“Can we take a look at your CCTV footage?”
“You want to see footage from this week, don't you?”
“Is that a problem?” Dimitri said.
“We have problems with computer yesterday. Our footage hasn't saved been saving properly,” the woman said.
What a coincidence.
Alex and Dimitri made their thanks and left the restaurant. It had just started to rain, the kind of drizzle that soaks your clothes, but that feels too insignificant to shelter from.
“Betting the computer problems were no accident,” Dimitri said, lighting a cigarette.
“That's a terrible habit you know?” Alex said.
“You my doctor now?”
“Guessing the government are behind it, they are thorough if anything.”
“Probably means all CCTV around here is going to be a goner.”
“We could try broadening our search, start going around businesses a little further out? I wonder why was our victim is of such interest to the spooks? It has to be related to why he stabbed himself.”
“If he thought he was going to be killed, surely he was better of taking a chance and fighting the killer, rather than just giving up.”
“Perhaps he couldn't face any more torture, if the killer was holding him.”
“She said he was in and out of this restaurant every night of the week, so he can't have been held at the house. Makes no sense, especially when you think about the old wounds, means he came into the restaurant with them, paying for dinner, but not treating his injuries,” Dimitri said.
“You're right, doesn't make sense. What if he knew something that was so dangerous, he couldn't risk it getting out in the open, or the killer finding out. Faced with being captured or tortured, he decides to commit suicide and, that way, stop whatever he found out from being discovered,” Alex said.
“Christ, we are jumping straight into the conspiracy theories now babe.”
“For the sake of the case, I hope I'm not.”
At five o'clock, Alex and Dimitri parted, Alex returning to her flat. Hopping around the hallway, she tugged off her boots and headed into the kitchen, throwing a meal in the microwave.
She and Dimitri had found next to nothing during the rest of the day. A surprisingly large number of businesses had suffered ‘technical difficulties’ with their CCTV equipment, which meant that the journey the victim had taken was next to impossible to determine.
Alex had just about given up hope when they found a little optometrist's by Farringdon station. They had a CCTV system at the back of the shop of surprisingly high quality, and reviewing the footage, they had found him. At approximately five o’clock every day of that week, they could just make out the blurry image of the victim leaving the station, his long coat and flop of black hair giving him away every time. Tracking him on the tube would require access to TFL records, which would be impossible to get without giving away what Dimitri and her were really working on.
The microwave gave an angry beep and Alex slopped her dinner onto a plate, wedging the case files under one elbow as she balanced a bottle of wine, the plate and a wine glass, in the other hand.
She flung the files across the coffee table, which landed awkwardly as their contents spilled across the floor. Alex huffed at the mess she had made and, putting the plate and glass down, she grabbed her phone and sunk into the sofa.
“Hi Alex,” Chris said, answering her call almost immediately.
“Sorry for ringing so late, I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, what can I do you for?”
“It’s about the Greys Inn murders, I-”
“Alex, we can’t talk about that. You heard, it has-”
“Been officially handed over to the intelligence services, I know. This is off the record. I just have a few questions, nothing official.”
The line was quiet for a moment.
“What do you want to know?” Chris said.
“Are you sure some of the injuries were old?”
“Definitely.”
“And they would have made it difficult for him to move?”
“Yes, he had several to his leg that would have meant he walked with a pronounced limp. Also, I spotted severe bruising to his back which would have meant he was in severe pain. Why do you want to know?”
“The victim was spotted having dinner, walking about perfectly fine about an hour before he was killed.”
“That must be wrong, that is impossible.”
Alex was starting to think so too.
“Chris, is there anything you haven’t already told me?”
“There were footprints this time, which is different to all the rest. Difficult to tell the exact size, but I would have said about a ten.”
“Another confirmation it is a man.”
“I would say so.”
“Where were they found?”
“They were inconsistent, scattered from one side of the field to the other. I’m not sure how they could have jumped from place to place without leaving a mark, but that’s not something we had time to look into before… you know.”
Well, that sounded strange. Maybe the ground was too dry in some parts, what other explanation could there be?
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“And sorry for the way I spoke to you the other day. It wasn’t right, I was angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“I understand, speak to you soon.”
Alex tucked into her dinner and opened the first CCTV file Drew had given her to look through. Not exactly the movie and dinner combination she liked, but it would do.
If this was all some government conspiracy, then they would never bring any closure to the case. But, if that were true, why did they not take the serial killings from them entirely? Something felt wrong about it all at such a fundamental level. Wounds that healed too fast, summoning enough strength to break a metal lock, a killer with the ability to leap from one place to the next with little trace, the exploding lights... What was she getting involved with?
Half a bottle of wine and three quarters of an all too salty ready meal later, Alex’s eyes were going square. She was only a fraction of the way through the tapes, the reality of just how long a weekend she had before her was starting to become apparent. Alex’s phone beeped.
Working late tonight. Sorry, Charlie Xx
Working late again. The fact he wasn’t home should probably have made a more noticeable impression on her, most women would likely be concerned their partner was cheating on them, but Alex wasn’t. She trusted him, she always had. He wouldn’t cheat on her, he wasn’t like that. Other women might be upset he had to work late and they wouldn’t see him, but again, Alex wasn’t. What did that say about their relationship? Alex didn’t want to think.
- Chapter 25 -
Bootcamp
Saturday morning began much as the previous day had, with a rude awakening. Ruth had been standing on the bed when Henry opened his eyes and had rained down several blows before he had managed to stumble out of the duvet and collect his thoughts enough to block her. He hadn't been successful. Ruth had then attempted to get Henry to use a series of ‘free weights’ she had brought with her, with the hope of building up some muscle on his scrawny frame. She woeuld have her work cut out there.
Henry had bruises in places that he had never really considered could hurt so much: the joints of his knees, the side of his neck, and she had landed one infuriatingly painful blow across his chest which had made his nipples feel like they were on fire. She had tried the windup tactic again, but it hadn't worked, he knew what the game was now. When they were finished, instead of leaving him in peace, Ruth remained in the flat. She cooked a ridiculously large fry-up, sourcing ingredients from the corner shop while Henry showered, and then insisted that he ate the entirety of it. 'Eat, Eat!' she constantly proclaimed. It was like being stuck at an eccentric old aunt's house for dinner and her demanding you eat t
oo much food because you are a 'growing lad'.
At around 9am, Gabriel showed up. He looked well rested, flaunting the fact at Henry, who probably looked like he was battling a hangover, without ever benefiting from the good time the night before.
“You have got a fun weekend ahead of you,” Gabriel said.
That was almost certainly not what Henry had ahead of him.
“Oh yes of course my lovely,” Ruth said. “Exciting, isn't it?”
“What is exciting?” Henry said.
“Training at the Inquisition. The idea is to bring you up to speed with what we like to call 'Bootcamp'. You will be introduced to your Inquisitor companion who will take charge of the more… practical aspects of your education,” Gabriel said.
“My companion, like I'm at an AA meeting?” Henry said, sarcastically.
“No, you only go to an AA meeting a lot later on darling. When the stress of it all gets to you and you have to drink yourself silly to calm your nerves,” Ruth said.
Henry tried to gauge from Ruth’s expression if that was meant as a joke, but, as usual, he could’t tell.
“Is this really a whole weekend affair?” Henry said. “I’ve been working all week and had quite a stressful Wednesday night, a little rest and relaxation would really be appreciated.”
“He is a funny one, isn't he Gabe?” Ruth said.
“Hilarious.”
“Quick bit of background for you,” Gabriel said. “Each country's Inquisition has a high master and in our case, that's Wade. At some point this weekend, you'll be introduced to the Doyens, who are masters of particular aspects of what it means to be an alternate. For example, Meyer is a master mentalist and was the Doyen of Mentalism, until-”
“The doyens and Inquisitors make up the council,” Ruth said, interrupting him. What had Meyer done? Henry made a note to find out when Ruth wasn’t about.
“The council decides the work each Inquisitor takes on and make the big decisions for the entire order. When you meet them, promise me you’ll try to make a good impression,” Gabriel said.
***
After breakfast, the three made the walk towards Holborn Bars. Left alone on High Holborn, Henry faced the unenviable task of getting into the home of the Inquisition.
Unfortunately, finding the place was like trying to sail through the Bermuda triangle, blindfolded, while a gaggle of beautiful woman caught your attention one way, and a torrent of waves diverted you another. It was half past nine when Ruth and Gabriel left him, with a warning that training started at eleven. Henry thought this quite a big safety net of time, he was geographically only about two minutes from the place and so, even with the distraction fields, it shouldn't take him longer than half an hour to get in.
He was mistaken.
By the eighth attempt, having found himself walking down leather lane for the fifth time, he knew he was going about it wrong.
What had been Gabriel’s advice? Focus on getting there, not how you get there. Why was everything in this damn world such a mystery, nobody could just say what they meant. He decided to try and visualise the place, as vividly as he could, as to not lose it from his mind due to the distraction field. The old metal gas lamps would be a blur in the morning fog, distorted even further in the reflections of the skylights that surrounded the courtyard. Henry pictured himself by the side of the glass dome, having walked straight into the building. He had to focus on the goal, not the journey. At ten-fifty, with his number of attempts beyond count, it finally worked. Henry felt excitement and pride beyond anything he had experienced in years, and all because he had managed to walk into a building. What was his life becoming?
“You made it!” Ruth said.
“Just in time,” Gabriel said, looking at his watch. “I don’t believe you had actually been introduced to Tristan yet?”
The muscled man with the sculpted beard from the previous day stood forward, offering his hand to Henry. He shook it, feeling Tristan’s strong grip crushing his fingers.
“You are leading the investigation into my Mark’s death, right?” Henry said.
“Yes, but I have very little news to tell you I’m afraid,” Tristan said. “The body appears to have been taken by Deliverance, who we believe are behind his murder. Trust me, once I determine what happened you will be the first to know.”
Like hell he would.
“Shall we get down to business then?” Tristan said.
Tristan led Henry, Gabriel and Ruth up the main marble staircase and along the corridor that ran along the perimeter of the courtyard. They stopped at a catwalk that connected the main courtyard to a secondary one, which was blocked off from the other corridor.
“This is where we will start your training. I want to get a basis on your skill level, so we are going to start with a simple exercise,” Tristan said. “Take off your jacket and jumper. Physical training is the easiest place to learn how to access your genetic memories and once we unlock the basics, the rest should follow. Then it is just keeping you in shape, but that unfortunate task falls to Ruth.”
“The boy doesn't eat a thing!” Ruth said.
“You force fed me a million calories for breakfast,” Henry said, in an unfortunately whining tone.
“Enough,” Tristan said.
“When will you teach me how to use magic?” Henry said.
“That will come, but you need to understand how to access your memories first. Gabriel, is he always this obstinate?” Tristan said.
“He's usually worse,” Gabriel said, winking at Henry.
Henry took off his jacket and jumper, then rolled up his sleeves. Raising his hands in what he assumed was a fighting stance, he squared his body toward Tristan in a pose that was anything but natural to him.
“We will start with a simple game called Dodge. The quickness of the action should kick off your reflexes,” Tristan said.
“One question, before we begin, if you don't mind?” Henry said.
“What?”
“Why haven't I always been able to do this?”
“What?”
“You know, do all this... stuff?”
“Use your powers? Or fight, because I am yet to see if you can do that. Inquisitors can only have one active member in a bloodline at a time. When one family member dies, their descendant is activated and the genetic memories transferred. It is why we are concerned with family trees ending abruptly, so your training is essential to your survival. Can we begin now?” Tristan said.
Tristan moved to the side of the room and, assisting Ruth from her seat, the pair took long wooden sticks from a side cabinet. He moved around so that he was at one end of the corridor, leaving Henry standing between him and Ruth.
“So how do we-” Henry started to say, but before he could finish, Tristan and Ruth ran at him. Tristan swung the stick, sweeping it downwards as Henry attempted to dodge, but his body didn't react in time. The stick hit him straight across the nose, the residual force sending him crashing onto his back.
“Bloody hell. Damn it,” Henry cried.
Henry sat up, holding his nose, as blood poured down his shirt and onto the wooden floor. His eyes watering from the pain, everything around him became a blur. He could just about make out the orbicular shape of Ruth as she bent down and pulled his hands away from his face.
“You’ve broken it,” Ruth said.
“Oh for Christ's sake,” Tristan said.
“One moment my dear,” Ruth said. “Et ossa tua liberabit fulciretur.”
Henry felt heat across his nose, followed by a disturbingly loud crack as his cartilage moved back into place. The temperature beneath his skin spiked with the noise, subsiding to nothing a few moments later as his body tried to catch up with what had happened. His nose still hurt, but the blood had stopped pouring, which, by the look on Tristan's face, was enough for them to carry on.
Ruth retreated to one end of the catwalk and Henry braced himself for the second try. He felt the chances of it being any better were slim
. Tristan charged and, swinging the stick above his head, brought it sharply down in a sweeping motion so that it collided with Henry's shin. Henry didn't move in time and lost his balance, falling straight to his knees. Ruth was still coming and didn't stop, her stick connected with Henry's back, propelling him a short distance across the floor.
“Bloody hell,” Henry said, before Ruth cuffed his ear for his language.
“You need to let your body take over,” Tristan said.
“He isn't good at that, always over thinks everything,” Ruth said.
“How exactly do I not think about it then?” Henry said.
“Just don't think, calm your mind,” Tristan said.
That was easy for him to say, he wasn't having a stick levelled at his face every five seconds.
They tried again and, as much as Henry tried not to think, he couldn't help it. Tristan spun his stick and caught the bottom of his jaw. Henry heard a crack and all his teeth shook in his mouth as he was lifted off his feet. Another repetition, another fail, Ruth coming in with blow and blow, striking his stomach and sending him crashing to the floor in a heap. Pain spasmed across his back, his head whipping back a second later as an instant migraine splintered through Henry’s brain.
Ruth came across and healed him, again, but this time Henry found his eyes wouldn't stop watering even after she finished. He looked a mess and, even through the uncontrollable tears, it was apparent how furious Tristan was becoming.
“Are you putting this on? How can you not get this?” Tristan said.
“I'm not trying to be difficult, I just-”
“You will be dead in days at this rate. You are by far the worst student I have ever had the displeasure of teaching.”
“Hang on Tristan, let's cool down a bit. I've got an idea,” Gabriel said.
He fished around in his jacket pocket and produced a small iPod, white headphones wrapped around it.
“Dance,” Gabriel said, smirking. “Let yourself go with the music. When you trained with Ruth yesterday, how did you eventually manage to do anything half useful? When you didn’t think about it. Look Henry, we can’t carry on like this or you’ll be in no fit state to do anything and I can’t think of a better way.”
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