Torchwood Long Time Dead (16 page)

'Not your idea of a good night out, Detective?'

Sue Costa was watching him thoughtfully, and
they turned away from the architect's model and
walked towards a quieter area near one of the
large windows.

'I'm that easy to read? And it's Tom.'

She smiled and looked back at the party that
was going on without them. 'They're all rather
smug and self-satisfied, don't you think? Very
pleased with themselves, even though none of
them do anything particularly remarkable with
their lives.' Her eyes had darkened thoughtfully,
and for the first time he saw a softness to her. The
flirtatious smile had dropped, and he found that
she was more sensuous without it. 'They couldn't
do what you do, or what the Commander does, or
what I used...' Her voice drifted away. 'How is the
murder hunt? Keeping you busy?' The edge was
back in her voice and her back arched playfully.

She was something of an enigma; he was learning
that fast.

'If the past couple of days are anything to go by,
then all I know is that one way or another everyone
in Cardiff seems intent on dying at the moment.'

His words didn't even feel like an exaggeration.

Between the murders and the strange
I remember

suicides, there was an invisible pall hanging
over the city. He'd also checked in with the desk
sergeant over the student whose friend had gone
missing, and he hadn't turned up yet either. He
said he'd disappeared into a black shadow in the
wall. It had just sucked him in. The desk sergeant
had sniggered at that, but it disturbed Cutler.

All three series of events were strange and that
part of his brain that itched and dragged him to
the site whenever he had a free moment was sure
that somehow they were all linked.
The military

coat. The easy smile.
He shook it all away. Tonight
wasn't the night for that. Tonight he wanted to
lose himself in Sue Costa.

'Whoever's committing the murders doesn't
seem to want to either slow down or take their
hobby elsewhere. But then, maybe when your boss
can get to the files we'll know whether the killer is
someone on his team or not.'

'Oh, I think we can be sure of that, don't you?'

A knowing smile danced on her lips.

'Well, all the evidence certainly points that
way. We found the suit. The Department stepped
in. Ergo, they know they're to blame.'

'All that is true.' She leaned up on tiptoes, so
that her face was at his ear. She smelled sweet
and her breath was warm enough to send tingles
running up his spine. 'But there was also the
small matter of the first murder. It happened on
site. The morning you found the suit.'

'What?' He turned to look at her, his eyes
widening. Tour boss didn't tell me that. Where's
the body? What—'

She grabbed his arm to hush him. 'Don't look
so obvious. It doesn't make any difference to the
investigation. I just thought you should know.

Think of it as a gesture of goodwill.' Her hand
lingered on his arm. 'Of course if you tell the
Commander you know about this, then I'll lose my
job. So I'd rather you didn't.' She smiled. 'Not just
yet, anyway. He wasn't Army or Department, I
don't think. Just a geeky scientist boy. Nothing to
look at. The kind of man that would probably have
never really
lived
, however long he lived. Lovely
eyes, though.'

Cutler looked at her, fascinated. Was she being
intentionally cruel, or just observational? 'Can you
get me his file tomorrow?' He leaned forward and
spoke softly. His heart thumped hard. Was she
feeling this overwhelming chemistry too? What
was it about her? It was almost as if he recognised
something of himself in her - something that he'd
forgotten. As if she of all people could understand
him, maybe better than he did himself. They

belonged
together. He knew it with a certainty.

'You are the liaison, after all. You scratch my back
and I'll scratch yours.'

She sipped her champagne. 'It's not back-

scratching that I've been thinking about all
afternoon. Although we can do that too, if you
like.'

Cutler was lost for words. She was absolutely
gorgeous and that was a clear come-on. Even with
the chemistry between them, he'd been sure he
was going to have to work harder than that. Tour
place or mine?' he said.

Tours.' She laughed slightly, as if at some
private joke. 'Mine's a right bloody mess.'

They drained their glasses and no one noticed
them leave.

Eryn Bunting woke up with a start, for a moment
completely confused about who and where she
was. She gasped for breath and fought a panicked
scream that rose in her chest.

It was the darkness. The darkness was here.

And there were unimaginable
things
hiding in it.

She sat up, blinking, and slowly the shadows
took on familiar shapes: cupboard, chest of
drawers, heap of unironed clothes in the corner.

The faint glow from the street light a few metres
down the road from her house made the edges of
the heavy curtains a slightly lighter colour than
the rest of the room, and she focused on it as her
breathing steadied.

It was nothing, she thought. Just a bad dream.

What did she expect after the strange couple
of days she'd had? All those questions by the
police and finding out someone had used her ID

for something had left her feeling odd. Slightly
violated and yet curious about a person she could
only see as a doppelganger of herself walking
around Cardiff. The police hadn't told her what
the woman had used her missing bank statement
for, but it was clear from their interest that it had
been something serious. Especially as it was a
statement from so many years ago. Could a whole
life be forged from one bank statement? She didn't
think so - not that her knowledge of identity theft
went beyond the basics seen on
Crimewatch
or
being careful when using your credit card on the
net. And surely if someone had made a whole life
from that one document, she'd know about it by
now? They'd have run up some kind of debt that
would have shown on her credit record, surely?

That was what people
did
with stolen identities,
wasn't it? She'd bought her new car only last year,
and nothing dodgy had come up then. She didn't
know why it was stressing her so much. After all,
as far as her own life was concerned, no harm
had been done by the missing statement. She was
normally a pretty calm and practical person, but
something was niggling her. It was as if her brain
was itching and the bank statement was somehow
part of the cause.

Alan grunted in his sleep and rolled over, one
arm stretching across her vacant pillow. It made
her sad somehow. Why didn't he even twitch
when finding the space empty instead of happily
claiming it. Why didn't he miss her? Were they
that comfortable with each other now? Would
he notice if she was gone for ever, or would his
clothes just spread from his wardrobe to hers and
suddenly the toilet seat would be always in the
upright position? Would anyone miss her once the
dust settled?

The morbid quality of the thought wasn't like
her at all, and she climbed out of bed to try and
get away from it. Whatever dream had woken her
must have disturbed her and she frowned trying
to remember what it was. She'd been in the new
deli down at the Bay, that was it. She'd been
buying a sandwich, ham and coleslaw, exactly as
she had done yesterday lunchtime. The dream had
basically been replaying the events from her day.

What was so scary about that?

She didn't turn the bathroom light on but
sat on the loo and emptied her bladder. What
had happened, anyway? She retraced her steps
in the deli. She'd bought a sandwich and then
turned around to try and get out of the narrow
space that ran along the counter that served as
both an entrance and an exit. The place had only
just opened and was full of office workers trying
something new in their routine. She'd been lucky
to get there when she did; ten minutes later, the
queue was almost at the door. With her sandwich
and purse both tucked to her chest, she'd smiled
awkwardly at the pretty woman in red queuing
behind her as they tried to politely manoeuvre
around each other without rubbing, which proved
a physical impossibility. Eryn wasn't really paying
that much attention - she just wanted to get home
and take advantage of a rare afternoon off from
school. The teacher training day had finished
early, which was something of a miracle, and
for once she was going to spend it not marking
books, but lying on the sofa and catching up with
all the telly she'd recorded that Alan didn't like
watching.

The unavoidable had happened, and she'd

knocked into the slim woman as she squeezed
her size fourteen hips through the narrow gap.

She'd glanced back to smile an apology at her,
but the woman was already giving her order to
the overworked young man behind the counter. It
was bright in the shop but there'd been an area of
darkness on the back of the woman's dress. Where
could that shadow have been coming from? Was it
a shadow at all? She'd almost reached out to touch
it, but then, as if feeling the eyes on her back, the
woman had turned and given her a tight smile.

Eryn had gone on her way after that. The TV was
waiting and the cramped quarters of the deli were
irritating. She wouldn't go there again.

She was reaching for the toilet paper, still
confused as to why such a mundane sandwich
purchase could have woken her up in such a state
of fear, when she gasped again, one hand flying
to her mouth. It was the woman. The woman and
the bank statement. It was all... it was all making
sense. She remembered. Oh god, she remembered.

Her eyes widened in the gloom.

Wo,
you don't understand.' She paces around the

living room. The house is still her own, but there is

no computer console cluttered messily at the base of

the TV, and flowers sit in a vase on the window sill

and the cushions are pink, not the later pink-and-

brown compromise that she will never really like

and is pretty sure Alan doesn't either. Compromise

could be funny like that. Ignore things people like

and just go for something neither is over-impressed

by. They don't tell you that's where it's leading in

all the romcoms.

She stares at the young man with the slightly

arrogant walk and London accent. Why is he so

calm? 'They're not normal children. They have

faces behind their faces. I saw it! They'll hurt the

other children!'

The man touches his ear and then looks at the

tall woman standing in the doorway. 'They're

contained. Jack's got the two at the school and

Tosh got the two in the house.'

Any sign of the original family?' The woman -

Suzie, she'd said her name was Suzie - asked.

In the basement. Not very pretty.'

Are you listening to me at all?' Eryn asks. Who

are these people? They aren't the police, even though

it's the police she called after what happened the

previous evening.

'Don't worry,' the man - Owen - says. We've

caught them. There won't be any more trouble.'

'But what about Billy Grainger?' Eryn asks.

'Did they hurt little Billy?'The man and the woman

look at each other and she sees it all in that glance.

Billy Grainger won't be in her class if they ever let

her go to school today. Little Billy with his squint

and his knees that pointed inwards is done with

school. He's done with life. 'Oh no,' she says, and

puts one hand over her mouth.

'Come into the kitchen,' Suzie says, resting a

gentle hand on her arm. Til make a pot of tea.'