by Adam Carter
Closing the door behind her, Lin entered the other bedroom. As with the first, there were clothes neatly folded, women’s this time. There were books lined up on a shelf, several small models of dragons sitting on the bedside table. Beside these were a glass of water and some aspirins, while upon the pillow rested a sallow-faced brown bear with white ears and a patched belly.
But there was something else in this bedroom which Chamberlain’s had lacked. Within the bed, so peaceful as though she was just sleeping, there lay the body of a woman. She was young – eighteen, maybe nineteen – with cropped fashionable red hair. Her pallor was pale, and she had clearly been dead for some hours, but even in death there was a cuteness to the poor girl Lin could not deny. To see such a pretty young girl dead just to accomplish their needs made Lin ashamed of what she did for a living.
Necessary, she repeated to herself. Her work was necessary, and there was no use thinking anything else of it.
Lin sat upon the end of the bed, taking up the sad-looking bear in one hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “God, this is so unfair,” she whispered. She glanced across to the body of the young woman and reached to tidy a strand of hair which had fallen loosely over her closed eyes. No one had ever said life was meant to be fair.
Knowing she had discovered what she had come for and that she could do no more, Lin rose and slowly replaced the bear upon the pillow. There was a good chance no one ever came to the house, so the body would not be discovered for perhaps weeks. Lin would put a call in when she got back to the hotel. She would phone the police and tell them to check on the house, that she was worried because of the storm. She would have to make something up of course, some reason for her concern, but she could think of that when she got back to the hotel. She just needed to get out of this room of death. Sanders would not like her interfering by making the call, but then Sanders would not like the fact she had come to the house at all, so she had already done enough to annoy the DCI.
She turned for one final look at the body, to make sure she hadn’t disturbed it, and shrieked a shriek worthy of Davina several years earlier.
The body was sitting up and staring about giddily.
Lin’s heart repeatedly slammed into her ribcage, but the girl did not move. She simply sat there, her eyes open but strangely vacant. Her pallor was still ashen, she was still almost certainly dead, but the fact she had silently bolted upright suggested otherwise. Staring at the girl, Lin fought through several possibilities. Maybe it was a build-up of gases, but why would she suddenly jerk when Lin arrived?
After several minutes had passed Lin realised she could not simply stand there forever, and forcing her pounding heart to quiet some, she stepped gingerly around the bed to sit beside the upright body. Tentatively she placed a hand upon the girl’s shoulder. She was icy to the touch, but Lin ignored that as best she could. “Agnes?” she whispered. “Agnes, can you hear me?”
There was no reaction. Lin took the girl’s wrist and felt for a pulse, but she had never been very good at that so didn’t panic overly when she couldn’t find one. Instead she moved her hand very slowly to the girl’s chest and felt for the direct heartbeat. A faint thump-thump reverberated through her fingers. A wave of relief washed over the detective. The girl was indeed alive.
Lin proceeded to rub the girl’s arms in a bid to keep her warm and to restore circulation. She wrapped her in the duvet and talked to her the whole time, trying to coax her back to some semblance of wakefulness. This went on for half an hour, but Lin was having no luck at all. She decided she would take the girl into the living room, relight the log fire, wrap her up warmly and go for help. She was just moving across to the door when the girl said, “Excuse me, who are you?”
Lin turned back to her, smiling. “God, I thought you were never going to wake up. How do you feel?”
The red-haired girl frowned at the strange question, drew the duvet closer to her. She was wearing a thin nightdress, and clearly felt self-conscious at having the detective in the room with her. “Does Walter know you’re here?” she asked. “Who are you anyway?”
“My name’s Sue. How are you?”
“You asked me that already.” Her accent was proud, and in her voice Lin could detect more than a little anger. “What are you doin’ in ma room anyway?”
“I was worried.”
“Worried? About what? What de you want?”
Lin was astounded how the young woman could go straight from comatose to an object of aggression. “I thought you were dead. I’ve been trying to wake you for ages.”
“Dead?” she laughed. “Don’t be daft.”
“You are Agnes, right?”
“Yes. Why would I be dead?”
“Because you look dead.” Lin realised Agnes’s anger was mainly confusion of the situation. She looked about for a mirror and found one on the bedside table. Handing it across to the girl, Lin said, “I’ve never seen someone so pale.”
“I’m a redhead, we’re all pale.” But as Agnes glanced in the mirror Lin could see a marked change in the girl’s demeanour. Agnes’s eyes widened in shock, and she moved the mirror about to check her face from all angles. Looking down, she held up both her arms, which were also as white as the duvet, and she shivered.
“You’re freezing,” Lin said. “I’ll put some logs on, make you some cocoa or something.”
“You don’t need too many logs,” Agnes snapped. “I keep telling his Lordship that. Where is he anyway?”
Lin thought that a question best left until later. “Seriously, let me get you warmed up, and then we can talk.” She helped Agnes to her feet, even though the young woman clearly didn’t want any help. It was as she was shaking off Lin’s assistance that the detective noticed something on the girl’s nightdress. There were flecks of blood. Nothing major, but as though she had been nicked during the night.
Agnes saw her looking at them and instinctively drew her duvet tighter about her. “It’s nothing,” she said defensively. “Now let me get dressed.”
“I just want to ...”
“I said it’s nothing.”
There was a fire to the girl’s eyes that Lin knew better than to stoke, and she backed off. Slipping the mirror into her hand, Lin headed to the door, tilting the mirror so she had a view of Agnes as she dropped the duvet. Agnes’s arm bore a slight scar, and there was a redness to it as though it had recently suffered a bruise.
Closing the door behind her, Lin headed back to the fire. None of this made any sense, and yet here it was, happening. Whatever the truth, at least it meant one thing. Baronaire had not killed the girl, and her family would not have to mourn her. But it only raised one further question which was now bugging Lin more than any other.
If Baronaire hadn’t killed her, just what the hell had he done to her?
CHAPTER FOUR
The river had a name, of course it had a name. People gave everything names. What its name was, however, Foster had no idea. As she leaned over the rusted rail keeping her from falling in, all she knew was that there was a nice breeze blowing into her face. She was beginning to feel a bit better, and when she had woken up had gone in search of Detective Lin. Knocking on her door elicited no response, and Foster had a vague memory of Lin coming to her that morning and saying something. She had no idea what it had been, but supposed she would find out when Lin turned up again. Until then Foster intended to take as many deep breaths as she could of the chill air.
“I think we should leave.”
Foster did not jump. She had worked with Baronaire long enough now to know he tended to sneak up on people. She had been aware he was around, so there was a part of her which just assumed he would appear eventually. It was even romantic the way she didn’t yelp every time he sneaked up on her.
“Lin wants to stay a while,” Foster said, gazing out across the river.
“Lin likes sticking her nose in too much.”
Foster glanced aside to him then. Baronaire was also looking out across th
e river, but she could tell he wasn’t actually seeing anything. He was worried, that much was certain, and suddenly Foster was concerned as well. “What’s up?”
He seemed to realise he was being transparent and shook his head, offering her a tight smile. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Charles,” she said, turning so she could lean on the rail with her elbows, “in all the time I’ve known you I wouldn’t say you were fine. You don’t like Lin?”
“She’s a good officer. I’m just not too sure we should be sticking around here.”
“Why? What’s she done?”
“She’s gone to the house.”
“What’s she want to do that for?” Foster may not have been much of a field agent, preferring to do all her subterfuge at her desk, but that didn’t mean she didn’t understand the rules. Their assignment had been to get rid of Chamberlain and Baronaire had done that last night. Returning to the scene of the crime only drew attention to what they were doing there. Lin may have been new to the job, but she should have known better.
“She has a bee in her bonnet about something,” Baronaire said. Foster noted he was gripping the rail very tightly. In fact it must have really been rusted, because she could have sworn she could see it bending under the strain of his grip.
“What do we know about her?” Foster asked.
“Who? Lin? Not much, why?”
“Well, we’ve been paired before, right? And you’ve been paired with Jeremiah, and with Thompson?”
“We’re the senior staff. We get paired up all the time, what’s your point?”
“That we didn’t get paired up this time. There are three of us. Three officers to take down one guy? And we’re not even still in London. Why would Sanders send three of his senior officers all the way to Scotland? Lack of crime in London maybe?”
Baronaire blinked. It was clearly something he had not thought of before. “You’re right,” he said softly, thinking.
“I’ve been watching her since she started, Charles,” Foster continued. “I think she’s been evaluating you. Observing you. No idea who for though. Maybe she was sent in by the Borough Commander or something.”
“She was working for Sanders,” Baronaire said absently, then realised what he had said. “Sanders wanted to make sure I was all right after that time I was tortured. Looking after his staff, just like the swell boss he is.”
Foster accepted the sarcastic comment. It was just like Sanders to send others to do his work, and spy on people when simply asking them direct questions would yield far better results. “Well, maybe she’s still doing it,” Foster said. “Maybe the two of us had the assignment with Chamberlain, and Lin came here with a different set of orders.”
Baronaire stared at her, through her, his mind working through everything. Then he simply turned and walked away at a brisk trot. Foster watched him go, raising her eyebrows. He could have at least said thank you. Charles Baronaire may have been a man of mystery, but there were certain things he lacked, and one of them was basic manners. Still, he was incredibly hot, so she would let him off.
Detective Foster turned her attention back to the river and sighed. It was just her luck Lin was here at all. If it had just been her and Charles, up here in romantic Scotland, what fun they could have had.
She may have been one of the most annoying people Baronaire had ever met ... actually, the most annoying person Baronaire had ever met ... but Sharon Foster certainly understood people. And she was right about everything she had said regarding Lin. Sanders had initially set her to spy on Baronaire, and Baronaire in turn had asked her to spy on Sanders, to find out what Sanders knew about Baronaire’s past, about what he was. Baronaire could do things ordinary humans could not, his senses were sharper, and he wasn’t even certain he only had the five. There were things he could do which people would never understand, survive injuries which would kill ordinary people. And he did other things as well; terrible, despicable things of which he was neither proud nor regretful. He was what he was, and he refused to feel shame for it.
In the pulp novels the heroes were always the epitome of the human frame and spirit. Doc Savage, Tarzan, Conan ... They were all the greatest in human endurance and ingenuity; but they were all human. Even the comic strip costumed characters like the Phantom and Mandrake were no less or more human because of it. The comic books introduced the superhero, the hero with special powers unknown to mortal man. Baronaire had only ever had a passing interest in comic books. They tended to show powers as a bad thing, a thing which the hero had to cope with, often coming between the hero and his girl or his family. Baronaire was in his thirties, he had no time to consider himself a superhero. But his powers had come from somewhere; he wasn’t just the classic pulp hero of physical and mental perfection. He was more than that. Or perhaps even less. Perhaps he was subhuman, he didn’t know.
But he knew Sanders did know. And there was a chance so too did Detective Lin.
But no. Sanders wouldn’t have entrusted such information with her. Sanders didn’t trust anyone, it was foolish to even think along those lines. No, whatever Lin was doing, she was doing so in ignorance of what he was, what he could do. Baronaire knew he could use that to his advantage, but he would not harm Detective Lin. She could investigate all she wanted, uncover whatever she felt she had to; but he would not kill her. It was a vow he made, for he knew it would be so easy to do so. There would be nothing she could do to stop him.
How he hated his powers. Yet at the same time revelled in them.
Something caught his eye then and he realised there was some commotion ahead. There were news cameras being set up and several people milling about. There were also police officers, and Baronaire realised he had best take a look at this. Sanders would not like any of his officers appearing on the news of course, but Baronaire had no problems at all with cameras. It was at least something he didn’t have to worry about.
He hung around the edges of the crowd for a while, picking up various conversations with his expert hearing. It seemed a body had been found washed up at the bottom of the cliffs. Damn. Chamberlain had been found already, and not only were Baronaire and the others not back in London yet, but Lin had gone up to the house. Officers would be heading there presently.
Baronaire intercepted a constable and flashed his badge. “Just visiting from London,” he told the constable by way of explanation. “Anything I can help with?”
“We have it under control, thanks,” the constable replied helpfully. “Just some idiot playing on the cliffs, we think.”
“Do you know who he was?”
“Lord Chamberlain, he liked to call himself.” There was clear derision in the constable’s tone. “Bit of a character, lived up in a house with a local girl. His maid or something. Anyway, maybe he was drunk and fell off the cliff, maybe she pushed him. Either way no one’s going to much care. That storm last night’s the best thing that ever hit this place if it got rid of him for us.”
It was a somewhat blunt assessment of Chamberlain, but Baronaire was grateful for it. “Is anyone headed to the house yet?”
“Aye. We sent someone up there to check on the girl. At least she’s someone we do care about.”
Which meant he was too late. Baronaire fixed the constable’s eyes with his own and the two men stared at one another for several moments. Then the constable shook his head, frowning as he walked away. Baronaire had no doubt he would have no memory of their encounter, only that he had briefly and concisely answered some stranger’s questions. He would not be able to describe the stranger either.
Baronaire headed with all haste back towards the house. It was daylight now, so his speed was somewhat curbed, but he knew he had to make it there before the Scottish police.
That was the other reason he didn’t read the comic books. In the comics there were always superheroes, the best of humanity. But every superhero needed his villain, who thrived on the night and dwelt in the worst of humanity. And often the villains used their p
owers to further their own aims. Some of them could even alter a person’s mind.
Baronaire had never been entirely clear as to where one line ended and another was crossed.
CHAPTER FIVE
There was nothing out of place the whole house over. While Agnes sat beside the fire to get warm, Lin made some tea, taking the time it took to boil to have a look around. Nothing was wrong with the house, no indication that anyone had broken in, that anything had been touched. Yet Baronaire had clearly been here. She could not understand his plan. His assignment had been to kill Chamberlain, and Lin had to assume he had accomplished this. When Chamberlain’s body was found the police would come to the house and would have found Agnes lying in bed, pale as cotton wool, unresponsive to their attempts to rouse her. Then presumably she would have bolted upright like she had done, and an ambulance would have been called. The story would make the local papers of course, but the part Agnes would play in that story was what unnerved Lin. Either Baronaire had some sick game in mind, or he really hadn’t thought the situation through.
And if the latter was true, was Lin’s earlier assessment of him perhaps in error? Was Sanders right to worry the man had become unhinged? And, more importantly, what had Baronaire done to the poor girl to make her so pale?
Lin returned to the living room to find Agnes was tightly clutching her duvet around her while she shivered in front of the raging fire. Lin positioned herself not so close to the heat, and handed the young woman her tea. Agnes took it gratefully, her trembling hands almost spilling the hot liquid, but she gripped it with both hands and forced herself to remain steady. Lin appraised her quickly and quietly. She had been angry when she had awoken, but now it seemed shock was setting in. Lin was no doctor, should probably have phoned for an ambulance, but she would have liked to have known what was going on first.