Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones

by Mark Speed

  It digested more of its meal and inflated the four budding tentacles to half of their full size. That was enough for now; it would grow them fully later when it had eaten again. Although they didn’t have the full adult reach, they were strong, and capable of delivering venom.

  After half an hour it ventured on up the pipe, encountering none of the little furry creatures it had occasionally snacked on. That didn’t matter, because there was the promise of something more in the water – a different set of smells altogether. After another half hour of steady movement it came to the end of the pipe, where it became a square chamber about three feet wide. From the opposite side there was a steady vibration in the air and a spray of droplets that reminded it again of the Plenscas’ shower, and the current was swifter under its foot.

  Light from above made it cautious, so it waited for an hour to get a measure of what a normal range of variation was. The light changed only slowly, and that placated the alarm circuits in its nervous system. It shuffled further forward and felt water flowing down the other side of the chamber. A small amount was trickling in from directly above. It felt the extent of the chamber with its four longest tentacles and concluded that the only way was up, towards wherever the water was entering the system.

  It reached up and found a metal grille, with two-inch gaps between the bars. Dead vegetation against the bars was what was causing water to drip directly from overhead at one point. It felt along the bars and established that the bars may only have been two inches apart, but the other dimension of the gap was eighteen inches – a bit of flattening was all that would be required.

  It shuffled its foot along to the wall and climbed up the three feet to the grille and then cautiously put one of its tentacles further out in the direction of the water flowing in. It found something that it instinctively knew to be live plant matter, and which was of no interest. Beyond that it found still, deep water. This was its ideal environment, and the urge to move into a proper home overpowered the instinct for safety, so it squeezed its four longest tentacles between two of the bars, leaving the shorter ones behind to defend itself. Then it pulled its flattened body through sideways-on, with the foot being the most difficult. There was a moment of urgency as part of its body bore the brunt of a drying breeze and some warm sunlight as the thickest section of foot muscle proved difficult to compress. It focused four tentacles on the two bars and bent them enough for the rest of the foot to slip through. There were some high frequency vibrations in the air as it flolopped into the water, and headed swiftly away from the shore for the safety of the deep. This was polyp heaven on Earth.

  The other polyp – part of the one which had eaten the urban adventurers – wasn’t having as much luck as its twin. Nevertheless, it was still managing to eke out a living in the sewers. It would grab rats when it came across them. When it felt threatened by unexpected human noise and lights, which it did on a couple of occasions, it would shrink and hibernate next to blobs of fat. It could smell more human prey heavily in the air on those occasions, and feel them passing close. But its instinct for self-preservation told it that any move would carry a high risk in these circumstances.

  When the danger passed, instinct told it to keep moving. On a deep and primitive level, its nervous system knew an opportunity would come its way soon.

  Commander Bunce had seen a few stomach-churning things in her time, but this double-killing was unique in her thirty-two years of experience. Linked as it was to the unsolved killing – complete disappearance of the body, she reminded herself – of the Polish sewer-worker in Clapham the previous day, the profile dictated that she take a close interest in the investigation. There hadn’t been public unease like this since the terrorist bombings a decade ago, and the pressure was on the Met – specifically, they were looking to her department for the answers. For answers and an arrest, in the original sense of the word: an arrêter; a stop. She’d insisted on the entire assigned murder squad attending a nine o’clock briefing on Monday morning. She’d have called it for eight, but she didn’t want to wear out her personnel.

  The room was packed. Those who were standing were not slouching, despite having worked the weekend. There had been none of the usual black humour before the start of the Superintendent’s presentation. No one had mimicked a stabbing motion or a pistol into the light of the projector.

  “We can’t explain this one,” said the Superintendent, nodding at the screen.

  An image of a man – or something like a man made entirely from wet…wet something flashed up on the screen. He looked old, and appeared to be made from something slimy and grey that cast a shadow and reflected the light in a peculiar way. His features were ill-defined, as if he was out of focus – but the peculiar thing was that everything else around him was in focus. He looked like a poorly formed facsimile of a man. And he looked as if he was full of joy as he rose from the filthy water.

  She could tell from the Superintendent’s demeanour that he felt awkward at not having an explanation for her. She knew he’d probably cajoled and shouted at the experts in his team for an explanation, and that they’d probably spent most of the weekend either re-inspecting the scene of the photograph or harassing photographic experts for their opinion of the image.

  “The seals on nearby manhole covers were intact,” continued the Superintendent, clearly thankful that someone on the team had been conscientious enough to put some on the scene in the first place. “No evidence at all of this… person having gained entry. We carried out a fingertip search of the area in a fifty-metre radius, which I understand was quite difficult in the prevailing conditions.”

  “Good work, everyone, for having done the search,” said Commander Bunce. “Can’t have been easy or pleasant.” There was a slight shift of mood in the room; she had given praise and appreciation. The Super’s face twitched, but he knew he couldn’t relax. “Any ideas, Superintendent? A prank? A hack into the system with a clever bit of Photoshopping?”

  The Super coughed. “Possible, Ma’am. Except that we can’t find any possible way that the camera could have been triggered. It responds to movement only. There’s no other way it can be activated.”

  “Could it have been pre-loaded with the image?”

  “How would someone have obtained an image from that exact angle of that piece of obscure sewer, Ma’am? Then they’d have to have triggered the camera and that would have resulted in a second image.”

  “Could they have taken the image prior to the killing?”

  “Again, who knew we would put a motion-sensitive camera in that exact place? And I understand that our investigation led to quite a bit of cleaning of the area. So any old images would look quite different.”

  “Hmm.” She knew these questions would have been asked a dozen or more times already, but she had to be seen to be asking them. “I’m sure your team have been most thorough.” An awkward silence hung in the room. “I understand there are some images on the camera retrieved from the Brixton Market killing?”

  “Ma’am. Again, we’ve burned the midnight oil on these and –”

  “Please, Superintendent, the photographs.”

  “Ma’am.” The Super took a deep breath before continuing and the room went still. He flipped through the first few photographs Roddy had taken on the trip – pictures of brickwork that one of the team had assured him were of architectural merit, as well as pictures of a smiling Steve, and odd objects that had found their way into the system. Then came a couple of pictures of the rats and the child’s doll.

  “The timer on the camera wasn’t set accurately, but we’ve been able to adjust for that because the item was still intact and working when it was retrieved. Seventeen seconds after this photograph was taken Stephen Cox got a signal on his mobile – we suspect that he ascended the ladder for the first time – and sent the following text to his wife: ‘Brixton. Found sewer monster! CU 1 hour’. We can only surmise that this was a joke based on the photograph shown on the screen here.”

/>   The Superintendent nodded to an assistant, who fiddled with the computer to bring up the start of a video file. “The victims then shot two videos.”

  There was silence as the first video of Steve reporting on the monster rats played.

  “The second video is of great interest, Ma’am. This was the last thing they recorded – either still or moving.”

  The second video file was brought up on screen and played.

  “As you saw, the victims remark that the rats have gone from the scene. It might be that they sensed a danger that the two victims didn’t – it’s possible that they’re more attuned to their environment, and these two men were preoccupied. It is worth noting that the rats were not at all disturbed by the men or the flash photography that took place.”

  “Point taken, Superintendent. Please continue.”

  “Stephen Cox ascended the ladder for a second and final time to call his wife just thirty-nine seconds after this footage was shot. We do not have a recording of the call, since she answered it herself. She is currently under sedation at a specialist trauma unit in the Royal Maudsley. The psychiatric hospital. Apparently she heard a noise like eating, Ma’am. Like something very large chewing with its mouth open. That was – thankfully, if I may say that – after the victim was deceased. We believe the other victim, Roddy Pandle, pre-deceased Mr Cox by a matter of a few seconds.”

  “I see. I understand the still camera continued to take photographs periodically after the deaths?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Five photographs.” The Super nodded to his assistant again. “The first four photographs are of little interest. As you can see, they are taken from the bottom of the sewer, looking north towards Kennington, and show the walls and ceiling of the sewer. The fifth one is a little difficult to explain. Or perhaps it is hard to accept, Ma’am. It’s taken from the same angle.”

  The atmosphere in the room was tense. Those who had spent the weekend down the sewers in Clapham, or who had been checking the backgrounds of the other sewage workers, hadn’t seen this – but rumours and speculation were rife. The half of the room who had seen it had been told to say nothing, lest they prejudice opinions.

  Commander Bunce was conscious that most of the people in the room were keeping at least one eye on her for her reaction. “Go on,” she said.

  The image was the same as the previous four, except for a series of shadows against the ceiling. There was complete silence as one half of the room waited for the eyes and brains of the other half to make sense of the image. After a few seconds the whispering began.

  The Superintendent cleared his throat and the whispering ceased. He looked to his superior officer for a comment.

  “I assume,” said Commander Bunce, “that everyone who has seen this image sees what appears to be the shadow of a spider. Or, rather, the partial outline of the shadow of a spider?”

  There was a murmur of agreement. Her description of a partial outline of the shadow of a spider was an accurate one. Trinity had had her camouflage on full active mode, so on her legs, head and body there was an image of the brickwork behind her – at least a very convincing one. The camera’s flash had produced a heavy shadow, but that was mostly obscured by her camouflage. The slightly offset nature of the flash from the lens of the camera gave the giant spider-image the cartoonish look of computer-generated graphics. Some of the light from the flash had bounced off the surface of the water, giving a faint and blurry secondary shadow.

  “Yes, Ma’am. The spider would appear to have an image of the brickwork on its body as camouflage. The alternative is that the image is being projected onto the brickwork by a source next to the camera.”

  “In other words, the best thinking is that this is either a giant spider which is able to camouflage itself, or it’s a laser display projection – or something like that?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. This photograph was taken seconds before the special reaction force got to the scene. No laser display equipment was found at the scene, and enquiries confirm that it would be quite bulky. Also, the camera is focused on this… spider. If it were a laser display, the focus would be on the brickwork, but you can see the brickwork behind is slightly out of focus.”

  “But you’re going to tell me that there are no giant spiders known to man that are capable of camouflaging themselves.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. And, so far as the extent of the expertise we were able to question this weekend, there are some species of fish and molluscs that are able to camouflage themselves in this manner. Insect and arachnid camouflage is permanent, and is based on evolution and environment.” It was clear to the rest of the room that the Superintendent had studied and rehearsed this statement several times. “And no land-based vertebrate is able to do it.”

  “Not even chameleons, Superintendent?” She had to at least let her subordinates know that she knew what a vertebrate was.

  “No, Ma’am. It’s a myth, apparently. They change colour –”

  “Only to display their mood.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Very good, if I may say.”

  “Thank you, Superintendent.” She flashed a grim smile. “Do we have any idea what was pressing the button on the camera? Was one of the victims still alive, perhaps?”

  “No, Ma’am. It’s not just that they were dead, but toxicology reports indicate that both men were injected with a poison – a venom – which caused rapid paralysis.”

  “Something like curare?”

  “Very similar chemical structure, Ma’am. Certainly as deadly.”

  “And spiders do use venom. But they tend to inject their victims, wait for their insides to liquefy and then drain them. They don’t stick a… proboscis of some sort down their victim’s throats and tear out chunks. Nor do they tear chunks of flesh from the outside. Am I right?”

  “Bang on the money, Ma’am. I have to say I’m impressed.”

  “I brought up two children with an interest in natural history, Superintendent.” She paused for thought. “So who – or what – was pressing the button? It can’t have been the creature, because it’s several feet away, and on the ceiling. That’s if the creature isn’t some kind of trick of the light, or of photography.”

  “Photographic analysis appears to indicate that this wasn’t a trick, Ma’am. There really was a large spider in the vicinity. We believe there are two explanations.”

  “And those are?”

  “The body of Roddy Pandle was rubbing against the camera, and was causing a large volume of water to build up behind him, which then reached a critical point, which then forced a movement causing his body to depress the trigger and take the photo. As the body moved, the water behind was released and the body slumped back. With the body back in place, the water built up again, and so on.”

  “Good. And the other explanation?”

  “There was more than one… thing down there. Apart from the giant spider. And that it wasn’t the giant spider which ate the victims, but something bigger.”

  Commander Bunce let silence hang in the air for a few seconds. “Could it be that whatever it is that is killing people is able to produce misleading images as a means of throwing us off the scent? Frankly, these images are even more bizarre and unlikely than the killings themselves. One thinks immediately of social media. Is this some kind of horrific and highly elaborate terror campaign? Because if it is, it’s a highly effective one. We’ve already got every crackpot on the internet producing wilder and crazier theories. Every log floating down the Thames is now a crocodile. The last thing we need is an emergency call every time a householder finds a spider in their bath.”

  She’d broken the tension, and there was a quiet relief ripple of laughter. There had to be a more rational explanation, and under her command they’d apprehend the perpetrator, or perpetrators.

  There was a knock at the door – quiet but insistent – and light from the corridor flooded into the room, bleaching out the image on the projector.

  A nervous junior detective constable
stood in the doorway, and didn’t wait for permission to speak. “Sorry to disturb you, Commander Bunce. There’s been another killing. Sorry, Ma’am – I mean another double killing.”

  “Where, Constable?” said Bunce, springing to her feet.

  “The MI6 building, Ma’am.”

  All eyes were on her again. Despite its prominent position by the Thames at Vauxhall, there was no more secure government building than MI6. This was no longer murder – it was de facto war. She and her team had failed spectacularly in their duty. She could envisage the public enquiry six months or a year from now. She racked her brains for answers as to what they could have done differently, but there was nothing. Surely everyone could see that?

  Her phone buzzed. She took it out and looked at the ID. It was the Commissioner himself. Her heart sank to a new low as she answered.

  “Hello, Sir. Commander Bunce here.” She imagined every person in the room was thinking the same thing: thank God I’m not in your shoes, Commander Bunce.

  You enjoy my full support, are the five most terrifying words in the English language when spoken by your boss. When the inevitable enquiry came, the Commissioner could put his hand on his heart and say he’d given his subordinate all the support and confidence she needed in order to draw the investigation to a swift conclusion.

  The meeting had not been a long one – around one minute, she’d estimated – because there was an unmarked police interceptor waiting to take her to the MI6 building. She’d not had time to buckle her seatbelt before the car had sped off through the traffic, siren wailing. It was technically illegal because there was no emergency – the most recent victim having died at the scene. As the driver screeched to a halt outside the MI6 building, the thought of a whiplash compensation suit flashed through her head – her only way to pick up easy cash if she was deprived of her pension at the public inquiry.