Torchwood Long Time Dead (8 page)

'What the hell is that? It stinks?' It's the doctor

speaking. Owen? Is that his name? Andrew stands

shivering in the street, still soaked from head to

foot in whatever the substance is that has come out

of that thing that he'd thought was Alison. He is

NEVER going on a date again.

'This slime smells better than that.' The dark-

haired doctor peers into his face. 'Don't worry.

You're going to be OK,' he says.

'Coco by Chanel.' The young Japanese woman

looks up from where she's crouched by the mess,

and smiles. Andrew watches her and doesn't know

if he's more terrified of how calm these three are

than he was of Alison, whose skin peeled off as she

came for him. Who are they? They're acting as if

this sort of thing happens every day.

'Good call, Tosh!' The third person, a beautiful

dark-haired woman, smiles. She's leaning forward

and putting lipstick on, using the wing mirror of

the black SUV. 'Timelessly classy.'

What? Like you?' the doctor mutters. The

woman comes over and peers at Andrew, and he

catches the scent of her perfume. He thinks he

might be sick. Alison had been wearing perfume.

Cheaper than this one. Stronger. Why would a

thing wear perfume? He thinks he might cry. None

of this makes any sense.

Yes, like me. I hope there's none of this stuff

on my shoes.' She checks her heels. Andrew stares.

He's shaking all over. When he looks at her, all he

sees is Alison. Just before her skin... her skin... He

can't even think it. Were all women like that? How

would he be able to tell?

You two can finish up here, right ? If I miss this

engagement party, I'll never be forgiven. I'll grab

a taxi.'

Engagement party ? How can she be thinking of

going to a party ? Now? After this?

No problem,' Tosh says. The doctor scrapes

gunk from a patch of Andrew's cheek and puts it

in a sample jar. Yeah, have fun. Think of us doing

the paperwork.'

'See you in the morning.' The woman tosses a

smile over her shoulder as her heels click away

towards the main streets.

The doctor fetches him a towel from the SUV,

and Andrew stands shivering and shaking while

Tosh whistles as she carefully picks up Alison's

skin - Alison's skin, that's Alison's skin - and puts

it into a container.

'We'll have to hose the street down,' she says.

This stuff has got everywhere.'

'You can manage that.'

You're the one that shot her,' Tosh says as

she hands Andrew the towel. 'My vote was for

containing it.'

It was going to eat him. The skin was already

o f f . ' The doctor, Owen, takes the container and

puts it into the back of the van. 'Shooting was the

best option.'

'You're always so quick to shoot,' Tosh says.

We had time.' She looks at Andrew who is just

standing still, the towel in one hand. Its all right.

She's gone. You were luckier than the two men she

went out with earlier this week. Now wipe that

stuff off you, and we'll get you home.'

Owen hands Andrew a small glass of what

looks like brandy. A drink of some sort, anyway.

'Drink that. There's something in it that will make

you feel better. Trust me.'

Who are you?' he gets the question out eventually,

his voice trembling as much as the rest of his body.

Who are you?'

'Us?' Tosh says, and both she and Owen smile.

We're Torchwood.'

Andrew drinks.

Torchwood.

He remembered. His legs felt unsteady with
the sudden unlocked information. Alison. The
thing she became. He couldn't remember getting
back to his flat, but instead just found himself
standing by the open sliding door. The fresh air
wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

His head spun and cold crept up through his feet
from where he'd stood in her shadow outside the
lift. The shadow - the place pushing out through
the shadow - was coming. It would bring that
dimension of darkness to the world. No, he thought
as he absently tied his sheets together and then
secured one end to the rails of his balcony, that
was wrong. It would take the world to darkness.

Somewhere worse than darkness.

Torment.

He could hear screams echoing in his head. They
travelled with the chill in his bones. He wouldn't
go there. He couldn't. He thought of the woman.

She'd been Torchwood then. But now she was the
one bringing it. Delivering them all to evil. How
could she not know? How could she not see what
was coming? What she was doing?

Tears ran down his cheeks as he tied the other
end of the short sheet rope around his neck and
checked it was firm. It was the remembering.

Something in the remembering. It had opened his
mind. His vision was blurred and his nose was
running, but he scrawled his last message across
his shirt. Seconds later, he climbed over the side
of the balcony and let himself drop.

'So you have something that belongs to us?'

Commander Jackson was standing behind

a large desk that had three phones and two
computers on it. Cutler couldn't help but think it
was overkill if this was just a recovery operation.

If that's what it was. How many people did
Jackson have to answer to, that they needed a
phone each?

'I think so,' he said, and tipped the suit out of
the bag and onto the floor. 'One of yours?'

Jackson said nothing but came round to the
other side of the desk and stared down. He was
an imposing man, well over six foot ana with the
kind of barrel chest that only men approaching
60 who have spent most of their lives in peak
physical condition could achieve. Commander
Jackson might be a Department man now, but he
was Army through and through. It was clear from
his stance.

'Looks like it.' He picked it up and inspected
something halfway down. 'Where did you find it?

Must have been one of our boys getting drunk
and playing tricks on someone. Hiding their
equipment. You know the kind of thing. I'm sure
your lot do it. They all need to let off steam.'

Cutler followed the Commander's eyes. He

might have been making light of the suit's
discovery off-site with his voice, but his gaze was
focused. What was he looking for?

'Behind a bin at the back of Allen Street,' he
said. He frowned as both his and the Commander's
eyes halted. There was a small cut in the suit in
the torso area. Cutler caught a glimpse of it just
before Commander Jackson folded the suit up. He
hadn't noticed it in the station, but then he hadn't
been looking. He cursed himself quietly.

'There was no helmet,' he added. 'My officers
are looking for that now.'

Commander Jackson smiled, as he placed the
suit under his desk. 'Thank you very much for
bringing this in. I'll find out who's responsible for
the prank and make sure they're fully reprimanded
for wasting police time.'

Cutler returned the smile. This hadn't been
a joke between soldiers. He knew that and so
did Jackson. Whatever was really going on, the
Commander had no intention of telling DI Cutler
about it. Could the cut in the suit have been from
a knife? He thought again of the figure he'd seen
casually strolling away from the site the previous
morning. Perhaps he should tell Commander
Jackson about that. He decided against it. They
could all keep secrets.

'As long as that's all it is,' he said. 'A prank.'

'Of course. What else could it be?'

Someone rapped briskly on the door.

'Come,' Commander Jackson said, and then

smiled again at Cutler. It was an impatient
expression.

It was suddenly clear to Cutler that his visit
was over. He smiled back. 'Well, I'll leave you to...

whatever it is you're doing here.' He might have
been hoping for an explanation of some kind on
that point, but it was obvious he wasn't going to
get one. A soldier saluted in the doorway and then
strode to the Commander as if Cutler wasn't even
there and handed him a piece of paper.

'I'll see myself out,' Cutler said. His hand
was already reaching into his coat pocket for the
cigarettes that had somehow come with him to
work. The odd one couldn't hurt, surely? Not with
the workload that was facing him today.

Through the open door he could see two suited
men ducking through the white tarpaulin to
reach the site beyond. He thought about the water
tower that had stood there.
You could be invisible

there
, he thought.
Just in that one spot.
The
words entered his head out of nowhere and meant
nothing to him. No, that wasn't quite right. They
meant
something
, he just didn't know what.

'Detective Inspector?'

He'd been about to step out into the fresh air
when the Commander called him back. His head
was still momentarily filled with the sound of
trickling water as if he were standing in front of
the destroyed water tower that had been such a
feature of Cardiff Bay.

'Yes?' He turned. Any light-heartedness that
had been in Commander Jackson's earlier tone
was now gone.

'Have you heard about these murders

discovered this morning? Three bodies all with
missing eyes?'

'It's my case, actually.' It was Cutler's turn to
sound defensive. Andy Davidson had been right.

The news stations must have been quick to report
this morning's victims. 'Why?'

'When was the first one killed?'

'It's too early to say. And anyway, this is
confidential...'

'Nothing's confidential from the Department.

You know that.'

'Do I?' The two men locked gazes and then
Cutler thought of the figure strolling out of the site,
and the cut in the suit. If that had been caused by
stabbing then whoever had left in the suit wasn't
the person who had been stabbed. They could
never have walked so casually if injured. Whoever
had been attacked was the original wearer of the
suit. What the hell was going on here? Janet Scott
had been stabbed. And so had the three victims
Davidson had told him about on the phone. He
looked again at Commander Jackson. There was
no point in holding back the information about
Janet Scott - the newspapers would have it by
now anyway.

'The first victim was killed yesterday lunchtime.

Why do you want to know?'

'I want to see the bodies.' Jackson pulled his
coat from the hook on the wall. 'Discreetly, of
course. But get them to the mortuary as soon as
possible. You can brief me on the way.'

Cutler almost laughed. 'I'm sorry, sir, but this
is my case and you can't possibly—'

'With all due respect, it's not your case. Not any
more. The Department will be taking over from
here.'

Cutler stared at him until he realised that
the Commander really wasn't joking. His fingers
tightened around the cigarette packet.

'I'll have to call my superior officer,' he said
through gritted teeth.

Jackson was already heading out of the

Portakabin. 'Of course. He'll confirm what I've just
said. We'll need you on board, of course. Even if it's
just as a figurehead. Can't have the Department
seen to be running the case. That would raise too
many questions.'

As Cutler followed him out, his blood boiling,
he had a few bloody questions of his own.

Andy Davidson had spent at least forty-five
minutes looking for DI Cutler before someone had
mentioned trying in the gym. Even though his
mind was on other things, it annoyed him that
he hadn't thought of it. But then he never used
the place and had forgotten it was there. Cutler,
on the other hand, was a keen runner and often
disappeared into the station's basement to use
the weights room and the treadmill if the Welsh
weather was too vile to hit the roads. The gym
was a relatively new addition - a stress-relieving
initiative by the top brass, apparently. Andy
thought it had more to do with the brass wanting
them all to get in better physical shape, and thus
far he'd successfully avoided it himself. He had
a naturally slim frame and despite his lack of
regular exercise could still chase down a thief or a
mugger when he needed to. He was buggered if he
was going to spend his free time practising.