Jacko held up a trembling hand.
‘And the other three died. Like that. Just from him snapping his fingers. I can’t do it. The finger snap thing. But it was like that.’
Dougie clicked two fingers, sharply.
‘You got it, Mr Randall. Like that. Don’t do it again, eh?’ Jacko literally trembled with fear at the flashback memory. ‘I’ve seen some shit in my time. I’ve seen, well. The Fulham Crew used to – you don’t need to know. But I’ve never seen anything so –’
‘What did you do?’ Gina asked.
‘I went back in my cell. Slammed the door. Stayed there. There was a lot of screaming, I paid no attention. And that’s why I’m alive.’
‘And why did he do that? Offer the other prisoners their freedom, then kill them?’ Dougie said, with surprising gentleness.
‘How the fuck should I know?’
‘How did they die?’
‘They just died. You’ve seen the bodies.’
Dougie had indeed seen the bodies.
‘It was no way to go. The bastard. Two of those cons were hard men, Toby and Len. Stand up guys. Faces. They didn’t deserve that. It’s not like, fucking, killing whores or dossers. These were serious men.’
‘But how exactly did he do it?’ Dougie asked.
‘I told you. He clicked - ’
‘Magic, you mean?’
‘I guess. You get all sorts these days. Fucking world, gone to shit, fucking -’
‘Easy,’ said Gina, pulling Jacko out of his rant.
‘And his eyes?’ asked Dougie.
‘I didn’t see his eyes.’
‘Were they black? Fathomless? Was he possessed by a demon?’
‘Must have fucking been. How else could he have done what he did, eh?’
‘But were his eyes black?’
‘Didn’t see.’
‘Or was he a shapeshifter? A demon in human form?’
‘How the fuck should I know? I didn’t see his eyes. I didn’t see any shapeshifting. Can I go now?’
Dougie thought about it.
‘So you didn’t see the demon itself?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘In its true form? Red body. Scales. Horns.’
‘I know what a fucking demon looks like.’
‘Did you see any such creature?’
‘Just Gogarty. No black eyes. Just the bald fucker. With the finger snap thing. That’s all. When they died I ran back to my cell and stayed there. What I told you, that’s all I know.’ Jacko was close to catatonia, Dougie realised. ‘That’s – all, okay, that’s all, that’s all, that’s -’
‘It’s okay, Jacko. It’s okay.’
Gina took out a hip flask of whisky and offered it to Jacko. Jacko shook his head. That rocked Dougie more than anything.
Gina pocketed the hip flask again. She looked at Dougie. He made his call.
‘Jacko, we’re releasing you on compassionate grounds,’ said Dougie. ‘No bail requirements. No need to make a further statement. I’ll urge CPS not to proceed with charges on the pub robbery, on the basis it is not in the public interest. You’re free to go.’
Jacko took a deep breath. His eyes started to refocus. He recovered just a shred of belligerence: ‘I should fucking hope I’m free to fucking go. After what I’ve been through,’ he said, exuding relief. And clearly anticipating a major bender to follow his discharge from captivity. ‘You’re lucky I don’t ask for compensation or –’ He saw the look in Dougie’s eyes and gave it up. ‘Thank you, Mr Randall. Thank you, sir.’
‘Go easy on the incense and the booze, Jacko, okay? I don’t want to see you here again,’ Dougie advised.
‘Next time I won’t get caught.’ Jacko’s face was a picture of gleeful anticipation.
‘For the benefit of the camera,’ said Dougie wearily, ‘the prisoner made an ironical jest and officers Randall and Henderson laughed heartily at it.’
Dougie and Gina duly laughed, for the benefit of the camera. Jacko flashed them an appreciative smile.
When he’d been sober, Jacko had been one of the top blaggers in London, known for his expertise and his careful planning. Those days were long gone. Nowadays, he had to think where he’d left his cock before he could take a piss.
That was what incense abuse could do to a man.
PC Harkaway took Jacko away. She returned two minutes later with the next witness.
‘Interview with Constable Kyle Ackerman of the Armed Response Team, based at Whitechapel Police Station. Officers presents are Detective Superintendent Douglas Randall, Detective Inspector Gina Henderson, PC Anne Harkaway. Tell us what you saw, Kyle.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Kyle Ackerman, quietly.
Kyle was a lean man with a taut body and staring eyes. His hands trembled as he spoke. His leg tapped constantly on the floor, a nervous twitch he seemed unable to control.
‘We got the first call at sixteen thirty-one hours,’ Kyle explained.
‘Which call and who sent it?’
‘It was a Black Alert with respect to the – the demon in the cell block. Custody sergeant Phil Matthews put it through.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘You’ve got the tape, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’ll know. He said nothing much. Just that he had a bad fucking feeling in his gut. So we scrambled, of course we did. Phil’s been around, he knows what a demon army feels like when it’s near, how it knots you up inside. We pulled in boys from the canteen, from the firing range, from the gym. In less than ten minutes we had thirty-five authorised firearms officers on the scene, fully armoured up, how’s that for rapid response?’
‘And what happened when you reached the custody area?’
‘There was this old bird there, with a shooter. The CAD dispatcher. She’d also called us with news of the DB at Ildminster Square. Cool as a cucumber she was. When we got there, she was holding the demon at bay with a fucking salt gun. She’d peppered the creature’s hide with salt, then kept it holed up in the custody area till we got there. Hell of a woman. Acting upon her advice, I then proceeded –’
‘Her advice?’ said Gina, puzzled.
‘She informed us that Phil was almost certainly dead. Which made sense – if the fireball hadn’t killed him, the demon or demons would have done. So instead of attempting a hostage rescue, we loosed a low yield mortar shell packed with incense into the custody area.’
‘And then what?’
‘And then we went in. Mob-handed. But the creature –’
He hesitated.
‘What?’
‘We couldn’t see it. It wasn’t there. There was a wind. We looked up. That’s when saw it, well mainly its arse and balls, floating in the air above us, in the place where the upper floors used to be. After that it was –’
He paused.
‘What was it?’
‘Bloody carnage.’
‘Did you see Gogarty?’
Ackerman thought. ‘I glimpsed a man. Standing inside the door to the cell block. Peering out. Fat man, bald face.’
‘Beard?’
‘No beard.’
‘That was Gogarty, then,’ said Gina. ‘None of the other prisoners match that description.’
‘Then it was Gogarty,’ Kyle said.
The truth, Dougie decided, was emerging. Some time after being released from the cell, the demon exited its human vessel. Then, after sending a fireball through the station, it blew a hole in the ceiling, and made its exit that way, with Gogarty clinging to its back.
Which meant that Gogarty was no longer possessed.
So was he a prisoner? Or a familiar? The willing servant of an unbound demon? Dougie filed that thought: two scenarios, each to be investigated.
There was a further mystery to be solved here. Namely, how? As Gina had said, the police station was mantra’d with protection spells every morning. There were talismans on every officer’s badge or warrant card. Demon-banishing sigils were i
nscribed below the floor tiles and carpets in every room and corridor, including the cells. No demon should have been able to get into Leman Street nick through all these magic barriers, even if concealed within a human form. What had happened this day was technically impossible.
‘Describe the demon,’ Dougie said.
‘You’ve got film footage, haven’t you?’
‘Nothing much to speak of, to be honest. Besides, I want to hear in your words. Describe.’
‘Humaniform. Scaled. Four horns; or maybe it’s two horns with lots of curling. Larger than you can – you don’t really see these creatures to be honest. It’s more a haze, an impression. Was he humaniform? I couldn’t even swear to that. It wasn’t a fucking hell hound, that’s all I know. There was a lot of blood. Phil Matthews was spitted. He –’
‘I’ve seen the body. Or what’s left of it.’
‘Don’t make me describe it.’
‘I won’t.’
‘There were numerous corpses, which I hope were dead before we fired the mortar round. I couldn’t count them. And Gogarty, he must have hidden behind the door to the cell block when the mortar went off. And then the demon, hovering. Our incense blast didn’t hurt it, we don’t know why. It should have killed the fucking thing. Game over. But that didn’t happen. So we opened fire at it. Holy water shells and silver dum dum rounds. We shot a thousand fucking bullets at it but all of them fell short.’
‘That makes no sense,’ said Gina.
‘Sorry, Boss?’
‘The CAD Dispatcher shot it with a salt gun. And you guys couldn’t hit it with a thousand rounds?’
‘Yeah. I wondered about that.’
‘Maybe –’
‘What?’ said Dougie.
‘No idea,’ said Gina.
‘Continue,’ said Dougie to Kyle Ackerman.
‘So as I say, our bullets fell short. Some kind of protective spell was in place. I radioed a message to call for the Grey-Beards and we began to withdraw in good order. But before we could reach the door, our guys started to – explode.’
‘What do you mean explode? Did the demon shoot back?’
‘It had no gun. No weapon. It just stared down at us, and the bodies of my men exploded. Like they’d filled up with gas and inflated, and then – you know, like balloons popping at a kids’ party - it’s no way to die. The body armour kept it in, but that made it worse. You saw faces squirted up against the visors like jam.’
‘But not you.’
‘Not me. Obviously.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He spared you. Why?’
‘I don’t know! No reason. I’m just one of the lads. They all died and I lived. How do you think that makes me feel?’
‘Relieved?’
Kyle’s hand trembled again. ‘In a way, I guess. I know I should feel guilty about it but I don’t. I’m just glad to be alive.’
‘It was taunting you. Leaving you alive, to make you feel bad about it. Cursing you with survivor guilt.’
Kyle nodded: war weary.
‘I figured something like that.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Well, then the red horned bastard threw another fireball at us, those of us who were left. It ripped through our ranks. There were eight of us alive by then, out of thirty five. Seven of them were fireballed. Pals I’d known for ten years just erupted into flame. And I was left standing there. Waiting for it. It. The end. But instead, the whatever the fuck it is just took off, and it was gone.’
‘Through the hole in the ceiling.’
‘I guess so, yes. I wasn’t really seeing properly by then. Nothing made sense.’
‘Thank you, Kyle.’
‘I kept shooting the bastard. Some of the bullets got through the spell, they hit the body, but they just bounced off. That’s not supposed to happen. What’s the fucking point of anointing a bullet if - ’
‘Easy, Kyle.’
‘Shit.’ The twitch was becoming a spasm.
‘Take some time off.’
Kyle thought about it. Gina offered the whisky. Kyle took a long draught. Gina gestured: keep it. He took another sip. He pocketed the hip flask. Gave a grateful nod.
‘My wife won’t let me home,’ Kyle confided. ‘Says she’s scared to touch me. Afraid I might be –’
‘What?’
‘Tainted.’
‘You’re not. We’ve checked.’
‘Yeah, but tell her that.’
‘We will. Interview concluded. Go find a hotel room, Kyle. Charge it to the Met.’
‘Tainted.’
‘Go. Please. Go.’
The last witness was Ella Henson, the gaoler.
‘Interview with Constable Ella Maria Henson, officers present, Detective Superintendent Douglas Randall, Detective Inspector Gina Henderson, PC Anne Harkaway. How are you, Ella?’
Ella stared at him blankly.
‘Tell us what happened.’
Ella stared at him blankly.
‘Ella, it’s okay. No one’s blaming you,’ Dougie said reassuringly.
Ella stared at him blankly.
‘When did the demon appear?’
Ella stared at him: blankly.
‘How did Gogarty get out of the cell?’
Still nothing from Ella.
‘Come on, Ella. You’re among friends. How did it happen?’ he chided.
‘I let him out,’ said Ella.
Dougie nodded; so far, just as he’d expected.
‘Did you?’ he said gently. ‘Why? Why did you do that Ella?’
‘I let him out,’ said Ella.
Dougie sighed. This broke his heart.
‘And what happened then? What did he do to you, Ella?’
‘I let him out,’ said Ella.
‘You know what he’s done to you, Ella?’
‘Nothing. He’s done nothing. I’m fine.’
‘He took your soul. Sucked it. That’s why you’re so – lethargic.’
‘It’s shock,’ said Ella cunningly.
Dougie had seen this so many times before. It was the worst thing. It really was.
‘All that’s left of you,’ Dougie said patiently, ‘is mind and memory. But not the real you. That’s all gone, leached away. It’s downhill from here, you know that?’
‘No!’ Gina protested. She guessed where Dougie was heading with this.
‘I’m fine. I’ll be myself again any time soon. Just let me go and I’ll be right as rain,’ Ella argued.
‘Do you have children, Ella?’
‘No. I’m too young. One day.’
‘You can’t have children, Ella,’ Dougie said gently. ‘You won’t be allowed. When you leave this room you’ll be taken to the hospital and sterilised. Then you’ll be taken to a secure facility and imprisoned. For the rest of your life. Which could be a long time, because a body without a soul can be very robust. You could easily live into your nineties or older.’
‘You can’t do that to me.’
‘We can. We will. You have no soul, you have no human rights. You’re a menace to society. If you had a child, you wouldn’t care for it. You wouldn’t love it. If you were hungry, you might eat the damned thing. That’s what not having a soul means.’
‘You’re wrong. I have a soul.’
‘We’ll run tests on you, Ella. But you have all the symptoms. I’ve seen it a thousand times. I can tell. I’m looking at you right now. There’s nothing there. The lights are off and there’s nobody home. Is that what you want for yourself, Ella? Is that how you want to end your days?’
Gina was grim-faced, but did not intervene.
There was a flicker of fear in Ella’s eyes.
‘How long do I have?’ she asked.
‘Hours, at most,’ Dougie said gently. ‘At the moment, you still remember being yourself. You are in effect dead and gone, yet you still retain a coherent personality. You can still make decisions based on what the old Ella would have done. But
by tonight –’
‘What?’
‘You’ll be a piece of subnatural scum.’
Ella considered that carefully for some time. She had no emotional response to Dougie’s words, but there was a flicker of comprehension in her eyes that gave him hope.
‘I don’t want that,’ Ella concluded eventually.
Dougie took out his police-issue Glock hand gun and put it on the table.
‘Interview suspended for a toilet break. Officers Randall and Henderson and Harkaway are leaving the room. You’ll be safe here, Ella, back in a mo’, okay?’
Gina cast an anguished look at Dougie but said nothing. Dougie stood up, gestured at Gina and Harkaway to join him.
Ella picked up the gun and pointed it at Dougie. Dougie swallowed.
‘You don’t want to do that, Ella,’ Dougie suggested. ‘Why would you want to do a thing like that?’
Ella nodded. Then she put the barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger. Her head exploded and her chair flew back and she crashed to the ground, smashing the back of her skull against the hard floor. The smack of the impact and the bang of the bullet mingled into one sound, and echoed around the room.
The wall behind Ella’s chair was spattered with blood and flecks of grey brain tissue.
‘Shit,’ said Gina.
Harkaway looked appalled, but said nothing: she was one of Dougie’s protégées.
Ella stood up, mouth gaping and lipless. The wall behind her was visible through the hole in her face. One arm was flailing like a scarecrow in the wind, to help her get her balance. She was still holding the gun in the other hand. She raised the barrel and aimed it at Dougie’s head.
‘Easy now,’ he urged her.
Ella tried to speak but couldn’t so she just pulled the trigger.
Click.
‘Only one bullet,’ Dougie admitted.
Ella was entirely dead and entire chunks of her brain were on the floor or the wall. But sheer will power was holding her body upright. Dougie waited patiently.
Eventually her body collapsed, like an empty sack.
‘Interview concluded,’ said Dougie.
Chapter 7
Hell on Earth Page 38