She smiled. She’d had the last laugh with her father and she was having it again with Torchwood. Jack and Gwen were on the run and the others were dead and here was she, once again back from the dead. She checked her watch. The Commander would be back at any moment and she needed some fresh air. Time to have a little dig around for any new files on herself – she’d destroyed all the early ones but there was bound to be a new one with basic information after her last visit – and then to fetch lunch like a good little girl.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Both hairs come from the same person,’ Cutler said, trying to keep his focus on Commander Jackson rather than his gorgeous new assistant. And she was gorgeous, there was no denying that. She had eyes you could drown in and they were focused on him. Was it his imagination or did she feel the same sudden rush of chemistry that he did?
‘So, you’ve found the killer?’
‘Not exactly.’ Cutler shook his head, turning his attention back to her boss. ‘You may have to do that. When our forensics people ran the DNA through the system all they got back was that the result was classified. Even the commissioner couldn’t get a result when he tried this morning. Whoever this is, it looks more like one of yours than a civilian.’
‘Well, that would fit in with the missing suit,’ the woman cut in. She was well spoken with no hint of an obvious accent. She smiled and Cutler was sure there was a slight tease in it. ‘To be honest, did you expect anything different? I’m sure ever since the Department declared an interest, you’ve been pretty sure that any evidence would lead you here.’ She held out a slim hand. ‘I’m Sue Costa, by the way. The Commander’s new liaison. I look somewhat less obvious than a soldier, we hope.’
‘Tom Cutler. And yes, you do.’ Somewhere in the background noise, Cutler was aware that the Commander was apologising for not introducing them and saying something about not being used to having an assistant that wasn’t an invisible corporal or squaddie, but he wasn’t listening. Sue Costa’s hand was smooth and her skin cool, and it looked like if he licked it, she would taste of honey made from some exotic pollen. His heart thumped as they looked at each other. There was something about her – something that drew him in, just like the site drew him in. Something scratched momentarily against the inside of his skull, something dark and troubling. She squeezed his palm as if she felt it too.
He pulled his hand back and swallowed. He needed to get this under control. He was behaving like a teenage virgin, and it was a long time since he’d been either of those things.
‘I appreciate that you want to keep all this in house, Commander,’ Cutler said, ‘and if it was just soldiers that were dying then I’d let you. But as there are ordinary people involved, could you please keep me in the loop. It’s my neck on the line if there’s no result. When you know who the hair belongs to, I would very much like to sit in on the questioning.’
‘I’ll have to check that with my superiors at the Department.’ Jackson’s face was giving him a definite no to the request, but Cutler hadn’t lost anything by asking. It had told him that there were things they were doing at this site that they didn’t want the general public – the police even – to know about.
‘I will definitely give you a name, however,’ the Commander acquiesced. ‘And after that we can decide how best to proceed with progressing the case.’
Cutler almost laughed. Progressing the case. Covering up, is what the old man meant. No doubt the killer would be reported as having been shot during arrest and then the Army and the Department could do whatever they wanted with him. It didn’t come as any surprise. Cover-ups were everywhere.
A barrage of sudden images assaulted him. Night. A paedophile. He was sure. So sure. Wrecked lives. Something. Something other. Lies. And then all over again. Sad smile. Greatcoat. This is the twenty-first century when everything changes. Singing. Murder. Something other. Alien. They were too quick for him to grasp. But the tangled memories scratched at his head again and he felt a sharp jolt of self-loathing and despair. What was that? That wasn’t like him. He liked himself. He was a good copper. What was it he couldn’t remember?
‘Detective Inspector?’ Commander Jackson stepped forward, worried. ‘Are you all right? You looked as if you were about to pass out.’
The moment had gone, and the images with it, and aside from a trembling in his legs and coldness in his hands, he felt fine. He wanted a cigarette, but his head was clear. Whatever he thought he’d seen was gone.
‘Yes, sorry. Long day.’ He smiled awkwardly, aware that Sue Costa was studying him thoughtfully. ‘I should have grabbed some lunch. I’ll get something on the way back to the station.’
‘Make sure you do,’ Commander Jackson said.
‘What are you doing this evening, Detective Inspector?’ Sue Costa smiled at him, and for a moment he wasn’t sure what to say. Was she asking him out on a date? Surely not…?
‘The Mayor is having something of a bash,’ she continued. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come.’
Cutler’s skin flushed. Of course. Work. How stupid was he? ‘Email me the details, and I’ll play it by ear. I’ll have to see if we get any more bodies in. I doubt whoever’s doing this has finished.’ He kept his tone light. ‘They might just have got better at hiding the bodies for a while.’
‘The party would be a good place for us to talk without looking obvious,’ Jackson said. ‘It’s better than you coming here every day. And I don’t trust phones. Paranoid probably, but stay in this job long enough and a little paranoia will creep into your bones. The last thing we want is an eagle- eyed reporter spotting you calling in and then putting two and two together.’
‘I’ll do my best to make it,’ Cutler said.
‘I look forward to seeing you there.’ Sue Costa’s dark eyes were smiling and there was a promise in them, even if she wasn’t aware of it herself. He was good with body language, it was part of the job, and he’d bet money that she was feeling the same pull towards him that he had towards her. How, he didn’t understand, she was well out of his league, but he had no intention of pointing that out to her.
He was at the door when he turned, a thought striking him. ‘You haven’t had anyone in your team commit suicide over the past couple of days, have you?’
‘No,’ Jackson frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Ah, nothing. Just another heap of weird I’m looking into. Was hoping I could lay that one at your door too.’ He grinned at the Commander and headed outside. His cigarette was lit before he’d got to the barrier, and God, it tasted good.
Chapter Nineteen
Commander Jackson’s eyes were blurring from concentrated staring at the computer for so long. It didn’t make any sense. He’d been quite surprised at the level of security around whoever the hair on the dead bodies belonged to. He’d expected any trace evidence the police might find to lead back to them – this had all started with the death of poor John Blackman, after all – but for even the Commissioner not to be able to access at least basic information was strange to say the least. The head of the police should have found a name, if nothing else.
Despite the tendency for the Department to be seen as something of a shadowy organisation, in reality it suffered the same bureaucracy issues as all companies. People needed personnel files and National Insurance numbers and bloody pensions and, on top of that, most people – even amongst those on site – were simply drones, for want of a better word. Even his own file had basic information accessible to some of the outside world. His name and rank, if nothing else.
He clicked the command button again, and got the same response he had on every attempt: ‘File Deleted.’ He frowned. Files were never deleted – in the movies maybe, but not in the real world. There were always copies somewhere in the sub-directories, because there always had to be an audit trail in order to know whose arse to kick when something went wrong. Thus far, he wasn’t finding anything, though. Not even basic information.
‘Is anything wrong?’ Sue put a mug of
fresh coffee on his desk.
Elwood Jackson managed a small smile. As surprised as he’d been by the liaison’s arrival, he was finding that he enjoyed having a woman – one that didn’t come in a uniform – around the place. She made a good cup of coffee as well as having somewhat amazing legs. The thought was sexist but he didn’t beat himself up over it. He’d watched women die as bravely as men in battle and had a healthy respect for the workings of the female mind – he didn’t see that there was anything wrong in admiring their form too. As far as he could tell, that was pretty healthy male behaviour.
‘Nothing you can help with, I’m afraid. I’m still trying to get some kind of ID on Cutler’s hair sample. So far it’s proving tricky. You may as well head home for the afternoon. I’ll need you in fine form tonight, because God knows, I’ll be operating on minimum reserves.’ He winked at her. ‘I’m too old for late nights, and I’ve been a soldier too long for much polite conversation. You’re going to have to take charge.’
‘I can manage that.’ She went behind her desk and turned her computer off. ‘Are you sure you don’t need me?’
‘Absolutely.’
He waited until she’d left, and then picked up the phone. He needed to talk to the Department. There was something about this file that just wasn’t right. He needed to know who had been deleting the records and when. He also wanted the back-up paper file – he didn’t care if it took all night for someone to find it. DI Cutler wasn’t the only one who wanted this person caught.
There was the inevitable round of questions that he didn’t have the answers for – and he bit back from snarling that if he had all the answers he wouldn’t need this information – and once he’d satisfied his alleged superiors that he wasn’t just being remarkably stupid and his requests had been logged, he put the phone down and enjoyed a moment of blissful silence. He noted, with regret, that the coffee Sue Costa had brought him now had a cool film on its surface. He sipped it anyway, needing the caffeine fix to soothe his throbbing head and keep him awake. The phone rang moments later and he let it peal out twice before answering. So much for the quiet. His headache faded instantly. There had been another murder some time the previous night, not far from the site in the busy bar area of the Bay. The poor man, eyes exploded, had been found in an alleyway.
He put the phone down and contemplated turning on the news to see just how much of a field day they were having with it. So far, although it had been impossible to keep the details of the missing eyes from the public, they’d covered it by saying that the eyeballs had been gouged out. There was no reason for anyone to suspect anything different – especially as the truth of the near-liquidised brains pressuring the eyes to explode wasn’t exactly something that would spring to mind. They were also lucky that none of those who had found the bodies had lingered to examine them closely enough to see that gouging wasn’t exactly what had happened. Most had simply screamed and run to find help. He didn’t blame them for that either.
He took another swallow of the lukewarm coffee and left the small television off. His phone wasn’t ringing so the police must have things under control, and he hoped that they’d go through Sue first, before coming to him. She seemed capable, and she and Cutler had definitely liked each other – he wasn’t too old to notice that kind of chemistry working – and that wouldn’t be a bad thing. He couldn’t blame the DI for any irritation at the Department’s intervention into his case. Cutler also looked bright enough to know that if the investigation failed to reach a successful conclusion, it would be Cutler who would get the bollocking. Still, that wasn’t either of their problems for now, and at least Cutler was saved the knowledge that kept Elwood Jackson awake at night – that whoever, or whatever, was doing this to the good people of Cardiff might be using some kind of alien technology to do it. Nothing about that sat well with him. If he’d been in charge of this operation, he’d have had the whole place filled in. The human race had enough dangerous technology of their own, without playing around with things they couldn’t possibly understand.
Chapter Twenty
‘I think I like him, you see?’ Suzie said softly as she stretched out on the bed. Her skin shivered against the chill of the sheets. The blood hadn’t quite dried yet and they were still sticky and damp. ‘I’ll have to kill him, of course, but I do like him.’
She ran one finger down the cold, dead cheek. ‘Is it still awful in there? Being nothing?’ she whispered. The dead man no longer looked so much like Captain Jack Harkness. His face was grey and slightly waxy and his skin hung slackly around his jowls. Devoid of animation and quite a lot of his blood, it was like lying next to a stranger. They may only have known each other a few hours, but Suzie thought that she’d got to know him pretty well in that time. They’d drunk together, laughed together, had sex together, and then she’d tied him up and slowly killed him. You couldn’t get much more intimate than that.
She prodded the flabby flesh of his cheek. Was this how she’d looked for all that time? The natural coffee colour of her skin faded to sickly blue as death and then the freezer took hold of her? She should have looked at the pictures before she’d deleted the file she’d eventually found that day, but she simply hadn’t had the time. Not that it mattered. That Suzie Costello – the one who thought that everyone else was better than her – was long gone. This Suzie Costello had no intention of dying again any time soon. She wasn’t sure that the thing inside would let her. She stared at the man whose name she had forgotten – if she’d even asked him for it – and although his mouth hung open, no answer came out. She had a moment of nostalgia for her old games with the Resurrection glove. This one really hadn’t wanted to die – it had taken hours before he’d accepted it was inevitable. She’d quite like to bring him back just so she could put him through it again. If only briefly.
Bored of the silent company, she left the bed behind and swayed slightly to the music playing in the background, the CD now a few years out of date but still soulful. The bedroom curtains were open and, as night fell outside, her reflection moved with her on the sliding glass doors, the edges undefined and the blood that now streaked on her legs and arms intercut with streams of watery light from headlights and street lamps and boats out on the sea, all reaching upwards.
She looked like a ghost in the glass and that made her smile. Absorbed in her own image, she moved forward until she was pressed up against the cool surface. At some point after she’d come home, she’d stripped to her underwear and started putting on make-up, smearing red lipstick on and around her mouth until between that and the black rings of kohl she’d rubbed under her eyes, she looked like a strange demented clown. She stretched her face this way and that and tilted her head, studying the stranger that looked back.
She was a mad woman, that’s what anyone would think were they to see her. Maybe they were right. After all, she had no recollection of painting her face so wildly, and the past few hours had been something of a haze, but she wasn’t afraid. What was madness anyway, if not simply a matter of perception? She could shake the relaxing trance off when she needed to – to feed the vast existence within her, or to satisfy her own needs – and she wouldn’t question it. She wasn’t entirely human any more, that much she’d come to realise. Not only was she become Death, as the corpse on the bed could surely testify, but she was also a living gateway – a portal – to something else. A place more terrifying than the nothing she had inhabited. A place that had an insatiable curiosity about pain and was inhabited by demons and delights that no human could ever imagine. Sometimes she was sure she heard the echoes of screams of those she had sent there. They made her feel more powerful.
In the distance, the sea was a blanket of night. Perhaps that’s what she was – a ferryman. A deliverer of the living to Hell.
Hell.
She shivered slightly as the haze fell away and something inside her resonated with the word. The dimension recognised her thought. It had heard that word before and it recognised it as its na
me. The concept raged in the consciousnesses she had delivered to it, and the more she sent, the more clearly sentient it became. The dimension liked the name and all the word represented.
Her eyes blackened slightly, and she turned away from the glass. A small wave of panic trembled in her stomach but she drew herself up tall and shook the fear away as she strode towards the shower. She had become Death and now she held the gateway to an eternity of suffering within her. She would be the one to decide who got one fate and who another. How ironic that her relationship with death had started by trying to bring people back from it. Now that dream was gone. This power was so much more than that.
Under the glare of the bright lights in the bathroom, she wiped away the childishly applied lipstick and eyeliner and refocused on the night to come. Her hands paused in their work as she thought about the Detective Inspector. There was something about him… something that attracted her. It wasn’t that he was overly handsome – he had that rugged thing going on but he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt – but she was drawn to him. She heated up when she looked at him, and it was only that afternoon when she’d been flirting with him that she’d realised just how cold she’d been since this new life began.
She turned the shower on and peeled off her underwear. She’d have to kill him, of course. She knew that. He was too dangerous. The Department might have taken over the case, but Cutler was a relentless man. He wouldn’t stop until he knew who was killing these people, and she couldn’t afford to have him chasing after her once she left Cardiff. She couldn’t stay here for ever, that had never been her plan, and soon even the Commander – stupid old-school gentleman that he was – would find links back to his new assistant.
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