‘There are always rumours that there’s people living in the Underground,’ he said.
‘Think it’s likely?’ I asked.
Kumar gave a happy grunt and emerged from the box with a multipack of cheese and onion crisps.
‘I wouldn’t have said so,’ he said. ‘The sewers are toxic, it’s not just the risk of infection or disease—’
‘Or drowning,’ I said.
‘Or drowning,’ said Kumar. ‘You get gas build-ups, methane mostly but other stuff as well. Not very conducive to human habitation.’
I thought of the big eyes set in a pale face. Too pale perhaps?
‘What if he wasn’t entirely human?’ I said.
Kumar gave me a disgusted look. ‘I thought I was used to investigating weird shit,’ he said. ‘I really had no idea, did I?’
‘No idea about what?’ asked Reynolds from the doorway. ‘Shower’s all yours by the way.’
We showered and then stripped, which is how you do it when you’re covered in sewage. I had a row of spectacular bruises across my chest that I knew were going to come up good and purple in the next twenty-four hours. Kumar showed me how to wring out coveralls and then we put all our, still damp, kit back on – including the Metvest. Especially the Metvest.
Me and Kumar agreed that I’d talk to the sisters while he checked in with his boss, my boss, my other boss, Seawoll, and, finally, Lesley. This is why nobody likes joint operations.
Smelling only moderately bad, we went into the storeroom to discover that Reynolds had gone exploring. We found her back in the club talking to Olympia and Chelsea. As we walked over she handed back to Olympia a chunky black mobile phone, the kind favoured by people who might have to spend a certain amount of time underwater. Reynolds had obviously taken advantage of our shower to make contact with the surface world. I wondered who she’d called. Somebody at the embassy or perhaps the senator? Was it possible she’d lied about not having any backup?
I checked my watch and found it was six thirty in the morning. No wonder I was feeling so knackered. The club looked like it was winding down, drifts of teenagers were piled up around the chairs and sofas at the end of the tunnel and those who were still dancing had that frantic quality you get when you are absolutely determined to wring the last bit of excitement from the night. I also noticed that the DJ had stopped talking over the tracks, and any DJ tired of the sound of his own voice is tired indeed.
I caught Olympia’s eye and beckoned the sisters over. They didn’t even try to look reluctant. Our FBI agent had piqued their interest and they wanted to know what the gossip was.
‘Your rivers …’ I said.
Chelsea gave me a dangerous look. ‘What about our rivers?’ she asked.
‘They run … mostly underground,’ I said. ‘Right?’
‘We can’t all go frolicking through the suburbs,’ said Chelsea. ‘Some of us have to work for a living.’
‘Though Ty’s got plans,’ said Olympia.
‘Ty’s always got plans,’ said Chelsea.
‘You’d know if there were people living in the sewers?’ I asked.
‘Not away from our courses,’ said Olympia. ‘It’s not like we spend that much time in the dirty bits.’
Chelsea nodded. ‘Would you?’
Olympia waved her hands vaguely about. ‘Sometimes I get a kind of itchy feeling, you know like when there’s a thought in your head and you’re not sure it’s one of yours,’ she said.
‘I think it’s more like when your leg twitches,’ said Chelsea.
‘Your leg twitches?’ asked Olympia. ‘Since when?’
‘I’m not saying it twitches all the time,’ said Chelsea. ‘I’m saying that sense of involuntary movement.’
‘Have you seen a guy called James Gallagher down here?’ I asked. ‘American, white, early twenties, art student.’
Olympia nodded at Reynolds. ‘Is that what she’s here for?’
‘Is he important?’ asked Chelsea.
‘Murder victim,’ I said.
‘Not the guy they found at Baker Street?’ asked Olympia.
I told them it was the very same, which was when I glanced over and saw Zachary Palmer tending bar.
‘How long has he been working for you?’ I asked the sisters.
‘Who?’ asked Olympia and looked over at Zach. ‘Oh Goblin Boy?
‘Is he a goblin?’ I asked. ‘He said he was half fairy.’
‘Same thing,’ said Chelsea. ‘Sort of.’
‘I can’t keep them straight,’ said Olympia.
‘It’s all the same to us,’ said Chelsea.
‘But he does work for you?’ I asked. ‘Full time?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Chelsea. ‘He’s the neighbourhood odd job guy.’
‘Yeah,’ said Olympia. ‘If the job is odd he’s the goblin for you.’
I looked over to find that Zach was staring back at me. I was tempted to go ask him some questions but I really felt I’d been underground long enough.
‘I can’t be bothered to deal with you two now,’ I said. ‘But don’t think I won’t check with your mum.’
‘Oh we’re quaking in our boots,’ said Olympia.
‘Relax, magic boy,’ said Chelsea. ‘We keep it all strictly contained.’
I gave them my sternest look, which bothered them not at all, and went off to join Kumar and Reynolds.
Apparently we had two options, a long climb up a set of spiral stairs or we could go through the now open Holland Park tube station where at least we could take the lift up – as if that was a contest. We were just heading for the passageway to the station when Zach intercepted me.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
I told Kumar and Reynolds that I’d catch up.
‘We heard the ambience was brilliant,’ I said.
‘Yeah, no, look, listen,’ said Zach. ‘I thought you might be looking for other tunnels.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for a change of clothes.’
‘The old GPO tunnel goes right past this place,’ he said.
I heard the whistle the second time. Given the thump, thump, thump of the bass beat and the fact that Zach was trying to shout over the music, it’s amazing I heard it at all. On the third whistle there was no mistaking the non-studio-processed nature of the sound and I looked across the dance floor to see Kumar waving for my attention. When he had it he pointed at his eyes and then at the far end of the club. I turned back to Zach, who had a strangely frantic look on his face.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said.
‘What about the tunnels?’
‘Later,’ I said.
I pushed my way through the crowd as quickly as I could and as soon as I was close Kumar yelled, ‘He’s here.’
No need to ask who. ‘Where?’ I asked.
‘Going out through the station exit,’ said Kumar.
Out amongst the innocent bystanders, I thought.
‘Could you see if he still had the Sten gun?’ I asked.
Kumar hadn’t seen it.
We headed out through the exit into Holland Park station – at a walking pace, thank god. Reynolds had been shadowing him and we found her crouched at the bottom of a flight of stairs trying to get an angle on anyone at the top without being seen.
‘He just went up,’ she whispered to us.
I asked if she was sure it was him.
‘Pale face, big eyes, that weird round-shouldered posture,’ she said. ‘Definitely him.’
I was impressed. I hadn’t even noticed his posture. The sisters had said that after the stairs there was a
