Torchwood_Long Time Dead

  ‘Yeah, but how long will that take to come back?’

  ‘Fast I hope. We’re not exactly overrun with this kind of murder. We should get bumped to the top of the list.’

  ‘Sir?’ A uniformed constable, Sue Fellowes, interrupted them from the doorway. ‘Have you got a minute? Could you come and have a look at something for us?’

  Cutler smiled slightly. If anything odd came into the station then they always got him to take a look at it first, as if just because he’d been a DI in London for several years that meant he must have seen anything and everything.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come and see.’

  ‘We just weren’t sure,’ Fellowes said. ‘Is it from that site? The head bit’s not there, though. And I don’t know what these things look like really. I haven’t paid much attention to them when I’ve been down the Bay.’

  Cutler stared at the contamination suit laid out on the table. ‘Where did you say this was found?’

  ‘It was stuffed behind some bins at the back of a restaurant. The chef found it this morning.’

  ‘And no helmet?’

  She shook her head. ‘Is that important? You think it’s from the army site then?’

  Cutler didn’t answer, his memory replaying a scene from the previous morning. A suited figure striding casually out of the site, suit still on. Why hadn’t he stopped them or said something? It seemed crazy looking back on it. He was a policeman. He should have known there was something odd about that. It was as if he somehow zoned out when he was staring at the people working behind the barricades. A sudden flash of memory hit him. Taping up the cupboards. A terrible sense of something being opened that shouldn’t be. He pushed it away.

  ‘It looks like it,’ he said.

  ‘Shall I call them and see if there’s one missing?’

  ‘No,’ Cutler said quickly. ‘I’ll take it back. If this is theirs then someone’s broken their protocols. If you call it through, they’ll all know. I’ll go and see that Commander Jackson.’ His voice was steady but his heart was thumping. He was going to get behind the barricades. ‘You can get on to the council and check how often the public waste bins in the bay are emptied. If they haven’t been done since yesterday morning, get down there and see if you can find the helmet in one of them.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He was almost at the site when his phone starting ringing and he very nearly didn’t answer it. What was it about this place that fired him up so much? It was like it made the rest of the world entirely unimportant. As if there was something here that his brain needed to concentrate on to the detriment of everything else.

  His phone didn’t shut up, and he finally took the call. It was his sergeant.

  ‘What’s up, Andy? Forensics can’t be back already, surely?’

  ‘No.’ Davidson sounded strange. Subdued. ‘No, they’re not, but they’re going to have their hands full from now on.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ As he approached the barrier an army guard took a few steps towards him. Cutler stopped and put the black sack containing the suit on the ground and rummaged in his jacket for his police ID.

  ‘Three more bodies have been found.’

  Cutler’s hand paused. ‘What?’

  ‘Exactly like Janet Scott. Stabbed to death, and with the eyes – well – whatever happened to hers, its happened to these three.’

  ‘Shit.’ Cutler flashed his badge at the waiting soldier. ‘I’ll drop this off and be right back. I take it the scenes are secured?’

  ‘Yes. But the victims were all found in public places. The press have already been on wanting something from us and local news are running it on the TV. The DCI wants you back here as soon as.’

  ‘I will be. Give me ten minutes.’ He ended the call before Andy could say any more. He didn’t want to say outright that he was going into the site. The DCI wouldn’t be happy about that. He’d expect him just to hand the suit over and turn around. That’s exactly what Cutler would pretend he’d done when he got back, but it wasn’t what he was going to do. Five minutes – that was all he needed. He just wanted to get behind that barrier. He couldn’t help himself.

  He’d called ahead and once the soldier had passed a wary eye over his ID and peered into the bin bag Cutler was carrying, he led him behind the barrier. The DI wondered why his mouth suddenly dried. It wasn’t as if he could see much more than he had from the other side. The excavation of the site itself was still hidden by huge walls of white tarpaulin and it was a calm day so the entrance wasn’t even flapping slightly in the wind. His brain itched as if ants were scurrying over his synapses trying to fire them up to something. He blinked and saw the flash of a greatcoat and a charming smile. What was it about this place that bothered and fascinated him so much?

  He followed the soldier up the steps of the Portakabin and waited to be allowed in.

  Chapter Nine

  Andrew Murray had smiled at the woman as he got into the lift and she got out. He hadn’t noticed her here before and he was sure he would have done. She was beautiful. Maybe she’d just moved in. He hadn’t seen any removal vans, though, and, as he worked nights and suffered from pretty bad insomnia, he normally had a pretty good idea of who came and went from the block. The ability to stand out on his balcony and see what was happening in the world was one of the advantages of having a flat higher up in the building. He found it quite mesmerising watching the daily traffic. When the weather was good, he would people watch for hours. It allowed his mainly sleep-deprived brain to switch off a little.

  It was nice to know that at least some people out there were having a life. A combination of an essentially bland personality, combined with a liking for all the wrong kinds of foods had led to a relatively lonely life for Andrew. Not that he overly minded, but there were times when, especially after a quiet shift at work managing the small supermarket, and when sleep totally evaded him, that he wished he had larger social life than the occasional drink with colleagues or other branch managers, and the inevitable weekly visit to his ageing parents for a Sunday roast which was mainly spent avoiding the question of why he wasn’t married yet.

  His mother seemed completely baffled by his single status, as if her balding son was Cardiff’s answer to Brad Pitt and there should be a queue of women wanting to breed with him. As it was, he’d never been overly concerned with the thought of a wife, and he definitely didn’t want children. Most of the time he was perfectly content with the sex that the internet and various chat rooms had to offer him. Life was much simpler that way. But he still enjoyed spending time watching others, who had more inclination to grab life by the horns, as they dashed around.

  He and the tall, slim woman stepped around each other. He’d been so lost in his own sleepless thoughts that he’d almost walked right into her as the lift doors opened, and they’d smiled at each other as strangers do in those awkward moments when their personal space has been invaded. She smelled great. He was close enough to know that. Expensive perfume. Nothing cheap. Coco? The name came to him in an instant. How the hell did he know that?

  Her smiled dropped as his sudden confusion stopped him from shifting sideways to let her pass and he felt a shiver of something. It was almost recognition. He must have seen her in the building before, after all. He frowned slightly. Strange he didn’t remember her. He muttered an apology and stepped to one side as she pushed past him. His delay had made her drop her pretence at politeness and she flashed him an irritated glare. A chill crept up his toes and he looked down. He was standing in her shadow. Within minutes, both she and her shadow had gone, but he remained where he was, staring at the ground.

  ‘What the hell is that? It stinks?’ It’s the doctor speaking. Owen? Is that his name? Andrew stands shivering in the street, still soaked from head to foot in whatever the substance is that has come out of that thing that he’d thought was Alison. He is NEVER going on a date again.

  ‘This slime smells better than th
at.’ The dark-haired doctor peers into his face. ‘Don’t worry. You’re going to be OK,’ he says.

  ‘Coco by Chanel.’ The young Japanese woman looks up from where she’s crouched by the mess, and smiles. Andrew watches her and doesn’t know if he’s more terrified of how calm these three are than he was of Alison, whose skin peeled off as she came for him. Who are they? They’re acting as if this sort of thing happens every day.

  ‘Good call, Tosh!’ The third person, a beautiful dark-haired woman, smiles. She’s leaning forward and putting lipstick on, using the wing mirror of the black SUV. ‘Timelessly classy.’

  ‘What? Like you?’ the doctor mutters. The woman comes over and peers at Andrew, and he catches the scent of her perfume. He thinks he might be sick. Alison had been wearing perfume. Cheaper than this one. Stronger. Why would a thing wear perfume? He thinks he might cry. None of this makes any sense.

  ‘Yes, like me. I hope there’s none of this stuff on my shoes.’ She checks her heels. Andrew stares. He’s shaking all over. When he looks at her, all he sees is Alison. Just before her skin… her skin… He can’t even think it. Were all women like that? How would he be able to tell?

  ‘You two can finish up here, right? If I miss this engagement party, I’ll never be forgiven. I’ll grab a taxi.’

  Engagement party? How can she be thinking of going to a party? Now? After this?

  ‘No problem,’ Tosh says. The doctor scrapes gunk from a patch of Andrew’s cheek and puts it in a .sample jar. ‘Yeah, have fun. Think of us doing the paperwork.’

  ‘See you in the morning.’ The woman tosses a smile over her shoulder as her heels click away towards the main streets.

  The doctor fetches him a towel from the SUV, and Andrew stands shivering and shaking while Tosh whistles as she carefully picks up Alison’s skin – Alison’s skin, that’s Alison’s skin – and puts it into a container.

  ‘We’ll have to hose the street down,’ she says. ‘This stuff has got everywhere.’

  ‘You can manage that.’

  ‘You’re the one that shot her,’ Tosh says as she hands Andrew the towel. ‘My vote was for containing it.’

  ‘It was going to eat him. The skin was already off.’ The doctor, Owen, takes the container and puts it into the back of the van. ‘Shooting was the best option.’

  ‘You’re always so quick to shoot,’ Tosh says. ‘We had time.’ She looks at Andrew who is just standing still, the towel in one hand. ‘It’s all right. She’s gone. You were luckier than the two men she went out with earlier this week. Now wipe that stuff off you, and we’ll get you home.’

  Owen hands Andrew a small glass of what looks like brandy. A drink of some sort, anyway. ‘Drink that. There’s something in it that will make you feel better. Trust me.’

  ‘Who are you?’ he gets the question out eventually, his voice trembling as much as the rest of his body. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Us?’ Tosh says, and both she and Owen smile. ‘We’re Torchwood.’

  Andrew drinks.

  Torchwood.

  He remembered. His legs felt unsteady with the sudden unlocked information. Alison. The thing she became. He couldn’t remember getting back to his flat, but instead just found himself standing by the open sliding door. The fresh air wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

  His head spun and cold crept up through his feet from where he’d stood in her shadow outside the lift. The shadow – the place pushing out through the shadow – was coming. It would bring that dimension of darkness to the world. No, he thought as he absently tied his sheets together and then secured one end to the rails of his balcony, that was wrong. It would take the world to darkness. Somewhere worse than darkness.

  Torment.

  He could hear screams echoing in his head. They travelled with the chill in his bones. He wouldn’t go there. He couldn’t. He thought of the woman. She’d been Torchwood then. But now she was the one bringing it. Delivering them all to evil. How could she not know? How could she not see what was coming? What she was doing?

  Tears ran down his cheeks as he tied the other end of the short sheet rope around his neck and checked it was firm. It was the remembering. Something in the remembering. It had opened his mind. His vision was blurred and his nose was running, but he scrawled his last message across his shirt. Seconds later, he climbed over the side of the balcony and let himself drop.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘So you have something that belongs to us?’

  Commander Jackson was standing behind a large desk that had three phones and two computers on it. Cutler couldn’t help but think it was overkill if this was just a recovery operation. If that’s what it was. How many people did Jackson have to answer to, that they needed a phone each?

  ‘I think so,’ he said, and tipped the suit out of the bag and onto the floor. ‘One of yours?’

  Jackson said nothing but came round to the other side of the desk and stared down. He was an imposing man, well over six foot and with the kind of barrel chest that only men approaching 60 who have spent most of their lives in peak physical condition could achieve. Commander Jackson might be a Department man now, but he was Army through and through. It was clear from his stance.

  ‘Looks like it.’ He picked it up and inspected something halfway down. ‘Where did you find it? Must have been one of our boys getting drunk and playing tricks on someone. Hiding their equipment. You know the kind of thing. I’m sure your lot do it. They all need to let off steam.’

  Cutler followed the Commander’s eyes. He might have been making light of the suit’s discovery off-site with his voice, but his gaze was focused. What was he looking for?

  ‘Behind a bin at the back of Allen Street,’ he said. He frowned as both his and the Commander’s eyes halted. There was a small cut in the suit in the torso area. Cutler caught a glimpse of it just before Commander Jackson folded the suit up. He hadn’t noticed it in the station, but then he hadn’t been looking. He cursed himself quietly.

  ‘There was no helmet,’ he added. ‘My officers are looking for that now.’

  Commander Jackson smiled, as he placed the suit under his desk. ‘Thank you very much for bringing this in. I’ll find out who’s responsible for the prank and make sure they’re fully reprimanded for wasting police time.’

  Cutler returned the smile. This hadn’t been a joke between soldiers. He knew that and so did Jackson. Whatever was really going on, the Commander had no intention of telling DI Cutler about it. Could the cut in the suit have been from a knife? He thought again of the figure he’d seen casually strolling away from the site the previous morning. Perhaps he should tell Commander Jackson about that. He decided against it. They could all keep secrets.

  ‘As long as that’s all it is,’ he said. ‘A prank.’

  ‘Of course. What else could it be?’

  Someone rapped briskly on the door.

  ‘Come,’ Commander Jackson said, and then smiled again at Cutler. It was an impatient expression.

  It was suddenly clear to Cutler that his visit was over. He smiled back. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to… whatever it is you’re doing here.’ He might have been hoping for an explanation of some kind on that point, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to get one. A soldier saluted in the doorway and then strode to the Commander as if Cutler wasn’t even there and handed him a piece of paper.

  ‘I’ll see myself out,’ Cutler said. His hand was already reaching into his coat pocket for the cigarettes that had somehow come with him to work. The odd one couldn’t hurt, surely? Not with the workload that was facing him today.

  Through the open door he could see two suited men ducking through the white tarpaulin to reach the site beyond. He thought about the water tower that had stood there. You could be invisible there, he thought. Just in that one spot. The words entered his head out of nowhere and meant nothing to him. No, that wasn’t quite right. They meant something, he just didn’t know what.

  ‘Detective Inspector?’
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  He’d been about to step out into the fresh air when the Commander called him back. His head was still momentarily filled with the sound of trickling water as if he were standing in front of the destroyed water tower that had been such a feature of Cardiff Bay.

  ‘Yes?’ He turned. Any light-heartedness that had been in Commander Jackson’s earlier tone was now gone.

  ‘Have you heard about these murders discovered this morning? Three bodies all with missing eyes?’

  ‘It’s my case, actually.’ It was Cutler’s turn to sound defensive. Andy Davidson had been right. The news stations must have been quick to report this morning’s victims. ‘Why?’

  ‘When was the first one killed?’

  ‘It’s too early to say. And anyway, this is confidential…’

  ‘Nothing’s confidential from the Department. You know that.’

  ‘Do I?’ The two men locked gazes and then Cutler thought of the figure strolling out of the site, and the cut in the suit. If that had been caused by stabbing then whoever had left in the suit wasn’t the person who had been stabbed. They could never have walked so casually if injured. Whoever had been attacked was the original wearer of the suit. What the hell was going on here? Janet Scott had been stabbed. And so had the three victims Davidson had told him about on the phone. He looked again at Commander Jackson. There was no point in holding back the information about Janet Scott – the newspapers would have it by now anyway.

  ‘The first victim was killed yesterday lunchtime. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I want to see the bodies.’ Jackson pulled his coat from the hook on the wall. ‘Discreetly, of course. But get them to the mortuary as soon as possible. You can brief me on the way.’

  Cutler almost laughed. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but this is my case and you can’t possibly—’

  ‘With all due respect, it’s not your case. Not any more. The Department will be taking over from here.’