The Secret Dead (London Bones Book 1) (11 page)

21

I found Jillie in a cell not much bigger than the one that held her dead husband, with Finn in the one next to her. The child was asleep, half on, half off the bed, arms straight at his side and feet on the floor.

She sat on the bed and watched the boy sleep. She hadn’t been given any new clothes. Goose pimples covered her white skin, and she wore little more than the red hair that frizzed out around her head. Her fingers twirled and tugged at the ends of her hair. Red marks from the medical clamps were still visible on her wrists and upper arms. All my carefully planned questions went out the window at the sight of her. She looked broken.

‘You’re entitled to compensation, you know,’ I said helplessly. ‘They’ll pay for the damage to the house.’

Her head snapped up at the sound of my voice.

‘I’m sorry about Malcolm,’ I said.

Jillie’s fingers rubbed at the marks on her arms. She shook her head slowly. ‘They make mistakes on this sort of thing all the time.’

I thought of the dead man attacking the glass, of his dull eyes and the feeling of wrongness that radiated from him. ‘Jillie, I’m sorry, but he is.’

‘Oh, yes. Supposedly you can tell, can’t you? I saw you at the house.’ She fell silent. Her red eyes considered me. She gave a short snuffling little laugh without any humour to it. ‘You know, Mal was really pleased when the Lipscombe hired you. Quite the coup.’

I remembered that. He’d been too friendly in the interview, enough to make me a little uncomfortable.

The little boy on the cot shifted and burbled in his sleep. Jillie’s eyes snapped to him. The boy sighed once, then settled. She drew in a deep breath.

‘He hasn’t woken up,’ she said. ‘Not once. And they won’t tell me what they gave him.’

‘It’s a tranquiliser. They’ll give him a fresh dose every six hours. He’ll be okay. It’s better than him being stuck in there unable to get to you.’

‘I suppose. What do you want anyway? I’m not going to tell you where Malcolm is. Even if I did know.’

I shut my eyes. Dunne must have known Jillie hadn’t been told. Son of a bitch left it to me. I opened my eyes to see her watching me with an odd expression. ‘They’ve already got him.’

She went very still. I knew her expression. I’d seen it on a hundred spouses in cells like this. She was racking her brain, desperately searching for the reason I would lie to her. She swallowed hard. Her hands gripped the metal supports of the bed.

‘I just saw him. They picked him up in Putney Vale,’ I said. ‘He asked after you.’

‘Of course he did.’ She started to cry. ‘They shouldn’t have taken him. He wouldn’t have hurt anyone.’

‘He wouldn’t have been able to help it,’ I said gently.

She sobbed louder, shaking her head. I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but the glass barrier held me back. I waited helplessly while she got herself under control.

‘Jillie, do you have any idea where Ben might have gone?’

She looked up. A line of snot ran down under her nose. She reached for the grey toilet paper tucked alongside the bowl, and tore off a piece. She blew her nose noisily. ‘They didn’t pick him up with Mal?’

‘No.’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked for somewhere to deposit the tissue. There was no bin, so she balled it up and threw it in the open toilet bowl. ‘Have you tried Neil or Adam?’

‘Adam’s out looking for him. I haven’t spoken to Neil yet. I’m thinking he may have gone to a friend?’

‘Like who?’

‘There must have been someone.’

Jillie shook her head slowly again. ‘Ben had no friends. I’ve never seen a child so stuck in his own head. Mal was always trying to get him to come out of his shell.’

Exactly what Adam had said. Perhaps we should have been thinking about abandoned places or homes where the owners were away. He could have broken in somewhere, but before I could ask, Jillie said, ‘Mal took him to some youth club a few times, but Ben never mentioned meeting anyone.’

‘Which one?’

She shrugged. It gave her an air of nonchalance, but I could see her hands. They were shaking. ‘I don’t know. It wasn’t far. Mal took him in the car, but he was only gone ten minutes.’

‘Did Ben ever go out on his own?’

‘Sure, all the time. But he never went with anyone. He likes the museums, especially the Natural History Museum.’ She began to cry again. ‘Oh God, I hope he’s okay. He’s a sweet boy.’

‘Did you tell the police this?’

She tore off another strip of toilet paper and blew her nose again. ‘They didn’t ask about that. They were more interested in Malcolm. “Where’s he been? Has he been alone at any time?” For God’s sake, it’s Christmas. He’s been with his family.’

‘So you didn’t leave him alone?’

‘Not really. I mean I went to the corner shop to get milk yesterday. And I took Finn out to the park for a couple of hours. He bounces off the walls if I don’t. Otherwise, I was home. And they kept on and on about the contents of my freezer, for God’s sake. As if that has any bearing on anything!’

‘Why? What was in your freezer?’

‘Nothing! I had some rabbit meat that wasn’t labelled. It was just wrapped in plastic, but they should have been able to identify that quick enough if they had a sniffer.’

‘Rabbit meat?’

‘Yes! Ben brought it down with him. He does a lot of hunting back home. Always brings something. Last year, it was this huge box of fish.’

I changed tack. ‘Did Malcolm or Ben ever mention a half troll named Berenice Nazarak?’

She looked blank. ‘No, never heard of her. Why?’

‘Just wondering. I heard DS Dunne mention it.’ It wasn’t quite a lie.

Little Finn shifted again. Jillie’s attention swung back to him in a heartbeat. There was a wet patch on the bed where he’d been drooling. ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know where Ben is. Or what’s supposed to be in my freezer. I just want my husband back. And my son.’

She lay back on her cot and reached out for Finn. He was out of reach, but she laid her hands against the cool glass anyway and closed her eyes.

‘Jillie, I...’

Her eyes snapped open. ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’

And in case I didn’t get the hint, she shifted. Her body blurred and elongated, and in place of a chubby, red-headed woman, a large brown snake lay on the bed. It lifted its head, and its tongue flicked the glass, eyes on the sleeping child. Then it closed its eyes and appeared to go to sleep.

I watched her thoughtfully. Something else had just occurred to me. Why would a zombie with a freezer full of human flesh risk eating his neighbour’s cat?

22

I collected my backpack and mobile on the way out and endured the requisite medical exam with my eyes closed, grateful I wasn’t wearing my laundry day underwear.

Outside, I breathed in the scent of the rain and the river, even the exhaust from the traffic. The rising sun gave the clouds a heavenly yellow glow, but the rain had started again, a fine drizzle that landed softly on my face, rinsing the scent of the dead away.

The skin tingled on the back of my neck along with a sense of being watched. I turned around slowly. There were a dozen or so cars in the parking lot, but all appeared empty. A small river boat made its way up the Thames, and a train rattled somewhere in the distance, indicating Slender had finally made his mind up about the lockdown or had succumbed to pressure to downgrade the alert. Other than the train and boat, there was nothing moving, and nothing living, in sight. I shivered and tugged my woolly hat down over my ears.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, catching a signal after the ZDC restrictive zone: four missed calls from Obe, two voicemails, and two texts—one from Adam asking if I’d heard anything and another that told me Ben’s mother would be arriving in two hours. She’d been on the overnight train from Edinburgh when the lockdown was declared and had got stuck in Milton Keynes. I went online and found confirmation that the lockdown had been lifted, although the city was still on yellow alert—everyone was advised to stay home but it was no longer compulsory. Then I sent Adam an update via text message.

He called me back almost immediately. I glanced at the screen and slid the little button on the screen to answer.

‘Did you see my uncle?’ he asked.

I closed my eyes. ‘Yes. His mind’s gone. I’m sorry.’

There was a deep intake of breath on the other side. ‘I suppose it was only to be expected.’

I expressed my sympathies again, then told him what Jillie had told me, leaving out Malcolm’s odd claim.
He killed me
.

‘All right. I’ll start looking into youth clubs.’

‘I can do it,’ I said. There was silence from the other end of the phone.

‘It’s okay. Ben’s family. You have been really helpful but—’

‘I’m happy to help.’

‘Alright.’ He didn’t sound happy about it. But all I could think of was Malcolm’s mangled words and the one that might have been
brother
. Something was rotten in the family of Brannick, and I wasn’t going to be happy until I found Ben and knew he was safe.

It was only when I hung up that I realised I hadn’t told him how Jillie or his other cousin were coping, and he hadn’t asked.

I turned the phone over in my fingers, knowing I should return Obe’s calls, but then, cowardly yet again, I just sent him a quick text message—
On my way to office now. Talk then
—and put it back in my pocket.

I managed to get on a Southern Rail train just as the doors were about to close. With the exception of a young man snoring softly in a table seat, the carriage was empty. I moved a pile of free newspapers from a seat, and sat, grateful for the sudden warmth. Ben had been wearing nothing but jeans and a thin shirt. The trains had stopped during the shutdown. No open shops, no running trains, no libraries. Nothing. There were no public places Ben could have gone to keep warm.

Ben brought it down with him.
Jillie thought the unlabelled meat was rabbit. It wasn’t. Was that why Malcolm had gone for the cat? Because he didn’t know Ben had killed for him? Ben clearly knew Malcolm was dead. It was the only reason he would have stayed in London, the only reason he would have been at the house, ready to rescue his father from the NRTs. He wasn’t a stupid kid. He would have known Malcolm wouldn’t have been able to keep control without human meat.

The first time I met Ben he was five and sitting in Malcolm’s chair at the Lipscombe. I had said hello to him and he’d tucked his head to the side, as if too scared to even talk to me. The next year I got a smile and the next actual words, but even then all I ever heard was a returned hello and then pleases and thank yous when I offered drinks or biscuits. He never did anything other than sit quietly, drawing when he was younger and then graduating to reading as he grew older.

Habi brought her nephew in sometimes and the kid ran around like a maniac, jumping on the furniture and using words I hadn’t heard before and was sorry I looked up after.

That one I could imagine growing up to be a murderer. Ben, not so much. He was a nice, polite boy. I swore softly under my breath. The more I found out about this, the less I knew what was going on.

The train rattled over the rails, past streets where the post-Christmas shoppers weren’t paying much attention to the yellow alert, although the pedestrians seemed to be looking up a lot more than usual. Londoners will stay home if they face imprisonment and have a legitimate excuse to take the day off work, but a single maybe-zombie in a city of millions— meh. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we’re not all dead and shuffling already.

I exited at East Croydon and made my way to the office. The usual crowd of protesters were hanging about outside the building entrance. I ignored them and ducked into the greasy spoon next door, where I picked up two enormous cups of coffee. I’d been up since three—my eyeballs felt like they were beginning to dry out, and I hoped the coffee would relubricate them. On the downside, it likely meant I’d be popping to the loo for a wee every five minutes for the rest of the day. I considered a hot breakfast too, but the stink of the ZDC was still soaked into my nostrils and the eggy smell made my stomach contract.

The protesters perked up a bit when they saw me and shook their posters. I pushed past them and used my pass to get through the barriers to the lifts.

A handwritten sign was stuck to the reception door with sticky tape: Closed Due to Unforeseen Circumstances.

Habi stood in the middle of the reception area, vacuuming the floor, a pile of stacked papers and a plastic tub of pens and paper clips on the desk beside her. She wore a black suit I hadn’t known she owned. She looked up as I entered.

‘Oh, Vivvie. Poor Malcolm, poor, poor Malcolm.’

The hug was too tight, and she held on a few seconds longer when I tried to disentangle myself.

‘Have you seen him? Obe said you were at the ZDC.’

I nodded and gave her a smile I didn’t feel. ‘He’s gone.’
Nothing left but snarl.

‘Oh, no.’ Habi picked up a mug of tea from her desk, peppermint to go by the sweet scent. ‘Let me make you a cup of tea. Chamomile. That’s calming.’

‘No, thanks.’ I loved the smell of flavoured teas, but they tasted like heated fruit squash. I held up the coffee in my hand. ‘I’m sorted. Is Obe in his office?’

She nodded, and I made my way down the corridor. I tapped at his door, opening it without waiting for a response, my stomach in a knot.

The blinds were down and the lights off, so that the white light of his computer screen made the few patches of pasty skin not covered by beard even paler. Obe’s exposure to the sun could be measured by how close he managed to park to the front door. I moved a small forest of old mugs aside to find space for his coffee.

I breathed in. ‘I saw Malcolm. His mind’s gone. I’m so sorry.’

Obe shrugged. ‘We knew that was going to happen. Look at this.’

The knot in my stomach relaxed. I recognised this stage: research mode. The emotional explosion was coming later, but now Obe was firmly stuck in his own head. He turned the screen towards me. It showed a mock-up photo of Ben, his wings bleached white, a halo on his head.

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. I’d seen weirder stuff.

‘Oh, this isn’t just some random meme. This lot are serious. They think Ben’s one of the first signs of the apocalypse. A harbinger of some sort. Apparently his death will prevent the end of the world.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Apparently so,’ Obe said. ‘But they’re in Canada, so Ben probably doesn’t have to worry about them.’

‘Any local weirdos?’

‘You mean other than the Human Preservation Front? Because they’re loving this.’ Obe switched tabs to show a mock-up picture of a pair of mechanical wings. ‘Just this one. Weird, but I don’t know if it means anything.’

The legend at the top of the website read ‘Universe Mechanica.’ I knew it. It was run by Per Ogunwale, a once promising surgeon who had been struck off the medical register for amputating his own legs. He now ran one of the bigger sites devoted to improving (their word, not mine) the human race. The locals spent a lot of time arguing about how to build better fingers or brains. It was all a bit Igor-ish as far as I was concerned. I thought my brain was just fine the way it was. On the other hand, some people I knew could have done with an improvement. Maybe once all their theories had been thoroughly tested and proved safe, I’d agree to an upgrade.

I peered at the schematic. ‘They look heavy.’

‘Yeah, they’re struggling to find a way to get the strength and dexterity without the weight. The thing is some idiot has said Ben should give up his wings for research purposes. ‘Harvested’ is the word used.’

‘What? Why? The winged have been around for ages. Not a lot of them, but they should have more than enough information.’

‘Not really. The only real-life example for study was in the Natural History Museum, and they had to bury her after that court case last year. And you know what the winged are like. They keep to themselves. They’re not going to let some cybergeeks manhandle them for some daft theory.’

‘Huh. Do they sound serious about the harvesting thing?’

Obe chewed on his lip. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. They’d have to find Ben first. I’ll contact the site admin, see if they think there’s anything to it.’

‘I’ll mention both groups to Dunne,’ I said, ‘but they’re probably just the usual internet crazies.’

‘Probably.’ He didn’t sound convinced.

I pulled the chair out from opposite his desk and sat down. I measured my words. ‘Obe, did Malcolm ever have any allegations made against him? Dunne said—’

‘There was nothing to it.’

‘So there was something?’

‘No.’

‘Obe, you can’t keep that sort of thing quiet. If Malcolm—’

‘He didn’t do anything. He made some rude jokes. You know what he was like. They weren’t suitable for the age group. He didn’t touch anyone or suggest anything. He was just being stupid.’

Now that I could believe.