"No. That's a dead end," Aidan said, sipping the coffee and nearly spitting it out. He knew now why Stew had turned his offer down.
"Then I suppose it's back to the truck driver," Stew concluded.
"I'm sure you understand why I can't answer that question. I imagine that if the Fire Chief is here it's to work out how this bloke walked clean."
"Exactly. I don't get it. Has he said anything to you?"
"About the same as he told you, I guess. He banged his head and can't remember anything."
Seeing that he was getting nowhere, Aidan bade farewell to the captain and went back to his car. He left his card and asked him to let him know when they'd finished examining the rubble from the accident.
The fat security guard was still at his post, bad tempered as before. Aidan put his coffee cup in his hand, along with a weak apology, and marched to his car. He was surprised not to hear a new insult behind his back. Before he got in, he lifted the wipers up to take a paper off the windscreen. He read it and screwed it up.
"I wouldn't chuck that if I were you," someone said as Aidan turned around. "It's an official document."
"You've fined me?" Aidan asked, watching the policeman approach arrogantly.
"I advised him that you refused to move your vehicle," the fat hospital guard said, close now, with a smirk on his face.
"Next time, don't commit infractions and this won't happen," the policeman advised Aidan. "There's no special deal for policemen. The law's the law."
"Well done," the hospital guard said approvingly.
"I'm in no mood for this," Aidan told him, without showing any sign of irritation. He looked away and threw the parking notice over his shoulder onto the ground.
"Did you see that, detective?" the hospital guard asked, pointing animatedly at the paper ball. "Look, he's just thrown it on the ground. This is complete disrespect for the law. A little respect would be better, don't you think?"
"Of course," the policeman said firmly.
The motor of Aidan's car purred as soon as he turned the key and started the ignition. And to the security guard's surprise, the policeman who'd just written the ticket got into the front seat and patted Aidan on the back as the car started to move off.
"You fined me?" Aidan said, looking at his passenger.
"I couldn't help myself. Besides the guard begged me to. Do you know how long it's been since the last ticket I wrote? I can hardly remember."
Lance Norwood was in many respects the exact opposite of his partner Aidan. A pleasant detective who got on with everyone, or at least anyone who didn't ruffle anybody's feathers. He was always in a good mood and did his job according to the rules, mainly to avoid problems.
"You're a funny bastard," Aidan said. "I'm going to recommend to the Inspector that you be assigned to the traffic department."
"Too boring. I'd prefer to stay with you," Lance said. "Solving mysteries and the rest of that shit. It's more entertaining. Have you heard about Big Ben?"
"No. What's up?"
"It seems it's gone crazy. Today I passed there and I could've sworn I was drunk. The bells sounded out of tune. And I don't know if the time was right. Everyone was looking at the tower."
"They'll fix it. That clock is the symbol of the city."
"Just as well. Turn to the right at the next," Lance said, indicating a junction ahead. "Hey, you've passed it. What's up? Have you still got the hump because of the fine?"
"We'll take longer that way," Aidan grumbled.
"You're wrong there. We're not going to the station. We've got a case, and you're going to love it. A murder."
"The captain told me to talk to the survivor. He didn't say anything about a new case."
"Well, he rang me later. How else do you think I knew where you were?"
"What makes you think I'm going to enjoy this?" Aidan asked, lighting a cigarette and veering out of his lane as he did. He stopped at the next red light and stared at his partner. He was angry although he didn't know for certain why.
"It's a strange case," Lance said, hardly covering up his smile. "It seems the victim has been decapitated with a medieval sword. What do you think about that?"
* * * * *
CHAPTER 3
"Only a little more effort and you'll do it," Earl White advised enthusiastically.
Keeping that optimistic smile on his face was a lot more difficult than the effort the pathetic lump of flabby flesh stretched out in front of him was making. Earl felt worried, but clung to the smile desperately, as a vein in the boy's forehead swelled threateningly. He considered wasting a couple of new sentences loaded with false hope that it could build him up, but in the end he chose to convince the youth to take a break and helped him put the bar back on the rack before it crashed down into his chest.
"You almost finished the set," Earl lied. "Cool off, then try something else."
"I was close, wasn't I?" the boy said, panting, getting up and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Some day I'll be as strong as you, Mr White. A lot stronger, you'll see."
"I told you to call me Earl," the trainer said patiently. "The only thing that you have to do is keep at it and you'll outdo me, for sure."
Anyone with a minimum of common sense would have known immediately that there was no possibility that the boy could ever do that or even have a body like Earl White's. Earl was the most admired weight trainer at the gym and a real treat to look at for bodybuilding fans. When he did his exercises in his tight singlet, everybody around him stopped what they were doing to watch. He knew that well enough, showing off his physique went with the job.
Earl strolled through the gym equipment looking for anyone who needed his expert help. He ran his hand through his blond hair, as his blue eyes located an attractive female silhouette hanging from a bar trying to finish a set.
"Need any help?" he asked kindly.
The girl let go of the wooden bar and her feet landed on the ground. She was dark skinned, green eyed, her long black hair pinned in a ponytail. If it hadn't been for the prominent nose, Earl would have considered her perfect.
"Mr White, I presume," she said, looking at him, amused.
"Precisely. I'm the weight trainer, and to be honest I'd prefer you to call me Earl," he said, taking care to sound natural and keep his enormous biceps in her line of sight. "You're new, aren't you? I don't remember having seen you here before."
"Really, you're the new one," she pointed out. "I live in London and have been coming here for three years. I've missed the last seven months because of work. I guess you started working here some time then."
"Yes, four months ago." Earl couldn't take his bright blue eyes off her. "You shouldn't put so much pressure on your back without spending time in the weight room first."
"What makes you think I don't?"
Much to his dismay, Earl stopped listening to her. He was in a pleasant conversation with an attractive girl on the point of getting her phone number. But something was stopping him doing that. A feeling of alarm invaded his mind, making him tremble. Something was about to happen and he had to intervene. It wasn't a hunch or anything in his imagination. It was a certainty.
"Is everything all right?" the young woman asked, watching the expression on the trainer's face change. The shine in his eyes had gone and he was studying everything in the room around him as if his life depended on it.
Earl didn't realize that the young woman had stopped talking and was staring at him. The only thing that made any sense was working out what was going on around him. He couldn't see anything but his senses were working overtime trying to locate the danger. But what risk could there be inside the gym? He didn't have the least idea. Nevertheless, his emotions didn't leave any room for doubt, and suddenly he knew what he had to do. He took a quick step towards the woman and slapped her hard with the back of his hand. She flew across the floor with the force of the blow and crashed into a column several metres away. Everybody in the gym stopped, as a
stonished by the trainer's action as the girl had been. One of the bodybuilders reacted and went to the girl's assistance.
Without paying any attention to the chain reaction that had spread through the room, Earl concentrated on his feelings and surprised himself by crouching down. He doubted that he was going to be able to explain what had happened to those staring at him now. But he managed to get his growing sense of urgency under control. He felt ridiculous, but he bent his knees as much as he could and squatted, trying to convince himself that he was not going mad.
A great rumble sounded just above his head and he felt something fall on his back. He looked up and saw small chunks of plaster dragged along by an enormous vibrating steel lance stuck in the wall. He understood immediately that if he hadn't crouched down the lance would have gone right through his head, and that of the girl he'd knocked out of the way. He passed his hand along the steel bar and realized that his arm was covered by the sleeve of a jacket. His tight singlet had disappeared along with the rest of his gym clothes, and, as weird as it seemed, he was now dressed in an elegant white suit.
He had no time to examine his new clothes, as a sharp whistle cut through the air. Earl spun around on his heels in time to see another lance heading straight for him. In a flash, he raised his left hand and felt an impact. The blow sounded like metal against metal. He was now carrying a shield.
Without showing the slightest surprise about the shield or the amazement that reigned through the room, the trainer crossed the gymnasium, treading softly in his recently acquired white shoes, dodging broken glass. Helped by the shield, he made it to the front door and ran down the street.
# # #
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Lance Norwood asked, tightening the seatbelt. "Later, you'll be surprised that the press is complaining about you."
"Whatever you say. It was a pure coincidence, I swear," Aidan said, without looking at Lance.
He'd just put his arm back in the car after tossing a cigarette into the street, which had landed on the back of one of the journalists that formed a crowd there.
"It won't fit there," Lance said.
Ignoring his partner's advice, Aidan Zack squeezed the car into the little space there was between the two other vehicles, and after a few fancy manoeuvres parked the car. One of the tyres finished up on the pavement and in the end a new dent was added to the rest.
"Not very fair," Aidan said, closing the door behind him.
"As usual, a load of old iron," Lance observed, passing his hand over the latest damage. "It's the worst looked-after car in London. Doesn't it occur to you to ring me when it starts falling to pieces?"
Lance took a deep breath and went after Aidan, who was already in the circle of journalists. It wasn't hard following his partner because his head stood out above everyone else's. The microphones followed Aidan like predators after their prey.
"Police, make way," Aidan yelled as he cut through the pack of journalists. "There are no statements for the moment. Move on."
Lance fell into stride behind Aidan to avoid having to face the flood of questions himself. It wouldn't be the first time that Aidan had argued with a journalist who interrupted his work. In Lance's opinion, Aidan was right, but that wasn't enough, he had to maintain control because that's how it was with the press. Freedom of the press meant just that.
Finally they made the entrance to the building, where some uniformed police were holding the throng back. Aidan pushed his way through with his elbows and the two of them showed their badges and were let through.
"You still haven't told me how it went with the shrink," Lance said while they were making their way upstairs.
"Great," Aidan smiled. "I'm off the hook till next year. I told you that would happen. You owe me money."
"I still don't know why they haven't asked me about your madness." Lance raised his head. The prospect of going up so many stairs struck him as being too hard. "I'm your partner, the human being you spend most time with, given your pathetic social life. Nobody knows better than me how sick you are. I can assure you, if she asked me I'd put you in an institution for life. So you'd better pay me for my silence. I'm the one who should get paid for being your partner."
"Don't bet next time," Aidan said, his hand following the railing upstairs.
"I don't have any cash on board," Lance said opening his hands. "Let's do it this way. I'll pay you if you come along on Friday."
"We've already talked about that. It doesn't turn me on. I don't trust you."
"That's unfair," Lance said, offended. "I've been looking for the perfect woman for you. She's got the lot. Besides, she won't knock you back."
Aidan stopped on each step and stared back at Lance, leaning into his face. Lance pulled back each time, swallowing saliva.
"I'm not going to get involved in another one of your messes," Aidan said threateningly. "I don't even feel like hearing what you've arranged so that she won't reject me."
"It isn't what you think," Lance explained, raising his hands in an attempt to calm things down. "I can see that you're still too angry with that redhead, but I feel that mistake more than you do. This time will be different. She's perfect. Almost seven foot tall, like you. That's one reason why she won't reject you. Am I a genius or what? Do you know how difficult it is to find a woman that tall? Obviously, I haven't told her anything about you being mentally unbalanced. We'll keep that to ourselves."
"I'm not going to argue with you," Aidan said, turning and continuing up the stairs. "I'll find an excuse before Friday. And stop calling me unbalanced. I wouldn't exactly call you normal."
"I'm only trying to help you," Lance explained, panting. His legs felt as heavy as iron. "The first thing's to accept your problem, that's the only way to get over it. The mind is very delicate…" He paused as Aidan shot him a glance. "Very well, I'll stop, but only if you let me help you with the other problem. You've got to admit your social circle's the pits. You need a push. Besides you accepted the idea of going on Friday and I–"
"Ok, I'll go," Aidan cut in, realizing Lance wouldn't let up. "Now, enough of this crap." Lance had the smile of a winner written on his face even though he was puffing. "We're here," Aidan said, "and it's only the fifth floor. You look like you've run fifty miles. Why don't you spend more time burning fat than giving me a hard time?"
"It's my bad luck that the lift's out of order," Lance grumbled, running his hand over his stomach, promising himself he would lose weight. "Well, at least I get mine in now and again. You, with all those muscles of yours, you're hard pressed eating a chicken."
Aidan spun around and crossed his lips with his index finger.
Lance knew that he'd reached Aidan's edge of tolerance and backed off. He nodded and watched his partner walk to the door of Mrs Black's flat.
The flat was full of police and there were a few that Aidan didn't know. Some were taking samples, others looking for prints. Photographers were taking photos. Others were standing around drinking coffee and talking about what had happened as if the whole thing had been a scene from a new film. Inspector Wystan was frowning in the corner at something one of the pathology squad was telling him. To tell the truth, there was nothing strange about the scene. Just more police than normal, which Aidan imagined was because of the weird nature of the crime.
"Have you ever seen so many police?" Lance asked, looking around. "Seems like decapitations bring them out. It looks like an office party."
"I'll take a look at the body," Aidan said. "It looks like Mrs Black's in the kitchen. Go and find out."
"Somebody else's sure to have done that. I'd prefer to go with you."
"I want you to do it. The psychiatric team has no doubt been harassing the woman. They've probably already given her tranquillizers."
"I can see you don't have much time for our psychologists," Lance said, laughing. "Ok, I'll interrogate her but don't get used to giving me orders."
Aidan watched Lance disappear into the kitchen. He walked int
o the living room. The headless body was sprawled on the carpet, dressed in an elegant black suit. A pool of blood filled the space where the head should have been. Aidan observed that Mr Black had been very short, five foot six or less. He looked around the floor at the evidence of a fight. The furniture was broken and boxes were tossed everywhere.
He recognized Fletcher Bryce kneeling by the body. He was, in Aidan's opinion, one of the best pathologists, and had a lot of experience. He was sixty years old, and his propensity for getting into bad moods was his only defect.
"Seems like someone's lost his head," Aidan said, crouching down beside Fletcher, who was stretched out beside the body studying the cut on the neck. "A clean cut, don't you think?"
"Too good," the pathologist answered. "The head rolled over there by the wall. Maybe yours should be there too, Aidan. You know how many head jokes I've been listening to? Can't say you detectives are that original."
"I see you're still grumpy," Aidan said, extending his hand. The pathologist shook it with difficulty from the angle he was at. "Just as well you don't have to wait that long before you retire."
"You'll miss me when you have to work out one of these without me. How you going with the shrink?"
"Doesn't anyone forget my appointments with the psychiatrist? You never remember my birthday, old man. Come on, let's have a coffee and I'll tell you about it."
They walked over to a corner of the room, next to the window that looked out over the street that was still full of journalists. Aidan assured him everything was going well with his therapy, trying to talk about it as if it was nothing, sounding bored, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Fletcher frowned most of the time he was listening, but didn't say anything.
"Have we got the weapon?" Aidan asked, changing the subject.
"No, it would seem that he took it with him."
"Was it a sword?"
The Big Ben mystery Page 3