“As you can see, 142345 has been quite busy,” Brundle said.
“He has a name, you know.”
“I know. Anyway, 142345 seems to pick people at random, as nothing links the victims. They seem to be opportunistic killings.”
“So I presume this is a result of his … conditioning?”
Williams nodded. “Yes, I believe you read the file. The program he was undertaking was to see if people could be designed to kill.”
“And doesn’t that concern you?”
Brundle and Williams glanced at each other. Williams shrugged. Brundle shook her head. “We’ve seen worse.”
Worse? Prosper didn’t think things could get much worse.
“You’ll find that we’re sort of unconventional here, and we have pretty much a free reign where our methods are concerned,” Williams said.
“As long as you get the job done, whatever it takes, right?”
Williams nodded. “We’re paid to get results, so yes, we get the job done.”
Brundle skewed her lips. “You seem a little, reticent.”
“I guess it’s just not what I’m used to.”
“You’ll get the hang of it.” She smiled.
“So as you can see,” Williams said, “We’ve been charting 142345’s progress so far.” He walked towards the board. “The first victim was killed the day he escaped from the hub. Two days later, another body was discovered.” He pointed to another photograph. “And so it’s continued. As Brundle said, there’s not been anything to link the victims, and they were all killed at various locations, which means 142345 is mobile. We can’t predict where he’ll strike next but he’s obviously holing up somewhere, we just need to find where.”
“So what do you know about the memory wipe he was given?” Prosper asked.
Williams shrugged. “It’s supposed to do what it says and wipe his memories.”
“Okay, but what if it hasn’t completely. Have you checked around the area where Clarke lived, interviewed family, friends?”
“We’ve been trying to play it low key,” Brundle said. “That’s why there’s been a press blackout.”
“Oh, so it’s not because the government doesn’t want the British tax payer to find out that they’re subsidising research into what makes people kill?”
“That too. But believe me Prosper, it’s for their own good.”
“Tell that to Clarke’s victims.”
Brundle shrugged. “Anyway I believe we’re to take you down to the armoury and give you a firearms lesson.”
“Then lead the way.” He stood and followed Brundle and Williams out of the room, along the corridor and down some steps. At the bottom, Brundle scanned a key card across the sensor and the door opened.
Further ahead, Prosper heard muffled bangs.
“This is where you’ll have to come each time you sign out your weapon,” Williams said. “There’s a shooting range down here where you’re trained and there’s also a simulation test range where targets pop up.”
Prosper followed them along a short corridor with a door at either end and then found himself in a small reception area. A woman with blonde hair and freckles sat behind a counter with wire mesh reinforced glass.
“How’s it going?” she asked as Brundle approached.
“Not too bad, Sally.” She slid her pass through a gap in the bottom of the glass. Sally checked it, and pushed it back, along with a sheet to sign, then she walked to a rack of weapons along the back wall. She took down a pistol and some ammunition and passed it through the gap.
“So who’s the new boy?” Sally stared at Prosper.
“Prosper Snow, this is Sally Metcalfe. What she doesn’t know about guns isn’t worth knowing,” Brundle said.
Prosper nodded in greeting and handed over his security pass. Sally perused it, then handed it back along with the signature sheet before she walked to the gun rack.
“You right or left handed?”
“Right.” He signed the form.
Well the standard issue is a Sig Sauer P229, which is a compact firearm. Ours are chambered for .357 SIG rounds. It holds twelve in the clip and one in the chamber.” She took a pistol down along with some boxes of ammunition and a holster and passed them through the gap. “This is your new baby. Treat her with respect and she’ll handle just fine. You can sign one out at the beginning of your shift and then check it back in when you’ve finished.”
Prosper picked the gun up and waited for Williams to sign one out, and then he followed his new partners through another door into what was essentially a large concrete bunker. Brundle passed him some protective glasses and a set of ear defenders.
“Put these on.”
Prosper did as he was told and then walked to one of the firing positions at the back of the range. Williams attached a torso shaped target to clips on two wires and then pressed a control button. The target whizzed along the wires like a remote control ghost, coming to rest hovering in the distance.
Brundle held her gun in both hands and fired off six quick rounds. Williams pushed another button and the target sailed back towards them, the bottom flapping. As it drew close, Prosper saw six holes in the middle of the target, concentrated in a five-inch pattern.
“Welcome to gun club,” Brundle said with a grin.
CHAPTER 29
Rivers sat in front of his computer and studied the Street View image of the building Prosper had entered the other day, then he zoomed in through the archway and stared at a graffiti covered door opposite, above which he could just make out a security camera. He knew the images were sometimes years old, but most things didn’t change that quickly that he couldn’t glean pertinent information from his searches.
Now why would a derelict building have a security camera? Because obviously it wasn’t so derelict. He made notes in a pad as he worked, doodling little sketches of the building and potential access points. He corroborated the Street View images with overhead three-dimensional representations to build up a comprehensive overview. All of the surrounding buildings appeared to be vacant, which meant he wouldn’t have any problems with neighbours.
It was a time consuming process checking Street View, as he had to keep advancing the image along the road before perusing the surrounding area again in case he had missed anything. Of course he could have returned to the building and done a real time reconnaissance, but then he might be spotted, and he preferred the anonymity that the internet provided.
As the building was presumably old, he reasoned that there might be some information about it on the internet, so he started doing some searches using the name of the road, and eventually his perseverance was rewarded when he came across a site that had pictures of the building, which used to be an old textile mill, along with a few construction blueprints.
He tried to imagine what was going on, and why a police officer and an artist were involved, but nothing made sense. Whatever it was though, he had a feeling it was big.
Rivers leaned back and stared at the image of the building on the monitor. What were they hiding in there? His curiosity was like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. Breaking and entering satisfied the inquisitive side of his nature. It allowed him to see what people were hiding behind closed doors.
He had been the same as a kid. At six years of age, he discovered Father Christmas didn’t exist when he found his presents in a cupboard in his parents’ bedroom and he put two and two together. Of course, he couldn’t ignore the presents, all wrapped up and hidden away, so he carefully unwrapped them and then resealed them as best he could – which wasn’t good enough -- as he didn’t have the technical ability that parcel wrapping needed. His parents had been furious, but Rivers didn’t care. It just made him determined that the next time he discovered something people were trying to keep hidden, he wouldn’t get caught.
The fact that there were guards based inside the building made it even more intriguing. It would also make it a lot more difficult to break inside to find out
what was going on. But there had to be a way.
He stroked his chin. If he was going to break in, he needed a way to distract the guards. The threat of fire was a good one, as people wouldn’t want to burn to death, so he could always try to trigger an alarm if they had one. That would presumably mean they would evacuate, giving him a limited amount of time before they discovered that it was a false alarm. But then of course, they might not have a fire alarm.
Another option was to orchestrate some sort of distraction to draw them outside, perhaps an explosion. But that might draw too much attention and bring the cops in. So what about if he could smoke them out? Then he would need a gas mask of some sort so that the smoke didn’t affect him too.
He started jotting his ideas down. Needed something fast. If Prosper followed through with his threat, then he didn’t have much time left before he had to leave town.
Eventually his ideas dried up and he walked though to the kitchen to make himself a drink, hoping that the break would allow fresh ideas to form.
As he waited for the kettle to boil, the phone rang. Rivers picked the receiver up.
“Hello.”
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for days.”
“Gina, slow down. I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to call your girlfriend?”
Rivers hesitated. He hated lying to Gina. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but she would go crazy if she knew the truth about him. He had told her that he was involved with a Parkour business that was making videos and books about the activity, which was what he wanted to do when he had enough money. For now, it was just a pipe dream. But it was hard living a lie, pretending to be something he wasn’t to someone he loved. “I was called away. Business,” he said, content that it was partly true. “I’ve only just got back. Was going to call you.”
“So they didn’t have phones where you were?”
“I forgot my phone and you know what I’m like, I couldn’t remember your mobile number. I have trouble remembering my own.” He laughed.
“It’s not good enough. You didn’t even tell me you were going anywhere.”
“It was a last minute thing. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“You bet your life you will, and I’m going to collect tonight.”
“Tonight …”
“Don’t tell me you can’t see me.”
“Well, it’s … it’s hard at the moment.”
“Well that’s a waste when I’m not there. I could always come round and help you with it.”
Rivers chuckled. Sex with Gina was awesome and she had no inhibitions, but carnal pleasures were the last thing on his mind at the moment. “I’ve got another meeting later. I promise, I’ll call you when I’m free.”
Gina fell silent for a moment. “Have you gone off me?”
“Where’s that come from?”
“I just sense, I dunno, that you’re making up excuses.”
“Babe, I love you, you know that. I’m not making excuses. I’d be crazy to mess you around. You’re the best thing in my life.” He felt himself go red in the face – he didn’t like opening up like this as it made him feel vulnerable, but she had to know how much she meant to him.
“You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Well just make sure you ring me when you’re free and you know it’ll be worth your while.” She chuckled.
“On my life. Catch you later.” He disconnected the call and looked back at the monitor. Time was against him. It was tonight or never.
CHAPTER 30
Prosper sat in the rear of the four by four vehicle. Brundle was driving. Williams sat beside her.
“I can’t believe Clarke’s family haven’t been interviewed yet,” Prosper said, flexing his right wrist. All that shooting had hurt more than he thought it would, and never mind a barn door; he wouldn’t have hit the damn barn. The gun was now strapped underneath his arm and he had visions of it going off and drilling a hole down his side.
“It’s a delicate situation,” Brundle replied.
“Delicate! He’s out there killing people. We’ve got to find him.”
Up ahead, tower blocks jutted into the sky. Brundle parked in the shadow of the tallest one. A scratched and faded plaque on the wall identified it as Serenity Tower. Prosper knew the locals called it Suicide Central.
Balconies jutted from the building, many of them decorated with clothes hung out to dry. Graffiti decorated the lower walls, the modern day hieroglyphics.
Prosper exited the car. A breeze caressed his face as he stared around. Kids that should have been at school were hanging around the entrance, sitting on crumbling walls, smoking and drinking.
“Someone had better stay with the car, otherwise I think we’ll be walking back,” Prosper said.
Williams exited the vehicle and leaned against the side. “I’ve got it.”
“Okay Brundle, it’s you and me. Let’s go.” Prosper started walking towards the entrance. He noticed the kids watching him as he approached. There were seven of them in total.
“You smell something?” a boy of about twelve with a brown crew cut said.
A girl with braces grinned. “Yeah, smells like pig.”
Crew cut laughed. “Sqweee, sqweee, squeal little piggy.”
Although none of the kids looked older than fourteen, they made Prosper feel uncomfortable. He straightened his back as he walked, trying to make himself look taller.
Brundle stopped beside the kids and looked at each one in turn.
“What you think you’re lookin’ at?” the girl with braces asked.
“Just remembering your faces,” Brundle replied.
“Oh yeah, what for?”
Brundle pulled her gun out and patted it against her palm. “So I know who to come looking for.”
The girl’s jaw dropped.
“Anyone else got anything smart to say?”
The kids all turned away or looked at the ground. Brundle nodded, and then headed towards the entrance doors. Prosper realised his own mouth was hanging open and he shut it and swallowed before following her.
Once they were inside the lobby, he said, “What the hell was that about? They’re kids!”
“Kids who’d probably do you over for the price of a packet of cigarettes. I was just letting them know the score. Come on Prosper, you’ve been on the force long enough. You know what they’re like. Kids today. Gangsters tomorrow.”
Prosper knew she was right, but her unorthodox methods were disturbing. There were two lifts and a door to the stairway in the lobby.
“You want to take the stairs or risk the coffin?” Brundle asked.
“I’ll take my chances with one of the lifts.” He stepped forwards and pushed the button. Seconds later the doors slid open. Coffin was an apt term when he saw the size and state of it. It was probably big enough to fit four people, and it stank of piss. He stepped inside. Brundle followed. Prosper then pressed the button for the twentieth floor, wiping his finger on his trousers after.
The lift started to move, the distant sound of screeching and whining overhead making Prosper lick his lips and stare anxiously at the control panel as it illuminated each number in turn, missing some if the backlit number’s bulb wasn’t working.
When the doors opened on the twentieth floor, he had to restrain himself from jumping out. He motioned with his hand that Brundle should exit first and then he followed her onto the outside walkway. This high, the wind whipped his jacket and he zipped it up and then stared over the balcony, saw Williams down below, still leaning against the vehicle, his arms folded.
Prosper stared across at the surrounding tower blocks. He considered Klement’s experiment into nature or nurture; knew that many of the people who lived here were brought up to accept alcoholism, drugs, poverty and violence as a way of life, so sure the nurture effect influenced them. He didn’t need to conduct a sick experiment that probably cost
millions of pounds to come to that conclusion.
He took a breath, then walked along the walkway. Many of the doors were metal, probably reinforced, and quite a few of them had metal shutters. Others were boarded up. When he reached the door he was looking for, he rang the bell, heard a shout inside, then the door opened and he looked down at the stooped old woman in the floral dress standing before him, her grey hair tied up in a bun.
“Yes?”
“Henrietta Clarke?” Prosper asked.
The woman nodded.
“My name’s Prosper Snow, I work for …” He ran his tongue around inside his mouth and looked at Brundle.
“An official government department,” Brundle said, taking out her identification and holding it out for inspection.
Henrietta stepped back. “So what do you want?”
“We’re here to ask you about your son, Peter.”
Henrietta clucked her tongue. “What’s he done now?”
“Who is it?” a man shouted from inside the building.
“Some people asking about Peter,” Henrietta shouted back.
“Tell ‘em to fuck off.”
Henrietta nodded. “You heard him.”
“All I want to know,” Prosper said, “is whether you’ve seen him lately?”
Henrietta shook her head. “Not for months.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Not a clue.”
“And aren’t you concerned that you haven’t seen him for so long?”
Henrietta shrugged. “He’s not tied to my apron strings. He’s a big lad.”
“What if something’s happened to him?”
“Then I’d have heard, wouldn’t I?”
Prosper found her indifference sad. “Well do you know anywhere he might be? Does he have any friends he stays with? Any places he visits?”
Prosper Snow Series Page 39