The Rain-Soaked Bride (17 page)

‘My soul has had its fair share of near-mortal injuries over the years. Listen, I can’t really chat.’

‘No change there.’

‘Literally, I’m in a call box.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m only pulling your leg. What do you need?’

‘If I send a scan of a fingerprint through to you how long will it take for you to run it?’

‘A lot less than it should do, because you wouldn’t be asking unless you needed it now, right?’

‘Right.’

Ben sighed. ‘Email it through to me, highest resolution the server can stand, and I’ll get right on it. You’ll still need to give me an hour or so, though.’

‘Done.’ Toby was aware that didn’t fit with the time he’d said he’d meet Fratfield but he’d have to make the SIS man hang around. ‘I’m not in my office at the moment.’

‘The glamour! How I hate you!’

‘Nowhere too exotic,’ Toby admitted, ‘but I’m having to use an internet café.’

‘Which makes the paranoid in both of us have a conniption. Should be fine. Use [email protected]. Got that?’

Toby repeated the address back, spelling it out.

‘That’s the one,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll be looking out for it.’

‘Give it ten minutes or so, I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘No worries. And, Toby?

‘Yeah.’

‘Next time you call it should be to invite me for a pint, yes?’

‘You live in Hampshire. Who goes to Hampshire?’

‘Screw you.’ Ben laughed and hung up.

Toby carried on to the internet café, a small shop with four PC computers and a vending machine. It was, thankfully, empty.

‘Help you?’ asked the man behind the counter who had the look of a man who had played bass in his school band thirty years ago and never got around to changing his hair.

‘Hope so,’ said Toby, holding up the fingerprint. ‘Bit of a weird request,’ he pulled out his wallet and offered ID that alleged he was a DI in the Met, ‘but it’s official business.’

‘Bit off your beat, aren’t you?’ said the man, staring at the warrant card. ‘Detective Stanley Hopkins?’ The man laughed. ‘I bet you get a lot of flak for that.’

‘For what?’

‘The name. He was in Sherlock Holmes. You might as well be called Lestrade.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know.’ But now he did he’d certainly give Shining, who was responsible for the false ID, some stick over it.

‘That’s the problem with modern policing, you don’t know the classics.’

‘Well, as soon as I’m on the hunt for a supernatural dog knocking off landed gentry I’ll be sure to read up.’ It occurred to Toby that, in his section, the likelihood of that ever happening was not quite as unlikely as you’d hope.

‘Only saying.’ The owner was on the back foot now and Toby was angry at himself for getting the man’s back up.

‘Sorry, don’t mean to be rude,’ he said, doing his best to relax and appear open and friendly. ‘It’s just been one of those weeks.’

The owner shrugged. ‘Tell me about it. You think it’s easy running a place like this these days? Outside the tourist season I’m sat on my arse from nine to five.’

‘Then you’ll be glad of a bit of excitement,’ said Toby, ‘though I’ll have to ask that you keep it to yourself.’

‘Of course,’ the man said, more interested. Toby had no doubt this entire encounter, with extra embellishments, would be on several internet forums before the day was out.

‘I need you to do a decent, high-resolution scan of this for me,’ he placed the fingerprint on the counter, ‘and I then need five minutes online to send it to my man in the fingerprint bureau.’

‘There’s a bureau for fingerprints? Cool.’

‘There are lots, most divisions have one.’ Add that to your knowledge of Sherlock Bloody Holmes, Toby thought.

‘No worries. I can do that.’ The man made to snatch the fingerprint.

‘Sorry,’ said Toby picking it up, ‘but make sure you lift it by the corners, would you?’

‘I’m not stupid,’ the man said, grumpy again.

I’m doing so well today, Toby thought.

The man took the fingerprint out the back and Toby was forced to pace up and down for a couple of minutes while listening to the distant sound of whirring and clunking as the scanner did its work.

Eventually, the man returned and pointed at the computer closest to the door. ‘I’ve sent it to that one. Folder on the desktop marked “Shared”.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Toby, holding his hand out for the fingerprint. The man grunted, went back into his office and fetched it.

Toby put it back into his pocket and sat down at the computer, waggling the mouse to get rid of the screensaver of a spiralling cat. He clicked open the folder and opened the image to check it. It was a bit smudged but not half bad. Certainly good enough to work with. ‘That’s perfect,’ he said. ‘You’re a star.’

‘Yeah,’ the owner replied. ‘I know.’ He went back behind the counter and Toby wondered whether he was already telling people about the weird policeman he was dealing with. This whole thing was a security nightmare. The grumpy sod was bound to have kept a copy of the fingerprint, too. If need be, he could have a word with some people in tech support and see if something horribly viral could be sent over to the shop’s computer network.

He opened a web browser, logged on to his email and sent the file to Ben.

That done, he cleared the browser history, just to pay some lip service to security, and went back to the counter.

‘All done,’ he said.

‘Fair enough,’ the man said, returning from his back room. ‘Murderer or something, is it?’ he asked.

‘Nothing so exciting, just a man who’s sleeping with my wife,’ Toby replied. ‘How much do I owe you?’

c) Sheep Street, Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire

Toby met Fratfield back by the car.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘sorry to be a pain but I need to hang around for a little longer. Half an hour at the most. Can I buy you a coffee or something?’

Fratfield shrugged. ‘I guess we’re both a bit superfluous for now back at the Hall anyway. Why not?’

They walked a little way up the road and into a coffee shop filled with faux-aged prints of Royal Shakespeare Company posters.

‘Apparently, this place has something to do with Shakespeare,’ Fratfield joked. ‘There was a giant teddy bear down the road dressed in doublet and hose.’

Toby looked at the menu and smiled. ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’ He looked up at the waiter who had arrived at their table. ‘I’ll have a black coffee please.’

‘And a cappuccino,’ said Fratfield. ‘It’s all Shakespeare themed,’ he said looking at the menu. ‘Dear God, the hamburgers …’

‘The Full Pound of Flesh.’

‘With extra cheese.’

‘Or the Merchant of Venison?’

‘Bit obvious, that one. I dread to think what might be in the Titus Andronicus pie. And what about the ice creams? Oh, Christ … the chocolate is called an Othello Sundae.’

They both laughed and continued to work their way through the most choice items while they drank their coffees.

After a while, Toby checked his watch. Ben had had fifty minutes, give or take, that would have to do. He was probably only drinking hot chocolate anyway.

‘Don’t suppose you have a payphone, do you?’ he asked the waiter.

‘My friend has to make a quick Corialanus,’ Fratfield said, his face utterly straight.

‘You just wait Lear,’ Toby replied, following the waiter past the bar to a phone near the toilets.

He called Ben.

‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, ‘I know it hasn’t been a full hour.’

‘That’s not the only thing you need to apologise for,’ Ben replied, clearly stressed. ‘That bloody print lit up the system like it was Christmas. I’ll probably have GCHQ kicking down my door come the morning. I’ll be found dead from isotopes. Knocked off as a bloody security risk.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It was one of your lot, that’s what I mean,’ said Ben.

Toby ignored the fact that Ben shouldn’t really know what ‘his lot’ were. ‘Who?’ he asked.

‘Bloke by the name of Rowlands. Mark Rowlands. Know him?’

‘Shit, yes,’ Toby tried to keep his voice calm. ‘It must just be a mistake. Can you skip entering a log for it?’

‘Already did. Obviously. I don’t want people thinking I’m a bloody terrorist, do I?’

‘Nobody’s going to think you’re a terrorist just because you look up someone’s fingerprint, Ben, you know that.’

‘That’s what you say. I’ll have MI5 kicking down my door tonight.’

‘Never happen.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise. Because they’re not really called MI5, they’re the Security Service. Bye.’

He hung up and took a minute by the phone to try and process what Ben had told him. It must just be a mistake. Rowlands must have checked the light when he went in the room. Obliterating any other print. Yes, that was the logical explanation.

He went back to their table.

‘All’s Well That Ends Well?’ Fratfield asked.

‘It was Much Ado About Nothing,’ Toby admitted.

d) B49, Alcester, Warwickshire

Toby and Fratfield spent a good deal of the drive back to Lufford Hall chatting and joking about their time in service. Toby had felt relaxed around Fratfield from the first time he’d met him but the jolly half an hour in the coffee shop had sealed the deal. He enjoyed being able to be completely open with his fellow officer. Fratfield, in turn, seemed genuinely interested and amused about the work Toby performed in Section 37. As much as Toby knew Shining was quite right to insist that the approval of others didn’t matter, it felt good to be able to discuss his work with someone that didn’t immediately dismiss it. That was not to say that Fratfield was completely convinced, Toby would have been surprised if he were, but he didn’t laugh it off.

As they pulled off the main road from Stratford and onto the quieter road that led to the Hall, Toby found he was extremely relieved to feel that at least there was someone else in the building that was on their side. That was a rarity for Section 37.

‘It’s remarkable,’ Fratfield was saying. ‘You’ve almost got me considering a transfer.’

‘You’d never get one. There were enough people angry that I was put on the books; they’re certainly not going to stand by and let an officer of your reputation join up.’

‘I’ve got a reputation?’

‘Certainly better than I had. Though that’s not hard.’

‘We all make mistakes.’

‘I know. It was the number of them that was the problem.’ Toby shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. That’s all behind me. Now I don’t have even half a career to worry about!’

‘Oh, you’ll be taking over Section 37 one day. Shining can’t go on for ever.’

‘Don’t you believe it. Anyway, once he goes they’ll probably close it down. He’s the only thing that keeps it running. Some edict that says the section will operate as long as he’s alive to run it. If it wasn’t for that, they’d have closed us down years ago, for sure.’

‘More fool them.’

‘As I said before, whatever reports we file, nobody can ever really believe the things we’ve seen without experiencing it for themselves.’

‘I’m not sure I’d want to. Hey – what time is it?’ Fratfield glanced at the clock on the dash. ‘Don’t you think it’s getting a bit dark for three o’clock?’

Toby leaned forward and peered out through the windscreen. ‘The light’s fading really quick.’

‘Jesus!’ Fratfield shouted as something collided with the left-hand side of the car, making it veer towards the verge. Fratfield wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to pull the car back on track. ‘What the hell was that?’

Toby had spun in his seat, trying to look behind them but the fading light was making it difficult. As far as he could tell there was nothing behind them. He had a feeling that Fratfield was about to experience the world of Section 37 whether he liked it or not. ‘Just keep your eye on the road,’ he said. ‘Something’s not right here.’

‘You’re telling me.’ Fratfield turned on the headlights, trying to pierce the darkness that had fallen all around them. ‘Night doesn’t fall this quickly.’

The car was buffeted again, this time by something on the right. There was a crunch of metal as whatever it was punched a dent into the chassis.

Toby shifted in his seat.

‘You armed?’ Fratfield asked.

‘No,’ Toby admitted. ‘I don’t tend to requisition a fire arm when I go shopping. Not that it would probably do much good if I was. Whatever this is, it’s more my field than yours and a lot of what we face doesn’t care much about being shot at.’

The car veered again and Fratfield gave an angry shout as it left the road, mounting the verge. He hit the brakes – better to be a sitting target who was still alive than a crash victim. ‘What now?’ he asked. ‘You’re the expert.’

A position Toby in no way felt he could live up to.

He stared out of the window. It was now completely dark outside, they could see nothing beyond the glass.

‘Well,’ said Toby, ‘we haven’t got a lot of choice, have we? We can’t just sit here.’

‘You want to go outside?’ Fratfield was shocked. ‘Without knowing what’s out there?’

The car rocked as something jumped on the roof. Above them, the roof bowed beneath its weight. Then the rear windscreen imploded and they were showered with glass.

‘You think we’re any safer in here?’ Toby asked, opening the door. He pointed with his hand. ‘The road was there, hopefully it still is. We make a break for it, move as fast as we can.’ He climbed out and ran in the direction he’d pointed. Behind him he heard Fratfield following.

They could see no more out here than they had from inside the car. It was like running through a void. Except, thought Toby, they knew it wasn’t quite empty, didn’t they? It contained something strong enough to punch its way into a car.

He looked over his shoulder. Fratfield was catching up. ‘Come on!’ Toby shouted, ‘before whatever it was that was attacking us catches—’

He felt something hit his side and he was suddenly spinning through the air.

Behind him, Fratfield was shouting and there came the sound of gunfire. It seemed that Fratfield was a man who was only too happy to take a gun on a shopping trip.

Toby rolled along the grass verge, trying to keep his body loose, fall like a drunk, it was the best way to avoid breaking bones.