavement, what looked like abseiling equipment was being set up by another team of police officers over the manhole in the middle of the road. There was a lot of activity. I hoped none of the officers left on the surface was keeping close tabs on exactly who was supposed to be involved in the operation. On the other hand, why would anyone actually go out of their way to surround themselves with excrement?

Complete with rubber gloves, bib, hard hat and headlamp, I stood up and stepped over to the hole.

‘Oi! What do you think you’re doing?’ The young officer was straight on to me.

‘Thames Water. We’re a person short. I’m part of the backup.’

‘I don’t think…’ He looked around, hoping to find someone more senior to consult. Teams from traffic division, the Met and Thames Water were scattered in all directions. It wasn’t clear who was in charge.

‘You don’t think I’d
choose
to do this, do you?’ I said, sitting down, dangling my legs inside the hole. ‘I’m in flipping reserve.’ I straightened my bib, grabbed the torch and sighed, trying to look like my Saturday morning had been ruined.

‘Okay, love. Rather you than me,’ he said, moving out of my way.

I’d been lucky. A more experienced officer would have been reaching for his handcuffs by now.

I switched on my headlamp, swivelled round and began backing down the ladder. My legs were shaking and I urged them to keep me upright. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done it. I was convinced I’d never get this far. There was an offensive smell at first, but then I either started getting used to it or it dissipated. It certainly wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. At the bottom of the ladder there were steps leading into the main tunnel. I climbed down those and stepped into the water. It was knee high. I was glad I’d swapped the wellies for waders. There was a roaring sound echoing around the high walls. For a second I froze.
What on earth was I doing down here?
I’d naively talked myself into this situation and hadn’t a clue how to handle it.

I quickly caught up with the back of the group. Thankfully, Brad was second in our group of six, right at the front, so he couldn’t see me. I’d expected it to be cramped so we’d all have to stoop, but I was struck by the sheer size of the space. The tunnels were about fourteen feet high; broad elegant arches built with neat Victorian bricks that towered above me. Far from giving the impression of a mouldy dungeon, it reminded me of a cathedral. That thought didn’t last long. One glance at the brown water reminded me of what I was dealing with.

I said hello to the man in front of me, giving only my first name. Colin was from Thames Water and must have assumed I was part of the team from the Met. He didn’t seemed phased either by my last minute appearance - or by the fact that I was a woman.

‘Limmington’s got a stomach bug,’ I said. My voice echoed, but I still had to shout above the rush of the water.

‘So I heard. They dragged you down, instead?’

‘Yup. Short straw.’

The roaring got louder and we reached the point where the waters of the Fleet form a small waterfall into the low-level intercepting sewer.

‘I should be at the back,’ said Colin, ‘then I’ll lead when we retrace our steps.’

I pressed myself against the sticky wall to let him come past me. A police officer was ahead of me now, together with another Thames Water official, before I could see Brad’s helmet.

‘Over there,’ said Colin, pointing into the distance, ‘even on a dry day, the flow is too fast to stand up in. When there’s a storm, there’s the most ginormous howl as the wind surges through the tunnels. Then the water comes thundering through, filling up the chambers to the roof.’

‘To the roof?’ I wished he hadn’t told me that. I looked up trying to imagine what would happen to anyone who didn’t get out in time. Visions of being swallowed up by this foul liquid flashed before me. My eyes started to water and I almost lost my footing.

‘If it does rain hard, how long before this whole place fills up?’ I asked, trying to sound matter of fact.

‘Around twenty minutes. That’s all we get. You can see why we have to be highly tuned to the changes in the sounds, down here.’ He tapped his radio. ‘Plus, we’ve got guys on the surface who’ll let us know if there’s been rainfall on higher ground.’ I squeezed the torch hard with both hands through my protective gloves as if it would afford some kind of protection against an imminent flood. ‘It didn’t rain much overnight,’ he continued, ‘that’s the only reason we can get down here. It’s always touch and go. This time yesterday and it wouldn’t have been safe.’

I watched the putrid fat floating on the surface of the water like concrete blocks.

‘Have you ever had to swim in this stuff?’ I asked, before realising I didn’t actually want to know the answer.

‘Sure - occupational hazard. But no one is going to get wet today. We’re all very safety conscious and we’ve done our homework.’

I was glad the light was so patchy. I’m sure my face would have given away my rising terror as we waded along the passages, further away from our point of entry. I knew Brad couldn’t swim and the idea of taking a dip didn’t much appeal to me, either. I tried to distract myself by focusing on what was ahead. We came across a pair of crusty old boots, a spade and an old lantern which stood in little alcoves in the wall. I half expected a figure to step out of the darkness.

We turned corners to find more expanses of arches; passageways going left, right, branching off into smaller horse-shoe shaped tunnels. It reminded me of catacombs I’d visited in Rome and I found my thoughts dragging me towards the idea of death and its murky underworld. In the flickering light of our torches I kept seeing movement out of the corner of my eye; shadows coming at me in the shape of skulls; feeling breath brush against my face, making me turn sharply. My hands were shaking and I almost dropped the torch.

After a few minutes, the passages converged and the arches soared upwards with five, even six extra layers of bricks. Even though there was more space, I suddenly felt hemmed in. I was stuck down here now; they wouldn’t let me go back on my own. I swallowed hard, taking down the bile taste that had saturated the air. I wasn’t feeling so good; nausea was beginning to bubble inside my throat and everything was starting to spin. Even though I could see the others ahead of me - solid strong men - I felt acutely alone; a gate-crasher, isolated on that thin ledge, so close to the poisonous water. A thought bubbled up from nowhere. There was no record of me being here. It was the perfect place for an ‘accident’ and there was only one person who might have expected me to muscle in despite the warnings…Brad. What if he’d given me all the details deliberately to entice me into this situation? Had he lied about not being able to swim?

Come on!
I shook my head in a bid to talk some sense into my addled brain. Brad was one of the good guys; I was just being jumpy. Everyone becomes a suspect when you’ve had no decent sleep for weeks and your stress levels are going through the roof.

Without warning, a deafening bang shook the tunnels. Instinctively, I grabbed Colin’s arm.
Slam, bang
- it came again.

‘What’s going on?’ I cried. Gold coloured globules began falling from the roof.

‘It’s okay. It’s only the flaps opening. There must be a boat passing on the Thames. It sends waves back up the tunnel, forcing the floodgates to open and slam shut.’

The mention of the Thames made me remember why we were down there. Either to find a body or prevent a murder. Nobody knew which.

I could see the torch beams ahead of us as officers searched the alcoves and shadowy caves. The next victim was due to be found tomorrow under Blackfriars Bridge, having passed through these tunnels - if our supposition was correct. Less than seventeen hours from now.

I managed to bypass my absurd qualms about Brad and thought instead about William Jones; meek, troubled and awkward. I wondered what part he played in this abhorrent series of murders under bridges. Brad said his hands were too small to have strangled the women, but I wondered if he’d carried them, or held them down, or somehow, in his own oblique but structured way, selected them.

Someone from the front of the group shouted to us. They must have found something.

‘Steve says we need to go back.’ said Colin, his ear pressed to his radio. ‘There’s just been a downpour in North London and it won’t be long before this place starts filling up.’

‘But DCI Madison wanted to get as far as the floodgates,’ I said. ‘I know he wanted to check the whole area.’

‘Not today, he won’t. We’ve got to move. NOW!’ He turned round and took the lead. I wasn’t going to argue. I quickened my pace, forcing my legs against the water. Colin was right, there was an immediate change in the atmosphere. The wind was fuller and the noise in the distance was turning into a low rumble. The air-quality shifted and ominous gusts of fetid wind whipped past us. I retched into my rubber glove at the sudden increase in stench. The water level had already risen an inch or two and thrusting my legs against it was making my thighs ache.

The floor beneath us was slightly concave and with the quickening flow, I was having to focus on staying right in the centre to make sure I didn’t lose my footing. In the next two minutes, the water climbed to within three inches of the top of my rubber waders. Suddenly this didn’t feel like such a good idea anymore.

Ahead of us, I could see a cone of light radiating from street level, looking like a scene out of Star Trek. Only about twenty meters to go. It wouldn’t come soon enough. The water was surging and swelling, getting harder and harder to push against. Without warning a weight fell against me from behind and I staggered forward. Like a domino, I fell against Colin in front of me, but being of sturdy build he barely shifted. He came to a halt and turned round.

‘You okay?’ he shouted, above the increasing roar of gushing water.

‘Yeah. Someone slipped,’ I said, ‘but we’re okay.’

‘Sorry about that,’ shouted the man who had fallen against me. ‘I’m PC Craig - Jack - by the way. I thought I was going to be down for one horrible moment.’

Colin was beckoning us all to move faster. ‘Where are the last two?’ he shouted over me. He must have meant Brad and the man with him. They had pulled away from the rest of us on the first leg of our search.

I didn’t dare look back. I couldn’t risk losing my balance. Colin flipped a switch on his radio. ‘Come on, guys,’ he said. ‘Let’s not hang around.’

We reached the ladders and Colin started to climb. Once he was out, it was my turn. The water was gurgling fast now, wanting to take me with it. I stuffed the torch in my pocket and just as I placed my foot on the bottom rung, I heard a cry from behind me and twisted round. Jack had lost his balance again and this time he fell, splashing facedown into the gushing mass. The water was rapidly rising and he started coughing and spluttering.

Colin was almost on the surface, out of ear-shot. I’d lost my footing and air-cycled madly, trying to find the rung again. Once I was secure, there was no question in my mind. I had to go back. I retreated down the ladder and waded back into the main tunnel. The water was now up to my armpits. Brad and his mate, behind us, had still not emerged around the final bend.

Jack was trying to stand up, but the torrent of water got the better of him. I didn’t hesitate. I waded further in and reached out to grab his arm. He was thrashing around and I couldn’t get a firm grip. I shuffled a couple of steps further in, the water reaching my chin. There was no other thing for it, I had to start swimming.
For goodness sake, don’t get this dreadful stuff in your mouth
.

I clamped my lips shut and thrust hard with my legs, managing to get as far as Jack’s head. He was trying to keep his face out of the water and I reached over, grabbing him around the shoulders. I dragged him onto his back and started kicking furiously again, back towards the cone of light.

Then I saw it.

It shot out from behind the entry ladder and lodged against Jack’s shoulder. It was the smell that gave it away. A putrid rotting smell that was even worse than the stench that belonged in the sewer.

‘
Shit
!’ I screamed, trying not to get water in my mouth. ‘
It’s her. She’s here.
’

An arm came from nowhere and flung itself around Jack’s neck as if in a drunken greeting. The hand was black and curled like a claw. Jack reared up when he realised what I was shouting about, his eyes bulging, his mouth twisting into a petrified grimace. He flinched and tried to pull himself out of the corpse’s path, but in his struggle he ended up sending his head under the water and gulping down more mouthfuls. He sounded like he was choking now in between terrified blubbering sounds.

Getting Jack out was my priority. I had to work the bloated corpse loose, tugging at the hood of the jacket, to pull it away. The body had the pliability of rotten fruit and felt like it was about to break apart. The jacket, zipped up at the front, was probably holding it together. Thankfully, I was too preoccupied with Jack to see her face. Suddenly she surged forward, as though she was in a rush to be somewhere.

Once Jack was free, I did my utmost to keep him afloat, thrashing with my legs and my free arm, fighting the fierce thrust of the water, to reach the ladder.

Eventually I reached something solid. I bundled Jack up the concrete steps into the shallow water at the base of the ladder, just as Colin was coming back down again, wanting to know what was taking us so long.

‘Jack’s been in,’ I shouted, hurriedly, ‘and the body’s turned up.’ I pointed to the dark shape fast disappearing away from us.

Jack leant against the ladder and threw up as Brad and his colleague emerged around the final bend, the water now nearly reaching their shoulders. I waved at them on tiptoe and pointed frantically at the shape in the water, watching it bob and rock and career towards them.