THE ACADEMY

1

Khalid Razzaq was the leader of a terrorist group operating in Northern Pakistan.   Individually he was responsible for more than two hundred deaths.   Either shot, throats slit or badly mangled by bomb attacks.   His group collectively had killed thousands of mostly innocent people in the region.

The group had been killing for so long most of them had forgotten what they were actually fighting for.   Even Razzaq didn’t know anymore.   It was just killing for killing’s sake now.   Anyone who wasn’t like him and his band of terrorists were legitimate targets in his mind and those of his followers.  

Without any warning his head suddenly exploded.   Blood, bone and brains splattered against the wall behind him.   The explosion was silent and didn’t alert any of the others of the terrorist group in the next room, quietly cleaning their AK47s with care.   He was found several minutes later when Yousuf Abbas, the second in command, wanted to know when the latest operation would start.   It was to have been a vicious armed attack on a village not too far away.   Someone was harbouring an informant, so obviously everyone had to die to make sure the culprit was eliminated and to send a message to everyone else in the region. 

Yousuf couldn’t believe the gory sight he saw in front of him.  Assassin!! he shouted frantically to the rest.  But how did they get in to the room? There were no windows here and no one had passed the rest of the group in the other chamber of the dirty whitewashed house.  The others quickly ran into the room with their guns at the ready looking for the alleged assassin.  Yousuf was identified as the only possible person who could have killed their leader.  Probably using a handgun with a silencer on Razzaq.  He was quickly taken outside and his throat slit and left to bleed out on the dusty street. 

The mysterious, invisible assassin had claimed two lives for the price of one and had possibly saved many lives, for now, as the murderous raid planned for later that day had been postponed.  There were many arguments trying to choose a new leader and at least two of the rivals were murdered themselves.

2

“We really do provide an excellent education for the children and are fast becoming the premier establishment for young people in the country,” said a smiling Millicent Crowther, Headmistress of the Milton Academy in Shillington, in central Hertfordshire.  She was tall and rather thin.  Fifty-five years of age and single.  Her dark hair was drawn back from her face.  Millicent was seated behind her large oak desk addressing the couple in their mid-thirties in front of her, seated comfortably in a pair of plush chairs.  She liked to provide comfort for the parents of prospective pupils and put them at their ease.  It was good for business.

Robert and Joanne Collins had been given a tour of the elite school and had been very impressed so far.  It was expensive but they would pay anything for their son, John, to have the very best start in life.  John was their only child and when Joanne found out she could not add to her brood she was obviously heartbroken, but they both realised that they could devote all their resources solely on John instead of having to split their time and money on another child.  Robert was thirty-five, six feet tall, average build with pristine blond hair and was an investment banker in the city.  He’d recently been made a junior partner in the firm and, with a large increase in salary, decided to invest in his own family.  Joanne was two years younger, also blond, petite and  very pretty in a floral summer dress.

Joanne was actually in two minds about sending John to a new school.  She obviously wanted only the best for her son but knew he would have to stay there during the week and only come home for the weekends.  She dreaded being left alone in the large house in Kingsford if John moved into Milton Academy.  She was a fairly nervous woman.   She’d always been a little timid but the recent spate of gruesome murders in the village of Kingsford had made her a lot worse.  Maybe it would be best if John was here during the week – it would be a lot safer for him and he would be getting a really good education too.  But was it really safe anywhere these days? She smiled at Millicent and nodded politely as the Head told them all about the Academy and how all the other children there were benefitting enormously from the various classes, especially the science ones where the young boys and girls were heavily involved with various experiments and testing. 

“Do you mean like chemistry?” asked Joanne.  “I’m not sure they should be playing around with acid or anything dangerous at that age,” she said, still dwelling on John’s safety.

“Oh, no, of course they wouldn’t,” smiled Millicent.  “What I mean is we, at the Academy, are more technologically based.  Things like AI, programming and robotics really, amongst other things.  All perfectly safe ventures, I assure you.  We would never expose our children to anything that could harm them,” she smiled as reassuringly as possible to the prospective paying parents.  “I’m sure Mr. Collins is aware in his profession that technology is definitely the future, not only financially, but the most successful careers will involve some sort of technological ability and we strive to give these children a definite head start in these newer fields.  Yes, traditional sciences have their part to play here, but that will come later, when they are older, for a more well-rounded education, but we don’t feel these subjects are as important as they were when I was your son’s age.  Eleven is such an amazing time of life, don’t you think? – I’ve found that they all have a great thirst for knowledge and it puts them well on their way on the right path if they apply themselves correctly.”

Our children? Thought Joanne.  He’s still mine you know! That will never change.   She thought protectively.  She was obviously not ready for him to leave the nest quite yet, even though it was only for the weekdays, but she knew that Robert would outvote her.  He usually got what he wanted, especially when he was spending his money to pay for it! She could see the obvious advantages John would get there but this feeling of hers, something she’d had since she was John’s age, raised more than a few doubts.

“Well, this certainly seems like the right place for John to come to, I’ve been very impressed and I’m sure John will be very happy here once he’s adjusted to all the changes,” said Robert, standing and shaking the hand of the Headmistress.  “I assume you have your recommended supplier for his uniform, sports gear and the like?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, they are called Frobisher’s, said the Head.  “All that information will be sent out to you in the welcome pack and I’ll get that out to you this afternoon, so you should get the information tomorrow or the next day.  It will contain everything you need to know but if there is anything else then don’t hesitate to contact me during weekdays.  I’m sure there is a lot in the welcome pack that I haven’t mentioned.  If I had we’d  be here until next Tuesday,” she joked.  “For now John should enjoy what is left of his summer holiday before he gets down to the hard work we all expect of him.”

Joanne picked up on the word ‘need’ being stressed clearly.  Maybe her sixth sense was making her more nervous than usual.  Joanne had never been tested for things like ESP or any psychic ability but she’d always known she could sense things.  Things that were about to happen or things that didn’t seem ‘right’ to her.  All her family and friends believed in her abilities, but were sometimes disappointed when Joanne was a little vague with her explanations.  ‘I’m not a bloody gypsy fortune teller, you know,’ she often told them.  She knew she trusted her instincts but sometimes she really didn’t know what her instinct was telling her.

Joanne was silent and contemplative for most of the trip to pick John up from her parent’s house who lived fairly close to them in Kingsford.

“Anything wrong, Jo?” asked Robert.

Joanne thought for a few seconds and said, “I’m not sure to be honest, Rob.”

“What do you mean?”

“We should really look at a few more places before we decide on John’s future.  I’m not sure if I like that Head or not.  The way she said ‘our children’ was a little creepy, don’t you think?”

“Come on Jo, it’s just an expression.  I’m sure she meant she felt protective of all of the kids there.  I think it’s the best place for John, love, I really do.  The Academy is very highly rated academically and Peter Thorson at the office, you remember him? He says his kid is thriving there.”

“I don’t doubt it, Rob,” sighed Joanne.  “I just have a feeling about the place, that’s all.  I’m sure John will eventually be fine there.  I suppose it’s just that I’ll miss him so much during the week, maybe that’s all it is.”

“Yes, he will be fine, and you’ll soon get used to all that extra free time you’ll have for yourself too, maybe get back to writing again if you are not doing the usual things like the school run and tidying up after him all the time.  I thought your short stories were pretty good before John came along.  Maybe we’ll get you published some day like one of my clients, Mark Mason?” smiled Robert.  “He tells me he worked in rubbish, dead end jobs before he started to write and now look at him?”

“I suppose you’re right, Rob.  I can spent more time with my folks too.  Dad needs a bit of help with his arthritis now.  I can’t expect mum to do it all, can I?  I think I will get back into the stories as well, it was a nice escape at the time.  I don’t mean that in a bad way, but you work long hours and the characters seemed like they were company for me while I waited for you to come home from the office,” she said, doing her best to see a few positives from John being away at the school all week.  She would probably find there was still not enough time to do all the things she’d want to do.

“Exactly, you’ll soon fill your time without John being under your feet and we really will make the most of the weekends.  We’ll get out and about a lot more.  It may mean me working a few more hours during the week so I have everything up to date and needn’t bring anything home with me on a Friday.  It will be good, I promise.”

Joanne inwardly sighed.  More hours alone during the week, she thought.

3

Gary Filmore, the twenty-eight year old leader of an environmental group called ‘Oil Is Murder!’ sat in his ‘office’ – which was really his bedroom in his parents’ large house on the outskirts of Epsom.  With him was his best friend, Bryan Mortimer, who was Gary’s right hand man ever since they went away to university together where they were brainwashed by their Sociology professor, like so many others were.  Society was evil and worst of all were the environmental issues, apparently.  Oil drilling being the very pinnacle of destroying the planet, hence the name of this particular group of activists which numbered less than twenty so far.

“So, we’ll all drive to Junction 7 on Saturday morning to be there for five a.m. and then manoeuvre ourselves onto the M25 there and sit down until the police arrive.  They’ll probably provide us with tea and biscuits like the last time, when we blocked the A3.  We should get National TV coverage this time.  The traffic will be backed up for miles once it starts to get busy,” he beamed, having no idea of the irony that it would take at least five or six cars to transport them the almost eight and a half miles to the motorway junction that morning.

“Sounds perfect,” replied Bryan, munching on a packet of Frazzles.  “Just imagine pissing off all those shoppers and football fans,” he giggled, nearly choking on his fake bacon-flavoured snack.  He hated football fans now that most had stopped supporting the kneeling before games by the players.  Bunch of racists! “We’d better make sure we take a few snacks with us - just in case the police don’t offer us anything,” he said, then tipping the last few crumbs into his mouth from the packet and reaching for yet another bag.  Bryan was fat, very fat.  Well over twenty stone.  His faded green t-shirt was bulging around his huge torso, threatening to burst at any moment.                                                                                                                                         

Gary was the complete opposite, very thin and pale with bad skin under his mop of dyed black hair.  He had been a Vegan since his early teens and had gone years without any proper nutrition.  Meat is Murder! It was his well-worn favourite phrase.  His favourite Smiths song the inspiration for the name of his group of eco-warriors.  He was jobless, living off his middle-class parents.  He spent all his time watching videos on Youtube about climate change and the destruction of the planet.  He watched that Steve Hansen bloke a few times and had even commented on the podcasts saying Hansen knew nothing about what was really happening around the world.  The only friends he had were the other members of the group, especially Eden, who had changed her name by deed poll from Doris Lamb after she became a Vegetarian.  She didn’t even have a last name now.  Gary wondered if he should do the same and thought for a few seconds what his name should be.  Ocean? Leaf? Maybe even Dolphin! He just needed to persuade his parents to let him.  He didn’t want to upset them and risk losing his weekly pocket money.

Bryan finished his new snack, this time a large sharing bag of Monster Munch, while he listened to Gary going over the plan one last time.  God! He was such a control freak, but he had plenty of food at his house even though he barely ate anything more than tofu, nut cutlets and rice milk.  Bryan kept nodding as he pretended to listen one last time… already thinking of ordering a giant pizza when he got home, maybe two.  Gary had texted him at work during his 8-4 shift at Halfords and asked him to drop in to finalise everything for the weekend’s protest.  Bryan was slightly annoyed as it delayed his pizza order and a few hours of gaming on his Xbox.  He didn’t really care that much about the state of the world, but the crisps and Pepsi at Gary’s house were worth the detour.  And there was the added bonus of getting his face on the news when they protested even though they said being on TV added ten pounds to the way you looked.  He staggered to his feet using the bed as leverage and waddled towards the bedroom door. 

“I’ll pick you up at around four-thirty on Sunday then?” said Bryan, now thinking about choosing his pizza toppings while trying not to salivate too much.

“Yes, I’ll meet you outside.  Don’t be late Bryan.  We have to get there nice and early and get ourselves settled while there is hardly any traffic,” Gary replied.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here on time,” grinned Bryan.  He left the room and struggled down the narrow staircase, his elbows sliding along the wallpaper. He shouted a goodbye to Gary’s parents who were in the kitchen cooking and drinking white wine together.  They slurred their own farewells as he left through the front door.  He squeezed himself into his dirty red Vauxhall Corsa, full of old fast food wrappers, and made his way home, just a five minute walk away.

Gary sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor and looked forward to the weekend.  He’d get to see Eden again.  Maybe he’d pluck up the courage to ask her out this time.  He thought he could even convert her to being a full-on Vegan eventually, but noticed that she did love to snack on little packets of cheese all the time.  He fantasised about them getting married and having loads of little kids who would never touch meat… they would probably be addicted to cheese though, he thought.  He smiled at the thought of a happy life away from his meat eating parents.  The smell disgusted him when they ate their steaks and pork pies.  And chips.  Always bloody chips oozing with fat and oil.  Yuk!

Gary began to feel a bit warm.  Even though it was late summer it still felt a bit weird to him.  He got up and turned on his large electric pedestal fan he’d been using since the heatwave in January and breathed in the cool air, blowing away the stagnant aroma of the cheap snacks Bryan had been scoffing.  He hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything, he thought.  He didn’t want anything to stop him getting to the big protest on Saturday morning… and seeing the lovely Eden again, of course.  He sat on the edge of the bed, the artificial breeze blowing directly into his thin face.  It didn’t seem to help that much.  No relief from the growing heat in his body, which was now spreading to his extremities.  He started to pant fiercely as his temperature increased several degrees more.  He tried to call for his mum but his throat felt constricted and he could only manage a quiet croak into the cool breeze.

All of a sudden Gary burst into flames.  Panicking, he rose quickly from the bed and tried to make it to the door.  His last thought was to get to the bathroom and try and put the fire out but he collapsed a couple of feet from the exit.  Strangely the flames didn’t spread to the rest of the bedroom and Gary’s parents didn’t discover his charred body until they were on their way to bed just after midnight and wondered why he hadn’t been downstairs to make his own meal. 

It was all a bit of a mystery to the police when they were called.  Gary hadn’t been smoking in bed, he didn’t smoke at all, even weed, like a few of his eco-warrior friends.  Officially, after the Post Mortem, the cause of death was Spontaneous Human Combustion. 

4

Robert and Joanne arrived at her parents’ house and parked on the wide driveway next to her dad’s old Range Rover.  John flung open the front door and ran to them both, happy to actually see his dad in daylight during the week as he always seemed to be at work until late.  Eleven-year-old John was amazed that his father had taken a day off and was eager to find out why.  John, like both his parents, was blond, but he was  a little small for his age and was constantly told he’d soon shoot up in height pretty soon and to be patient.

“Where did you go today, dad?” he asked enthusiastically.

“I’ll tell you in a minute, muppet,” replied Robert, using the nickname he’d been using for his son since he was little.  “Gran and Granddad need to hear this too,” he smiled warmly.

George and Ann Foster greeted the pair of visitors and Ann made them all a cup of tea with John receiving his customary hot chocolate - his usual treat when he stayed with his doting grandparents. 

John looked at his parents in anticipation, hoping his dad had booked another holiday for the last week of the summer. 

“Where are we going, dad?” the boy beamed, trying to force the news out of Robert.

“We’re not going anywhere, you will be, though,” he said as Ann finally brought the tea tray in and sat next to George.  “Instead of going to the big school this year, your mum and I have decided that you should go to a much better school – one that will improve your education and give you a lot more opportunity in the future.  It’s called The Milton Academy, out near Shillington, and there will be lots of clever kids like you there.  You’ll feel right at home with children who are a bit brighter than the usual council estate idiots.”

“But what about my friends? asked the boy.

“You’ll see them at the weekend every week,” replied Robert.  “I know you won’t like it at first but you’ll be sleeping at the new school during the week and coming home Friday afternoon and will have all day Saturday and Sunday with us.  I’ll be dropping you off Monday mornings and picking you up again on Friday afternoons on my way to and from work.  You’ll soon get used to it and you’ll make a lot of new friends, I promise.  There’ll be kids who are on the same wavelength as you and they could even benefit you in the future.  Life as an adult is a lot easier if you have a lot of contacts in good jobs.  That’s how I got my job at the bank.  Someone I went to school with recommended me for the position I was in before my promotion.  You remember Murray, don’t you? I met him when I was just about your age.”

“That’s the rich man, isn’t it?” asked John.

“Very rich, muppet,” he smiled.  “And just the type of person I want you to be around.  People with better standards than most.  You already know that more than half the kids at the big secondary school in Watford will end up in prison or have dead-end jobs, don’t you? I don’t want to see you dragged down to their level.  You do get that, don’t you?” asked Robert, only wanting the best for his only child.

“I suppose so,” said John reluctantly, thinking how much he’d miss his current friends during the week.

“Good lad,” said Robert and hugged the boy.  “It really is for the best, you know, and they really focus on technology there and you want to do something with computers when you leave school, don’t you?”

“I want to make robots, but not evil ones that take over the world, like in The Terminator.”

“I should hope not, muppet!” said Robert.  “You can watch that again tonight if you want, just to remind you that robots and AI should be used for good and nothing evil,” he chuckled.  “I’ll order in a Chinese as a treat, what do you reckon?”

“Coool! But I’ll be very careful when I make my robots.  Then people won’t have to work as much as you do and have more free time to spend with their families.  That would be great, won’t it? More holidays for everyone too,” he grinned.

“How would anyone make money if they didn’t work, though?” asked Robert.

John thought hard for a few seconds.  “I’d programme the robots to make money for everyone so they can enjoy themselves more,” he beamed, imagining a conveyor belt in every home that churned out ten and twenty pound notes.

“It’s a very nice thought but it would probably crash the economy,” laughed Robert.

“So that’s a bad idea then?” replied the boy.

“Well the thought is an excellent one, but something like that would have big consequences.  Everything is connected and dependent on one another – a bit like people.  If there is too much money in the system then inflation rises and so do prices, so you’d have to print even more money to cope and that would make things even worse and more difficult to fix,” explained Robert in a fairly simple way that an eleven-year-old could understand easily.

“I sort of get it.  Not enough money is bad but too much is bad too – you need to have a balance, don’t you?”

“Exactly – like my old dad used to say – ‘moderation in all things’ and if you get too much of something, like your favourite sweets or chocolate, you’d either get bored with them or they would be bad for you.  Make your teeth fall out or give you Diabetes.” Robert grimaced playfully.

“What’s Diabetes, dad?”

“Well, you have an organ inside you called the pancreas which is just as important as your heart, lungs, brain and even your liver and kidneys but most people don’t realise that.  If you eat too many sweets and don’t look after yourself your pancreas starts to pack up and it causes all sorts of problems.  It doesn’t make enough stuff called insulin so you have too much sugar in your system and that will eventually kill all the other important organs.  So that’s basically Diabetes in a nutshell and it’s why you have a sweet ration, young man.”

“Sounds awful,” winced John. 

“My brother Albert, who moved to Australia, has got Diabetes, John,” chipped in Granddad George.  “It’s caused him a lot of ill health over the years and it’s got so bad he could even lose his legs.  Maybe you can invent robotic legs for people like him when you eventually leave this really good school you are going to.  You’d be famous and very rich too,” he grinned.

“A bit like that TV show from the Seventies you told me about,” said Robert to George.  The Six Million Dollar Man, wasn’t it? Six million doesn’t sound like a lot these days – probably six-hundred million now, or even six billion.  I’ll have to go online and find the box set for you, muppet – it may inspire you a bit… although the acting is a bit naff from what Granddad George has told me.”

“Anyway, time to get off home, John.  I’ll make you another hot chocolate and you can have a couple of biscuits to keep you going until the Chinese arrives,” said Joanne, actually looking forward to the takeaway herself.  Chinese was a favourite meal for all three of them, and very little washing up afterwards.

All three rose and said their goodbyes to George and Ann and left the house.  The short journey home was littered with questions from John about what his new school would be like.  Robert answered most of them.  Joanne was still a little nervous about her little boy being away every week… and still not too convinced about the school itself.

That evening after the takeaway arrived, and greedily consumed, Jo put all the leftovers in the fridge.  They always tended to order way too much but she loved mixing all the different dishes together the next day and enjoyed all the conflicting flavours merged into one meal.  She quickly rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher and then sat down with Rob and John to watch the film.  She wasn’t that keen on Science Fiction movies but the best part was the three of them snuggling on the large sofa together.  She would miss that weeknights.

5

Detective Inspector Gerry Daly sat at his desk reading the report into the death of Gary Filmore and shook his head, hoping it was just a freak accident and there was not another bloody demon involved.  The Mars Bar and coffee in front of him sat barely touched.  This death just didn’t feel right to him.  Spontaneous Human Combustion? What a load of old bollocks, he thought.  The new Medical Examiner, replacing the corrupt Martin Fisk, a friend who was selling information to a journalist, was Dr. Roger Harper.  He was new on the patch having moved down from Coventry a few weeks previously.  Gerry decided he liked him.  But he had liked Fisk too.  Gerry soon realised that Harper was very good at his job, very thorough, but this Spontaneous Human Combustion cause of death just didn’t sit right with him.  He knew from experience that there were mysteries in this world that were sometimes inexplicable; witches and demons and bloody immortal serial killers for fuck’s sake.  They were all real unfortunately.  Even time travel was possible.  He sort of missed Downey, or Catweazle as he called him, who had died going back to the fifth century with Daly’s best friend, Mark Mason, to kill the demon, Anrok.  The demon had been flitting backwards and forwards in time.  Murdering people in the present and then time-hopping back again to centuries earlier, leaving Daly to investigate in the present day with little chance of catching the killer.  He missed Father Patrick O’Mara too.  A new friend savagely murdered in his own church by the demon. 

Gerry read the report again and sighed.  Gary Filmore was one of those annoying little eco-warriors who were too thick to realise that blocking motorways in a protest caused even more pollution than they were trying to stop.  Three mile tailbacks of cars all happily idling away in unison, creating a cloud of exhaust gas that would have been dispersed in the air and pretty much harmless if the traffic had been moving along normally.  It always seemed to be sad middle class wankers trying to seek a bit of attention in his opinion.  Did they even realise how much damage they were doing themselves? Ambulances with critically ill patients prevented from getting to hospital, most of the patients dying.  Good, honest hardworking people stopped from getting to work and earning a living.  Why didn’t they just think about it for a moment? He supposed half of it was down to that silly little girl whipping them all up into a frenzy.  He thought sadly that she had been manipulated into what she was doing by her woke, activist parents and the media but also thought there was a lot of money to be made from this campaigning she was doing.  And judging by recent events she seemed to be enjoying the adulation of all the ‘thick as donkey shite’ kids around the world, in his opinion.  At least she didn’t have psychic superpowers like that Mother Earth nutter, he thought.

Daly looked across his office at Watford Police Station to his new sergeant seated at the desk opposite, busily typing away on his keyboard.  White had departed to pastures new… literally.  Transferred to rural Wales as a favour to Daly by new ACC Carly McDermott.  White was a Billy Big Balls, God’s Gift DS from Manchester who annoyed the shit out of Daly with his droning, nasal voice and his constant ‘Yes, Boss’.   He was being fast-tracked by his own ACC in Manchester and Daly was saddled with him after the death of his old sergeant, and friend, Jimmy Weatherby, killed by Consus the immortal serial killer while saving the life of Frank Kelly.

Colyn Jones was almost as annoying but he did, at least call Daly ‘Guv’.  Jones had come the other way in the exchange of sergeants.  It could have been worse, thought Daly, he could be Scottish.  Daly had been called a ‘Little Englander’ in the past but he was far worse than that – he hated anyone and anything outside the Home Counties.  And he detested the rest of England as much as he did Scotland and Wales.

“Jones!”

“Yes, Guv,” replied the Welshman promptly.  At least he was more switched on than White, Daly thought.

“I’m off out for a bit,” said Daly.  He decided he needed to get out and visit his best mate, author Mark Mason.

“You want me to come with, Guv?” asked Jones… Welshly.

“No, it’s semi-private stuff.  I assume you have got enough to be getting along with in the meantime?” enquired the inspector.

“Yeah, the paperwork is never ending up here.  How do we ever find the time to catch any criminals, Guv?” asked Jones.

“Well, I delegate...  to you,” Daly grinned as he left the office.  Jones wondered when Daly would get a permanent DC so that he would be able to delegate too.  He then thought of White down in Blaenavon, his hometown in Wales, and thought he’d be bored off his tits with all the inaction.  Not even any paperwork to keep him busy.  Just endless cups of tea and staring at WPC Davies’ large chest.  He missed Alwyn Davies for obvious reasons.

6

Thirty-five minutes later Daly pulled his black Audi up in front of ‘Mason Mansion’ as he jokingly called it.  Mark Mason’s large manor house was on the outskirts of Kingsford.  He had called on the way just to check Mark was in and not on some book tour reading to old biddies in a rural library.  Luckily Mark had been in and had put the kettle on while he waited to Daly to arrive.

Mark opened the door as Daly stepped onto the covered rustic porch.  Mark’s wife, Nat, was close behind the author.  Daly shook his hand as they usually did and then gave Nat a big hug while avoiding squeezing her baby bump too much.

They all moved into the large kitchen for coffee and sat down at the oak table.  Mark made the drinks  while Nat gingerly lowered herself onto one of the pine chairs.

“I hope this old tosser is making sure you are taking it easy, Nat,” Daly smiled.  The banter very natural between two good friends and a bit of a lost art nowadays, according to Daly, with everyone offended by something or other it seemed.

“He’s been brilliant to be honest, Gerry,” grinned Nat.  “Maybe he should kill more demons, although I’d rather not have him away for months in a different century again,” she laughed.

“I’d rather not deal with another demon, or at least their carnage, ever again, to be honest Nat.” Daly inwardly shivered.  “It would be nice to actually get down to a bit of routine police work for once, like nicking people for saying naughty words on the internet like we are supposed to now,” he laughed.

“Remember the good old days when you could take the piss out of someone and they would take it as a joke and then give a bit back too?” said Mark.  “People have turned soft nowadays, no one has a sense of humour anymore unless they are our age.”

“I heard from Mark that you have a new sidekick now,” Nat said, changing the subject.  “I hope he’s a lot nicer than that chap from Manchester.  I really didn’t take to him when he was here after our lovely postman was killed outside the gates.”

“Jones is fine, he’s an improvement in a lot of ways, but he is Welsh.  You know what I think about sheep-shaggers and rugby,” grinned Daly.

“You’d better not let your bosses hear that, mate,” Mark laughed.

“Carly is fine with me saying shit like that in private, but would have my arse in a sling if it was in public.”

“How is she by-the-way?” asked Mark.

“She’s good.  We’ve been out a few times.  Had a few laughs,” smiled Daly.

“It’s weird her being Paddy Mallen’s granddaughter.  If I put that in a book no one would bloody believe it!” said Mark, grinning.

Paddy Mallen had been the Chief Investigating Officer during the 1976 murders in Kingsford.  He had retired soon after, a broken man, having failed to catch Consus, the immortal serial killer, and after the death of Daly’s own father, who was a young DC under Mallen.  The new Assistant Chief Constable, Carly McDermott had revealed to Daly that she was related to the legendary detective during Anrok’s spree the year before.  Daly genuinely believed he was at a meeting with her in London to be fired from the force.  She did, however, grant him a little bit more time to solve the case and luckily, during those two weeks, Mark had killed Anrok and the killings had finally stopped.  Officially the case was still open, but after eleven months without another brutal death it was fairly cold, the killer was thought to have died, although when and where was still a mystery officially.  Anyway, it was all over as far as Anrok was concerned.  

“You’ll both have to come over for dinner one night,” smiled Nat.  “Nothing formal though, just a small gathering before the baby is born.  I probably won’t get much time to relax with friends after that.”

“You won’t get a lot of time to write either, mate,” Daly winked at Mark.

“Yeah, as long as I manage an hour or two most days I’ll be happy.  The rest will be dedicated to little Catweazle in there,” he said, nodding at Nat’s bump.

“You’re not…?” gasped Daly.

“No, but if it’s a boy we’ve already decided that Downey will be one of his middle names – maybe even if it’s a girl,” smiled Mark.  “If it wasn’t for that brave little bloke I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

“I know we didn’t really get on at first, but I really miss the weird little guy too,” said Daly. 

All three were silent for a few moments remembering the strange, small man who only wanted to do some good in the world… and in whatever century he was in.

“So, you said on the phone you wanted my take on something? said Mark.  “Bend my ear a bit, mate.”

“Yeah, what do you know about Spontaneous Human Combustion?” asked Daly.

“Not much really, I’m certainly no expert, but from what I’ve read it could either be caused by some sort of rare unknown chemical reaction in the body, or bacteria or even a static electricity charge building up and then igniting.  Nothing conclusive so far though.  On the other hand it could be something even more supernatural, no one knows for sure.  Some cases have been debunked because the victims were thought to be smoking in bed or had spilt alcohol on themselves and somehow caught it alight, but the majority are still a total mystery to science.  Unexplained.”

“That’s not much?” said Daly.  “You’re a walking Wiki on the weird mate and that’s why I come to see you.”

“So it’s not my sparkling wit and expensive coffee then,” winked Mark.

“It’s actually Nat I really come to see.  One day we will run off together, won’t we darling?” Daly grinned.

“You’ll need a wheelbarrow at the moment – I won’t tell you how much she weighs now,” joked Mark.

“Even more than me?” laughed Daly.

“Oi, I am still here you know!” said Nat in a pretended hurt tone.  “All you have to do is ask my dear Gerry,” continuing the wind-up between the three of them.  She loved the way that they were all very comfortable enough with each other to make those fun cracks and how it was usually Nat and Daly ganging up on Mark in the end. 

“Why do you ask anyway, Gerry?” enquired Mark. 

“It’s a new case.  Some kid, well I say kid, but he was some Lefty, middle class, twenty-eight-year-old dickhead eco-warrior who was living with his parents.  He was found by them, burnt to a crisp in his bedroom.  He didn’t smoke or do drugs and didn’t even drink according to his best mate.  Jesus, you should have seen the size of that lad.  Makes Nat look positively waif-like.  Anyway, the new ME says the cause of death is officially Spontaneous Human Combustion.  He says he can’t really put it down to anything else.  The lad literally combusted without any accelerant, fuel or flame and there was hardly any surrounding fire damage in the bedroom.  The fire seems to have extinguished itself as soon as he was dead.”

“Bloody weird, indeed,” said Mark.  “Although most cases of SHC don’t have a lot of collateral fire damage from what I’ve read.  Looks to me like you have to take the ME’s word for it.  It’s a classic scenario.  Case closed, I reckon.

“Looks like it.  Maybe I’ve been conditioned to looking for the strange stuff since I met you,” Daly joked.  “It still doesn’t feel right though.  ‘Copper’s nose’ they call it.

“I know.  It’s difficult to take things at face value after all we’ve been through, mate.  Fancy another coffee or something a little more medicinal?”

“You’re twisting my arm, mate.  I wouldn’t say no to a single malt.  It’s the only thing that stops me running of with Nat, you know,” Daly grinned.

“That and my mum hunting you down and cutting your nuts off,” laughed Mark.

“How is the old sweetie?” asked Daly.

“She’s been spending a bit of time with Jim Anderson while he’s been on his summer break, they’re doing a bit of research into something or other.  You know what Jim is like - always into something when he’s not working… or eating.”

“I’ll have to nip over and see him when I get the chance.  I’ve not witnessed him eating three extra large pizzas in one go for a while.”

“He’s actually been eating with my folks now and again when he drops mum off in the evenings.  She would have been feeding him a lot more healthy stuff.  Salad and quinoa and stuff.  Probably a bucketful of tofu and chia seeds too,” Mark grinned.  “She should probably cook for you too, you fat git.  You can’t live on scotch and kebabs all your life, you know.  I hope you don’t take Carly to the bloody chippy on a date.”

“It’s usually a nice pub meal.  I can’t afford all the fancy places a Gazillionaire like you goes.”

“I spent most of the cash on this place and the new cars.  I’ll have to come up with another good story soon to keep Nat and the baby fed,” joked Mark.  He was actually well on his way to his third million.  Not bad for a bloke who had no ambition and working dead-end jobs in call centres, barely surviving before writing his first book.  He was amazed that Nat had stuck with him through those early years.  The original confrontation with Watkin, the Fifth Century witch, had changed his life forever.  Nat’s and Daly’s too.

Mark made another coffee for Nat and half-filled a couple of chunky crystal glasses with a twenty-five  year old single malt and sat back down at the kitchen table.

“I was just wondering how your new Welsh DS would cope if anything strange did happen again,” he said.   “Jimmy Weatherby seemed to take it all in his stride, but White was a little freaked out with the Anrok stuff, although he never did know the full story, did he?” he continued.

“Let’s hope we don’t find have to out, mate,” grimaced Daly.  “Jones seems to have a good head on his shoulders and his accent isn’t as bad as that bloody Manc droning away at me all day.  I’m sure he’ll be fine.  Neither are a patch on Jimmy though.”

“Maybe I should have had Anrok kill White off in my re-telling of the story.  That would have put a smile on your face,” Mark snorted with laughter.

“Too late now.  I was contemplating asking Anrok to do that sort of favour in real life after spending a few months with White,” Daly winked.

All three of them laughed until Nat quietly winced.

“Everything okay, Nat?” Mark and Daly said in unison.

“Just a twinge, nothing to worry about, but I think I will go and have a lie down for a bit,”  she said wearily.

“Give me a shout if you need anything, petal,” smiled Mark.

“Will do,” she said as she pushed her way off the kitchen chair, hugged Daly and gave Mark a kiss before shuffling off to bed.

“I think I’m going to enjoy being an uncle, mate,” said Daly.

“I was thinking more of a Godfather, when the time comes to get little Catweazle Christened,” smiled Mark.

“An uncle that does Marlon Brando impressions – double bubble!” grinned Daly.  “It’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

7

Zak Moosehead, who now went by the name of Chantal Pixie Rappaport was one of those modern types of people who identified as something different every week and could never get a real job.  He was working from home as a moderator for Facebook Community Standards and he could feel the power oozing from his fingertips as he slapped down everyone for the slightest joke or posting vile - in his mind - conspiracy theories.

“Naughty, naughty,” he gushed as a writer made a joke about killing people in his books.  He clicked on ‘One Day Ban’ from his drop down menu on the screen.  “It’s no use moaning about it, you straight fascist,” he screamed.  “It will just get worse for you, because ‘I have the power’ ” He then started to sing that annoying song.

Zak lived in San Dimas, California.  He shared a small apartment with three others around his age, all fairly woke activists like himself.  Over the last few years he had jumped on every trendy bandwagon going, even identifying as black for a while even though he was a pasty-faced ginger.  In his spare time he loved to read vaguely pornographic books to the little children who sat on his lap in Bonelli Park. 

He was alone in the apartment, as the other three house mates had real jobs; one was a barista, another gave out leaflets to passers-by about the latest thing and the third worked in a topless car wash.  Zak picked up his dainty little mug filled with soy macchiato (with cinnamon sprinkles) and sipped it through his orange lips.  His dirty light blue air flopped lazily over one hazel eye. 

Steel Panther’s Community Property started to play through his ipods.  He was listening to a radio station while he worked and the current DJ was highlighting various Californian bands.  As well as Panther; Little Feat, The Beach Boys and The Red Hot Chili Peppers were being featured.  He quickly ripped the buds from his ears and threw them against the wall.

“Sexist fuckwads,” he shouted at the band as if they could hear him.  Why couldn’t the radio station  play some nice Gary Glitter or Lost Prophets? He decided he’d had enough for the day, so logged off as an Admin and walked quickly to the park.  Zak sat there on a dirty wooden bench and watched the small children pass by with their parents in tow, smiling at all the kids in his special way.  One of them stopped and waved, recognising him,  but his mother quickly grabbed the boy by the wrist and, almost violently, dragged him away.  Zak was used to that though.  There were ignorant people everywhere, it seemed. 

“Hey, perve, watchoo doin’?” said a tall black man dressed all in denim, including a baggy flat cap, looking like he was from a Seventies Shaft movie.  “Tryin’ to pick up a kid, are ya?”

“No! I’m just sitting here minding my own business, like you should,” spat Zak.

“Watchoo say, muddafugger?” said the black man aggressively.

“Just go away, will you.  I’m not doing anyone any harm,” replied Zak, now a little more timidly in response to the aggression.

“I’ve seen you here before, reading to the little kids.  What sort of sick crap are you trying to brainwash them with? Queer stuff? Tranny stuff? You’re all fugging sick, dude!”

“Just fuck off and leave me alone,” again getting angry and a little braver.  “Go and sell drugs or steal something, man! I supported BLM you know!” said Zak. 

“Well, you can be proud of yourself then, can’t you, you sick little fugger!” said the black man sarcastically. 

“I’ll kick your ass in a minute,” glared Zak.  “I took karate lessons when I was a kid.”

“Well, karate this muddafugger!” said the black man as he reached to the waistband at the rear of his jeans and pulled out a silver 9mm automatic and put a bullet in Zak’s chest.  Zak fell backwards over the bench and the tall black man jumped onto the seat Zak had vacated and fired into his head until the clip was empty and the barrel of the gun smoked, a strange manic grin on the man’s face, like he wasn’t really in control of his own actions. The stench of cordite filled the air as people screamed and ran to safety.

Ellen was strapped to the long chair, seemingly in a daze, her mind foggy.  On a screen ahead of her was the scene in the park in San Dimas, and the tall black man was standing over the body of Zak Moosehead just waiting for the police to arrive.   She could see two uniformed cops run to the scene and, drawing their own guns, shouted at the suspect to drop his weapon and show them both of his hands.  The black man still had the wits to comply with them and stood holding his hands above his head.  One cop kept his gun trained on the suspect while the other first grabbed one wrist and roughly forced it into the small of the black man’s back and then slipped one half of his rigid cuffs around it then repeated the action with the other wrist.  Then he pushed the black man to his knees by stamping on one of his calves.  As soon as the black and white unit arrived he was bundled into the back and taken downtown to be booked.  By that time there was a large crowd staring at the body of Zak Moosehead and what little was left of his head.

“Excellent, Ellen.  He really got what he deserved, didn’t he? We really can’t let anyone hurt children, can we? Even in computer games,” smiled the brown haired, thin man in the white lab coat.  He removed the multitude of green, yellow and red wires connecting her to the machine and the monitors and then unstrapped her wrists from the chair.

“You can go and play now Ellen, and remember not to tell anyone about this,” he smiled.  “Tell Mrs. Jarvis that I said you could have a cookie.”

Ellen rushed up the stairs from the lower floor to Mrs. Jarvis and relayed the message and then sat in a corner nibbling on the digestive and watching the other children play loudly in the large common room, her head still a little foggy from the experiment.  She knew the effect would wear off soon as it was not her first time downstairs in the lab.

8

Robert and Joanne decided to take John to the seaside for the day as it was his last day before starting at The Academy.  It was a bright, sunny Sunday morning - a perfect day to be near the sea and pigging out on fish and chips and ice cream.

John was very excited.  Not only because of the day out, but he was actually beginning to look forward to starting the new school year.  Something he’d never done in previous years at his old school after a normal long summer holiday.

“Right everyone, are we ready to rock and roll?” said a beaming Robert.  He always said that when they were off on a trip.  John always took it to mean ‘Hurry up, will you two,’ to John, and especially his mum, who was always the last to get ready for days out.  John rarely needed encouraging to get himself ready for a day trip to somewhere nice.

“I’m ready, Freddie,” was Joanne’s normal response.  Just then the phone rang loudly just as Robert opened the front door.  He sighed and hoped it wasn’t a client.  They sometimes rang his home number at the weekends.  “Not today, please!” he said quietly as Jo strode towards the constant ring.  She considered ignoring it but answered anyway.

Joanne reluctantly picked up the handset while Robert and John waited impatiently.  Joanne talked for less than a minute and said, “Okay mum, I’ll be right over.”

“What’s happened?” asked Robert, now a bit more concerned than irritated.

“Nothing too serious,” smiled Joanne.  “Dad has fallen off his bloody ladder while cleaning the windows and he’s twisted his knee.  Mum wants me to take a look to see if it’s bad enough for an ambulance.  You know what she’s like.  I’m afraid you two will have to go without me today,” she said glumly.  “Sorry.”

“He should be paying someone to do the window cleaning at his age.  I assume it was a downstairs window he fell from? Otherwise he’d need more than an ambulance,” said Robert.

“Yes, but it was the one at the back so unfortunately he fell onto the patio and not the flower beds,” replied Joanne.  “Anyway, I’m really sorry.  I have to go over.  It’s probably just a sprain but I want to make sure it’s not a fracture or ligament damage.  I was so looking forward to today,” she said sadly.

“Okay, I understand, Jo.  I’ll take John on my own then.  It’s a shame though.  Maybe we’ll do something next weekend together?” smiled Robert.  “Anyway, you ready amigo?” he asked John.

“Si, si, papa” replied John who gave his mum a hug and an extra one for his injured granddad and then ran out of the door to his dad’s car.”

“Call me when you know more, Jo.  And give George my best,” said Robert, kissed her and then followed John out to the car.

A few minutes later Joanne left herself in her small black Suzuki SX4 to check up on her poor old dad, concerned but still a little annoyed that his fall had ruined a lovely day for her.

It should have taken Robert around 1 hour 40 minutes for the eighty-two mile drive to Brighton using the normal M25/M23/A23 route but as it was a Sunday and very nice weather it seemed every man and his dog (almost literally) were heading for the Southern coastal town, so the trip was close to 2 hours and 15 minutes.  Still, not too bad, he thought.  He had luckily pre-booked a parking spot in the Metropole underground car park earlier in the day for £25 online.  The car park was fairly close to the beach so pretty much worth the cost and a lot better than driving around trying to find a cheaper option and wasting part of the day.  He left the silver Mercedes in his allocated space and then tried to keep up with an even more excited John, who couldn’t wait to get down to the beach area and start the fun for the day.

After around an hour on the beach Robert asked John if he wanted to go to the Sea Life aquarium.  “Yes please, dad - do they have sharks?” asked the boy excitedly.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” winked Robert.  “Come on, shake that sand off your feet, young man.  We’ll have to get a short bus ride there, it’s a little too far to walk for your old dad,” he said as he faked a limp and puffed along in an exaggerated way which made John giggle.

They took the 3 or 4 minute ride on the green double decker to Sea Life and Robert paid £27.50 for himself and £24.00 for John and they enjoyed a good three hours in the place.  John was extremely happy he got to see some sharks up close.  Reef Sharks and a Nurse Shark.  He had had an interest in them for a couple of years and thought he would like to be a Marine Biologist… until his dad let him watch Jaws.  Now he just wanted to make robots.  Robert particularly loved the Seahorses and was amazed to find out there were over forty species of them.  They looked a bit weird, he thought, but they were very interesting and sort of cute, unlike real horses which scared him a little up close.

“Fancy some fish and chip, muppet?” Robert asked his son.

“Yes please, dad” said the unusually polite boy.  “Can I have some mushy peas too?” he asked.

“You can have whatever you want.  It’s our special lad’s day out.” Robert then wondered if he should call Joanne to find out how George was after the fall.  As they walked towards one of the many mobile fish and chip stalls he pulled his phone out and called his wife.

It was Ann who answered.  “Hello Robert, love,” she said.  “Jo is a little busy bandaging George’s knee at the moment and she needs three hands as it is,” she giggled.  “George isn’t too bad.  Jo has checked him over and is certain that his knee is only sprained, although he’s being a big baby about the whole thing as usual.  He’s more embarrassed than anything and feeling guilty he’s ruined the day out for you all.  How is it going down there?” she asked.

“The drive here took a little longer than expected but we spent a bit of time on the beach.  It was somewhat  crowded as you’d expect - and we’ve just come out of Sea Life where John gushed over the sharks, also as expected.  We’re on our way for fish and chips now and then we’ll take a walk all the way down the pier before we make our way home.  Tell George he’s a muppet for climbing ladders at his age and not to be such a tight old git and pay someone to do it,” he teased.

“Oh, I think the old boy has really learnt his lesson this time.  The man who does Alan and Maud next door seems to be very nice and he only charges a tenner.  I’m just glad George didn’t do any more damage.  I don’t want him to be stuck in bed with a broken hip or even worse,” said Ann, now thinking what ‘worse’ actually meant. 

“Yes, it could have been a lot worse.  Make sure you get hold of this window cleaner bloke.  A tenner is pretty good these days.  You know I’d do them for you myself if I had the time, but you know how work is now, I’m sure Jo had told you I’m rarely at home,” Robert laughed, even though he knew it wasn’t funny.  “Right, we’re near the front of the queue for the fish and chips, I quite fancy some rock and chips and John says he wants haddock…and a lot of mushy peas.  We’d better go, love to you all and tell Jo I’ll see her at home.  I’ll nip to the local chippy and get her something later so tell her not to cook.”

“I’ll tell her, love,” answered Ann brightly.  “She’ll love that.”

Robert ended the call just in time to see a big, dark haired lady in a light blue plastic pinafore smiling at him from the small kiosk.  “What will it be, ducky?” she said cheerily, even though she’d probably said the same thing a thousand times already that day.

Robert ordered and after getting the two meals, they sat on a black steel bench watching out for the seagulls who were well known for swooping down and stealing your food.  “Your Granddad George isn’t too bad, just a sprained knee and your mum is wrapping it up for him.  I suppose you heard that I’ll be stopping off to get your mum something later on the way home? By that time we may possibly be ready for a second helping,” he grinned.  “This really is good, isn’t it?” Robert said, licking his lips and then forking another chunky chip into his mouth.  We’ll have a day trip up to Whitby soon.  Now there the fish and chips are amazing! And that’s where Dracula landed in the book.  Really cool ruined cathedral or abbey or something like that too - it’s way up on a massive hill.”

“Coool,” said John.  “Did Dracula fly there? You said he landed,” he asked.

“No,” Robert chuckled.  “He traveled over on a ship called The Demeter in his coffin and all the crew were dead when the ship reached England and crashed on the rocks.  Dracula jumped off just in time but he was a dog because vampires are shape shifters too.  That how they change into bats… or even wolves.  We could watch one of the films later if you want.”

“Excellent!” cried John.

Robert realised he only had just under an hour left on his parking so they walked quickly about three-quarters the way up the pier.  Then they looked out to sea for about five minutes - John doing his best to scout for sharks, of course, and then they made their way back along the pier and got the bus back to the car park.

On the way back to the bus John noticed a strange looking man standing at the entrance to the pier, watching them closely.  He was dressed all in black which was a bit weird considering it was very sunny and pretty warm, and wore a huge black hat with the wide brim covering most of his face.  His eyes were in deep, dark shadow.  He looked a bit creepy to John and he scared the boy a little.  The man just stood there almost motionless and only turning his head gradually as John and his dad slowly walked past him.  He reminded John of some of the spy novels he had read on his Kindle.  A bad guy keeping tabs on the hero.  Working for a foreign government and trying to steal a secret formula from the hero scientist.  After they had passed the strange man, John looked back and saw that the mysterious figure had disappeared from view.

The drive home only took ninety-five minutes this time, even including the stop at the chip shop.  Along the way Robert turned down the classical music a little and asked John how he felt about starting at the new school in the morning. 

“It will be fine, I think,” said John.  I’ll get used to staying there weeknights, I suppose.  Everyone else there will feel the same and I bet we’ll keep busy playing games or reading in the evenings and I’ll still see my old friends at the weekend.”

“Do you want to take any of your games or toys with you?” asked Robert. 

No, dad.  I’ll just take my Kindle with me.  I’ve got a few hundred books on there now and I’m reading the new Mark Mason at the moment.  Anrok is back and it’s pretty good.  I’m sure there will be a lot of board games and stuff already there.  I bet I’ll be School Monopoly Champion in no time,” he joked.

“I promise you I won’t be bringing home work for the weekend anymore.  I’m saving all my spare time for you and your mum.  We’ll really make the most of the time we have together… just like we did today.  Did you enjoy yourself, then? Robert asked.”

“Yes, it was great - the sharks were really cool, dad.  I just wish we could have spent a bit more time at the aquarium and got to see the fun fair at the end of the pier,” said John.

“Yes, that’s my fault.  I should have paid for a longer parking session.  Tell you what.  In a couple of weeks I’ll pay for eight hours and we can come back with your mum and make a real day of it.  Aquarium, roller coaster, fish and chips… the lot!” he smiled.

“YES!!!” shouted John.  Then he remembered the mysterious, creepy man in black and hoped wouldn’t be there again.

***

The strange looking man in black called his handler from a public phone box in Brighton later that evening.  He had never seen, nor met, the man on the other end of the line.  He didn’t even know the name of the head of the shadowy organisation.  Or know the name of the organisation itself for that matter, and he didn’t really care as long as he got paid.  And the money was good, after all.

“Yes, final check done, Sir.  He’s the best I’ve ever seen.  Yes, he’s starting there tomorrow, Sir.  He’s got massive potential and is exactly what you need,” he said.

The man hung up and immediately dialled another number.  This time it was a reporter, or investigative journalist, as Malcolm Wiper like to be called.

“Malcolm? Yes - I have a name for you.  John Collins.  Eleven years old.  Starts at The Academy tomorrow morning.  Yes, that’s right, another boy and this one feels so strong to me.  I think they’ll try and use him as soon as they can.  Make sure I get paid quickly, will you? I’m risking my life talking to you.  This may be the last time we speak.  I’m not telling you which country I’m moving to, but it will be soon.  No extradition treaty and not even a British Embassy there.  I hope to God I’ll be safe.  Goodbye Malcolm, make sure you send me that money.”

“I’ll be doing the same,” replied Wiper.  “As soon as everything is sent to my publisher I’m off.  Good luck.”

The man ended the call and exited the phone box.  He got a taxi to the train station and bought a single ticket to London.  He sat in a cafe inside the station and bought a black coffee and a turkey and ham sandwich and just sat there, nervously looking around for anyone who was watching him.  At 11:23 it was time to board the train to Clapham Junction and he sat in one of the carriages near the rear of the train.  He was glad he had the whole carriage to himself at that time of night.  There’d be no tedious small talk with someone who was probably drunk or just annoying. 

The train left dead on time and picked up speed once it was out of the built up area of Brighton.  The man looked at his watch and willed it to tick a bit faster.  The train would arrive at just after 12:30 in the morning which meant he wouldn’t get home until gone one o’clock.  He had bought a motoring magazine at the newsagents in the station and started to leaf through it.  There was a feature about the new electric Jaguar which he thought was a waste of a good chassis.  He always like Jaguars and once had an old X Type.  He had loved that car.  It was so comfortable and the automatic gearbox meant his left knee wasn’t in so much pain.  He couldn’t imagine going back to a manual gearbox now.  Not that he needed a car living in London, but he’d have loved a drive down to the seaside in his old Jag that morning.

As the train traveled smoothly towards London the man gazed out of the window into the darkness, wishing he was already home and in bed.  At the front of the train the engine picked up speed as it moved through the peaceful countryside.  A minute crack then started to appear in one on the engine’s wheels, unknown to the driver.  The crack widened and then suddenly the Chinese-made wheel shattered, sending debris under the wheels behind it.  The man felt a shudder and then a series of lurches as the carriages toppled one by one to the left, down a steep embankment.  The carriage he was in started to fall sideways and then ploughed into the back of the previous one and folded like a concertina.  The man’s last thought before he was horribly crushed to death was that ‘they’ knew about him talking to Wiper and he was being punished for betraying them.  Silenced.  It’s what they did.

The derailment, just outside Crawley, happened at 11:49.  The man was just one of eighteen passengers and staff killed in the dark, English countryside that night.  The media frenzy that followed during the rest of the night and long into the morning speculated everything from a broken down car on a level crossing to a terrorist attack.  Weeks later the investigators concluded that a faulty wheel was to blame for the derailment and crash.  No one else to hold accountable for the worst train crash in Britain since Ladbroke Grove in October 1999.  No one even suspected that there was an outside influence that caused the wheel to shatter.  The media demanded to know why a British train had Chinese made wheels in the first place, and the consensus was cost-cutting, as ever.

Paul Gardener was returned to the dormitory by Mr. Coots, one of the live-in teachers, and soon fell asleep again.  One of the other boys woke briefly and assumed Paul had been to the toilet, rolled over, and went back to sleep himself. 

9

“Ready for your first day, muppet?” Robert asked his son as enthusiastically as he could after watching the terrible news about the train crash near Crawley.  He wondered if they had even seen some of the victims in Brighton in the hours preceding the accident.

“Sort of, dad,” the boy replied.  He hadn’t slept much the previous night with a mixture of nervousness and excitement and after watching Bela Lugosi shape-shifting into a bat.  “I’ll miss seeing my friends every day.”

Joanne was standing in the hallway holding a huge canvas bag full of clothes and a couple of hand-held electronic games, as well as John’s Kindle.  “Won’t you miss me too?” she asked, feeling a bit sad that she wouldn’t see her son every day either.

“Of course I will, mum,” he said.  “And dad too.  I just meant that it’s a shame they can’t come with me to the new school, that’s all,” he smiled. 

“You’ll make new friends there - extra friends that you see during the week - and the old ones at the weekends.  Can’t get much better than that, can it?” said Robert.  “And like I said, these new friends could be very useful to you in the future.  They could grow up to be inventors, business people or even politicians, so potentially a big help when it comes to your own career when the time comes.  I know it seems a long way off but the friends you make now may benefit you in the future.  It’s important, muppet.”

“I know, dad.  And I know I’ll get on with them.  I’m just not too happy to be ‘the new boy’ - they all know each other there and I’ll feel like an outsider at first,” said John with a frown.

“I know John, but that’s something you’ll have to deal with all your life.  There will always be changes you need to cope with however old you are.  It took me ages to feel part of the team when I moved to the new bank,” smiled Robert.  “Now look at me.  I’m really happy there, and I know you will be at the new school.  Now let me take a look at my big boy before he goes off on a great adventure!”

Robert stepped back and pretended to inspect John as if he was a military man on parade.  He made a show of adjusting the maroon tie John was wearing and making sure his new shoes were polished nicely.  The rest of his uniform was pretty generic.  Grey trousers and a dark blue v-neck jumper that covered a light blue shirt. 

“You’ll do!” smiled Robert as he hugged his son and then took the bag from Joanne so that John can say his temporary goodbyes.  He opened the front door and put the bag in the boot of the car parked on the driveway.

John hugged his mum while Joanne fought back a tear.  “You know you are going to be absolutely fine, don’t you,” she said.  And when you come home for the weekend we’ll have a big party for you.  I’ll invite all your local friends.  How does that sound? Just be a good boy and work hard at the new school and make even more friends.  I know you’ll do really well there.  You are a special little man.  All those tests Mr. Snow did show that.”

“I’ll get used to it, mum,” replied the boy.  “And I know you’re right.  Everything will be fine… I’ll be fine.  And I’ll see you on Friday when dad picks me up again.” He gave her an extra hard hug and hoped the smell of her old green cardigan stayed with him all week.  It was so comforting.

John ran out to the car and opened the rear door.  “Front seat today, John,” grinned his father from the driver’s seat.  “Now you’re all grown up you can sit next to me when it’s just us two, okay.”

John almost slammed the rear door in his excitement and got into the passenger seat and quickly put on his seat belt.  It was the first time he’d been allowed in the front and was now really looking forward to the trip to Milton Academy.

It took around thirty-five minutes for Robert to drive to the Academy just outside Shillington.  He parked in one of the visitor’s spaces and unloaded the large bag from the boot and carried it up the marble steps that stopped just in front of a huge double door.  He pushed one side open and John went in first, a good sign, Robert thought, and he followed the boy in. 

Millicent Crowther was there waiting for them in the foyer, smiling at John.  It was the first time he’d met her and he thought she looked nice and friendly. 

“Good morning John,” she said.  “I hope you have been looking forward to joining us all here at Milton Academy? You’ll soon settle in and find were are all just one big happy family.  Some of the boys are excited to meet you and you’ll see them all a bit later.  First we have to get you settled in the boy’s dorm room and unpack all your belongings and then I’ll introduce you to everyone, how does that sound?”

“Sounds okay to me,” said John with a tentative smile.

“Thank you for bringing John to us, Mr. Collins.  We’ll take very good care of him while he’s here.  The boys and girls are all a friendly bunch and John will soon fit in perfectly well,” she smiled.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy once he settles, Mrs. Crowther,” said Robert.  “So, I’ll pick you up at around six on Friday.  Hopefully the traffic won’t be too bad.  And then we’ll have that party your mum is planning for you on Saturday.”

“Okay, dad,” smiled the boy. “See you.”

Mrs. Crowther took the bag from Robert before shaking hands.  John gave his dad a last hug and Robert turned towards the front doors.  He looked back and saw Mrs. Crowther leading John to the wide staircase.  He thought that John would be okay there.

Mrs. Crowther showed John up to the second floor and they turned right along the corridor.  They reached the boy’s dormitory and Mrs. Crowther opened the door and tutted to herself as she saw clothes strewn on the unmade beds and a half-finished game of Monopoly on the floor between the beds.  “I hope you won’t be this untidy, John,” she said as a friendly warning.

“I’ll try not to be.  My mum put a bag for my washing in my tote,” he said, trying to make a good first impression.  Mrs. Crowther placed the big bag on the only bed that looked unused.  “This will be your bed, John.  There is a locker over there for your clothes and plenty of storage under the bed for any toys and things you want to bring in future.”

“Looks good,” said John.  “I’ll probably just read a lot until I get used to everyone.  I won’t be any trouble at all,” added the boy, trying hard to look good but also very conscious not to be too much of a crawler to the Headmistress.

“I’ll let you unpack and when you are finished come down to my office and I’ll get you along to class so you can meet everyone.  Today you can just observe, but if you want to join in then you are most welcome,” she said.  “Tomorrow you start for real and I’ll expect you to apply yourself the same way as all the other children.”

“I will, and thank you,” said John as he unzipped the large green and black bag.  Mrs. Crowther left him to it and closed the door to the dorm.  It didn’t take John long to transfer his spare clothes to the locker standing next to his bed. Civvies, his dad called them for some reason.  John placed the empty bag under his bed and then went to the large window at the end of the long dorm room and looked out.  He could see a lawn that was a little brown due to the long hot summer.  There was a football pitch, complete with goals and nets not too far away and a tall white wall in the distance.  He wondered when he’d be playing football.  He assumed Mrs. Crowther or one of the other teachers would give him a timetable for his lessons a bit later.

He exited the dormitory and walked down the two floors to the ground level and knocked on Mrs. Crowther’s office door. 

Mrs. Crowther exited her office and, locking the door after her, led John down the corridor into the  east wing of the of the large building.  They eventually came to came to a classroom door which Mrs. Crowther opened quietly.  John could see a lot of kids, both younger and older than himself working on what looked like robotic arms from a cool Science Fiction film.  The arms were all white and gleaming with chrome joints joining the various parts.  A man of around forty, to John’s eyes, walked slowly around the classroom in silence eying each project, smiling with satisfaction.  He suddenly looked up at the door to see Mrs. Crowther and the boy he had been expecting to join the class at some point.  He walked over to the pair enthusiastically.

“Hello, you must be John.  I’m Mr. Mathers and, as you can see, I take the robotics class.  I’ve been told you are already very interested in the subject which is good because you have a little catching up to do,” he smiled.  “Say hello to John, everyone,” he said to the class, who had all stopped what they were doing to inspect the new boy.

There was a chorus of a mixture of ‘hi’, ‘hello’ and ‘hi John’ from the kids, all seemingly friendly towards him.  John smiled and held up his left hand in a returned greeting. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Crowther.  We’ll soon get John up to speed in this class,” said Mathers.  “I’m sure the other children will help him out if he gets a little stuck.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Mathers,” she replied.  “Oh, and before I go I have your timetable, John.” She put her hand into the pocket of her dark green dress and pulled out a folded sheet and handed it to the boy.  “Have a look at your schedule at break time and if you get confused about where to go don’t worry - just follow everyone else.  Everybody takes all the lessons together at the same time so stick with the group and you won’t go wrong, okay?”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Crowther.  I’m sure I’ll be fine,” replied John.  John thought he’d need to look at an online Thesaurus to find another word for ‘fine’ - he’d noticed he’d been using it a bit too much to describe his feelings lately.

“Right, I’ll leave you all to it.  Don’t forget, John, any problems and you can always come and see me but I’m sure a bright boy like you will fit in very easily without any drama.  Enjoy yourself.” She smiled warmly and retreated back to her office.

“So, John.  As you can see, this is the robotics class, one of the specialised lessons we do here at the Academy.  Something only a handful of schools in the country teaches, in fact.  You wouldn’t get anywhere near tech like this in your old school and I’ll bet all your friends from there will be very jealous of you when you tell them all about what you are doing here at the Academy,” said Mr. Mathers.

“It all looks really cool,” John beamed.  “I know a little through books my dad gave me, watching films and looking online but want to learn more.  My dad says it’s just the sort of career I should consider and things like robotics will be very important in the future… as long as we don’t build any Terminators,” he grinned.

“No chance of that John,” laughed Mathers, along with the rest of the class.  “At the moment we’re concentrating on the mechanical side of things but in a year or two we’ll be looking to integrate that with the A.I. aspect.  Imagine a robot that can think for itself and has the capability of performing certain functions around the home and in offices too.  I’m sure your mum would love something to help her out at home?”

“Yeah, she’s always moaning about how the vacuum cleaner gives her a bad back.  She doesn’t know that my dad is getting her one of those automatic ones that just roams around the house sucking up the dust.”

“My wife has one of those and she loves it,” said Mathers.  “The cat even has a ride on it sometimes,” he chuckled.  “So… no pressure today, John.  I’ll team you up with a couple of people and all you need to do is just observe what they are doing.  You can join in if you feel comfortable, okay?”

“Fine,” said John smiling a little nervously.  That word again.

Mathers guided John over to a pair of students, a boy and a girl around his own age, and introduced them.  “This is Paul and Amy, they have been in my class over a year now and know their stuff, or I hope they do,” he said looking at Paul, who he knew was quite advanced for his age but often got bored very quickly as a lot of intelligent people do, always looking for the next challenge. 

John smiled at them both.  Paul looked nearly a year older than him but no more than that.  Maybe a foot taller too and quite thin with short dark hair.  Amy was a pretty red-head around the same age as John, maybe a month or two younger.  It was hard to tell with girls, he thought.  She was a few inches shorter than him and a little chubbier.  She smiled at him and her green eyes shone brightly.  They both mumbled a ‘hi’.  John assumed they were both quite shy.  

“I’ll leave you in the capable hands of these two, John,” said Mathers.  “If there are any questions that Paul and Amy can’t answer for you then just give me a call.  To be honest all I do is walk around and think this lot will have my job in a couple for years,” he laughed.  “You think I’m joking, but I’m too young to retire just yet.”

“Thanks, Mr. Mathers,” said John and turned towards the other two. 

“You’ll be okay with us,” said Paul, now warming a little to the smaller boy.

“We’ll look after you,” smiled Amy who had already decided she liked John and hoped Mr. Mathers didn’t move him from their small group once he was a bit more comfortable with things.  She hoped John would get to like her too.

“Thanks,” replied John.  “So what are you doing? Like I said, I know a little bit already, probably not as much as you two though.”

“Well, we have a problem with this arm we’re working on,” said Paul.  “It’s not moving as smoothly as it should.  We’re trying to diagnose the fault.  It’s probably somewhere in the electronics or software,” he sighed.

“What about the bearings?” asked John.

“I didn’t even consider an actual physical cause,” laughed Paul.  “I should have really.  It’s common sense really.  I’ve wasted a lot of time checking the electronics over and over and found nothing,” he said as he picked up a screwdriver and dismantled the ‘wrist’ joint of the mechanical arm.  That worked perfectly, but when he took apart the ‘elbow’ joint he saw that two of the tiny ball bearings were somehow fused together.  “Ah, there we are,” he frowned.  “So simple really.  Thanks John.  It shows what a fresh pair of eyes or a different perception can do.  Welcome to our little team,” he grinned.  Amy looked impressed too.

After replacing the bearings the trio worked on the arm and chatted for the next one hour and twenty minutes left of the two hour lesson until it was break time.  Amy had been asking all sorts of questions about his home life, his old school and his other friends.  Paul rarely asked anything about John and mostly just listened intently.  During the thirty minute break time John had the opportunity to look at his timetable as he lagged back in the corridor.  Next lesson was Maths, which he was pretty good at. Sports later.

Paul and Amy were sitting at a table in the small cafeteria.  They both had a glass of orange squash in front of them.  They waved him over to where they were.  Paul got up and showed him where the drinks were, although it was a bit obvious to the new boy.  John chose blackcurrant from a bottle and filled his tall tumbler up with water from one of the large glass jugs.

“She likes you, you know,” grinned Paul and rolled his eyes.

“Who? Amy?”

“Who else, you muppet,” laughed Paul, not even knowing that was John’s dad’s pet name for him.

“She seems nice,” smiled John nervously.  

“Yeah, she is.  She’s a little bit girly though.  She doesn’t play with dolls or anything like that but she reads a lot of these stupid teen romance books, that sort of thing.  She’s not even a teen!”

“Is she your girlfriend?” asked John.

“Nah, I haven’t got time for girls.  I’m too busy learning and preparing for a great future.  That’s what my mum and dad want, anyway.  Their ‘genius son’ making something of himself.  No pressure, right? I think they seem to forget I’m eleven, nearly twelve, and not some twenty-year-old in university.  Are your folks like that?” Paul asked.

“Not really, I know they want me to be happy and get on.  But I don’t know if their plans for me will change after I’ve been here for a while.  We’ll have to see, I suppose,” said John.

“I wish mine were like that.  It’s work, work, work and then work a bit harder for me.  I don’t even get to see my old mates anymore.  My parents think they are all beneath me and will drag me down to their level.”

“That’s sort of what my dad said but my parents are having a party for me and all my old friends on Saturday to celebrate my first week here, so a slight difference,” frowned John.  “Maybe you can come too?”

“I’d love to, but my folks wouldn’t let me go though,” sighed Paul.

“Maybe one day,” smiled John as they walked back to the table where Amy was waiting patiently for them.

“What are your parents like, Amy?” John asked.  “Paul’s seem a bit strict compared to mine.”

“Oh, they are okay, I suppose.  They are happy to have me here during the week so they can go out nearly every night and not have to pay for a babysitter… even though I’m not a baby and can take care of myself!”

“John thinks you’re a babe though, I bet,” laughed Paul with a wicked, playful smile.

“He does?” asked Amy, beaming.

“I didn’t say that, Paul is winding you up!” said John, now very embarrassed.

“Oh,” replied Amy, quite disappointedly.

“What I mean is I’ve only just met you,” John said.  “I’m sure we’ll be friends though.  You’re okay… for a girl,” he grinned, deciding to carry on the wind up.  He did like Amy though.  But he was way to young to have a girlfriend.  But he did like the idea of having a friend who was a girl.  It was different at his old school where they made you do country dancing and the boys did their best to get out of it.  One boy even punched himself on the nose to make it bleed so he wouldn’t have to do the dancing.  John had even thought of doing that himself and had eventually tried it once but it hurt and his nose didn’t bleed so gave up.  He was paired with a really fat girl called Beverly so it was doubly bad that day.

The bell went for the next two hour lesson, John was delighted.  He liked Maths and it put an end, for now, to any awkwardness between himself and Amy.  He was sure that would continue when they broke for lunch and he wondered how much trouble Paul would get him in with his wind ups when he had a whole hour to kill. 

Maths was with a teacher called Mr. Porteous, a tall, thin man in his fifties with dark, slicked back hair and wearing a three piece suit.  Despite his appearance John thought the teacher was pretty laid back and he enjoyed the class.  It was fairly advanced stuff compared to what he was doing at the old school but he soon understood what he was being taught.

Then it was time for the lunch break and a return to the cafeteria where he sat with Paul and Amy again.  Luckily Paul behaved himself a bit better and didn’t try to wind up Amy too much.  After a hot meal of steak and kidney pie, mash and mixed vegetables, Paul asked if John wanted a quick tour of the grounds.  Amy stayed seated, saying she wanted to catch up on her book, He loved My Sister More.  A sad romance novel by the look of it. 

After placing their dirty plates and cutlery in large, grey washing up bowls, they both exited the cafeteria into the main corridor.  As they were leaving a man in a dark suit and sunglasses, carrying a silver attache case, strode through the front door and along to the office of Mrs. Crowther.  He entered without knocking.

“Who’s that?” asked John.

“I don’t know,” replied Paul.  “I’ve seen him a few times before though.  He comes here about once a month.  Probably a director or trustee or something.  He’s got a Tesla.”

“I don’t like them,” said John.  My dad’s got a Mercedes and he let me ride in the front with him on the way over this morning.  First time ever!”

“I wish he was my dad too,” sighed Paul.  “I’m eleven and quite tall and my dad still makes me sit it the back.  I’m surprised he hasn’t found a giant baby seat for me.  I’m nearly twelve,” Paul repeated, as if John hadn’t been taking any notice earlier in the day.

John sniggered and then realised Paul wasn’t really joking and felt a bit sad for him.  He wondered what it would be like if his dad was the same as Paul’s. Pretty horrible, he thought.

“What does your dad do?” asked the smaller boy.

“He’s a company director for a large building film,” he replied.  “He told me I had to work hard because there was no way he’d get me a job there.  He said I had to make it on my own.  I don’t want to work there anyway.  What about your dad?” Paul asked.

“He works for a big bank in London.  Pretty high up, but he does work a lot of hours so doesn’t really have much time for me or my mum.  He even works on a Saturday sometimes.  I think he earns a lot so we have really good holidays and stuff but I’d rather we did more things together like yesterday in Brighton.  Hey! Have you ever seen a shark up close? I did yesterday at the aquarium.”

“Only on TV.  That must have been so cool,” said Paul.

They continued out of the door and turned left.  They walked past the gleaming Tesla in the visitor’s car park and then turned left again onto the main sports grounds.  The patchy green and brown area was huge.  Much bigger than John could see from the dormitory window after he had unpacked earlier.  To the right was a running track made from a reddish-brown foam.  In the centre was a long jump and a high jump area.  The sand was dryly packed and cracked from the blazing sun they’d had during the summer.  There was also a cage for shot putt and discus and an area used for javelin throwing on the far side of the track and past that was a couple of tennis courts.  John had used a running track at his old school but never tried any of the other sports.  He couldn’t wait until he got to do the javelin.  He quickly took out his timetable from his back pocket and saw again that ‘SPORTS’ was listed last period on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. 

“Which sports do we do this week,” he asked Paul.

“Not sure, we do something different each time.  We don’t usually find out until Mr. Robbins tells us when we are lined up outside the changing rooms.  We played a lot of cricket at the end of last term and a bit of the Athletics stuff too.  But it could be anything.  Rugby, football or swimming, even rounders sometimes.  We’ll find out later what it is today.”

“What’s rounders?” asked John.

“It’s sort of like baseball, but the girls can play too - even Chubby Amy,” he laughed wickedly.

“She’s not that chubby!” said John.  “My mum calls it puppy fat and it’s supposed to go when you get a bit older.  We had a kid called Wayne at my old school though, and he really was fat.  More like a hippo than a puppy, to be honest.  He said it was because of his glands but it was probably all the cakes and coke his mum put in his lunch box every day.  My mum said I shouldn’t make fun of him because it wasn’t his fault really and said something about child abuse which I didn’t understand really.”

“She probably meant that his mum was bad for feeding him that stuff instead of better food that didn’t make him so fat.  I think it’s called Munchers Syndrome or something where someone does something bad to someone else but they get all the attention and sympathy.  It a bit of a mental thing.”

“Wow, that is mental.  My mum always makes me eat fruit and vegetables all the time.  I only get treats like cake and chocolate on a Sunday.  Hey, maybe my dad can take you to Brighton for the next trip.  We went to Seaworld and saw sharks and walked on the pier - it was brilliant.  You ever been there?”

“Yeah, you said,” replied Paul, rolling his eyes which made John laugh.  “No, my dad only takes me to museums and art galleries, nothing really fun,” Paul sighed.

“Oh, that sucks! My mum was supposed to come too but my granddad had a fall and she had to go over and look after him.  My dad called him a muppet for climbing up a ladder ‘at his age’,” John grinned.  “He’s really old...  about sixty, I think.”

“That is old.  Was he okay?” asked Paul.

“Yeah, just a bit bruised and he twisted his knee, he’ll be okay in a few days according to my mum.  She’s a nurse.”

“Cool.  Does she work in a hospital?” Paul asked as they continued to walk.

“Yeah, the big one in Watford near us.  We live in Kingsford near that writer, Mark Mason.  He’s great.  Have you ever read any of his books?”

“No.  I’ve never heard of him,” replied Paul.

“We’ve got this party at the weekend, but my dad says there will be loads of day trips to theme parks and castles and even football matches because he won’t work so much anymore.  He’s a Watford fan though, so I hope we don’t go there.  I support Liverpool but it’s too far to go.  Maybe he can take me when Liverpool play one of the big London clubs.”

“Liverpool? Urrrgh! I’m a Man. United fan.  We shouldn’t be getting on so well but I’m glad we do.  Except when our teams play each other, of course, then it’s all-out war,” he grinned as he punched John on the arm and singing ‘Glory, Glory, Man. United!’ loudly.

“Owww!” cried John, grateful they only played each other twice a year.  Paul punched quite hard because he was a little older and a lot bigger.  John hoped the teams didn’t meet in the cup.

They kept walking, and chatting, and laughing.  John decided Paul would be his best friend here and Chris his bestie at home at weekends.  Amy would be his second best friend.  He liked her but he’d keep that to himself for the moment.  He’d never really liked a girl before.  At least she was clever so that was probably why he liked her.  She wasn’t like the girls at his old school who stood in groups and giggled all the time and made up silly games, like Big Beverley.  He’d noticed that out of the twenty or so kids at the school there were only three girls.  He hadn’t spoken to the other two girls yet.  He thought it would be pretty quiet in the girl’s dorm with only three of them in there.  Especially with Amy reading all those soppy books all the time and he wondered what the other two read.  Maybe even the same sort of rubbish and they swapped their books between them all the time. 

They reached the end of the rear of the main building and John saw a long and narrow construction with a flat felt roof.  “That’s the swimming pool,” Paul said.  “We use that a lot in the winter when the weather is bad.  It’s heated so it’s really lovely and warm in the water.  Make sure you bring your own swimming cap though, because Mr. Robbins will make you wear one that used to belong to his mum.  It’s big and white with plastic flowers hanging off it.  I had to wear it once and it smells a bit weird,” he grimaced.

“That’s awful.  I bet you were embarrassed,” said John, trying not to laugh too much.

They continued their walk around the building and back in through the front door.  They saw the man who was visiting Mrs. Crowther just leaving in his big, chauffeur driven jet-black Tesla.  They walked back to the noisy cafeteria and rejoined Amy for the last ten minutes of their lunch hour.  She looked up from her book and smiled at John sweetly.

10

English after lunch was fairly uneventful.  Mrs. Evans was nice but a bit boring.  She was in her fifties, John estimated, and was very overweight.  She had a mop of dark curly hair with a funny white patch at the front.  They all had to write an essay on what they did over the summer holiday.  John wrote about his trip to Seaworld the day before.  Technically he was still on the yearly break even though the other kids had started back a week earlier.  Then Mrs. Evans made him read it out in front of the whole class.  She said as he was new, everyone else would get to know him a little better.  John stammered in a few places through nerves.  He kept looking at the other children who were all turned towards him smiling as he read and he lost his place a few times.  His eyes found Amy near the front of the class and she nodded to him as if to say ‘you’re doing okay’ and after that he relaxed a little and finished the story without losing his train of thought or place in the text.  When he was finished everyone clapped and Mrs. Evans told him he did very well.  Then she asked Paul to read his.  John felt a bit sorry for Paul as his whole summer seemed to be endless trips to museums and how he found them tedious.  He wrote that he didn’t have much fun and often heard kids outside over at the playing field.  From his bedroom he could see them playing football or cricket or on the slide and swings.  Fun stuff.  He wished he could join them but his dad had given him lots of homework that he had set on loads of different subjects and also had a lot of reading to get through.  He actually looked forward to coming back to Milton Academy after just a few days of his ‘holiday’.  No one clapped Paul’s story.  Mrs. Evans placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and told him that it was nice to see him back at the school where he belonged.

John was unused to the two hour lessons at the new school.  He thought that the sessions being so long it gave them more time to get through the mass of work for each subject, but also everyone would be a bit bored by the end of the session.  At his old school the lessons were fifty minutes long at most with a lot being just half of that.  He supposed he’d get used to it after a while.  He was pleased that he seemed to have learnt a lot already and it was still only his first day.

Afternoon break came and they all tramped off to the cafeteria again.  John was told ‘good story’ a few times from the classmates he didn’t really know yet.  He barely remembered the names of those kids Paul had told him earlier.  He sat with his two friends again and Amy told him that she had really enjoyed his story and she would be asking her mum and dad to take her to Seaworld at half-term.  She also said that John could go with them so he can point out all the good things to her while they were there.  John tentatively agreed.  He found it a bit strange that someone had latched onto him just hours after meeting, but then thought that Amy was just a naturally friendly person.

The last two hour session of the day was actually split into two, which was good.  Biology for an hour first, which John always though was a bit boring, followed by the sports lesson.  They learned all about seeds and plants and what things needed to come together to make something grow, like light and a little heat and the nutrients plants needed and their hydration too.  Then they each planted some seeds in their own small pots filled with compost which were their own responsibility to grow.  Some had cress and others planted mustard seeds.  John was tasked with growing a tomato plant.  The teacher was Mr. Berry, tall and gangly with dark curly hair and like most of the teachers was in his forties.  John liked Mr. Berry.  He kept losing track of what he was talking about and then go off on another random subject entirely, so he wasn’t like any teacher John had ever known.  He was a bit weird though, thought John.  He quite enjoyed the biology lesson, which surprised him and the time went by very quickly.  Then it was time for sports and everyone rushed to the changing rooms.  They were all just about ready when Mr. Robbins walked in.  Some of the boys cheered because he was the most popular teacher at the school - he wore tennis kit.  Shirt, shorts, socks and shoes. 

“Guess what we’re doing today?” he said jovially.

“TENNIS!” most shouted in unison.

“Right.  The gear is over there already.  Get yourselves to the courts and behave yourselves for ten minutes while I talk to Mrs. Crowther and then I’ll be over very soon.  And that means you too, Tony Wilson! Off you trot then,” he said, prompting them all to file past him and then sprint to the courts as soon as they were out of the building, the three girls lagging behind but having their own private race which Amy was losing.  John had never played tennis before and found he was pretty good at hitting the ball over the net but also he was rubbish at serving and needed a lot more practice at that.  Then, an hour later, it was time to finish and they all strolled back to the changing rooms and deposited the gear in Mr. Robbin’s office.

John felt a little relieved that his first school day was almost over and also a little bit apprehensive that he now had to contend with the group dinner.  Then it would be the time they had to spend in the dormitory until the next day, trying to amuse themselves with no supervision. 

They all immediately walked off to the posh dining room instead of the cafeteria for their evening meal.  John followed at the rear of the group with Paul, talking about the tennis game they’d just had.  Paul won quite easily but was telling John he did pretty well for his first time playing.  The dining room had two long mahogany tables, each could seat more than a dozen people comfortably.  The walls were wood paneled with a lot of framed portraits hanging from them.  The pictures looked old, depicting people from the 1800s as far as John could tell by the clothes.  He sat opposite Paul at one of the tables while Amy sat with the other two girls at the end of the other one.  They were all seated fairly quietly, virtually talking in whispers, when the old, heavy double doors opened and two young women entered pushing an enclosed steel trolley each and, after opening a side panel, proceeded to serve each child their plate of food.

John was delighted to see a steak with chips and peas on the plate placed before him.  They all had the same meal in front of them eventually.  Everyone waited while one of the older boys, John thought his name was Jasper, said grace, and then they all tucked in to their meals.  John thought it was the best steak he’d ever eaten although he hadn’t had it too much in the past, only on special occasions, like when they went out to eat for his dad’s birthday.  It was really delicious and the chips were chunky and fluffy inside.  He hoped every evening meal would be this good.  Paul grinned at him as he quickly stuffed some more chips covered in tomato sauce into his mouth. 

After about twenty minutes the two young women returned with the trolleys and took away the plates and five minutes later came back with a bowl of chocolate ice cream for each of them.  John thought if he ate this well every day he’d end up like Fat Wayne at his old school.  He really hoped that would never happen.  At least his mum could never be blamed.

When they had finished their meals it was time to go up to the dorms.  It was now almost seven o’clock in the evening and time to relax until lights out at ten.  John was delighted to see that Paul dived onto the extremely untidy bed next to his.  Paul pulled out a comic from under his pillow and showed it to John with pride.  Paul explained that one of the other boys, Steven Thompson, got him a new one pretty much every weekend because Paul’s dad didn’t let him buy them at home.  They were ‘juvenile’ in the eyes of the older Gardener apparently.  Paul held up the comic and shouted “Stevo!” and then stuck his thumb up.  Steven smiled and responded in an identical manner. 

A couple of the boys set up a Subbuteo pitch in the centre of the dorm and flicked players at the ball for over an hour.  Some played on their little hand-held games and four of them continued to play on the Monopoly board that John had seen abandoned earlier when he unpacked.  The rest either read comics or books or just sat chatting about football or TV.  Paul explained that they weren’t allowed a TV in the dormitory or even things like phones or laptops, but they could message their parents using a tablet but no internet.  He told John that Mrs. Crowther didn’t want any of them corrupted by rubbish TV programmes or even the news while they were at the school.  Play time was just that.  An opportunity to relax and prepare for the next day’s long lessons.  Paul thought it was a bit harsh but they were the rules and they had to follow them.  He told John that there was probably a good reason for that but couldn’t fathom what it was.  He said it was almost impossible to find out the football results for the week until they went home at the end of the week, even for the big European games for the English clubs and especially the England Internationals.

John chatted with Paul for a while longer and then picked up the Kindle he’d put on his bedside cabinet earlier.  On it was the third Mark Mason, and it was all about a demon’s killing spree and a witch, who was a baddie in the first book before becoming a goodie in this one.  At around half past nine they all took turns to go to the toilet and wash and brush their teeth and got changed into their pajamas, ready for bed.   The lights went out dead on ten o’clock and John finally managed to sleep after tossing and turning for a while wondering what the next day would bring.  He looked forward to seeing Amy in the morning.  He wouldn’t have told Paul that though.

11

Malcolm Wiper had finished his latest piece and closed his laptop in his small flat in the centre of Kingsford.  Exposing the evil, shadowy international organisation was originally meant to go out to the general press for publication but he decided he’d had so much information on them it would make a great book, maybe even a film eventually.  He wondered who would play him in the film.  He couldn’t really think of a cool British actor his age.  It would probably be an American doing an awful Brit accent.  Why did Americans think we were all either posh or Cockney? he thought. He really didn’t want to be played by someone who sounded like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

Malcolm had made himself a coffee and he sat at his old dining table looking at his plane ticket sitting next to his passport.  He would be flying to a tiny South American country that evening via Mexico.  He had saved enough money to last a lifetime in a Third World country.  Money he’d been saving for years and also the extra from the mysterious man who had given him all the information about all those poor kids being used for awful purposes at that school.  Plus he had the huge advance for the book from his publisher.  He decided to finish his coffee and then pack a few more clothes.  He wouldn’t need many where he was going though.

Maybe he’d open a bar like Humphrey Bogart did in Casablanca? Malcolm’s Bar, or even better, Malcolm’s Hacienda! That would be the life.  Shame he didn’t have anyone like Ingrid Bergman in his past.  She was a tidy bit of tackle back then for sure, he smiled.  Mucky Mary who visited from Blackpool now and again was about the best he could do.  But with all the money he’d have in South America, who knows? He smiled at the thought.

Malcolm sipped the last of his cheap instant coffee, thinking he’d be drinking the good stuff right from the source in a couple of days and then walked into the bedroom and the already open brown leather suitcase waiting on his bed.  He opened the drawers of the big dresser one by one and pulled out a few items for the suitcase.  Socks, pants, a few pairs of baggy shorts and some light cotton shirts, a couple of pairs of trainers too. The landlord could chuck the rest after he was gone. Anything else he could get over there, even if he had to send off and get them posted from a mail order catalogue.  He chuckled when he realised they probably didn’t have Amazon in the Amazon.  Maybe Temu? It was all polyester crap but at least it was lightweight.  He zipped up the suitcase and clicked the small padlock shut and then carried the case to the front door in readiness for his taxi trip to Heathrow a little later.

Malcolm sat down on the small beige sofa in the living room and opened up his laptop again.  He still needed to send his manuscript and all the evidence to his publisher.  He wrote another email to the editor who was working with him detailing the VPS he used, including the password to access the Virtual Private Server.  What he had to send was far too big to email directly and it was certainly too risky to print out and send by courier.  It was all there for Bill McLaren, the editor, who assured him the payments for the expected thousands of book sales would be transferred to an account Malcolm had set up in the Cayman Islands once the book hit the shops.

His finger hovered over the mouse button, he’d already moved the mouse pointer over the SEND icon in his email client.  He smiled.  He was going to be a fairly rich man after the book was out.  Although he’d be leaving this life, and his few friends, behind he was very happy about his new start, a new adventure.  No one could possibly know where he would be.  It wouldn’t be safe.  Either for him and probably not for them too.  He didn’t want any of his friends brutally tortured for his whereabouts.

Just as he was about to send the email he started to cough.  His right hand instinctively went to cover his mouth, like the government told everyone to during the Covid hoax, as the coughing continued.  All of a sudden, clear liquid started to gush from his mouth and nose.  He tried to breathe, but it was sucked back down into his lungs.  Malcolm started to panic, he was fighting for precious air.  His eyes bulged.  His last thought was to hit that SEND icon but then his body convulsed violently and he was flung backwards on the sofa, the laptop went flying off his knees and it smashed on the wooden flooring.  Malcolm Wiper died upright on the sodden sofa with the clear liquid still dribbling from his mouth and nose.  The plane ticket and passport still sat on the dining table… never to be used.

12

Gerry Daly got a call from Operations.  A man had been found in his flat by his sometimes girlfriend, Mary Reed, when she had visited.  Concerned that he had not answered her calls, emails, and personal messages on social media she traveled from Blackpool and used her key to enter the flat and found him sat on the sofa, soaked to the skin and dead. 

“Sounds like one for you, Guv,” said Rosie McMahon, a pretty Irish girl who had worked in Ops for the last couple of years.  She relayed the victim’s address to him and he wrote it on his notepad with one hand while dipping into a giant bag of hot chicken wing crisps with the other.  Rosie grinned as she could hear rustling, crunching and the odd ‘mmm-mmm’ as she gave him all the details of the report from the PC who was called to the flat and was now waiting for CID to turn up.  Rosie like Daly a lot.  He reminded her of her dad back in Dublin, another good, old school copper who had inspired her to join up herself.

Daly thanked her and put the phone down then looked at Sergeant Jones.

“We’ve got a shout, Jones… another weird one,” he said.  He rose, felt a little light-headed for a second or two, and picked up the keys to the Audi.

Daly and Jones arrived at the small flat in the centre of Kingsford, quite close to the place Jones was staying at, the trip taking less than twenty minutes.  A rather sickly looking PC was standing guard at the door to the shabby block.  The young lad nodded at Daly and then averted his eyes.  Daly surmised he may have thrown up somewhere, hopefully not on the body.  Another PC was at the door of the victim’s flat.  He smiled at Daly and Jones, trying to make a good impression.

“Everything’s secure, Sir.  The doc is in there already and waiting for you,” said PC Simmons.

“Thanks,” said Daly thinking that the young PC was a little bit chirpy for his liking, considering there was a dead body on the other side of the door.  Daly opened it and strode in with Jones a couple of steps behind.

Roger Harper, the new duty doctor, was stood in the front room of the flat and leaning over the body of Malcolm Wiper.

“Morning, Gerry.  Sergeant Jones,” he half-smiled.  “Strange one here.  It seems Mr. Wiper here has drowned.  Now, I’ve heard you are pretty observant, Gerry,” he grinned, “and you can see he is sitting on his sofa.  So the obvious question is; did he drown here or elsewhere and transported back to the flat and posed by someone?”

“If he was brought back and posed it was someone with a very sick sense of humour, Roger. Jones? Any ideas?”

“Doesn’t make sense, Guv,” said Jones.  “If he was posed here then whoever it was also brought a couple of buckets of water with them too - the sofa is soaked but the path from the door to over here is bone dry.  Surely if he was already soaked elsewhere there would be at least a trace of spilt liquid on the way in?”

“Yes, I agree, Jones.  Why would someone do that anyway? And risk being spotted too.  It would take a couple of trips for a single person so we could be looking for a pair of bad guys at least.  I saw CCTV set up outside.  Go and find out who monitors that and grab any DVD recordings or saved streams for last night, will you.”

“Yes Guv,” said Jones and left quickly.

“Definitely drowned then, Roger?” asked Daly.

“Yes, early days but there’s no doubt in my mind at the moment, inspector.  One explanation would be he was held down and someone had run a hose from the kitchen or bathroom and forced it down his throat, I can’t see any initial bruising or abrasions for now, but I’ll be able to see more when I open him up later.  One thing that would refute that hypothesis though…” he paused.

“And that is?” said Daly, looking interestedly at the doctor.

“He apparently drowned in seawater.  So I’d say that really would indicate he was drowned elsewhere and brought back to the flat,” said Harper.  “The mystery is why?” said the doctor. 

“Why indeed. They would have left him at the scene of the drowning, wouldn’t they? Far easier,” mused Daly, almost to himself.  “Okay, thanks doc, let me know what you find as soon as you can.  Hopefully Jones will get something from the CCTV to make our lives a little easier.”

“Will do, Gerry.  Okay to move the body now?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, he’s good to go, Roger.  I’ll get the SOCO lads in as soon as he’s shifted,” replied Daly.

“Weird that we had that mysterious Spontaneous Human Combustion a few days ago and now another strange, unexplained death today,” said the doctor.  “Do you think there is any connection, Gerry?”

“I bloody well hope not.  I’ve had enough of these mental cases to last a lifetime,” said the inspector dourly.

“Yes, I know I’ve only been here a few weeks but the word is that strangeness seems to seek you out and follow you around.  I’d like to hear a bit more sometime,” smiled Harper.

“Maybe, doc.  Let’s get this sorted first and we can maybe go for a pint.  Give me a call after the post mortem later.  I’m off to grab a bit of breakfast.  A nice fry-up, I think,” Daly smiled.

“No salt,” said the doctor, nodding towards the body on the sofa.

13

Later that evening Daly sat alone in the relative darkness of his flat trying to unwind after a long day with an open bottle of scotch sat on the small table next to him.  He filled his glass for the fifth or sixth time that evening while staring at nothing in particular on the TV a few feet away.  He didn’t even remember turning the set on.  Some rubbish comedy panel show was muted into blessed silence as he was deep in thought about the current case.  The pair of mysterious deaths.

“You know it’s all connected, Guv,” a voice said.

Daly looked at the armchair to his right, expecting to see Jones, but the accent was all wrong. 

“Jimmy? But you’re…” Daly said in surprise.

“Dead? Yeah, I know.  Thanks for reminding me, Guv,” replied Jimmy with a sigh.

James Weatherby had been Daly’s sergeant, and good friend.  Killed while trying to protect Frank Kelly from the evil, immortal serial killer Consus, several years before.  Daly missed his old partner. 

“This must be some sort of drunken hallucination,” whispered Daly to himself.

“After all the strange things you’ve seen, you dismiss this as a fantasy, Guv? I’ve been keeping my eye on you.  There’s bugger all else to do where I am,” Weatherby laughed. 

“All right, I’ll go with this.  Nothing on telly anyway.  So where are you? Where have you been, Jimmy?” asked the weary, and now slightly drunk detective.

“Well, it’s a sort of nothingness really,” sighed the former sergeant.  “We all seem to be wandering around in a light mist and spend all our time watching the living.  You know, making sure they are safe, things like that.  Sometimes helping out.  But you, my friend, are in real danger.  You need to wrap up this case quickly and take a long break.  You’re burnt out and you’re not in the best shape either, are you Guv?”

“I’m okay, just plodding along as always .  You know me.  The job is my priority.  It’s all I’m bloody well good at, isn’t it, Jimmy?”

“Plodding is right.  I’ve seen you sprint after a villain back in the day, take him down and then jog to the nearest pub for pie and chips and a pint or two and now you struggle to put your frigging socks on, Guv.  You really do need a break from all this.”

“You’re right, mate.  I have been feeling a bit out of breath and tired recently.  Maybe it’s just my age, eh?” said Daly.

“And too much scotch and too many late night kebabs.  It’s all catching up with you, Gerry,” warned Weatherby.

“All right, mate.  Don’t bloody nag me, you’re not my bloody wife.  I’ll sort myself out.  Christ, this is getting like Scrooge and Marley.  A bloody ghost telling me I have to change my ways,” laughed Daly before a fit of coughs quickly shut him up.

“I mean it, Gerry,” stressed Weatherby as he stared at Daly intently.

“Okay, okay.  I get you.  I’m a fat old git and I have to look after myself.  I’ve got it.  Anyway, you said everything is connected earlier.  What did you mean?”

“Getting off the subject, nicely done,” sighed Weatherby.  “The case.  The murders.  The bloke catching fire and the one who drowned.  They are connected.  Many others all over the world too.”

“So they are murders then?” said Daly.  “I don’t suppose you can tell me who knocked these guys off by any chance? Then I could take my holiday,” grinned the inspector then took another mouthful of the warming scotch.

“No, I can’t.  But I can try and point you in the right direction.  There is a kid.  He’s homeless and I know he’s living rough somewhere in or near Watford.  He’s been kicked out of more homeless shelters than you’ve been thrown out of pubs.”

“Quite a lot then,” joked Daly. 

“Yeah, anyway, he knows what is going on and who is doing it.  I can’t tell you any more, Gerry.  We have a lot of rules, you know.”

“Can you at least tell me this kid’s name and where I can find him, mate?”

“His name is Darren Edwards, he’s around fifteen now.  As to where he is, I’ve got no clue.  Like I said, he’s sleeping rough.  Could be anywhere in the Watford area.  It’s up to you to find him now.  He’s the key to it all, Guv,” said Weatherby as his voice grew fainter and his seated image started to fade a little.  Daly could see the back of the chair through the sergeant now as he became more transparent by the second.

“Jimmy? What’s happening?” said Daly now anxious to get more answers, and above all, spend a bit more time with his friend.  Ghost or hallucination, he didn’t care anymore.  Weatherby was now fading even more rapidly.

“Find the kid, Gerry,” were the sergeant’s final words before he faded out totally.  Just an echo remained.

Daly felt sad.  He thought about filling his glass again but decided against it and shuffled off to bed.

14

Next morning he arrived at the station and, after a large fry up and a mug of steaming tea in the canteen, he made his way to his office.  Jones was there busily sorting through his notes.”

“Morning, Guv.  I’ve been through the CCTV from the flats.  Plenty of comings and goings but not our man.  Certainly no one dragging his dead body about either.  It seems there is no visual record of Wiper leaving his flat for at least the last three days.”

“So how the hell does he drown in his own flat on his sofa, with sea water, no less?”

“Maybe someone ‘helped him’? Some person, or persons, held him down and used a hose to fill up his lungs? Doesn’t explain the seawater though. Maybe it was even assisted suicide? You know how crazy a lot of people are now.  Not the way I’d do it though.  Seems a lot of trouble to go to, to be honest.  The CCTV only covers the entrance and, although I’d need to check a bit more, those entering the building look like residents to me.  I’ll put stills from the stream onto a tablet and ask one or two of the occupants if there is anyone they don’t recognise.”

“Good idea, Jones.  No, it was definitely murder according to err… one of my snouts,” said Daly.  Still unsure if the visitation from Weatherby was real or not.  Either way, it could have been helpful.  “By the way, what do you call an informant to help you catch those evil sheep rustlers down your neck of the woods?”

“Gareth,” smiled Jones and winked.

“Very funny,” scowled Daly.  “Right, I had a tip that a homeless kid called Darren Edwards knows what is going on.  We need to find him, and bloody soon.  And there are a few more than our two murders apparently.  The snout said things like this are happening all over the world.  Obviously we can’t investigate all the others but we need to wrap this up from our end.  In our own manor.  Then I’ll pass the rest on to someone else, MI5, FBI… or bloody Ghostbusters for all I care, as long as it’s sorted here!”

“Yes, Guv.  I’ll visit all the hostels and homeless charities in the area and try to get a lead on this kid Darren.  It’ll be hard though.  He could be anywhere.  I know that a lot of them do sleep outdoors in summer; parks, in the woods, virtually anywhere where there is a bit of shelter.  He could even be in a squat somewhere.  I’ll do my best, Guv,” said Jones as he rose from his desk.

“Let me know as soon as you get something, Jones,” said Daly. 

“Will do, Guv.  See you later,” said the Welshman as he left the office.

When the sergeant had left, Daly opened a desk drawer and pulled out a Mars bar.  He looked at it, remembered what Weatherby had said and threw it back to the back of the drawer.  He took his phone from his inside jacket pocket and called Mark Mason.  

15

Daly arrived at the large house just after ten that morning.  He wanted to tell Mark about the visit of Jimmy Weatherby and didn’t want to be overheard calling from his office.  He’d be sectioned.  He knocked three times using the shiny brass ring in the mouth of a lion on the front of the black door.  Mark opened the door after a minute and invited the detective in and ushered him into his study.

Daly sat down in the big leather chair opposite Mark’s teak writing desk.  Mark poured two large glasses of single malt, passed one to the inspector and sat down himself.

“How’s Nat doing?” asked Daly.

“She’s having a lie in this morning.  Nothing too wrong with her but she has been a bit tired for the last few days,” smiled Mark.  “She’ll probably make her way down now she knows you are here, of course.”

“Only a couple of weeks to go.  I’m probably more excited than you, mate” grinned Daly, looking forward to being a Godfather.  He loved little kids.  Not in the way he banged up people for in the past, though.  His biggest regret in life was that he hadn’t settled down with anyone and had a large family of his own.  Probably too late now, he thought sadly.

“I’m sure you’ll be the best Godfather ever and spoil little Tarquin rotten,” laughed Mark.

“Tarquin? I hope you’re kidding again.  I think I preferred Catweazle!” said Daly, taking a swig of his whiskey in shock.

“Of course I am, you nutter,” grinned Mark wickedly.  “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl until he or she pops out.  We want to be totally surprised.  The nursery is now painted a very neutral white.  But I have been neglecting the writing a little while I’ve been getting things ready.  So what did you want to talk to me about, mate?”

“Okay, you may find this weird…”

“Weird is my business, and sometimes yours too.  What is it? Another giant spider?” laughed Mark thinking back to the short story he wrote after Daly had told him about a previous strange case.

“I wish,” said Daly.  “At least that would be solid.  I had a chat with Jimmy Weatherby last night,” said the detective.

“But he’s-” said Mark.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” sighed Daly.  “I was trying to relax and having a drink or two when I heard a voice from the other chair. I turned around and it was him.  Honest to God, Mark.”

“What did he say?” asked Mark.

“A bit of advice about me being in danger and to look after myself a bit more and then he said the two strange deaths are connected.”

“Two deaths?” coaxed Mark.

“Yeah, another body was found yesterday morning.  Some hack journalist called Malcolm Wiper was found drowned.”

“Not so strange. Why do you think it’s murder, Gerry?”

“The strange bit was he was found sitting on his sofa with his lungs full of seawater and hadn’t left his flat for three days… and Jimmy telling me it was murder, of course,” said Daly.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Mark.  “Now that is weird!”

“Jimmy told me that there is a homeless kid who knows what is going on, he even gave me his name.  I’ve got Jones out doing a bit of leg work this morning, so hopefully he’ll find this kid soon.”

“So you really think it was Weatherby visiting you last night?” Mark asked.

“I’m not sure to be honest.  Was it his ghost or spirit or whatever, or was it a booze fueled hallucination? Maybe it was even a bit of subconscious inspiration?” said Daly.

“Or maybe a brain tumour,” joked Mark.  “Sorry, mate.  You’ll be missed though,” he grinned and took another sip.

“Funny,” Daly scowled.  “Whatever it was, it could turn out to be a possible lead.  Jones has already checked and this lad does exist and is in the system.  He’s been picked up a few times for shoplifting just in the last year alone.  Well off the radar before that.”

“Okay.  Obviously we rule out the tumour,” grinned Mark again.  “Subconscious inspiration? I can’t see it - how would you know his name? Have you ever heard of him before? Maybe arrested him in the past?”

“No! Shoplifting is a little below a busy Detective Inspector, you know!” snapped Daly.

“Sorry… so that option is obviously ruled out.  Drunken hallucination? Same thing.  You wouldn’t have known his name.  So that leaves only one possible explanation that I can think of,” Mark frowned.

“Jimmy’s ghost was real, well, as real as a ghost can be, I suppose,” said Daly dourly, taking another swig from his crystal glass and offering it up to Mark for a refill.

“We’ve both witnessed stranger than that, mate,” said Mark. 

“We have” said Daly, sadly.

“Anyway.  Nat is finally getting the dinner party sorted for this Saturday night.  I’m inviting all the gang, or The Survivors Club, as Jim calls us all.  Jim will be here after some real food.  Frank Kelly too and I’ve left a message with Steve Hansen for him and his young lady to join us too.  Obviously you and Carly are invited.  It’s about time she met everyone.  I know it’s a bit short notice but I don’t want Nat giving birth in the middle of it.  Mum and dad will be here too and helping out a lot.”

“Cool, we’ll definitely turn up,” said Daly, wondering what Carly would make of all the others who had had similar experiences to his own.  “I’ll call Carly and let her know.  It’ll make a change from a meal at a Harvester,” he joked.

“Excellent.  My mum will be cooking most of the food and I don’t want Nat carrying that roast beef.  It’s bloody huge.”

“You’ll probably need the other half of the cow just for Jim,” laughed Daly, only half-joking.

“He’s actually lost a little bit of weight since my mum has provided the odd meal for him,” smiled Mark.

“Bloody hell! He’ll be going to Weightwatchers next,” said Daly.

“We both know that will never happen,” chuckled Mark.

16

Saturday evening had arrived and Daly, together with Carly, were the last to arrive at ‘Mason Mansion’ as he called it, for the dinner party.  They were all getting seated at the large dinner table after a few hugs and handshakes. 

“Boy, girl, boy, girl,” said Nat as she showed everyone to their seats.  “Oh… either you or Frank will have to be a girl tonight, Jim.  Sorry.”

“Jim has the tits for it,” laughed Daly, before getting an elbow in the ribs from Carly.

“Behave you!” she said, sternly.

“It’s okay Carly,” said Jim.  “I’m used to his cracks about my weight.  We all know he’s an obnoxious git but we still love the old man anyway.”

Carly was formally introduced to everyone at the table by Mark. 

“I’m Mark, long suffering friend of Gerry, this is my lovely wife Nat… and bump, of course, who we hope you won’t be meeting tonight,” he grinned.  That’s my dad Jack, and my mum Ellie, who have both been a massive help in getting the meal together.  Then comes Steve Hansen and his new wife Jane, just back from honeymoon as it happens, so excellent timing Steve.  You may have seen Steve on his Youtube podcast.  Next is Frank Kelly.  I’m sure you’ll hear his story during the meal.  I know you are familiar with the Kingsford killings, Carly.  Then we have err… ‘Miss’ Jim Anderson, sorry mate; a history professor, researcher and part time cat burglar, and I think you may know the bloke next to you.”

Carly smiled warmly at everyone in turn, even Daly, hoping he wouldn’t upset anyone with any more of his wise cracks.

“Now this is something you’ll find interesting in particular, Frank,” Mark continued.  “Carly is actually the granddaughter of Paddy Mallen.”

“You’re shitting me!” cried Frank.  “Oh, excuse the language, everyone.  That’s amazing, I mean.  He was a great man, Carly.  He was very kind to me when I was a young lad back in the Seventies.  Especially when Gerry’s dad was killed saving my life.  I was so upset, of course.  I’m sure you are very proud of him,” he said. 

“Yes, I loved him very much, but at the end he wasn’t the man you knew, Frank.  He was pretty much broken by being unable to solve those Kingsford murders back in 1976 and the awful way he was replaced.  Still, I’m sure he’s proud of those of you who did it for him in the end.  It may have been almost forty-five years later but he’ll finally be at peace now.”

“But his legend lives on,” said Frank, remembering the old copper and smiling, raising his glass of red wine.

“I’m sure you are right there, Carly,” smiled Ellie.  “Obviously, I never met him but Frank has told me so many good things from when he was a child.  He sounded like a very lovely man and really cared about the people he was trying to help.”

“Thank you, Ellie.  And Gerry has told me quite a lot about everyone here and I knew before I arrived you were all lovely people.  It made me a lot less nervous meeting so many new people at once and I’m sure you’ll all accept me as a new friend.  I love it that we all have some sort of connection.  It’s like some sort of covenant.”

“Jim calls us The Survivors Club, and that’s pretty much spot on,” said Mark.  “Some of us have even saved the lives of others.  Jim saved Frank after he was attacked by Consus but Jimmy Weatherby unfortunately lost his life in that attack.  Frank was also saved by Gerry’s dad in 1976, who again lost his life.  Frank averted more disaster in the Hellfire Caves when it looked like Gerry was about to be killed.  My mum was close to being murdered by a demon and Steve and Jane were at Dover Castle when that tornado hit earlier this year.  Dad’s the only one who hasn’t been in real danger apart from the odd slap when he winds mum up,” he laughed.

“Don’t forget you saving my life when that giant block of ice fell through the studio roof at the BBC during that chat show,” piped up Steve. 

“I remember watching that on the news,” said Carly.  “It must have been awful and very frightening.”

“I did need clean underwear afterwards, that’s for sure,” grinned Steve.  A chorus of giggles went around the table.

“And on that note it’s time for dinner, don’t you think?” said Mark.

“Hear, hear,” laughed Jim Anderson, who had got his wrist slapped earlier by Ellie when he tried to steal bits of food while she was preparing the meal.

Mark, Ellie and Jack all went into the kitchen.  Minutes later Jack and Ellie returned, both carrying large wooden trays that had several oval china serving dishes on which they placed up and down the long dining table.  Then Mark arrived with a massive hunk of roast beef on a large silver tray, garnished with a couple of dozen roast potatoes and parsley.  There was a collective, appreciative ‘wow’ from around the table. Jane actually clapped at the sight.

“Well that’s me catered for, what are the rest of you having? I have pizza menus in the car if anyone needs them,” cackled Jim, licking his lips and quite literally salivating.  

“That looks amazing.  Gerry told me you are a bit of a wizard in the kitchen, Ellie, and now I can see he wasn’t lying,” Carly smiled.

“I needed a lot of help,” said Ellie modestly.  “I hope everyone enjoys it.”

“I can certainly vouch for Ellie’s cooking, it’s really helped with my weight loss,” smiled the 260 pound Jim.

“Only a GG cup now then,” laughed Gerry, getting another dig in the ribs from Carly.

“That’s great, Jim, at least you are making the effort, unlike a certain rude chap seated next to me,” smiled Carly.

“Thanks, Carly.  Ellie did nag me a bit to be honest, but I’m happy she did.  Life is pretty good now and I’d quite like to stick around for a bit longer. Even when my doctor said to me ‘You haven’t had a heart attack yet, have you?’ it made no difference in the past.  I have all of you as friends now and I appreciate the lot of you… even Gerry,” Jim smiled.”

“You’ll have me blubbing in a minute, Jimbo,” chuckled Gerry.  “Seriously mate, we all like having you around.  I wish I had the motivation to get in shape and sort out my diet too.”

“Maybe Carly can be that motivation? And you need someone around to laugh at your pathetic jokes,” countered Jim.

“You know I only make fun of people I like, mate.  If I didn’t like you I wouldn’t waste my breath, would I?” grinned Daly.  “Honestly, I really am proud of you for making the effort… Chunks.”

Jim smiled and said, “So, are we eating or what, dear friends?” Roars of laughter followed, especially from Daly, ignoring the slight twinge in his chest.  He assumed he was probably starving as much as Jim.

The conversation and laughter flowed for the rest of the evening.  Carly was a big hit with everyone and easily accepted into the fold.  The conversation then moved on to Daly’s current case.

“Sounds like another weird one, Gerry,” said Steve.  “Is it okay if I bring the subject up on my show? Obviously no specific details of the case or names or anything like that, but just asking for general views and opinions and maybe even some experiences.  Someone out there may know something that could help.”

“Feel free.  I’m at a f…lipping loss so far to be honest, Steve,” replied Daly.  “Especially with this bloody apparent drowning at this bloke’s home.  Seawater!”

“In all the years I’ve been doing this supernatural stuff on my show I’ve never come across an indoor drowning,” said Steve.  “The Spontaneous Human Combustion thing though could be a lot more common than you think.  If you take into account a lazy pathologist who tries very hard to attribute a death like that to something else, like catching themselves alight when smoking.”

“Luckily the one I’m working with is pretty diligent and, even though it’s his first experience of SHC, he’s very open minded.  The kid didn’t smoke, not even weed, so that rules out the first thing most pathologists would consider, and then readily declare that as the cause for an easy life, of course,” Gerry responded. “You see all those blokes on TV shows being brilliant and solving cases for us from their morgue but, I can assure you, there are some lazy buggers I’ve dealt with who cut corners to get the job done.”

“Yeah, SHC has been mentioned a few times on my show in the past, but this drowning thing? I’ve never heard of that before.  Obviously it’s case solved if there was CCTV of someone carrying the body into the flat after he’d been drowned somewhere else.  But saltwater too? We’re miles from the coast, you’d think that the majority of the water would have evaporated if he was transported back to the flat,” said Steve.  “It’s a total mystery to me.  I’ll see what the subscribers can come up with and let you know.  Or you could actually watch the show,” Steve winked.  “Don’t forget to like and subscribe and hit that notification bell,” he laughed. 

“I’ve seen a couple,” smiled Daly.  “I don’t get a lot of free time, do I boss?” he grinned at Carly.

“If you clear up your case load a bit quicker you might find the time,” joked Carly.  “You may even get a holiday too.”

“What’s it like having a relationship with you’re superior, Gerry?” asked Nat.

“Who says she’s my superior?” Gerry joked, getting another dig in the ribs much harder than the previous ones. 

“Watch it, Gezza!” she scowled playfully.

“Gezza! I like that,” laughed Jim, finally getting to make fun of Daly for once. 

“Shut it, Tits!” snorted Daly.  “Just carry on eating.  Are you on seconds or thirds now?”

“Yes, Gezza,” howled Jim, then took another mouthful of the excellent roast beef.  “I’ll do a bit of research for you as well,” he said while still chewing.  “Ellie can help too, if she likes.”

“Of course,” smiled Ellie.  “We may find something for you… Gezza,” she giggled.  Everyone laughed, except Daly.  He absolutely hated Carly’s nickname for him now.  But he liked Ellie too much to come back with a bit of abuse towards her though.

Mark could see the detective scowling and said, “I’ve always said it.  Everyone needs a nickname, isn’t that right, Pixie?”

“Yes Monkey!” Nat smiled sweetly.

Nat had made up Mark’s pet name after she found out that he called her Pixie after one of the characters in a James Herbert book.  Someone he got his main inspiration and style from.  Monkey was her sweet dark tabby cat she’d loved when she was a child, so the name made sense.

It was close to midnight when people started to make a move to leave.  Earlier they had all retired to the drawing room for drinks and lazed on the trio of large black leather sofas.  Mark, Daly, Steve and Frank were on the single malt.  All the ladies, except for the heavily pregnant Nat, were on white wine, while the rest sipped orange juice. 

The last to leave were Daly and Carly.  Daly was the worse for wear after half a dozen large malts and Carly took his car keys from him so that she could take him home.  She had only sipped a couple of glasses of wine so she was okay to drive and the last thing she wanted was for Daly to get nicked for drink driving and get himself suspended from duty and her having to get someone in to take over his workload.  She bundled him into the passenger seat of the black Audi, where he immediately dozed off, before she hugged Mark and Nat who were standing in front of the open front door, illuminated by the light of the foyer, and then waved before she pulled out of the long gravel driveway and started the eight mile journey to Daly’s flat.

Mark and Nat wearily trudged up the wide staircase to their bedroom, leaving any clearing up until the morning.  Mark had thought of giving their cleaner, Mrs. Rodgers, a call in the morning to see if she would come in for an extra day, with treble time as an incentive for a Sunday, or even leave it all for her for Monday but he decided he’d do it all himself the next day while Nat rested after the long day she’d had.

17

It didn’t take Carly too long to get to Daly’s place, mainly sticking to the deserted back lanes until she got to Watford.  The hardest part was trying to get Daly out of the passenger seat and up the stairs to the flat.  He kept telling her that he wanted to sit down for a minute.  She used her old trick to get someone to wake up, by pinching the back of their neck and twisting.  It used to work on her ex-husband pretty well.  She had finally had enough of his drunken antics, which usually concluded with him cheating on her when she wasn’t around.  She hoped Daly wasn’t the unfaithful kind.  She could pretty much put up with his drinking though, but was worried about the toll it was taking on his body.  He wasn’t in his twenties anymore… and neither was she, she thought sadly, although still several years younger than the detective.

Carly managed to drag him up the communal stairs, shushing him all the way as he was getting a bit loud, his voice echoing up and down the stairwell.  She got him in through the front door of the flat and helped him to the bedroom and then positioned him on his bed, fully clothed.  She thought about undressing him but didn’t want him to start with his drunken fumblings, so she left him there to sleep it off and poured herself another wine from the half full bottle on the living room sideboard.  She looked down at the collection of bottles.  Did he really need four bottles of scotch? All of them had been opened.  She flopped down on the comfy leather recliner and looked over at it’s twin… where the ghost of James Weatherby had materialised a few nights earlier.  She hoped he wouldn’t make a repeat appearance.  She was too tired for that kind of experience.  After a few minutes she began to nod off.

“Carly!” said a slightly gravelly voice, the Irish lilt was almost unmistakable.

“What?” she replied, still dozing.  “Piss off Gezza!”

“It’s me,” the voice said.  “Grampy.”

Carly opened one eye, then sat up in shock.  Snapping her out of her exhausted half-sleep.  “What the…” she exclaimed.

“Now, you know I don’t like the ladies swearing, Carly,” said Paddy Mallen in his soft Irish accent, now a lot clearer.

“Sorry,” she replied.  “Are you real?” she asked.

“Of course I’m real, poppet,” her grandfather smiled.  “I’m so proud of you, you know.  Even if I haven’t been able to tell you in the past.  So proud.” His voice had a slight echo to it but Carly could understand every word perfectly as his voice also faded in and out occasionally as he spoke to her.

“Oh Grampy.  I’ve missed you so much,” she said.  A single tear rolled down her left cheek.  “You look younger than I remember.”

“That’s what happens… where I am.  You change back to exactly how you were when you were most  happiest.  I’m how I looked in the early Seventies.  Before the Kingsford case ruined me,” he smiled.  “Probably the happiest time of my life.  I had my family around me and my career was going well.  My star was rising in the force, as they used to say.  It’s sad to see what my old profession has become now.”

“It’s even changed a lot since I joined,” said Carly.  “It gets harder and harder to do my job every year.”

“You’d have done well in my day, poppet,” he said.  “Even though opportunities were scarce for women, the cream always rises to the top.  I always said that.”

“Thanks Grampy,” she smiled.

“I see you have a young man in your life,” Mallen said.  “I’ve been watching you two,”

“Hopefully not all the time, Grampy,” Carly said sheepishly.  “And he’s really not that young.”

“Maybe not, but he’s still a good man.  A little rough around the edges for today’s policing but he would have been great back when I was a copper,” smiled Mallen.  “He sort of reminds me of myself to be honest.”

“Praise indeed,” replied Carly.  “He’d be pleased to know how highly you rate him.  I’ve told him a lot about you, you know.”

“It was such a good life until I was taken off the Kingsford case.  I still have so many regrets… especially the death of Gerry’s father.  He would have made a great copper in time himself,” he sighed.  “Such a damn waste.  Carter, my sergeant, and I just didn’t realise the danger.  I know it didn’t make up for growing up without a father, but Carter did as much as he could for the boy.”

“I know you said you watch me, but did you see who I met this evening?” she asked.

“No, who?” asked the ghost of Mallen.

“Another name from your past in Kingsford.  Frank Kelly.  He’s all grown up now so you wouldn’t have recognised him, but he’s doing well now,” she smiled.

“Ah, young Frank.  He was a good lad.  He was the only one to have escaped Consus back in 1976.  Frank was a lot closer to Gerry’s father, of course, but I did like the boy,” said Mallen.  “I’m glad he survived in the end.”

“Did you know he and Gerry were the ones to finally stop Consus?” she asked.

“No.  That’s great news though,” he replied.  “I’m just sorry that I wasn’t the one to have killed him, for a lot of reasons.”

“You did your bit though, Grampy,” she said.  “Even though it wasn’t appreciated at the time.  Your letter to Richards before you died helped Gerry a lot.  It convinced Gerry once and for all that Consus was real… and immortal.”

“Yes, I remember that letter.  I started off writing it to make Richards feel guilty about how he took over the case from me, but I ended up telling him everything I knew.  A small slice of revenge.  I didn’t think he’d believe any of it to be honest.  I expected him to screw the letter up and burn it,” said Mallen.

“Luckily he didn’t,” she said. 

“Yes, I misjudged him a little.  I didn’t think he had much of an imagination, that man,” he replied.

“Alls well that ends well, as they say,” smiled Carly.  Now totally at ease with the thought of having a conversation with her dead grandfather.  “Will we talk again, Grampy?”

“Yes, but not as much as I’d like.  There are certain restrictions here.  We have rules the same as you do down there.”

“Down there? Does that mean you are in Heaven? Does it really exist?” she asked.

“Not a Biblical Heaven as such.  It’s just a place we all reside.  There is no Heaven, No Hell.  Just… Here,” he replied.

“It’s nice to know that people carry… on,” she smiled.  “It gives me hope for when I get older that there is something to look forward too when I’m ready to go.”

“Yes, and don’t forget that you revert back to the happiest time of your life,” Mallen reminded her.

“Then I’ll be back sitting on your knee listening to all the great stories you told me about all the cases you solved,” Carly beamed.

“They were my favourite times too, poppet,” he smiled broadly.  “Oh, I almost forgot why I’m here.”

“You mean there is a reason other than making me so happy?” she smiled.

“Yes.  Gerry will ask you to do something for him to help solve his current case.  Please, whatever you do, don’t refuse him.  It’s very important for him to succeed,” pleaded Mallen.

“Knowing Gerry it will be something dodgy,” she laughed.  “I promise to help him out, Grampy.”

“You are a good girl, poppet, you always were.  Now it’s time for me to go.  Don’t forget, I’ll always be looking out for you and I really hope things work out for you with Gerry,” he said.

“So you know he’ll get me to do something for him but you don’t know if we’ll make it?” she frowned.

“Like I told you, we have rules here.  I hope you do make a go of things with him.  You deserve to be happy after that failed marriage.  I never liked that fella, but I do like Gerry.  Be happy poppet, I love you,” he smiled as he began to fade.

“I love you so much, Grampy.” Carly began to sob softly.  “Come back to me soon,” she said to an empty room. 

18

The next day Paul was talking with John and Amy in the computer class, trying to figure out a bit of coding that would scrape data from a website and then insert it into a database and then finally sort it into any order the user chose from a drop down menu. 

Mr. Mountfield was seated at his desk, working on a quiz he was to give the students in the next lesson when the door opened and Mr. Giddings strode in and whispered in the ear of the seated teacher.  Paul’s name was called out and a sad frown appeared on his face.  Paul slowly rose and followed Giddings out of the now silent room. 

“What’s happening? Is Paul in trouble?” John asked Amy in a hushed tone.

“No, they like to test us now and again.  It’s a sort of computer game.  I’ve only done it once though.  It was a bit of fun.  He’ll be back by lunchtime. It’s nothing to worry about but I wish we had his help with our coding problem” she whispered back.

The lesson, and the problem, continued for the pair until Amy finally worked it out and they quickly coded the solution between them.  They both felt proud of themselves to have solved it without Paul’s help.

They both waited for their friend to join them for lunchtime at their usual table in the cafeteria.  Amy kept looking up at the main door, expecting the boy to appear at any moment.

“If he doesn’t get here soon they won’t have any food left,” she said, spooning the last little bit of Spotted Dick into her mouth.  John had finished his Treacle Sponge Pudding a minute earlier.  It was his favourite.

“I hope everything is okay,” he said. 

“Should be,” she replied.  “Maybe there was a technical problem and they had to start all over again, these things happen from time to time.” 

Paul had still not appeared when their lunch break was over and everyone trooped off to their Chemistry class.  There was still no sign of him by the time they were all out on the sports field for the last period of the day.  Both John and Amy were getting a bit worried about their friend by then. 

They spent the next two hours at the athletics area.  Running and jumping mainly.  Amy wasn’t much good at either but then she tried the Shot Putt and was pleased to realise she was pretty good at that.  John was tempted to say it was because she was a bit heavier than the other kids but thought it best not too.  He didn’t want to upset her and knew she was a bit sensitive about her ‘puppy fat’ so he did his best to encourage her.  She had liked that and kept looking round at him after every effort with the shot.

After a shower in the changing rooms, John decided to go and see Mrs. Crowther to ask about Paul.  He was really concerned now as he’d been missing from classes for about five hours and could even miss the evening meal if he wasn’t back soon.  He knocked on her door and she called out “Come in!”

Mrs. Crowther looked up at him but didn’t smile with her usual warmth.  “What can I do for you, John?” she asked.

“I was wondering if Paul was all right,” he said.  “ I haven’t seen him since the lesson before lunchtime and he missed eating.  Is he ill or something?” he asked.

“Ah,” she said, trying not to look too flustered.  “It seems Paul has run away.  He said he was going to the toilet and then he just vanished.  I’ve had a couple of teachers searching the buildings and the grounds for him, but no luck so far.  I’m sure if he’s not here he’ll make his way home.  It’s only a few miles through the woods.  I’ve called his parents to let me know when he turns up there.”

“But he hates it at home.  He loves it here and if he could he’d spend the weekends at the school too,” said John, now confused about Paul’s odd behaviour.

“Well, going straight home is what we think he’ll do.  I have no idea why he’d run away, but we have to assume he may have suffered some bullying here.  I’m looking into that.  Don’t worry John.  I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere eventually,” she smiled again with her mouth, but not her eyes.  “Now run along, it’s time for your evening meal isn’t it and I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.  It’s fish and chips today I understand.  I may even join you all if I get the time, but I do need to make some important calls first.”

John slowly turned towards the door.  He was still not entirely satisfied.  He was sure Paul would never run off like that and he certainly wouldn’t go home to his parents.  He made his way to the dining room and stared at the empty seat opposite him.  Paul’s absence was the only topic of conversation, the main theories were that he had joined a circus or been abducted by aliens.  John looked at Amy seated at the far end of the long table with the other two girls and could tell she felt very sad.  He wanted to talk to her but knew that, once dinner was over, he wouldn’t see her again until the next morning.

After the meal, they both left for their respective dormitories.  John lay on his bed and read for the rest of the evening after declining a couple of offers to join in with a new game of Monopoly and Subbuteo.  He could barely concentrate on the book though, reading the same passage over and over as his mind wandered  and hoped Paul would be back safe in the morning.  After going to the toilet and brushing his teeth he made his way back to bed just before the lights went out.  It took him a long time to get to sleep.  He kept looking at the vacant bed just a few feet away in the dusk.  He closed his eyes and started his usual trick for helping to falling asleep; going through the alphabet trying to name Liverpool players, missing out X and Z because there were none as far as he knew.  If only Liverpool had signed Xavi and Zidane, it would have made the list complete and they probably wouldn’t have gone over twenty years without a league title.  He was on his fourth round of his private quiz when he finally managed to drift off to sleep.  It was no surprise that Paul played a big part in his dream.  They were in the stands at Anfield watching Liverpool play Manchester United.  Liverpool had just scored and he had turned to make fun of Paul’s team but his friend wasn’t there anymore.  He looked around frantically and couldn’t see him anywhere.  He shouted Paul’s name several times.  Then he looked down towards the pitch again but that had mysteriously gone too, replaced by what looked like a thick forest, mainly tall oak trees, he thought.  Then the entire crowd had disappeared too.  John found himself alone in the whole stadium.  It was so cold and silent.  If emptiness had a smell then the place had reeked of it.  He frantically called out again but no one responded.  He was terrified.  Never in his life had he been so scared.  It was then he realised that something bad had happened to Paul.  That realisation was stuck inside his head until he woke the next morning.  A feeling of dread coursed through him as he stared at the still empty bed next to him in the dormitory. 

19

Daly walked into the office at Watford police station after a fry-up in Wetherspoons, which, he felt, was miles better than the one from the canteen downstairs.  At least he could get his black pudding there. 

“Great timing, Guv,” said Jones.  “We’ve got a shout.  A dead body’s been found.  A young kid by the sound of it.”

“Shit.  Come on then.  Where is it?”

“In the woods over near Shillington.  It was found by a dog walker or maybe a dogger.  The message wasn’t entirely clear.  There’s a patrol car waiting for us there and they’re taping up the scene while they wait,” said Jones, rising from his desk and putting his light brown jacket on.

Daly and Jones hurried to the car park and got in Daly’s black Audi.  Daly sped off in the direction of Shillington.  Twenty-five minutes later they spotted the patrol car parked in a lay by at the edge of the woods with its blue lights silently flashing.  PC Wilkins approached them with a grim look on his face.

“He’s about twenty feet inside the perimeter of the trees, Guv,” he said, hoping to impress Daly enough to get promoted to plain clothes.  “We’ve taped everything up.  Robson is with the dog walker taking her statement for you.”

“Good work.  Lead on, Wilkins,” said Daly.

The trio took the dry path for a few yards until they spotted Robson and the woman a little deeper in the tree line to their left.  They trampled through the brush to reach the spot where the pair were standing.

“The body is around ten yards that way, Guv,” said Robson, nodding in the direction of some thick bushes before introducing the detective.  “I’m almost done with Mrs. Ralston.”

“Okay,” Daly responded.  “I’ll still need a word with you, Mrs. Ralston, so if you could wait by the police car with PC Robson, I’ll be along in a few minutes.  I know it’s a difficult thing to have witnessed and won’t keep you too much longer.  I appreciate your cooperation.”

“Thank you, inspector,” she said.  Daly could see she had been crying and was close to tears again.  “It’s just awful.  That poor boy.”

“I’ll walk her over now, Guv,” said Robson.  “I’ll finish taking Mrs. Ralston’s statement out by the car.”

Robson led Mrs. Ralston away from the crime scene with her little Scottie dog in tow.

“Right,” nodded Daly.  “Okay Wilkins.  Show me where the lad is.”

PC Wilkins led the two detectives further into the bushes to where the boy was.  Daly saw that the child was lying face down on a bed of dried holly leaves.  What was left of him that is.  Various animals and insects had obviously got at the body, which looked like it had been there for several days.  There was what looked like a deep head wound on the right side of the skull.  Dozens of maggots writhed busily in the large hole in his cranium.  Insect bites covered the exposed parts of his body and also several small chunks of flesh were missing.  Foxes, assumed Daly.  Maybe even a badger.

“I take it Doctor Harper has been informed?” asked Daly, still staring intently at the body.

“On his way, Guv,” said Wilkins.

“Okay.  Stay with the body until Harper gets here.  Obviously don’t touch anything.  By the way, he looks to be in a school uniform.  Any idea which schools wear that sort of dark blue, Wilkins?” asked the inspector.

“The only ones I can think of are Potter’s End and the Milton Academy in Shillington, Guv.  Shillington is closest, couple of miles as the crow flies,” replied Wilkins.

“Thanks,” said Daly as he and Jones walked away to continue the talk with Mrs. Ralston.  “Jones.  Get on to the nick and find out if any kids have been reported missing in the last couple of weeks.  He doesn’t look like he’s been there any longer than that.”

“Yes Guv,” said Jones, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket.

“Mrs. Ralston’s statement is done, Mr. Daly,” said PC Robson.

“Good, get that typed up and emailed to me as soon as you get back to the station,” said Daly.

“Yes, Guv,” said the uniformed man.

“Mrs. Ralston.  How are you feeling now?” he asked the old woman.

“Still a bit shaky to be honest, Inspector, it was a hell of a surprise,” she replied.  Daly gave her the once over.  She looked like a seventy year old librarian in a tweed jacket and skirt and sensible, slightly scuffed brown shoes.  Her grey hair was tied in a bun.  Her face was long and thin under her small round glasses.  She was obviously still in shock.

“I can imagine,” smiled Daly sympathetically.  “So Mrs. Ralston, I’m sorry to put you through this again, but I just need to ask you a few things.  I know you’ve given PC Robson your statement, but there could be some small details you may have forgotten in the shock or things you may not have thought important at the time, okay?”

She nodded silently, anxious to get home again.

“First of all, do you take the same route when you exercise your dog every day?” he asked her. He knew some simple, almost trivial, questions at first would put her more at ease.  There was nothing worse than questioning someone whose mind was racing at two-hundred miles an hour.  He needed her calm enough to remember the important details when he got around to them.

“Well, yes I do when we come over this way.  But this is the first time we’ve been on this particular W.A.L.K.  for over a week.” Spelling out the word so the dog didn’t get excited again.  “I like to rotate things a bit so neither of us get bored.  We have nearly twenty different places to visit in the area.  I do hate repetition… and so does Pickles.”

“Fine.  So how did you discover the body?” he asked.

“I always let Pickles off the lead when it’s safe and I did so at this end of the path here this morning.  He just rushed off and just wouldn’t come back when I called him over.  I heard him barking a lot.  He just didn’t stop, which is not like him at all.  I knew something must have been wrong though.  I thought that maybe he was caught in one of those snares or something.  So I fought my way through the thick growth to where the boy was and saw him there, lying face down.  I almost turned him over to see if he was alright but I’ve seen enough of those police shows on television to tell he was already dead, so I didn’t touch him.  Then I saw his head.  I’m afraid I was sick.  So that was me and not him,” said Mrs. Ralston, slightly embarrassed.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Ralston.  I assumed that was you, as it’s still fresh,” said Daly trying to keep the woman concentrating on what was relevant.  “So, did you see anyone else in the vicinity this morning?”

“No, no one.  I rarely do at this time of day over here,” she replied.  “I like it when we have the place to ourselves, it’s usually so peaceful.  I love listening to the birds.”

“Okay, thanks very much for your help.  If you think of anything else then please contact me.  Do you need a lift home or anything?” Daly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card with his name on it and the direct number for his office and placed it in her hand.

“No thank you, I’m parked just down the road a little,” she replied.  “I hope you can bring some closure to the poor parents.  They must be frantic… unless they have done him in of course.”

Daly shook his head at the thought as he watched Mrs. Ralston walk along the side of the road with Pickles.  He was amazed that people were so influenced by TV that the parents being the culprits was a natural thought.  He’d have more idea after he’d visited them, of course.  However unlikely that scenario was.  But Daly knew from experience that you could never rule anything out at the start of an investigation, however bizarre it may seem.

Jones informed him that there no reports of missing children in the last few weeks.

Doctor Roger Harper arrived a few minutes later and was shown by Robson where the body was found while Daly and Jones headed for Shillington Academy, just about a couple of miles away as the crow flies but almost three and a half around the twisting country lanes of the semi-rural area.  The school gates were open when they arrived and Daly drove straight to the signposted visitor’s car park.  Daly saw two people, a man and a woman, talking quietly in the foyer and walked towards them.

“Morning, I’m Detective Inspector Daly from Watford CID and this is Sergeant Jones,” he said  as they both held up their I.D.  “Can you point me in the direction of the Head’s office, please?”

“I’m the Headmistress, Mrs. Crowther,” the woman said as she swiftly dismissed the other man Daly assumed was one of the teachers.  “Please come into my office, follow me.” That sounded like an order to Daly and reminded him of his own school days growing up in Barnet.

Mrs. Crowther seated herself behind her desk and motioned to the two policemen to sit in the chairs opposite after Jones had closed the office door behind them.  “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“A body of a boy was found this morning in the woods not too far from here.  He was wearing a dark blue jumper as part of his uniform and as your school…”

“Academy!” Mrs. Crowther corrected him, tersely.

“Sorry, Academy,” Daly continued.  “Your academy is only one of two… establishments in the area that sport a uniform of that colour blue and as yours was the nearest to the discovery, we’re here first.  I understand that this is a live-in facility? A boarding sch..  academy?”

“Yes, well only during the week. Everyone goes home for the weekend on Friday afternoon and arrives back on Monday morning. Apart from four pupils who don’t have a home or their parents are abroad, that is. Staff take turns to be here at the weekend for them.  During the week everyone stays in the dormitories when they aren’t at lessons or having meals,” she said. 

“Do you have anyone missing by any chance?” asked the detective.

“Well, Paul Gardener did run off last week,” she said.  “He was being bullied apparently.  I naturally informed his parents as soon as we discovered he was gone, but I’ve not heard back from them.  I assume they will be making other arrangements for his education.  Things like bullying do happen from time to time unfortunately, although it’s very rare here.  Children are a bit like that, you know.  Some of them get upset far too easily for my liking to be honest… but I don’t tell the parents that.  Do you think the boy you found was Paul? How awful.  I liked him a lot.  Good student.  He was rarely any trouble at all.  Paul apparently ran away nine or ten days ago.  We did search for him on the premises and grounds but no luck.” she said.

“Can you describe him for me?” asked Daly.

“He is… maybe was, quite tall for his age, which was almost twelve, by the way.  Very athletic looking, good at sports.  He was good at all games, I recall.  Short dark hair, a small mole on the left of his chin,” she closed her eyes as if she was trying to picture the missing boy. 

Daly thought to himself that it pretty much matched what he saw of the young lad he saw lying face down in the leaves.  He asked Mrs. Crowther for the contact details of Paul Gardener’s parents, which she retrieved from a tall wooden filing cabinet in the corner of the office.

Daly and Jones left the school building and go back in the car. 

“You think that’s him, Guv?” asked Jones.

“Almost certain of it, Jones,” Daly replied.  So what would you do now? Visit the parents to see if the kid is actually at home and then give them a shock if he’s not, or wait for Harper to do the PM first?”

“Good question Guv,” said Jones.  “We’d need them for a positive I.D. anyway, so I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“Fair enough.  On the other hand we could get a pair of Plods to contact them first and we could go for a spot of lunch.  Wilkins and Robson are probably still in the area.  Have you ever been to The Black Queen before? It’s just down the road from here,” smiled Daly.  Jones called the station to request the home visit to the parents of Paul Gardener.  Firstly to check if the boy missing from the school was at home and had not been decaying in the undergrowth for more than a week and if he was absent, then to take the parents to the hospital morgue to try and identify the body.

20

Two hours later Daly received a call from Roger Harper.

“Gerry, I have only done the preliminary exam on the boy and something very strange has cropped up.  His brain was totally liquefied.  You could pour it all through a tea strainer.  Christ, I’ve never even heard of something like this let alone seen such a case.  It’s incredulous!”

“Jesus Feckin’ Christ, Roger,” said Daly, looking down at the remains of the mushy peas on his plate and trying not to lose the fish and chips he’d just eaten. 

“I’ll get back to you a bit later, Gerry.  I don’t even know if that is even the cause of death yet.  By the way, the parents have made a positive I.D.  - the boy is indeed Paul Gardener as you suspected.  They say they contacted the school when he didn’t return home last weekend and was told he refused to leave and was receiving counseling for the bullying he’d been suffering.” 

“Interesting.  The Head told me he’d run away because of bullying.  Someone is telling porkies, aren’t they? I’ll visit the parents in a while.  Thanks Roger, we’ll talk later.”

“I’m just intrigued as to what else I’ll find, Gerry.  You’ll get the full report emailed to you as soon as I’m done here.” Harper hung up and continued to autopsy the body of the young victim.

“Finish your meal, Jones,” said Daly.  “It seems we have another mystery death on our hands.  Looks like either the parents or the school’s Head have been lying to us about where exactly Paul Gardener has been for the last week or so and the circumstances of the alleged bullying.”

“Err… Academy, you mean Guv,” grinned Jones.  “Just a bit of a poncy school if you ask me though.  Of course I only when to a shabby comprehensive back home, so what the hell do I know?”

“Same here.  Times have changed, I suppose.  Anyway, as far as it looks, he either ran away back home and the parents had something to do with his death or he died at the sch… Academy and they are covering it up,” said Daly.

“My money is on the school, Guv.  The body was found not too far away, although if I was a murdering parent and he was killed at home, I’d have dumped the body where he was found to cast suspicion on the school and away from myself, wouldn’t you?” replied Jones. 

“You have devious mind, Jones.  I like it.”

21

Less than an hour later Daly’s dusty black Audi arrived outside the house of the parents of Paul Gardener in Aston Clinton, between Tring and Aylesbury.  Daly looked up at the peaceful view of the Chiltern Hills as Jones knocked loudly on the door.  A man in a three-piece suit answered.  Daly introduced himself and Jones and both were solemnly invited in.  A woman was sat on an expensive looking leather sofa, weeping into a lace handkerchief.  Everything in the place looked expensive, thought Daly, and wondered what the man did for a living.

The woman rose suddenly and said, “I should… make some tea or something, shouldn’t I?” Daly thought she looked quickly at her husband for some kind of consent.  Alarm bells started to ring in his mind already.

“No.  Please stay where you are, Mrs. Gardener. Sergeant Jones will do it, just try to relax a little,” smiled the detective, hopefully.  “I appreciate it’s a terrible time for you.  For you both, I mean.”

“What do you bloody well mean? ‘Relax’? My son is dead, you know!” Mr. Gardener almost shouted.

“Sorry, poor choice of words,” Daly apologised.  He had taken an instant dislike to the man though.  “I just meant that it would be a little less stressful for your wife if she wasn’t rushing about making tea for myself and my sergeant, that’s all.”

“So have you got any news about why he was in the woods, Detective Inspector?” demanded the man forcefully.

“I’ll get to that in a moment, Mr. Gardener,” said Daly, taking a notebook from his jacket pocket.  “First of all can I take your first name,” he said, avoiding the word ‘Christian’ as directed by current Metropolitan Police guidelines.  We mustn’t assume a person’s religion and risk offending them, can we, he thought.  The bloke could be a Druid for all he knew.  Way out here he may have been a Pagan or something equally off the wall.  Probably a bloody Satanist, he thought.

“Giles Alfred Gardener,” said the man.  “My wife is Susan Gardener - no middle name.  Satisfied?”

“Thank you, Mr. Gardener,” said Daly.  Still not decided if this was an outpouring of grief or if he was naturally a twat.  “So, as far as I understand, your son, Paul, was a pupil at Milton Academy.  How long has he been schooled there?”

“This was the start of his third year there.  We’d always been quite satisfied with his progress but he did need a little home schooling during the holidays, which I did myself.  But this bullying is something new.  We had no idea it was happening,” said Gardener.

“And the school told you he was staying there for the weekend for counseling about the alleged bullying?” asked Daly.

“Yes… Alleged? Do you mean there was none?” The man asked.

“To be honest we are obviously still in the very early stages of the investigation, Mr. Gardener.  According the the Head, Mrs. Crowther, your son ran away from school because of the bullying and was assumed to be heading home.  So it really doesn’t add up so far, does it?”

“Well, I can assure you that he never arrived home on Friday, or any other day, if you are implying that I’m not telling the truth.  We would never hurt our son.  He was all we had.” Those words made Mrs. Gardener burst into a flood of tears again.

“I’m not making any accusations either way, Mr. Gardener.  Not at this stage, anyway.  All I’m trying to do is collate the information and establish the facts and then look at the events which unfortunately resulted in the death of your son.  If it was either an accident or something much more serious, we’ll do our best to resolve the investigation as quickly as we can.  The process is exactly the same initially.  At best all we can hope for is a mix-up in communications between you and the school’s Headmistress and then an unfortunate accident whilst in the woods, but to be honest it looks a little more complicated than that initially.  As soon as the pathologist gives me an actual cause of death I’m slightly in the dark at the moment.”

Jones arrived with a pot of tea on a tray but Daly was done with the questions for the moment and left the house with Jones in tow, telling Gardener that he’d be in touch as soon as he had any news.  “I don’t know if he’s a wrong ‘un or not Jones, but I don’t like him one little bit.  Something inside of me want to put that arsehole away for murder, but he could be completely innocent for all we know… for now.” 

“Yeah, I heard most of the conversation from out in the kitchen.  He seemed a bit off to me.  I know he’s just lost his son, but why was he so aggressive towards you?” replied Jones.

“I have no idea… yet. Let’s get back to talk to Harper.”

Daly drove straight back to Watford, mostly along the busy A41 bypass to save time, and soon arrived at the hospital where Roger Harper had been performing the post mortem on the boy.  The pathologist was still writing up his report when the detective arrived.

“Hi Roger,” said Daly as he slumped into the chair in Harper’s office.  Jones leaned against the metal bed used for examinations, pushed tightly against the far wall.  “What have we got, doc?”

“Gerry, I was just about to email all this to you!” replied the doctor.  “What we have here is-”

“Failure to communicate?” quipped Daly.  “Sorry, do carry on, Roger.”

“Love that film.  Anyway, back to business.  The cause of death was the liquification of the brain matter.  I have no idea how that can happen though.  There were no other major injuries. There were a few animal and insect bites, as you’d expect .  Toxicology came back clean.  The rest of his internal organs were in perfect condition, which you would expect for someone of that age.  He was a very healthy and fit lad until his brain basically melted inside his skull.  The gash on the head was, in my opinion, caused by his head hitting a tree as he was either carried to the scene, or running through the woods, as there were tiny fragments of bark in the wound.  I’ve taken the liberty to ask your SOCO lads to get out there and look to confirm that,” he said.

“Shit!” said Daly, clearly frustrated by the results.  “Is is possible that someone could have done that to him or was it just some freak of nature, like a type of next level aneurysm or something?”

“If this was deliberate I just don’t know how.  Electroconvulsive Therapy gone hideously wrong? A build up of intense heat inside the cranium? I can’t think of any drug that would do this.  I don’t even know if any of the brain matter is missing or evaporated due to the extreme heat.  It’s impossible to tell at the moment, if at all.  There was no sigh of any leakage at the site which would have prompted me to at least isolate his head in a plastic bag, but no, there was nothing out of the ordinary at the scene, Gerry,” sighed Harper.  He hated being confronted by something that just didn’t make sense to him.  The doctor wanted answers just as much as the detective seated next to him.

“So we still don’t know if the body was dumped there by person or persons unknown after doing something to him, or if he really did run away and this freak thing happened just as he entered the woods?”

“I would lean towards him being dumped, Gerry,” said the doctor.  “He was well away from the path and behind bushes.  There wasn’t too much damage to the flora that would have indicated him staggering around a lot if this thing… event, had happened to him if he was on the path or had hit his head.  In my opinion his body was discarded where it was found, but to be honest that’s for you to work out.  I’m just here to determine the cause of death, Gerry.  But I’m bloody well stumped for an answer and I don’t like it one iota.”

“Okay, thanks Roger.  I agree it looks like a dump site, which means we are looking for some bad guys,” doesn’t it? he sighed. 

“One other thing, Gerry.  I still have to do a full post mortem on Malcolm Wiper too.  Things are backing up here like an old drain and I need to get that one done as soon as I can.”

“Okay, thanks Roger.  I know the Wiper killing is connected to the first one, the eco-warrior kid.  Let me know as soon as you’re done.  At the moment I don’t know if I have one or two cases here to investigate.”

“Will do Gerry.  Talk to you later.”

“Thanks doc,” said Daly with a weary frown as he left the office with Jones.

“Any thoughts about the kid, Jones?” he asked.

“Well, it’s another strange one like the guy burning in his bedroom and the one who drowned in his front room, isn’t it? Do you think there really is a connection or just a tragic coincidence, Guv?” asked Jones.

“As my old boss used to say, there is no such thing as coincidence, Jones,” said Daly. That had been a sort of catch phrase of his own since meeting Mark Mason for the first time a few years previously.  “Yeah, I think all three are somehow connected but I just don’t know how yet.  Come on, my trusty sidekick.  I’ve got a couple of calls to make.  Carry on looking to that Darren kid, will you? Call me as soon as you have a lead.  I’ll drop you back at your car.”

“See you later, Guv,” said the Welshman as Daly stopped the Audi next to Jones’ Toyota in the car park of Watford nick.  Jones wondered who the calls his boss needed to make were to.  One was probably a progress report to ACC McDermott and he thought he’d hate to be in Daly’s shoes for that one.  He reminded himself that the transfer from rural Wales should be beneficial to him in the long run.  Especially if they could solve this case pretty quickly.  Looking good in the eyes of the ACC would be great for his career and he sort of liked the extra work he was putting in on the job up in Hertfordshire.  It was a much faster pace than he was used to, but he thought he was adapting pretty well and he knew he’d learn a lot from Daly.  He had a lot of respect for the man already.  His methods may be a little outside the box at times and his constant breaks for unhealthy food were getting on Jones’ nerves a little bit, but Daly got the job done one way or another.  According to the station gossip.

22

Daly was indeed on the phone to Carly McDermott.  Even if he was constantly updating her on their dates he still had to do it officially too, without any small talk and also he needed his number showing on her phone records.  That was for two reasons: the first was if an audit ever took place he’d be shown to be contacting her at her office.  The second was even more obvious.  They could hide their relationship a bit better.  The last thing Daly wanted was for Carly to be transferred to another part of the country by the top brass who would obviously disapprove of a relationship with a mere DI, especially one with his reputation.  He had to do this constantly and sometimes felt as though he was on probation, but on the other hand he got to speak to his girlfriend a lot more. 

“Good afternoon, ACC McDermott, I hope you are keeping well,” he opened, trying to keep his huge grin from being too obvious in his voice.

“Afternoon, DI Daly, what have you got to report?” she said.  “Make it quick, I’m a bit busy today,” she replied, trying hard to be a bit stern with him.  She never knew who could be listening.  Sometimes she felt a bit paranoid but sometimes it was for good reason in the currant climate at the Met.

“I will be, ma’am,” Daly replied courteously.  “It’s regarding the case involving the alleged Spontaneous Human Combustion stroke mysterious fire victim, and the man who apparently drowned in his flat.  I believe both deaths are connected.  There is also one more.  A young boy was found in the woods with no apparent injuries apart from a gashed head and an anomaly with his brain.  I’ll send you the post mortem report from that when I’m back at the office.  I think that it’s connected to the others too, but just can’t make a solid association just yet.”

“I’ll look forward to getting any reports you have, Daly.  Just keep within guidelines and within your budget too.  You know as well as I that we have to deploy all our resources responsibly.”

“I’ll do my best on both counts, ma’am,” he said trying hard not to laugh.

Daly ended the call professionally and without saying ‘I love you’ and hoped she also had the urge to say it in return.  That would have put the cat amongst the pigeons for any bugger listening in, he chuckled.

Daly got a call on his mobile just after 3 p.m. from Jones.  The inspector was in the local pub in the middle of a large steak and chips with a side order of peas and already on his second pint of Stella Artois.

“Jones? Any news?” he said, then stuffing another chip covered in brown sauce and black pepper into his mouth while he listened.

“Guv.  I’ve been to all the homeless shelters in town and either no one has seen this Darren or they are all clamming up on his whereabouts.  The DENS place was very helpful though - the main guy said the boy  usually nips in about once a week for a few cups of tea, a hot meal and to do a bit of laundry and have a shower too, but they haven’t seen him since last Monday and they have no idea where he is currently kipping.  That seems to be his usual day for a visit, though.  I suppose I could be waiting for him there next Monday if we don’t find him by then.  I did have a thought about trying the local Food Bank too.  He must be eating more than once a week, so they may have seen him, even if they don’t know him by name.  I pulled his photo off the database from the shoplifting charges so they may recognise him.  Did you realise there are actually seven homeless shelters in a town of this size, Guv? We don’t even have one in my town back home.  People in my community tend to help out a lot more and take family and friends in if things get tough.”

“It’s a sign of the times, I suppose.  Some people are way down the list when it comes to getting help from the government or councils up here.  The kid will probably have to wait until he’s sixty before he gets offered a place.  Anyway, good work, Jones.  Great idea too.  Obviously I’d rather we found him sooner than Monday though, if we can.  Do your best, lad.” Daly hung up.  He was starting to warm to the Welshman.  He supposed Jones was the closest he’d ever get to Jimmy Weatherby, but he still missed his former partner.  Jones wasn’t much of a drinker and the detective did miss the nights out with his old mate, but he’d rather Jimmy didn’t visit him late at night.  Dream, hallucination or real, it had still freaked him out a lot.

23

That evening Daly was once again sitting having a meal in a pub, but this time he had company.  ACC Carly McDermott was sitting opposite him enjoying her creamy garlic mushroom starter.

“So you are saying you actually talked to the ghost of your old sergeant, and he told you the name of this kid you are looking for?” she said.  That’s so weird, Gerry.  Maybe we’re both mad.  I talked to my Grampa Paddy in your flat after we got back from Mark’s dinner party.”

“Jesus, it all sounds a bit mad, doesn’t it? The both of us?… and in the same place too.  Maybe I should move?” he replied, nibbling on his chicken wings.  “Luckily you know everything that has happened to me in the last few years.  All the strange stuff and you actually believe it too.  You know, you are the one of only two people I trust to talk about these things to and now I find you had pretty much the same experience as me in the flat with Paddy.  How is the old boy, anyway?”

“He said things were good for him and I needed to do you a big favour when the time comes.  He didn’t say what or when though, but I’ve got your back, Gezza!” Carly grinned.  Daly actually hated being called Gezza, but didn’t want to have a go back as they were having a pleasant evening.  If he gave her an equally irritating pet name she’d probably dump him, he thought.  Calling her Carzy would probably get him arrested these days. 

They ordered their main course: Pan Fried Salmon for Carly while Daly had the Slow Roasted Lamb.  It was the fourth or fifth time they had gone to The Plough in Kingsford for an evening meal since they had been seeing each other.  The food had always been excellent and it was far enough away from London to make Carly feel a bit more relaxed about dating a ‘lowly DI’ as Daly described himself.  Maybe the best bit was he got a ten per cent cash back offer from his bank if he paid by debit card - a right bonus, he thought.  Daly considered that he’d probably marry Carly if he was a bit higher in rank, like a DCI or even a Chief Superintendent, but knew with his record of being a bit of an unorthodox detective that would probably never happen.  He was sure his bosses would describe him as a scruffy, gobby little urchin in private.  He didn’t feel inferior to her, as such, but he knew that Carly’s bosses wouldn’t be too happy thinking she was lowering her standards, being heavily involved with him.  Christ, the job was complicated and frustrating enough without it encroaching into his private life, he thought.  Despite what his bosses thought, he usually got the job done.  He got results and the Crime Figures looking good was what it was all about now.  All just PR. 

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, both enjoying their delicious food.  For dessert, they had the Chocolate Brownie and then they got down to the real topic they had been putting off for almost two hours.

“This boy, Darren, the one Weatherby tipped you off about?” she asked, and Daly nodded for her to continue as he took a couple of mouthfuls of lager to wash down the delicious food.  “So, he’s been living rough and nicked a few times for shoplifting, which is why he’s in the system.  Nothing else? No selling himself to nonces? No dealing? Just shoplifting.  And that’s how he survives on the streets?”

“Seems so,” Daly replied.  “Obviously I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but that’s all we’ve got on him.  If not, then he’s either a very clever lad or a very lucky one.  I’ll know more when I talk to him.  We know where he should be on Monday morning, so I’ll have Jones in place in the day centre before he arrives.  The guy who runs the place is up for it after Jones assured him that the boy is not in any trouble.  He was dead against it at first apparently, which is understandable, but it must have taken all of Jones’ Welsh charm to get the guy on board.”

“Good,” she smiled.  “How is Jones working out by the way?”

“Well, he’s a lot better that that Manc git White he swapped with,” Daly grinned.  “I still have White’s voice in my head though, don’t they call that an earworm or something? Like when you get a song repeating itself in your mind?”

“I think so,” she replied.  “Happens to me with Abba and Judas Priest,” she smirked back.

“From one extreme to the other,” laughed Daly.  “Jones is a good lad, but don’t tell him I said so.  I want him to think that I’m a grumpy old bastard, and I need to keep him on his toes for now.”

“You are a grumpy old bastard, Gezza!” Carly grinned.  “As long as you’re happy with him.  I just wonder how he’ll react if you get a really strange case again,” she said.

“Hopefully I won’t but the current one does seem a bit weird.  No demons, witches or immortal serial killers this time though… I hope.”

“Spontaneous Human Combustion and a, as yet, mysterious drowning is as weird as I want this one to get, Gerry,” she said hopefully.

“I know they are connected, I just don’t know how or why at the moment.  I hope this kid can shed some light on things a bit when I talk to him on Monday, if not before.”

“Here’s to Monday then,” Carly said as she raised her second glass of white wine.  Daly raised his third pint of Stella.

24

The following Monday morning Jones got to the DENS day centre used to process newly homeless people for one of the shelters and to provide free meals, tea and coffee, warmth and company for the many homeless in Watford.  It was an old house on the edge of a park which had seen better days but the charity thought it was more important to help people than give the place a coat of paint and new furniture every now and then. 

Jones hadn’t shaved for three days and was in the oldest clothes he could find in his wardrobe, so he would blend in with the other visitors a lot more and not freak them out too much.  He expected them to be a little wary of a newcomer anyway.  Andy, the manager of the centre wasn’t too happy about Jones going in there to nab one of the kids initially but then realised that as part of a murder enquiry both he and Darren could help.  Jones assured Andy that Darren was not a suspect, but may have some information that could help with the murder enquiry and would definitely not be arrested, either there or when he left the small building.  He also said that if he was a help it would certainly influence the magistrate when he was eventually up in the local court on his shoplifting charge, and he’d probably be able to get the charge dropped before it even reached the magistrate anyway.  Andy was suitably placated if that was the case.  He was still only 60-40 in favour of helping the police but knew that Darren could have information that could solve a murder or even prevent further deaths, so he went along with the plan.  The last thing he wanted though, was to be known as a police informant so he hoped Darren would be smart enough to keep things to himself about the matter too.  He was very protective of the people he was trying to help at the centre.  It was sometimes difficult to help the drug addicts and alcoholics who came to the refuge, but he still did his best for them.  Most were homeless through no fault of their own though, and these were the ones he enjoyed helping the most and Darren was one of them.  Just a good kid.  He should be in care really, but he seemed to be mentally scarred from something that Andy knew nothing about.  He knew that being homeless was difficult for everyone and sometimes caused a lot of depression but he thought Darren was a bit different.  He suspected the boy had been abused at some time, either mentally or physically, maybe both, and had been traumatised by it.  He hoped not, because he thought Darren was a good lad deep down and once he was old enough to get himself a steady job he would turn his young life around for the better.

Jones sat in the corner of the day centre, now on his third cup of strong coffee.  He would need the toilet soon, he thought.  There was a knock on the front door and Phil, Andy’s assistant went over to open it.  Jones recognised the boy straight away from his picture, but sat there watching quietly in the corner, letting the boy have his meal and mug of tea in peace after stashing what looked like a small bag of clothes ready to be laundered under the table.  When Darren had finished eating Andy went over for a quiet chat and told him that Jones was there to help him.  Darren suddenly bolted for the door, his empty plate and half-full mug of tea went flying onto the floor and smashing noisily.  Jones reacted immediately and was not too far from the boy as he sprinted across the park at the side of the small house.  Jones was a keen runner, so had plenty of speed and stamina himself.  He was glad he was in trainers as part of his undercover civvies instead of his normal shoes and soon caught up with the boy after about a quarter of a mile thanks to his stride advantage.  Dog walkers in the park watched in either fear or disgust to see the older man chasing the young boy, wondering what was going on.  Jones had thought about shouting ‘Stop! Police!’ just to placate the bystanders but wanted to conserve his breath and energy as he quickly ran after Darren.

“Darren! It’s okay.  You’re not in any trouble, I just need your help, mate,” said Jones, barely out of breath but his Welsh accent a little more pronounced after the exertion.  Jones then managed to grab the boy by the arm and eventually stopped him.

“Leave me alone, pig! I ain’t done nuffin’!” shouted the boy, trying to squirm free of Jones’ firm grip on his bicep.

“I know! Do you think that Andy would have let me wait for you in the day centre if you had? I just need a word, your help, that’s all,” Jones smiled at the boy.  “Honestly mate, you could be a massive help to me, and in turn, help yourself out too.  I know you are up in front of the magistrate soon.  I can make that go away.  I’ll get the case dropped and you’ll just get a police caution for the shoplifting.  I promise, son.”

Darren stopped struggling for a moment and started thinking about the offer.  The carrot was definitely more appealing than the stick.  He knew he was in for a few months of Youth Detention and there was no way out of it after he had stupidly confessed to the shoplifting charge.  He knew the CCTV footage from the shop’s security cameras had clearly shown him stuffing the pair of trainers into his battered canvas bag inside the sports shop but still he hoped he’d get lucky.

“Okay, so what do you want from me,” Darren asked, finally seeing a bit of sense.  His last six week stretch inside the youth facility wasn’t too great for him.  He was relentlessly bullied, but thankfully that was all.  A lot of the smaller kids were not so lucky.  Rape was very common in those places, mostly very violent.  He’d end up being done for murder if someone tried it on with him.  Some of those kids had topped themselves rather than go through the vicious ordeal ever again.

“Well, I don’t want to take you to the station to ask for your help, but my boss needs to ask you a few questions, so how about we find him at the pub? I’ll buy you a shandy.  What do you say?” said Jones.

“Rather it was white rum,” the boy smiled hopefully. 

“Then I’d have to nick myself, wouldn’t I?” laughed Jones.

“You promise to get me off that other charge?” asked Darren, again think of the threat of Youth Detention.

“I promise, mate.  I just need a bit of your time and then we’re done.  Honestly,” said the sergeant.

“Okay, which pub?” asked Darren.

“The Coach and Horses over in Kingsford.  No one you know will find out you helped us either,” smiled Jones.

“Good.  I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a frigging grass, do I?” said the boy.

“Don’t worry Darren.  You’ll be a bloody hero if your information leads to stopping another murder, maybe more,” said Jones, immediately regretting letting the boy know it was a murder investigation and expecting Darren to bolt again.

“Murder? I don’t know nuffin’ about a frigging murder!” said the boy.

“It’s okay, but you still may know who could be doing them though.  We really need you mate, we’re stuck.  I may even sneak that rum on to our table,” Jones winked.

“Okay, I’ll help you.  But if you stiff me on that deal, you’re dead meat, right?” threatened the kid.

“I didn’t hear that, Darren,” said Jones.  “Come on mate, my car is parked close to the day centre.”

They walked fairly slowly to the car.  Jones knew that Daly would already be waiting at the pub for them, probably on his third scotch or fifth pint.  Jones knew that the habits of his Guv’nor would cause problems… both professionally and health-wise.  He’d seen it back home with his old boss, DCI Dave Evans.  Pensioned off years early to avoid the embarrassment and scandal for repeatedly being drunk on duty.  Evans had taken his own life less than six months later, even before the drink had got him.  It happened a lot in the job.  The stress of preventing and solving crime was so bad and some people coped in whatever way they could.  Some listened to music but Jones just went off running for hours on end.  He missed jogging up and down the rolling hills back home.  Some did turn to drink, and even drugs, to get through their days.  Jones was determined not to fall into that particular downward spiral.  There was rarely any coming back from it.  He didn’t want Daly to follow the same path as many others.  He realised he actually liked his boss despite the inspector’s gruff exterior.

When they got to the silver, four door Toyota Avensis, Jones pressed his key fob twice to unlock the doors and asked Darren to get in the front.  It felt weird to have a kid in the front seat instead of banged up in the back in handcuffs.  He hoped anyone who saw him wouldn’t think he was a nonce and picking up a score. 

As he drove off towards Kingsford, the band Thunder started blaring from the speakers.  Darren wanted to change the CD but couldn’t find any awful Rap music in Jones’ collection, tucked away in a small fabric case in the centre console. 

“Oy, my car, my music, Darren!” scolded Jones.  This is probably the best stuff I’ve got,” he said and started to sing along with Thunder front man Danny Bowes.  Darren started to cringe and hoped the four miles to the pub flew by very quickly.  He decided he desperately needed that white rum.

“Darren! Answer this for me will you? How come all you white kids in Britain listen to all this Rap crap?  I’d understand it if you were some black, inner city kid but you’re from bloody St. Albans, mate.  It’s hardly Detroit is it?”

“I dunno.  Everyone else listens to it,” said Darren, finally realising he didn’t really have much in common with those gangsta rappers after all.  He was even starting to warm to the rock music blasting through the speakers as the singer warned of Lowlifes in High Places. Ain’t that the truth? he thought.

25

They arrived at the Coach and Horses on the outskirts of Kingsford just before eleven-thirty.  Darren was still a bit nervous, but the promise of a white rum steeled him for the meeting with Jones’ boss.  They entered the gloomy looking bar and Jones ordered a rum and an orange juice - pretending the orange was for the fifteen year old boy.  He looked around and saw Daly seated in the back of the pub, deep in the shade.  The day had suddenly become quite warm since his sprint after Darren in the park.  The pair approached the DI and Daly looked up.

“Guv, this is young Darren Edwards.  He’s agreed to help us as much as he can as long as we help him out too.  Darren sat opposite Daly with his back to the bar thus avoiding the barman seeing him sip the rum sneakily.  Daly looked at the boy.  Typical runaway, he thought.  A little grubby from sleeping rough overnight and looking quite disheveled.  He knew there was a shower and a washing machine at the day centre for the homeless to wash themselves and their clothes, but it had been a week since the boy had been there.

“Nice to finally meet you, Darren,” smiled Daly, desperately hoping the boy could actually help with solving the recent mysterious murders.  Do you want something to eat, son?” He asked, trying to get the kid in a co-operative mood before he started to informally question him.

“I haven’t had a fry-up for months,” said Darren hopefully, looking at the egg stains on Daly’s plate.

“A fry-up it is then! Jones,” Daly said and nodded towards the bar.  “I’ll have another one too.  The first one was bloody lovely.  Get whatever you like for yourself.  You’ll enjoy this, Darren.  It really is a work of art as fry-ups go, son,” Daly grinned.  Darren tentatively smiled back.  The DI didn’t seem like any copper he’d met before.

Jones left the table and trudged back towards the bar, thinking of yet another thirty quid he’d be paying out - it would cost half that back home. 

Daly turned to Darren and started with a bit of small talk to relax the boy.  He didn’t want to spook him any more than he’d have to, and hoped the kid would be a bit more responsive after a good meal and his tongue loosened a bit by the clear liquid in his glass.  The detective had guessed it wasn’t water.

“So, what’s your favourite football team, Darren?” asked Daly, getting Darren used to answering trivial questions before he started on the more important ones.  Vital ones in his mind.

“I’ve always been a Glory Hornet Boy - Watford.” said the boy, only slightly embarrassed.

“I’m Man. United,” admitted Daly, “I have been to see Watford a few times though.  My old sergeant was a big fan.  We used to take the piss out of each others’ teams a lot.  In one way it’s lucky he’s not around as my lot are playing crap at the moment.  The players don’t seem to care anymore,” he sighed.

“Where is he now? I assume he’s not the Welsh bloke,” said Darren.

“No.  My old mate Jimmy was killed in the line of duty over three years ago, nearly four come to think of it,” said Daly.  Had it really been that long ago? he thought sadly.  He’d been reminiscing a lot about his old partner since the visitation in his flat over a week before.

“Sad.  Being homeless, I’ve lost a few friends in the last couple of years too,” said Darren.” Most have been drug overdoses, which is why I’ve never touched anything like that.  One kid died from hypothermia last winter and it wasn’t even that cold.”

“Good to hear you’ve stayed clean, Darren.  I can imagine that it’s not a great life, but it is good that you have somewhere like the day centre for a bit of help.  Someone like you could be a good example to the others, you know.  Show them how not every homeless person needs to turn to drink and drugs to get by,” smiled Daly.

“I tend to keep myself to myself.  I usually only go there once a week and do my washing, have a shower and have a chat with Andy over a hot meal.  It’s useful to be honest.  The other bloke Phil is a bit grumpy, but his heart is in the right place.  A lot of people like me wouldn’t survive without people like them.”

Jones arrived back at the table after ordering the meals and another round of drinks.  He reminded himself he needed to talk to Daly about his expenses when they were finished here.

“Have I missed anything?” he asked.

“We were just talking football, Jones, which team are you a fan of?”

“I’m a rugby man myself, Guv - a real man’s game,” His Welsh accent elongating the word real to ‘reeeeal’.

“Bollocks, son.  Football was a real man’s game back in the sixties and seventies; Norman Hunter, Nobby Stiles, Chopper Harris? All of them real hard men who would mug your granny for a fiver… which is about what they were paid a week back then,” Daly joked.  “Not like these pussies on a quarter of a million a week who hit the deck if someone farts in their direction!”

“Right, Guv,” grinned Jones.  “I’m too young to remember any of those.  I remember Vinnie Jones, though, great Welshman.”

Yeah,” said Daly.  “Born in Watford though, you plank,” he laughed.  His mirth was joined by Darren’s.

“Oh,” said Jones, now suitably embarrassed.  “Ryan Giggs?”

“Cardiff, but grew up in Manchester!” Daly and the boy said in unison.  Now in fits of laughter.  Daly was pleased he’d put the boy at ease enough for him to trust the DI a little, even if it did piss off his sergeant.

“Bollocks!” said Jones, scowling.

The food and some more drinks arrived at that moment.  A proper fry-up for Daly and Darren; two Cumberland sausages, three rashers of bacon, baked beans, tinned tomatoes, black pudding, two fried eggs and a slice of toast with real butter.  Jones had ordered a tuna and chicken mayo baguette for himself and sat there nibbling on it while jealously eyeing the other two tucking into their food.  He loved the taste of a good fry-up but couldn’t eat all that grease and cholesterol anymore since his uncle Alun had had a fatal heart attack four or five years before.  Alun, like his boss, had loved his food a bit too much.

Jones could not believe that this was Daly’s second full English breakfast in as many hours.  Being his new sergeant he didn’t feel it was his place to say something to his boss, but he was getting slightly worried about him again.  He finished his sandwich long before the other two were mopping up the egg yolk and bean juice with their toast and he had a quick look on his phone for any messages.  There was one from Roger Harper, presumably about the post mortem of Malcolm Wiper.  He told Daly and said he’d nip outside and give Harper a quick call while the other two were finishing up.

Jones returned about five minutes later.  The plates had been removed from the table and both Daly and Darren looked satiated. 

“The doc has found something interesting and wants a chat with you, Guv,” said the Welshman.  “I told him you’d be over there as soon as you could.”

“Okay, I’ll go in a bit later.  What did you think of that breakfast, Darren?” Daly asked the boy.

“Brilliant, Mr. Daly.  Probably the best one I’ve had since I was a kid before my parents died.” Darren decided he liked Daly.  He may have seemed a bit gruff and angry on the exterior but Darren had abilities, and one of them was judging people pretty accurately on first meeting them.  He didn’t like his other abilities though.

“So.  Now you have a full belly and seem a lot happier, we really should get back to business,” Daly smiled.

“Okay, Mr. Daly.”

“You can call me Gerry, we’re mates now, right? So, a little bit of information I got a few nights ago named you as someone who could help out with.  I’m sure Jones here has already explained to you that you aren’t in any trouble, okay?”

“Yeah, your sergeant said something about a murder,” said Darren, now almost at ease and starting to trust Daly a little.  It was possible his second white rum was helping in that respect and he was hoping for a third before they’d finished their chat.

“Well, I think it’s at least two or three murders and could even be many more to be honest,” said Daly.  “My contact said you could be able to help us piece it all together.”

“I’ll try, Mr. Daly… Gerry,” said the boy.

“Tell me about yourself Darren, maybe something from your past will help? Even something you may think is a bit trivial.”

Darren didn’t want to tell Daly everything, but he felt he’d have to confide in someone eventually.  Those months being forced to use his special ability were the worst of his life - way worse than the death of his parents or the two years of living rough, hiding away wherever he could to preserve his safety.  He didn’t know if those people were still looking for him and what they’d do if they ever found him.

“Okay, well you know I when and where I was born.  My childhood was pretty great, to be honest.  I had loving parents but no brothers or sisters so my parents did all they could to make it a very happy childhood for me.  I did quite well at school.  My teachers always told my parents that I was above average intelligence.  I didn’t really feel all that different to any of the other kids except I know I could kind of suss people out.  Like if they were good or bad deep down.  Like I can see a lot of good in you, Mr. Daly.  But you don’t want people to see that side of you, do you?” Daly smiled back at the boy.  “Anyway, when I was twelve my parents were both killed in a bad car crash.  I was at a friend Marty’s house playing Football Manager on his computer and I knew something had happened to them but didn’t know what.  It was only when Marty’s dad dropped me back at home a bit later that I saw the police car waiting outside our house.  I got worried and didn’t want to get out of the car, so Marty’s dad went over to talk to the police.  He kind of slumped onto the roof of the police car as he talked to one of the officers through the window.  It was then I realised it was as bad as it could get.  Marty’s dad looked over towards me with sad eyes and carried on talking to the officer for a couple more minutes and nodded every now and again and then he slowly walked back to his car and got in.  He was almost in tears when he told me that my parents had been in an awful car crash on their way home and it was bad - very bad.  I didn’t cry.  I’d sort of already known, so the news didn’t come as much of a shock when he told me about them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Darren. My dad died when I was only a little baby, so I can certainly understand your grief,” said Daly solemnly.  “You’re doing great son, carry on.”

“So...  I didn’t have any other family anywhere and I was a bit stuck for a place to stay.  Social Services had arranged for me to go into a care home but Marty’s dad said he’d been brought up in one and didn’t want me to be taken into care so he offered to put me up at his place, sharing a room with Marty.  Of course I jumped at the chance.  It meant I was safe and I could still go to the same school I was attending and keep seeing all my friends.”

“You know, we see a lot of arseholes in this job so it’s nice to hear about someone willing to do that,” said Daly.  Jones nodded.

“Yeah, it was nice - he was nice.  Marty’s mum too.  Well, about three or four months later some man in a suit came to our school.  He said he was offering places to go to a special school for highly intelligent pupils.  The right candidates would stay at the school, for free, and get one of the finest educations in the country.  Their curriculum was very advanced, so it was imperative they chose the right people.  I had a feeling that I would get in with no problem and by then I was feeling a bit guilty about staying with Marty’s family, I felt I was abusing their hospitality.  Anyway, I took all the tests he had set up and they were mainly to measure my IQ, but there were other tasks that I didn’t really understand.  A couple of days later I got a call at Marty’s house and was told I’d passed every one of the tests and had been accepted for a place at the school.  I was delighted, of course.  I’d get a great education which could lead to a successful future and I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone anymore.  I’d miss Marty, of course, and his family too, but I knew it wasn’t really fair on them to look after me.  I wasn’t their family, was I? So a week later I moved into the school.  It was called The Milton Academy over in Shillington - not too far.  I never saw Marty or his parents ever again.”

“I’ve been to the place, it’s bit posh, isn’t it?” asked Daly.

“Well yes, and no.  Most of the other kids weren’t all that posh really.  Some were though.  It’s quite a big place and pretty old on the outside but the classrooms were very modern - miles more advanced than I’d ever seen before.  I was living in the boy’s dormitory upstairs with seven other boys and we had lots of fun with all the games that were provided for us.  There was also a girl’s dorm on the other side of the building on the same floor but there were only a couple of girls in it at the time.  They were very strict about contact between girls and boys outside classes and other mixed functions.  Well, most of us were around my age so we didn’t have too much interest in girls at eleven or twelve anyway, or almost thirteen in my case, so it wasn’t a problem.  The girls were around the same age as us so probably hated boys too, you know what they’re like.  The lessons we had were great.  Mostly technical stuff; Chemistry, Biology, Computing and Coding and Robotics… Coding  was my favourite.  Now and again I noticed one of the kids getting called out of class and disappearing for about an hour.  When they came back they looked very tired and wouldn’t talk about where they had been.  I just assumed that they had done something to get in trouble and had been punished and were too embarrassed to talk about it.  When it came to my turn I finally understood,” said Darren, now looking very sad and had a slight hitch in his voice as he spoke.

“Take your time, Darren - you’re doing really well,” smiled Daly.  He wanted any information the kid could give him as soon as possible, but also knew from years of questioning witnesses that most had to do it at their own pace.  Otherwise they may clam up or even forget important points.  “Jones, get Darren another drink will you? I’ll have a scotch.” Jones trudged off to spend more money, muttering to himself.

Darren took a deep breath and continued, his voice still a little shaky.

“Thanks, Mr. Daly,” managing a half-smile at the detective inspector.  “Yeah, it eventually got to be my turn.  Mr. Davies, one of the teachers, came and asked me to follow him.  I remember it was a History class and I was a little disappointed, as it was always one of my favourite lessons - even at the old school.  I wondered what I’d done wrong and if I was going to be punished, so I was a little worried .  I couldn’t think of anything I could be punished for, though.  I’d been doing my best to behave.  Anyway, he took me to a flight of concrete steps at the rear of the building and he told me not to worry.  That made me feel slightly better, but I was still confused and nervous as I thought I’d be going to the Head’s office instead.  We arrived down on the lower floor.  I expected some dusty old cellar judging by the outside of the building, but it was all brand new.  There were corridors going off in all directions, all nicely painted and clean - almost sterile if you get me.”

Jones returned with another glass of rum for Darren and a scotch for Daly, neglecting to buy himself another.  He thought to himself that his boss had had enough to drink though, and it was still way before one p.m.

“Thanks sarge,” said Darren.  He took a large swig and went to carry on, now a little calmer, and slightly more drunker, his tongue a bit looser.  “He took me down one of the corridors and I followed.  We reached some white double doors with a red stripe across the middle and he ushered me through.  I couldn’t believe what I saw in there.  Banks of complicated electronics were built into the wall.  Computer monitors all over the place and wires everywhere.  The strangest thing was a sort of black dentist’s chair in the middle of the room.  More wires were looped around a headrest at the top of the chair.  Mr. Davies told me not to worry again but I’ve learnt now that if someone keeps telling you not to worry, then it’s probably time that you did start to get a bit nervous.  He explained to me that he wanted to do another test on me - a bit like the ones I had done at my old school.  He told me nothing would hurt but I would feel a bit tired afterwards and to treat it like it was a bit of a game.  He asked me to sit in the dentist’s chair.  I’d been in one before, getting my six-monthly check-up of course, I even had a filling once, but this chair was a little bit smaller.  Like it was made for someone my age.  I sat on it.  It was very comfortable, all foam and leather, you know?  He unhooked the headset from the back of the chair and fixed it over my head.  The wires trailed behind me, leading to one of the electronic panels.  Again, he reassured me.  I started to sweat, it must have been the nerves, I suppose.  Then he turned on the giant TV screen facing the chair.  It must have been sixty or seventy inches - miles bigger than the one my parents had, maybe twice the size.  The picture flickered for a moment and then came fully to life.  I saw a man sitting in an office wearing a suit.  Mr. Davies told me that it was just a simulation, a sophisticated computer generated image and the man was not real.  Mr. Davis told me one of the tests I did at my old school was to do with telepathy and he asked me if I’d ever heard of Telekineses.  I said no because I was too young to have seen films like Carrie or Firestarter or that one where a bloke makes someone’s head explode at the time.  He then explained to me that the tests indicated there was a very high chance of me being able to manipulate things and people using the power of my mind.  I said the word out loud slowly.  Tel-e-kin-e-sis.  It sounded interesting and made me feel a bit special.  Maybe I could sit in the crowd at Watford and will the ball into the net.  I started to think of all the possibilities - all fairly benign of course.”

“You have a very good vocabulary for a fifteen year old,” smiled Daly.  “Most kids I talk to in my line of work are as thick as donkey shite.” 

“Yeah, well, I told you they said I was pretty intelligent, and I do read a lot.  I go to the library quite a bit and sit in there for hours and sometimes even take books out.  I’ve still got my library card from when I lived with my parents.  They wouldn’t give me one now without a proof of address.”

“So tell me what happened next, Darren,” said Daly patiently.  Not only was the story very interesting he had a feeling it may actually lead somewhere.

“So, I’m sat there in front of this big TV, all wired up.  Oh, I forgot to say I had wires on my wrists and ankles too, attached to black straps fixed with Velcro, sorry.  Anyway, I didn’t really believe it was a computer simulation because it looked so real and then thought that with all this technology I’d never even dreamed about before, anything was possible, so I sat and I listened to Mr. Davies.  He spoke quietly, almost as if he was trying to get me as calm as possible - maybe even hypnotise me like that snake in Jungle Book - you know, the good cartoon one and not the rubbish one.  So I watched the ‘fake’ man on the TV sitting at his office desk.  Mr. Davies told me to use my mind to make the man think there was a fly on his head.  I concentrated hard.  The man’s hand rose a few inches and then lowered again.  Mr. Davis told me that was great for the first try and to really visualise a fly walking across the man’s grey-haired head.  Immediately the man slapped at his hair and looked into the air expecting to see a fly buzzing around him.  The teacher told me that was excellent, but he wanted me to try one more thing before I could go and get some cake from Mrs. Evans in the kitchen.  I didn’t need asking twice.  The cakes at The Academy were bloody lovely.  Cherry and cream sponge was my favourite.  So, Mr. Davies told me to imagine the beating heart inside the man on the screen.  Again, he told me it was alright, the man wasn’t real.  I concentrated again, really hard this time, trying to block out the image of the cake.  I eventually could picture his heart pumping inside his thin chest, the suit jacket, shirt, skin, flesh, ribs… all seemed to slowly melt away before my eyes.  His heart pumped normally and calmly as he read what looked like confidential reports on his desk.  I thought at the time that he looked pretty important and that I’d seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t really place him.  The man was getting ready to sign the papers with a very cool looking gold fountain pen.  It looked like real gold and not one of those cheap pens in a plastic case someone’s granny would give them for Christmas or a birthday.  Mr. Davies told me to imagine my hand grabbing the beating heart and giving it a slight squeeze.  I was still pretty convinced it was a simulation at this point, so I did what he asked.  The man looked up from his papers and frowned.  He looked a bit uncomfortable.  He wiped some sweat from his shiny forehead.  I released my light grip on the image’s heart.  Mr. Davies again calmly told me again the man was not real and told me to squeeze his heart again with all the strength I had in my hand.  I did.  The old man jolted and flung himself back into his chair, what looked like severe pain racked all over his face.  Mr. Davies softly told me not to stop, no emotion in his voice.  The man clutched at his chest like he was in severe pain.  The rest of his body and clothes reappeared but I could still feel his heart in my small hand.  My fingers started to get hot, almost a burning sensation.  The teacher again told me not to stop, that I was doing so well.  The man was in real pain, almost screaming in agony now.  I forgot to say the TV had sound too.  He was groaning and saying something like ‘No! Not now!’  Then he slumped forwards onto the desk.  His pen rolled onto the floor next to the desk.  Mr. Davies told me I was excellent and it proved I had a very powerful Telekinetic ability and that someday I would be very important.  He removed the headset and the wires and helped me down from the chair.  My legs nearly gave way and I felt so weak and exhausted.  We left the room and he helped me back down the corridor and up the stairs to the ground floor and then on towards the kitchen where he told Mrs. Evans that I could have all the cake I wanted.  The cook smiled knowingly at Mr. Davies and then sat me down on a wooden stool at the counter and started to cut a big wedge of cake for me.  I was delighted to see it was cherry and cream sponge.  I sat there for about an hour, ate three more slices of the very tasty cake until I felt a little bit sick, while I chatted with Mrs. Evans as she used a rolling pin to flatten the crust of a giant steak and kidney pie she was cooking for our dinner that night.  Eventually she said I could go up to the dorm and lie down for a bit until it was dinner time.  By the time I was called back down later I was pretty hungry again.

“Jesus,” said Daly.  “So you can really do that?  Jones, get us all refills will you? I’ve got a feeling there is more to come.”

“There is,” replied Darren.  Jones left the table again and strode to the bar, grumbling to himself again.

“So you had no idea who that old guy was at the time?”

“Still don’t really,” said Darren.  “And now I know it was real.”

“I think I know,” replied Daly.  “About two and a half years ago, about the same time you were in that school, The US Secretary of State died from a heart attack in his office just before he was about to sign an important trade deal with China.  The deal never happened.  After he died his replacement sent the proposal back to the Senate and it was rejected, even though they had ratified it a few weeks earlier.  The delay after his death meant someone had time to find an obscure loophole and create doubt about the deal.  And so that trade deal was never made.  The Chinese were obviously not happy about it.  They proposed sanctions against the US and there was even veiled threats of war between the two countries which thankfully blew over.”

“Christ,” said Darren.  “Then that sort of explains the second ‘simulation’ they had me doing, Mr. Daly… errr, Gerry.  It was a few weeks later when a different teacher, Mr. Collins, he took us all for Coding lessons, called me out of class again and took me downstairs to that room.  I don’t remember any of the other kids being taken between my first test and this new one, but I’m not a hundred percent sure of that.  Sometimes kids were taken during the night while we all slept apparently.”

“It seems you were their star pupil, although pupil is not the right word, Darren.  I have a feeling they thought of you as something else,” sighed Daly.  Jones returned with another drink for Daly and Darren, hoping it would be the last for both of them.  He was out of cash now.

“Yeah,” said Darren, now starting to slur his words slightly.  “I sussed that eventually, but I’ll get to that.  Anyway, Mr. Collins wired me up just like the first time and turned on the screen facing the dentists chair.  The picture was a little grainy this time, like it was coming from further away.  There was this Oriental bloke in another office.  He seemed to be talking with a couple of other geezers in uniforms, they had small guns in holsters strapped to their belts.  The pair were sat opposite the first bloke who was behind a big desk with a computer screen on it.  He kept looking at the screen as if something on it was making him angry.  Mr. Collins told me that it was just another simulation and that he wanted to create a computer game for us all to play.  He then said he wanted me to use my mind to control the two men in the uniforms.  Make them shoot the other bloke.  Mr. Collins said he needed a screen capture or whatever it was.  He had to digitise it.  I asked him that if this was a sim then wasn’t it already digitised and he replied that it was, but still not perfect and to do as I was told.  I thought he was a bit of a wanker then to be honest, but I didn’t argue with him any more, I just wanted to get back upstairs.  So I used my ability again.  It was a lot harder this time, I assume because of the extra distance.  You said the first guy was in America and so this was probably China, right?”

Daly nodded and motioned for Darren to continue.  He didn’t want the kid to get too drunk before he’d finished the story.  Was this the boy’s fourth or fifth rum? He’d lost count.

“Yeah, China, makes sense, doesn’t it?” he carried on.  “Anyway, I’m trying my hardest, but nothing was happening apart from the two in uniform looking like they wanted to stand up.  They raised themselves a few inches several times and sat back down again.  The bloke behind the desk was confused by their behavior and started to shout at them - a lot of ‘ying tong’ type words, you know?  Then I managed to get the two military guys to their feet.  They both drew their pistols in unison and fired at the man still sitting behind the desk.  They hit him in the chest and head, one bullet hit the monitor.  Blood spattered all up the light green wall behind him.  It was obvious he died instantly.  The doors to the office then burst open after a few seconds and more men in uniforms ran in and blew away the other two with rifles.  They could have captured them easily because the first two blokes just looked like zombies after they fired at the older man behind the desk.  But I suppose they don’t do trials much in China, do they? Mr. Collins put a bunch of paper tissues in my hand.  I hadn’t even noticed I had a nose bleed.  I’d never had one before.  I suppose it was the extra effort I had put in to get those two military types to shoot the bloke in the suit.  It was at that moment I realised that it was not a simulation after all and I had to get away from that place.  I also realised that I was a murderer, although I had been tricked into it.  I’d never hurt anyone in my life before I was taken to that room the first time and gave the old geezer a heart attack.  I’m sorry Mr. Daly, what will happen to me now?”

“Nothing as far as I’m concerned, Darren.  No one can really prove what you’ve just told me is true, can they?  But there is one thing for sure - I believe you one hundred percent and I’ll do all I can to stop these bastards and put them away.  Not just for you, but for the other kids who are still there.”

“Thanks Mr. Daly.”

“So tell me, how did you get out of there?” asked the detective.

“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure,” said the boy, now relieved that Daly wasn’t going to nick him for murder, even if he was duped into it.  He wanted to help as much as he could now.  “There is an exit on the lower floor that leads to a sort of small loading bay.  I saw someone bringing some large boxes in the second time I was taken to the chair.  One night, a few days after the China thing, I managed to sneak downstairs to check things out, but I found the door to the outside locked.  There was some sort of electric lock on it but I thought if I could get into the panel and cut a few wires I could get out.  Next day we had a class for Robotics so I stashed a screwdriver and a pair of pliers in my pocket.  They never check for missing tools at the end of a lesson.  So around three the next morning I sneaked out of the dorm again and made my way down to the lower floor once more.  I had a small bag of clothes with me which I’d hidden under my bed, along with the two tools from class.  I expected an alarm to go off as soon as I started tampering with the panel but there was nothing I could hear.  It didn’t take me long to get the front of the panel off and cut some wires and then I prised the door open with the screwdriver.  I knew the place had security guards patrolling at night so I had a good look around and saw no one, then I sprinted for the wall.  I tried to find a way out but soon realised that I was never going to get over that wall and the only real way out was the gate so I followed the wall round to the front gate, keeping in the shadows as much as I could, and then I managed to get over it.  It wasn’t that hard really.  Well, as you know, I’ve been sleeping rough ever since then.  I’m too young to get a room in a proper hostel and I’m not going into care, so during the summer I sleep in the park, or in the woods if it’s rainy.  During the winter I usually find some kind of shelter, usually at the industrial estate or a shop front or maybe even a squat until we get moved on.  Yeah, I do a bit of shoplifting, you know that, but that’s mainly for food.  I know I got done for the trainers but I was desperate, Mr. Daly.  Look at these.”

Darren lifted his left foot from under the table and showed Daly his battered old canvas trainer which looked older than the kid.  There was a gaping hole where his little toe was poking out slightly.  “See?” he said.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that now, Darren.  So, I’m formally giving you a police caution and dropping the shoplifting charge and warning you nicely not to do it again, okay?”  Then he pulled out his wallet and gave Darren a fifty pound note.  “This is for a new pair of trainers and some food with the change, although I’d get some shoes from a charity shop so you have more left over,” winked Daly.

“Bloody hell, Mr. Daly.  You’re a good bloke.  I was worried about meeting you, to be honest.  You don’t really trust coppers much in my situation.  So any time you need my help again you know where to find me.  Every Monday at the day centre doing my washing and having a shower.  I don’t have a phone so that’s the only way to get hold of me.  I’m sorry for doing a runner Mr. Jones, but I got scared when Andy said you were a copper and wanted a word with me.  I thought you were going to fit me up for something else.”

“No problem Darren, you gave me a decent workout though,” Jones smiled.  He decided that Darren was a good kid and just doing what he could to survive.  It couldn’t have been easy for him for the last couple of years.  “Come on, I’ll take you back to the day centre so you can get yourself sorted.”

“Before you go, Darren.  I know that you’re a good lad and as soon as you’re old enough you’ll be after a job.  So if you give me a shout when the time comes, I’ll write a good reference for you and I’ll also go and see someone at DENS to get you into the hostel up by Aldi.  Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble until then, okay?”

“Bloody right I will, Mr. Daly, and thank you for the money too.  I’ll visit a few charity shops later when I’m done at the day centre.”

“My pleasure Darren, and thank you for all your help, it was certainly an eye-opener for me and I’ve experienced a lot of weird stuff over the years.  Good luck, son,” he smiled warmly at the boy.  Jones smiled too.  He’d seen a different side to his boss, a gentle side instead of the normally grumpy, hard man exterior most people saw.

26

Jones left the pub with a slightly wobbly Darren lagging behind him, and drove him back to the day centre where he stayed for another mug of tea and a chat to reassure Andy that everything was cool with Darren.  At least I don’t have to pay for this, he thought.  On the drive back over there he let Darren choose the music, albeit from his own collection of CDs - Darren liked the look of one CD in particular and slid it into the player.  1987 blared out from the speakers and the boy decided he liked Steel Panther a lot.

Daly still sat in the pub after going to the bar and ordering another scotch.  He had fancied yet another fry-up but told himself he didn’t want to get too fat and put Carly off.  Even though she was his boss and they shared a strange common past, he thought they’d be good together.  But that would be unlikely if he was a disgusting, flabby old git so he asked for a cheese ploughman’s instead.  He hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long while and thought that maybe this was his last chance to maybe settle down and have a family of his own.  He hated to admit it, but he was jealous of Mark.  Not the fame or fortune or the big house, but the lovely wife and a baby on the way.  He decided he’d drive home and have a nap for a couple of hours.  He called Jones to say he was unavailable for a while and then turned his phone off and left the pub.

He arrived back at the flat around twenty minutes later and flopped onto the bed fully clothed, not even taking his shoes off.  He felt exhausted.  He’d noticed he’d lacked any energy for a while and felt extremely tired all the time.  He put it down to the long hours he had been doing, especially over the last few years.  Ever since he’d become involved with Mark Mason and all the strange cases, in fact.  He closed his eyes and the memories came flooding back in the darkness of his bedroom.  Although he’d not come face to face with either the witch or Anrok the demon, he’d seen their handiwork, especially the grisly aftermath of Anrok’s killing spree which, according to Mark, was a weird self-righteousness to target sinners.  Anrok had even murdered the priest who had become a friend of the detective.  He was there for Daly to unburden himself informally without any need for the religious side of it all.  Considering all of Anrok’s brutal killings and the danger the witch posed, the one that really scared him was Consus, an immortal serial killer, until he and Frank Kelly had been fortunate enough to stop him in the Hellfire Caves with the Lazarus Spear, the very thing that had actually made him immortal around two thousand years before.  As he drifted off to sleep he wondered just how lucky they both were in those caves because it could, and probably should, have ended a lot differently and Consus would have returned in 2042 to kill six more innocent people again.  Most likely kids.  Although Daly felt a little proud that he and Frank had stopped a man who, at one time, amazingly, had been Jack the Ripper.  He still mourned his sergeant and friend, Jimmy Weatherby, who had been killed by the evil supernatural monster.

27

Daly woke from his nap almost three hours later, still feeling extremely tired.  He turned on his phone to check the time and was bombarded with around a dozen notifications and six missed calls.  Four were from Jones.  He sighed.  Jones knew Daly was going to be ‘out of the office’ for a while.

Jones had left a voicemail and had simply said: “Guv, turn on the news!” before ending the call.

Daly groaned as he struggled to get off the bed.  The nap hadn’t done much for his flagging energy levels.  He got to his living room and spent a minute tracking down the remote for the TV.  He finally found it tucked down the side of his big leather chair and pressed the small green button on the top left corner.  The TV immediately sprang into life and he quickly navigated to Sky News.

“… and if you are just joining us, here is a recap of the major news of the day.  Prime Minister Sir Oliver Markham collapsed and sadly died suddenly during PM questions in the House of Commons around thirty minutes ago.  He had been staunchly defending the government’s record on preventing illegal immigration in a fierce debate with his opposite number, Thomas Cattermole, the recently appointed leader of the Labour Party, affectionately known as ‘Tommy Flatcap’ during his rise to prominence, due to his early life brought up in poverty in Barnsley and his Socialist background.  Earlier, there were scenes of panic in the Commons as the Prime Minister seemed to freeze mid-comment and then slump to the floor.”

“Jesus…” said Daly in shock.  No wonder Jones was in a right flap, he thought.  He muted the TV and called his sergeant. 

“Jones? Yeah, I’m watching.  Never liked the bloke, even before he became PM, but it’s a bit of a shock.  Couldn’t you have waited before ringing me?”

“I could have Guv.  But then I thought maybe this has some connection with what Darren was telling us.  Just like that American politician he supposedly killed remotely and the Chinaman too ,” replied the Welsh sergeant.

“Maybe.  Anyway, I’m sure MI5 will be onto this quicker than a Taff on a sheep, won’t they?” said Daly, internally debating whether he needed a scotch or a coffee more after his nap.

“Some of those sheep are quite lovely, you know, Boyo,” joked Jones, exaggerating his Welshness.  “Are you back in the office today, Guv?”

“Yeah, about an hour I reckon,” replied Daly.  “I’m going to get a shower first though and maybe a light snack then I’ll be in.  Remember we have to visit Harper too.”

“Right.  A snack after what you put away at the pub? You’ll be the size of my uncle Ivor if you don’t watch it, look you!” said Jones still in his excessive parody of Welshness.  “My uncle Ivor was huge!” — pronouncing it ‘oooge’.

“Bollocks,” said Daly and hung up.  He removed his tie and reached for the bottle of scotch on the table next to the leather chair and poured a generous measure.  He thought Jones was probably right about his weight and decided to skip the snack.

The next call was to Mark Mason.  He’d found Mark was busy writing, trying to get as much done as he could before Nat needed him full time as soon as the baby was born.  Daly felt a little guilty for disturbing him but, as he often did, needed Mark’s unique perspective on things, especially after this third mysterious death.

“… so that’s pretty much it.  Three deaths, two had a weird melted brain and possibly the SHC case too, but obviously the extreme heat the body suffered makes that hard to tell.  Personally I think we have the hat trick on that particular occurrence,” concluded Daly.

“You’re probably right…Gezza,” Mark laughed.  “You say the third one was close to Milton Academy? Well, this may or may not be relevant, but my personal banker has a son there.”

“You have a personal banker?” interrupted Daly.  “Posh wanker!” he joked.  “And stop calling me Gezza for feck’s sake!”

“Yeah, well.  I need someone to take care of investments.  Things like that, you know.  Well, getting back to the point.  I talked with him yesterday and he thinks something funny is going on over there.  His boy told him he was worried about a friend who had gone missing.  I assume it was this Paul kid.  But the thing is that all the parents have been told there is some sort of virus at the Academy, and all the kids there were in quarantine and wouldn’t be allowed home at the weekends for a couple of weeks.”

“Strange.  The Headmistress didn’t mention that at all when we questioned her yesterday.  If the kids were in a lockdown then we wouldn’t have been let in the place, would we?” said Daly.  “She also said that the boy had run away but told the parents the boy had refused to go home that weekend.”

“Doesn’t add up, whichever way you look at it.  Do you want me to get Rob to give you a buzz? Give you the full story about the school?” asked Mark.

“Yes, maybe there was something that he forgot to mention to you… and it’s an Academy as the Head  went to great pains to point out.  Just a posh boarding school in my opinion, but there you go!” said Daly.

“That’s the thing though,” replied Mark.  “It’s not that posh.  Obviously Rob has got the money to send his boy wherever he wants, but it’s not as expensive as you would think and, according to the boy himself, some of the kids there pay nothing to attend.  Apparently a lot of them had an IQ and other tests at their old schools and were offered a place there for free.”

“So how does the school make any money? It has to come from somewhere,” said Daly.

“That’s for you to find out, mate.  I’ll email Rob and give him your number.  I need to get back to work.  Deadlines, you know?”

“Okay, cheers mate.  Give my love to Nat,” said Daly.

“No problem… Gezza!”

“I told you...” said Daly before he realised he was talking into a dead line.

28

Later that evening Daly got a call from Robert.  He’d only just started on the scotch so the detective  was still pretty coherent.  He made notes as they spoke and Robert confirmed what Mark had told Daly.  An apparent virus had closed the Academy down and all parents told that their children were unable to be allowed home for the foreseeable future, probably two weeks.  Rob was fuming, saying that it was all a lie and there was nothing wrong with John.  All the devices the children used to talk to parents and friends were blocked too.  Something was very wrong at the school and Daly was determined to get to the bottom of it.  The dead boy, Paul, may be one of the victims in a spate of strange murders.  Daly was convinced, and when he told Robert about Paul’s apparent connection with the other two deaths Robert was obviously worried about his son and wanted him out of that school and safe at home with himself and his wife.  Daly assured the man that he would take another trip over to Shillington and try to see John.  They left the conversation like that for the evening and Daly promised to call Rob as soon as he’d been to the Academy the next morning. 

Daly sat and thought for a while, sipping at his second large single malt of the evening while sitting in the darkened room.  Why was the school being so mysterious over this? Why the fake lockdown? Who were they protecting, themselves or someone else? Was the same thing happening to all the other kids as experienced by Darren? Christ what if every kid in the place had the sort of power Darren had allegedly exhibited? What if they were all hooked up to that machine at the same time and what kind of destructive force could they create together?  Daly was sure that Darren wasn’t lying to him.  He’d been in the job long enough to instinctively know if someone was lying or stringing him along.  “Okay, I’ll say this out loud,” he said to himself.  “What if some organisation was using these children to use their psychic power to assassinate people remotely? Darren says he killed two people who seem to have been the American Secretary of State and also some high up Chinese official.  But why the eco-warrior and the journalist?” he sighed.

So who could this organisation be? he thought.  British intelligence? He couldn’t see it for many reasons.  Some international Cabal manipulating governments and policies then? Could they even be directly threatening  governments to control things like trade deals and everything else that makes the world tick? Is everything that corrupt now? Is everything about money and power? It was obvious that a lot of politicians were involved in a money laundering scheme or two.  Aid money, paid for by the taxpayers, getting sent to one country and then the majority of it getting recycled back into the bank accounts of those same politicians who sent it in the first place.  That had been going on for decades and it seemed that they didn’t even bother to hide it that much anymore.  But actually killing top people to get what they want? It was a scary thought and that thought felt more true the longer he considered it.  And where would it end? But using innocent kids to help them do this? It seemed so depraved, sick.  It wasn’t the fault of these children.  Darren said he was told it was just a simulation.  A game.  It was those higher up that were more guilty than even those at the school.  Millicent Crowther wasn’t the mastermind behind it all… far from it.  She was just the front that the parents saw.  Just there to recruit the kids.  And not just any kids… those with special abilities.  It was clearly child abuse.  Even if the pupils there weren’t beaten or sexually abused, it was still a sick little business they were involved in.  If he could, he would get a warrant and raid the place but that would never happen.  Maybe these people controlled the justice system too? Everyone protecting the backs of everyone else.  It made him sick.  In his mind everyone who hurt or abused children should be hung, or shot… or even worse.  Execute them all in bloody public so that anyone tempted to do the same would see the gruesome results.  Put it on bloody TV for an even wider audience.  Bugger all good on the box now anyway, he thought.  A real ratings winner it would be, bigger than the Cup Final or that Eurovision crap.  He poured himself another scotch and tried to calm himself down.  He could feel his blood pressure rising by the minute.  He loved his job, but it was getting harder and harder to look into the eyes of the victims.  The whole system was failing the public and he hated that.  It wasn’t what he signed up for.  Not him, or Jimmy Weatherby who dedicated his life to the job… literally! Daly didn’t want to end up like poor old Paddy Mallen.  Bitter about the way his career had ended so abruptly back in the Seventies.  Maybe he should talk to Carly about his future.  Maybe their future? He knew he was a bloody good copper and it would be such a waste if he was forced to do anything else.  He quickly drained his glass and poured another.  Daly wondered if it would be any different in another part of the country and shuddered inwardly if he was forced to move to Manchester or Liverpool.  Christ, his luck couldn’t be that bad, could it? Daly, deep in thought, drank almost half a bottle before staggering off to bed.

29

The next morning Daly briefed Jones on what they were going to do a little later.  First step was breakfast in the canteen.  Large traditional fry-up for Daly, as usual, with a mug of coffee, and two slices of toast with a cup of green tea for Jones.  Jones, not for the first time, shook his head at the amount of cholesterol on Daly’s plate, but decided to say nothing to the inspector for now. They had bigger fish to fry he thought, with a touch of irony.  Daly told him the plan was to visit the school, deliberately avoiding the word ‘Academy’, and tell Mrs. Crowther that he’d like to talk to John in relation to another matter.  Then they would basically wing it from there. Jones groaned inwardly.

Daly and his sergeant arrived at Milton Academy a little after ten o’clock and parked in the visitor’s area.  To the experienced detective there was no sign of any lockdown or restrictions of any sort, so they made their way over to the front of the main building and entered through the large double doors and headed straight for the office of Millicent Crowther.

Daly knocked on the office door and a few seconds later Crowther opened it and her smile quickly turned into a frown.

“Inspector! This is a surprise.  Is your visit about Paul again?” she asked.  “Oh, where are my manners? Do come in and sit down, both of you.”

They entered the office and sat, waiting for Crowther to resume her seat behind the oak desk.

“Well, yes and no, Mrs. Crowther.  We’re just killing two birds with one stone, so to speak,” said the detective.  “Regarding Paul Gardener, it’s still an ongoing investigation, you understand, but was Paul ever exposed to high levels of radiation at the school, like x-rays or any medical scanner?” he asked hopefully.

“No, of course not.  We have no medical facilities at all, apart form the normal, basic First Aid.  Why do you ask, inspector?”

“Well, a slight anomaly turned up during the post mortem, nothing too important though, I don’t think.  I’m just trying to answer a question the pathologist had and was too busy to actually call you himself, so I’m doing him a favour as I was coming over here anyway,” smiled Daly.

“Oh, and what reason was that, inspector?” asked Crowther suspiciously.

“Nothing serious,” he said. “I was hoping to have a quiet word with a… hold on, I seem to have forgotten his name,” said Daly, getting out his notebook and faking reading the name from a blank page.  “Sorry, long hours catching up with me.  Ah! John Collins.  It’s an unrelated matter.  Could I talk to him briefly… in private?”

“Of course, inspector, I’ll arrange for him to be brought to us,” she said, relieved the subject of Paul Gardener had been skirted.

She then picked up the phone and told whoever was on the other end of the line to go and get John from his class and quickly bring him to the office.

“Would you like a cup of tea while we wait, inspector?”

“That would be nice,” replied Daly rather too politely for his liking, but he had to keep up appearances and avoid any suspicion of the woman from showing. 

She asked the person on the other end of the line to arrange for someone in the Admin office to bring tea and then hung up.  Five or six minutes later there was a knock at the door and Olivia, one of the school secretaries came in with a tray holding a steaming pot of tea, a bowl of milk, four cups and a small pile of sugar sachets.

“There we are, she said with a broad smile aimed mostly at the good looking Jones.  “Jan is on her way to collect John and shouldn’t be too much longer,” she said.

“Thank, you Olivia, that will be all,” said Crowther slightly dismissively.

Olivia left to room a little disappointed she wasn’t introduced to the two men, especially the nice young one, and returned to the Admin office.  Mrs. Crowther poured the tea into three of the cups and added the milk and they all sat patiently for John to arrive while sipping the hot liquid, making idle chit-chat about the nice weather they’d had.

A short and slightly frumpy woman Daly assumed to be Jan, knocked and entered with John in tow.  The boy looked very nervous and was obviously worried about why he’d been summoned to the Head’s office  but also relieved he hadn’t been taken downstairs to the basement to do another test.  He didn’t recognise the two men seated in the office and was curious about what they wanted.

“John, this is Detective Inspector Daly and Sergeant Jones.  They just want to ask you a few questions, nothing to worry about, is there Inspector?”

“No, not at all, John.  You’re not in any real trouble, son, replied Daly.  Jones smiled at the boy. “So, if we could…?” he said to Crowther.

“Oh, yes of course, inspector. I’ll leave you all alone to have a chat,” said Crowther and left the room, not looking too happy to Daly, which did amuse him.

Daly put his finger to his lips in an obvious hushing gesture and motioned for the boy to sit next to him.  John was immediately intrigued and obeyed at once. It all looked a bit conspiratorial to the boy.

“Hi, John.  I’m Gerry and this is Colyn,” he said quietly, not wanting to be overheard.  “I’m a friend of your dad’s and we spoke last night.  He’s a bit worried that he can’t contact you to see if you are okay.  How are you doing, mate?”

John, immediately put at ease by the man replied; “I’m fine.  Some of the other kids don’t look too well though.  I think it’s that machine they test us on.  I’ve only done it once, but the others have used it way more than me, some five or six times.  We lost the signal to our tablets a few days ago and we can’t use them to message our parents, but we do have internet access in the classrooms still, so it’s not a complete outage.  It’s like we’re blocked from chatting or something.  It happened not long after my friend Paul ran away.  Did he go home?”

“I’m sorry to say Paul didn’t make it home, John.  He was found in the woods not too far from here.  I’m really sorry mate.  He didn’t make it at all, and I don’t think he ran away either,” said the detective.

“No!” John said sadly.  “I had a feeling that he was hurt and even had a dream about him, but I kept hoping he would be okay.  The last time any of us saw him was when he was taken out of class.  Probably to do another test.”

“That’s what I thought when I was talking to your dad.  I will tell him you are okay though, and that we need to get you and the other kids out of here as soon as we can.  We just have to come up with a plan between the three of us because we can’t get any official help.  There is something very wrong here, John, but we don’t know how far the problem goes and just who is involved, so we have to be very careful, do you understand?”

“So are you going to do a Mission Impossible style rescue?” asked the boy.  “I love Tom Cruise!”

“I don’t,” said Daly.  “Yeah, sort of a rescue… and we are way cooler than Tom Cruise,” he grinned.  “Aren’t we Jones… err, Colyn.” The Welshman nodded.

“Cooool!” smiled the boy.

“Right, we’ll get busy planning.  Don’t tell any of the other kids though, John.  We really don’t want them accidentally mentioning any word of a rescue in front of a teacher… and especially Mrs. Crowther,” said Daly, almost whispering.

“Okay, Gerry.  Mum’s the word,” he said, followed by him doing a zipping his lips gesture.

“Good lad, just hold tight until we come for you, mate, okay?”

“I can’t wait to see my mum and dad again,” said the boy.

“It won’t be too long, I promise, and I know they are anxious to have you home again,” smiled Daly.  “Right, we have to go now, get things sorted.”

“Thanks Gerry, tell my dad I love him.  Mum too of course,” smiled the boy.

“I will mate, I’ll call him as soon as I get back to the car,” said Daly as he rose and walked to the door, followed by Jones.  Daly opened the door and saw Mrs. Crowther standing in the foyer talking quietly with a creepy looking man. Her stare hit Daly like a ton of bricks.

“… and don’t do anything like that again.  Next time it will be a lot more serious than just a warning!” Daly said loudly to John and winked.  The two men walked over to Mrs. Crowther.  The creepy man quickly walked away as they approached.

“Thank you Mrs. Crowther.  He’s been dealt with so you won’t see us again, goodbye,” said Daly.

“Oh… alright.  Thank you Inspector,” replied the woman, now wondering what John had done to get such a stern telling off from the inspector.

As Daly and Jones walked towards the black Audi Jones whispered,” How the hell are we going to pull this off, Guv?”

“I have no bloody idea, Jones,” replied Daly.

30

When they were back in the car and away from any prying ears, Daly called Robert and asked him if he was available for a chat.  Robert had already taken the day off because Mark had told him Daly would probably want to meet up with him after the visit to the Academy.  Daly assured Robert that John was absolutely fine but a little scared for himself and his friends, but they needed to get him out of there as soon as they could, as well as all the other kids.  Daly drove straight to Robert’s house.

Over a cup of really nice coffee, Daly decided he liked Robert and his wife and he told them once again that John was perfectly fine at the moment and that he liked the boy very much and would do all he could for him and the others.

“Oh God, I’m so relieved he’s okay, Mr. Daly,” said Jo.  “The last few days have been such a worry.  First being told he can’t come home for possibly weeks because of a virus, and then not even being able to communicate with him at all.  I’ve been frantic.  Thank you.”

“No problem.  As I said, there is no virus, unless you can call what they are doing to the kids there one.  It certainly is sick if you believe everything the lad who escaped told us.  Personally I believe him.  He didn’t seem like the sort to make things up for a bit of attention.  If he was, he wouldn’t be keeping his head down like he is.  He’d be calling the tabloids after some quick cash,” replied Daly.

“Christ, you’re right.  It is sick.  And there must be some huge organisation behind it all.  I think it’s global.  We know what the WEF and WHO are trying to do to us all, but I think this lot are even higher up the food chain and no one like us has ever heard of them,” said Rob.  “It’s bloody evil to be honest, Gerry.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever get to the bottom, or more correctly, the top of this.  But I can certainly try to get those at this school stopped, especially that Crowther woman.  I don’t know if there are similar programs going on at different schools or not, but at least we can get this one shut down and the exposure may get the security services looking at other places, if they are allowed to, that is.  We just don’t know who is involved, maybe even our own government.  Who knows? The important thing is us stopping this in my manor and at least save John and the others.  I don’t want any more of them ending up like Paul Gardener.  We’re on our own though.  I can’t go to my brass with this.  We have no real evidence even to get a warrant and to be honest it would all sound like Science Fiction to them.  They would laugh and probably force me into early retirement.  No - we’re on our own.  Just the three of us, and we have got to be so careful between now and then.  Mark wants to help out but obviously with Nat days from giving birth I’ve told him to look after her. She’s his priority for now.  There are risks involved in any rescue and if it goes wrong we could all be arrested.  You up for it, Rob?” asked the detective.

“I’d do anything for John.  I already feel guilty that I talked Jo into moving him there,” said Robert.

“I feel a bit guilty too,” Jo added.  I had a really bad feeling about the place when we were at the Academy talking to Mrs. Crowther.  I know I should have fought harder to keep him out of there, but I could also see the advantages John would have had with that sort of education.  I was totally conflicted, to be honest.”

“Jo has a reputation for being a bit psychic, or sensitive… and I really should have listened to her when she said she had her doubts, I always have in the past,” Rob said, now holding her hand and giving it a brief squeeze.  “Sorry love, I’m a bloody idiot and now look at the situation we’re in.”

“I could see the benefits of moving to that school too, so you were not entirely at fault.  And you also  had a glowing reference from your colleague whose son is there too.  Oh, I hope that boy okay as well.  Do you think the father should be involved too, inspector?” asked Joanne.

“No, I don’t think so.  If we turn up with an army we would probably be detected a lot more easily.  It will just have to be just the three of us.  If we’re able to get them all out, the other boy will be amongst them anyway.  We just have to come up with a viable plan and go from there.  Well, leave it with me, Rob.  If you have any ideas give me a call, okay.”

“I will, Gerry.  I’m going to take a few days off from work.  I couldn’t concentrate on anything else to be honest,” said Robert.  “Christ - it’s such a mess.  I’ll do anything you need me to.  That’s a promise.  John told me how much he liked Paul and if anything like that happened to my boy I would never be able to forgive myself.  Let’s do it!” he said angrily.  Angry with himself, but mostly livid with the bastards who were doing that evil.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” said Daly.  “And try not to be too hard on yourself.  Any father would want what was best for his kid and you weren’t to know what that place was really like.”

“Thanks Gerry,” said Rob as he showed the detective and his sergeant out of the house.

Daly and Jones both shook hands with Rob and left in the Audi.  “Time for a drink, Jones,” said the detective.  “I think a lot better with a pint in my hand.  I learnt that from that Morse bloke on TV.” Jones sighed and hoped he wouldn’t have to pay for the whole session.

31

Two days later Daly, Jones and Robert sat in Daly’s office trying to come up with a plan to rescue John and the other children.

“See, the problem is they won’t give us access to the school without a warrant and we can’t get one without more evidence.  A magistrate isn’t going to just take the word of some kid who has been living rough for the last couple of years,” said Daly, clearly frustrated at the lack of progress. 

“So we break in then!” Robert was even more frustrated, the worry for his son very evident.

“How? I’m sure there will be all sorts of hi-tech security, not to mention rent-a-cop guards patrolling regularly,” grunted Daly as he felt a slight twinge in his chest.  Stress or indigestion, he thought.

“Well, I can get us in, Guv,” said Jones.

“How do you propose to do that, my little Welsh wizard? Bloody invisibility cloak? Have you been visiting that Harry Potter place up the road, Jones?”

“I used to be in the security business before I joined the force, Guv.  I still have a gadget or two that we used to test the systems with after we installed them.  I can get through any electronic door locks for a start.  I can’t neutralise any security cameras from the outside, but we may stay undetected if we all wore black and went in during the early hours - say between two or three in the morning.  It’s what we used to call the ‘dead hour’ - the security guards get tired or bored and find something to occupy themselves, a book, newspaper, or just pissing about on their phones.  Some even risk taking forty winks.  They’ll still patrol at 2 a.m.  but they’ll rush it.  So we’ll see them going through the motions, quickly swiping their fobs at the security points.  Then we know we have almost an hour to get in and find the kids.  And we need to disable the machines these bastards are using on those poor children too.”

“You were a security expert...  In Wales? Were you tagging the sheep too? I said tagging, Jones,” laughed Daly. 

“Very funny, Guv,” grinned Jones.  “So, is that a good plan or what?”

“Sounds good to me.  But what we also need is a diversion.  I’ll have to ask Mark or Carly to provide one.  I can’t trust anyone else.  Any ideas, lads?” asked Daly.

“What about a fire?” asked Robert.  “Not a real one, of course, a hoax, I mean.  Get the firemen steaming in the front way while we search the place.”

“That could work.  Fire engines turning up and providing a bit of chaos while we find the kids.  They’ll probably assume we’re teachers too.  We could get everyone out in all the confusion.”

“Chemical fire, Guv.  That will get a rapid response from the fire brigade, won’t it?” said Jones.

“Are you saying our lads don’t respond as quickly to ordinary fires, Jones?” said Daly.

“No Guv, I’m just saying that a chemical fire shits everyone up more than anything - all those poisonous fumes you get.  We learnt that in our basic training in Cardiff.  Emergency Management they called it.  Seems it was quite useful after all.”

“I think we did that in a pub in Croydon when I was your age, Jones,” grinned Daly.  “Anyway, that’s pretty much sorted! I’ll ask Mark to provide the hoax call.  I don’t really want Carly involved in this too much.  We’ll probably need her to try and save our professional arses in the aftermath of this.”

32

Daly picked up his phone and speed-dialled Mark.  The author finally picked up on the fifth ring.  There seemed to be a lot of noise in the background.

“Mark, it’s me,” said Daly.

“Gerry, it’s not a great time mate, well it is, but not to talk.  Nat has gone into labour a bit earlier,” said Mark excitedly.  “I’m here with Erika.  She was visiting Nat when it all kicked off, so I’m here at the hospital now.  Can I call you back when it’s all done and I know they are both good?”

“Shit, no! Don’t worry about me mate - you make sure Nat is looked after.  I just needed a favour but it’s something Carly can hopefully handle for me.   It’s not a problem.  Just concentrate on your new family member and I’ll come and see Nat and the little one as soon as I possibly can.  Give Nat my love, Mark.  I will see you at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks, Gerry.  I’ll see you when you get here, mate.” Mark hung up and checked on Nat for about the thousandth time.  Erika smiled at him.  “Don’t worry, Mark.  Everything is going just fine, trust me.”

Mark did trust her.  She’d been Nat’s best friend for a lot of years and they had always been there for each other.  Especially when Mark was away on work trips all over the world, but mainly the US and UK… and roaming around in the fifth century killing a demon, of course.

They all waited nervously for the midwife to arrive, both Mark and Erika were holding one of Nat’s hands each.  Mark looked at his watch and willed the hours and minutes to tick by.  He felt both excited and scared.  Erika was trying to calm him down, more than she needed to with Nat.  Erika told him that the whole process would take hours, probably double figures and assured him that Nat was in the right place and everything would be absolutely fine.  They waited patiently for the midwife to check Nat over.  Nat groaned from the contractions and did her best to regulate her breathing.  Erika rubbed Nat’s back and calmly talked to her. 

“Everything will be fine, darling,” she said.  “You’re in the perfect place and the staff here have done this thousands of times, so no there’s need to worry about a thing, okay?”

Nat nodded and managed a weak smile towards her best friend.

About an hour later, a large black woman entered the private room in the maternity ward.  “Hi, everyone.  My name is Harmony and I’ll be looking after you for now.  I just need to do a few checks just to make sure things are moving along nicely.  Okay, deary?”

“Hello, Harmony, nice to meet you.  Now can you help get this little bundle of joy out of me as soon as possible… like in about five minutes?” Nat joked.

Harmony laughed.  “You’d be surprised how many times I’ve heard something like that,” she said in a deep West Indian accent.  “The main thing is that you keep as calm as possible, and I promise you it will all be worth it in the end when you are holding your new baby and you look into their eyes.  I see you have plenty of additional support here too.  That’s really good.  Now I’ll just get on with these checks so we can see how far along you are with the process.  It won’t take very long.”

Harmony started off by taking and recording Nat’s blood pressure and pulse and then her temperature.  “It’s all perfect, my dear,” she smiled.  Then she felt Nat’s stomach to make sure the baby was in the correct position and used a stethoscope to listen to the baby’s heart.  “You have a healthy little one there by the sound of things, we’ll have him or her out as soon as possible.  Do you know yet if it’s a boy or a girl?” she asked.

“No, said Mark.  “We both want it to be a surprise,” he smiled nervously.

“I like that.  I was the same with my six,” replied Harmony, chuckling to herself.  “Okay, now I just have to lift your gown and do a quick examination, we’ll see how far you are along in the labour process.”

“Okay,” said Nat nervously, as Harmony examined her.

“Still a while before you’re ready, my dear.  I’m sorry, but these things do need to take a natural course.  You’re not overdue yet so there’s no need to induce at all,” she said.  “How’s the pain?” she asked.

“Not too bad at the moment,” replied Nat, in between deep breaths.

“If it gets too much then I can help you out, just let me know,” said Harmony. 

“Thanks,” said Nat, managing another weak smile, hoping the pain wouldn’t be too unbearable.

33

Daly was frustrated.  On one hand he was about to be an uncle, or a Godfather, or whatever, and he was also concerned about Nat.  But on the other, the plan now meant involving the only other person he completely trusted… Carly.  He reluctantly dialled her private number and listened to the trilling in his ear as the phone rang. 

“Hi Carly, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.  Which do you want first?” he said into the handset.

“Always good first,” she replied.  Daly could hear the smile in her voice because she knew Nat was close to having the baby.

“Okay… Well, Nat is in labour, I’m sure you’d already guessed.  Everything is going well and Mark and Erika are with her at Watford General but it does mean that Mark is unable to do the tiny favour I need,” said Daly.

“I take it that’s the bad news, Gerry.  You want me to do something and I can tell by your voice it’s not exactly kosher, is it?” she said gloomily.

“You could say that,” laughed Gerry nervously, not really wanting to upset his girlfriend… and boss.

“What is it you want me to do?” she asked.

“Well, I need you to make a phone call for me at a little after two o’clock tomorrow morning - it’s vitally important.”

“Who to?” she asked.  Daly couldn’t decide for sure if she meant who the call was to or who would benefit from it so he went with who she would call.

“It’s the emergency services, Carls, specifically the fire service.  I need you to report a fire at the school,” he said.  “We’re breaking in tonight to save John and the others,” he said.  “It’s the only way.  John’s dad, Robert is up for it.”

“Tell me you’re not really thinking of setting light to the bloody place, Gerry!” she said sternly, now more boss than girlfriend.  “I’ll sodding well arrest you myself, and that’s a promise!”

“Oh, Christ no!” he replied.  “Just a hoax call, Carly.  We need a bit of confusion there so that we can get those kids out, or as many as we can.  And the best way we can think of is to have a couple of dozen firemen trampling around the place hunting down a fake fire.”

“Alright,” she said, thinking back to her conversation with Paddy Mallen - this was obviously the thing he asked her to help Daly with, and she couldn’t or wouldn’t want to disobey her own grandfather.  “I can’t make the call from any of my phones, I’ll have to go out and buy a burner.  I don’t want this traced back to me Gerry! And you can pay me back for the bloody phone!”

“Like I said, I didn’t want to involve you, but you are my last hope now Mark is a bit tied up.  We really need that distraction and I have no one else to turn to, Carly.”

“I’m going to kick your arse so hard, Detective Inspector!” she said, now going full-on boss.  “Okay, after two o’clock, you say? I’ll go and get the burner now.  Just be careful.  And that goes for Robert too!”

“And Jones,” Daly admitted.

“Jesus, he’s happy with you roping him in too?” she asked.

“Sort of,” Daly admitted.  “Anyway, we need him.  He used to work in security tech, so he knows how to bypass most of what they will have, including getting in, disabling electronic locks, stuff like that.  Hopefully by the time the fire engines get there we’ll have found the kids and be able to get out in the confusion.  Jones thinks he can disable the machines they are using on the children too.”

“Okay, like I said… be careful.  All of you, and good luck.  You’ll need it if this goes tits up, Gerry.  If it wasn’t for those kids I’d flat out refuse to help.  You know that, right?”

“I know.  Thank you.  I’ll call you when it’s time, sweetie.”

“Don’t call me sweetie, you dick.  You know how I hate it!” she said.

“Yes dear!” Daly hung up and smiled.  Hoping he hadn’t blown things with Carly.

“Okay,” he said to the other two.  “Carly is on board with this and she’ll make the hoax call… and probably kick my arse too.”

“What do we do until we’re ready to go?” asked Robert.

“Well, normally I’d retire to a pub for the evening then eat a large kebab or two, but we have work to do later and we need to be sharp.  So we’ll go for a sit-down Indian instead.  Jones, you nip back to your place and get whatever gear you need and meet us at The Regal, okay?”

“Yes Guv, I won’t be long,” replied Jones.

34

Daly drove Robert to The Regal and they chatted about everyday things, Daly trying to calm Robert down a bit… and also himself.  He didn’t think you could get indigestion before you ate so put yet another twinge in his chest down to stress… or hunger.  Maybe he’d popped a cartilage between his ribs reaching for a mars bar or his nightly scotch? They chatted about football and how both their teams, Manchester United, in his case, and Chelsea, in Rob’s, were doing so badly this season, despite spending a lot of cash on new men.  They put it down to wasting money on average players, due to them being over-hyped by the media and the selling clubs cashing in because of it.  Daly didn’t want to blame the United manager as he was proven elsewhere and thought how the players wouldn’t be willing to die for the shirt anymore like they would have when he was a kid.  And now some were actually dropping dead on the pitch although it wasn’t from over-exertion or love for the club.

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Daly. “I’ll always be a United man, I could never change, but to tell the truth I don’t love the game anymore, not like I used to. Everything has become so political, always supporting some agenda or other and that has really put me off. Probably the same with a lot of fans now.”

“Yeah, I agree. So much money in the game now that the clubs think it will pay to support whatever the current thing is, but like you say, it puts people off now. It will all come back to bite them in the arse in the end,” replied Robert. “The fans are the most important people in football because they are the ones spending the cash every week.”

Jones arrived around forty minutes after the other pair.  They finally ordered their food, the waiter  stopping his dirty looks directed at Daly and Robert just sitting there, not even drinking.  Daly had something quite mild for him, a chicken Madras, thinking he couldn’t really ask the security guards at The Academy to use the toilet.  They went over their plan a couple of times more until they were all absolutely certain about what they would be doing, and when.

It got to around eleven o’clock and all three left the restaurant together.  Jones jogged quickly to his car and retrieved a small brown knapsack from the boot and then got in the back of Daly’s Audi, Robert sat in the passenger seat.  The nerves were starting to hit all of them.

They got to the site of the school about thirty minutes later and Daly drove around the perimeter three or four times looking for a covert way in to the grounds.  He finally parked sixty or seventy yards from the gates in a small lay-by with a large overhanging tree providing a bit of cover and they waited for two o’clock to arrive, listening to some soothing night music on the car radio.  All three were now very nervous and the conversation was now minimal.  The two policemen were worried for their careers, one near the end of his, but the other scared of blowing a promising future.  Robert was fretting about the safety of his son.  He wondered just how many times the evil scumbags had used their technology on John and hoped any damage to him was only temporary.  They all sat in silence, deep in thought.  Daly tried to keep himself calm thinking about Nat and the little baby that he’d be visiting in the morning, a weary smile on his face.

Later, as it was getting close to the time for them to act, it was pitch black and slightly cold outside according to the glowing red numbers on the dashboard.  They had been waiting there for almost two and a half hours, making sure that, first of all, there were no other cars entering the complex, and also for nearly all the lights on the floors above ground to go out.  It looked like just the corridors were illuminated.  It was getting close to two a.m.  Eventually the place was plunged into complete darkness.  The ‘dead hour’ had arrived.

“Come on Daly, we have to get in there,” whispered Robert.

“Just let me call Carly first, then we are a ‘go’ okay?” he replied.

“Hurry up with it, will you! We have to get John out of there before it’s too late,” reiterated Rob.

“Just give me a minute, okay? We’ve waited all this time so a couple of minutes won’t make any difference. We need her, remember?” hissed Daly, now feeling even more nervous, hoping Carly was awake and would answer her phone.

Daly pulled out his smartphone and called the new number Carly had texted him after buying the burner phone and sim earlier.

“Carly – it’s me.  Yeah, we’re in position.  Everything set up at your end? Great.  I bloody well hope we can pull this off or we’re all finished.  Make the call and hopefully I’ll see you later.  Thanks.  I owe you big time, I know.” He nodded a lot and Jones assumed the ACC was reminding him of the risks yet again.

The three men silently left the car and crept up to the front gates of the school.  They looked for any surveillance cameras, but they were either very well hidden or there were none.  Earlier, when Daly had driven around the perimeter of the school he could see no other way in apart from the gates, confirming what Darren had told him about the time he’d been able to escape.  The high white wall surrounding the spacious grounds was too hard for them to climb and they were grown men and not a kid like Darren.  He’d seen prisons with more easy access...  or exits, though.   All three managed to climb the black iron gates, although the slightly overweight Daly did have to struggle a little.  They had decided earlier that they would stick together and not split up because if they did encounter anyone it would be easier for them to subdue the guard or whoever may be patrolling at night.  Daly knew from experience that security guards rarely patrolled in pairs now – but this was no ordinary facility, so couldn’t be absolutely sure.  They had to be prepared for absolutely anything they may come up against. He hoped to hell there were no dogs.

They all ran towards the main building, all three were wearing black hoodies and jogging bottoms and were very hard to pick out in the darkness.  Again, Daly lagged behind, hoping he wouldn’t collapse or get totally breathless from all the exertion he was unused to now.  He really needed to look after himself a lot better, he decided… breathlessly.

All three men eventually reached the main building.  It looked a lot smaller from the road but now it seemed like a red brick and plaster behemoth looming above them.  They slowly moved around to the back of the building where, according to Darren, access to the lower floors was from the outside. 

They found the rear entrance fairly easily.  Daly was relieved there would be no more crouch-running.  He was very out of breath and felt a little light-headed and had to take a moment to lean against a wall to recover the best he could.  They scanned the area for security cameras, and again saw none.  Jones pulled out a small plastic device from the knapsack.  There was a twin shrill beeping sound and then a soft click as the door unlocked.  Jones pulled open the door a crack to scout around then turned to the other two men and nodded.  They all crept in, taking a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the bright fluorescent light coming from high above them.  There was along corridor with what seemed to be storage bays on the right.  Dozens of large brown cardboard boxes were stacked in each of them.  Daly looked at the small labels - they were all marked Bandothol.  He didn’t know what the hell it was, but it was obviously used in the nefarious activities at the school.  He wondered if the kids were being injected or was it secreted in their food? Either way he was angry, and he could feel his blood pressure rising again.

Daly took the lead as they slowly walked in single file down the corridor, hugging the wall, Jones in the rear.  The long corridor ended at a T-junction.  Both options had a set of double doors at the end of the short passages.  One was a deep red and the other was jet black.

“Which way now?” asked Robert.

“Well, according to Wesley Snipes in Passenger 57… always bet on black,” said Jones grinning, a big action movie fan.

“What?” whispered Daly.  “You’re quoting bad films now? You ever heard of Bogart, Cagney and Edward G. Robinson?”

They heard a loud rustling behind a stack of boxes to their right.

“You dirty rat?” grinned Jones again, this time nervously. He had hated rats since reading those James Herbert books.

“Dick!” said Daly, inwardly laughing.  He definitely liked Jones now.

Daly chose black after all.  Again, Jones opened one side of the door slightly and peered out.  He quickly and silently closed it again when a short, fat man in a white lab coat walked past, luckily not noticing the door quietly open and shut again.  A minute later Jones tried again.  No one else was in sight this time.

They stealthily slipped through the doorway, padding their way down a long, well-lit corridor.  It was very cool in there, almost like a fridge.  Daly could hear a faint humming a little further on and headed that way, followed by the other two, hoping there was no one else left in the area.

Eventually they found the source of the low noise.  A small lab with what looked to be the dentist’s chair Darren described in the middle of the room.  There were a plethora of wires hanging from it and a large TV screen facing it, slightly above them.  The wires were hooked up to several monitors lining one white wall and underneath were three large panels set into a wall cavity.  Daly nodded to Jones, who quickly got to work while the inspector and Robert stood by the door in anticipation of being disturbed.  Jones again reached into the brown knapsack slung over his shoulder, and this time pulled out a screwdriver then started to unscrew the first panel before him.  Inside he could see a bank of SSD drives and several processors and computer chips connected to a motherboard, all liquid cooled.  He was reluctantly impressed with the setup.  He quickly unplugged all the drives and put them in the knapsack and moved onto the next panel and repeated the process as quickly as he could.  While disabling the third panel they could hear faint sirens in the distance.  Carly had done her part perfectly.  The timing was impeccable.  Jones pulled all the drives from the third unit and deposited them into the canvas bag and then set about ripping out the wires from all three panels.  He knew that the techs there could easily replace the wiring, if they had a chance, but he thought the data on those drives was irreplaceable and the shadowy organisation would take years for this operation to be up and running again if they even had the opportunity.

Outside the Sirens got progressively louder.  Three fire engines sped their way towards Shillington, then through the small village itself and then on to the school on the outskirts.  Carly had reported a chemical fire at the facility as instructed by Daly a few minutes earlier using the burner phone.  She definitely didn’t want anything traced back to her.  She was risking her bright career in helping Daly, but more importantly, rescuing those kids from the evil organisation.  She hoped they would all survive… and not just professionally either.

The first of the fire engines reached the gates of the Academy.  One of the firemen jumped out of the vehicle and pressed the intercom button.  A weary, half asleep security guard in the main building answered and denied all knowledge of any fire or alarms going off.  He told the fireman that there were nothing but green lights on his security panel.  The firemen told him they had to check the building to make sure and the guard reluctantly released the large double gates remotely.  By then the other two fire engines had arrived and were queued behind the first.  Then finally all three drove to the front of the building where the firemen and equipment were deployed and the men quickly entered the school, fully equipped to deal with a fire, chemical or otherwise. 

Downstairs, in the underground facility, Daly and the others were ready to make sure all the children were safe.  As planned, Robert smashed the glass fire alarm near the door and loud bells and beeps filled the entire building.  They could hear the commotion from the firemen and headed up the wide concrete stairs to the ground floor.  There was pandemonium as the firemen cautiously, but quickly, went from room to room in search of the fire.  Daly and the others ran up the stairs to the next level, searching for the dormitories.  One firemen shouted at them to get out of the building and to gather at the assembly point, but he was ignored.  He assumed they were live-in teachers heading to the children to get them out of any danger.

Daly’s chest was getting tighter as he tried to jog up the staircase in search of John and the others and started to lag behind the other two.  He desperately needed to rest and couldn’t go on.  Robert was the first to find the sleeping quarters on the second floor and frantically shouted his son’s name.

“Dad!” came a shout from the darkness.  Robert found a bank of light switches on the wall by the door and flicked them all on.  The room was suddenly illuminated and he saw John running towards him.  Some of the others lay in their beds, unable to move and rubbing their sunken eyes from the sudden light.  They looked totally drained of any energy and will.  They had to have been there a fair amount of time and had been almost all used up, both physically and mentally, he thought.  The depletion of their psychic energy was almost complete.  They had nothing left.  Robert shuddered at the thought that this would have been the eventual outcome for John too.  He hugged his son fiercely and then told him to get dressed while he checked to see if any of the other children were able to follow them outside.  Only two of the emaciated children had the strength to stand and let themselves be guided out of the room and down the stairs by Jones.  They were still in their pajamas, as it would have taken them too long to dress them in their weakened state.

Jones was halfway down the flight of stairs when he spotted Daly slumped over and breathing heavily, clutching at his left arm.  Severe pain was etched into his face.

“Guv! You okay?” he shouted, now starting to panic.

“Get the kids out Jones, don’t worry about me.  As soon as you get out you’d better call for an ambulance, son,” croaked Daly, now sweating profusely and looking quite ashen.  Jones pulled out his mobile phone and dialled 999. No signal! He had to try again outside the building.

Jones virtually pulled the children down the stairs, feeling a bit guilty because of their condition, but desperate to get a paramedic up to Daly.  It looked like an obvious heart attack in his opinion.  The ground floor was still teeming with firemen, all were carrying foam or CO2 extinguishers in search of the non-existent chemical fire.  Those sent to search the underground level also had basic breathing apparatus on.

Jones managed to get past them all with the two boys and got them both outside.  He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled 999 again and asked for an ambulance, hoping they would get there in time to save Daly.  Then he thought it would probably have been a better idea to get the head fireman to radio for one.  Maybe it would have bumped Daly up the queue for assistance? In his opinion his boss was a top priority for any help. 

Minutes later he was joined by Robert, clutching John in his arms like he’d never let him go again.

“Gerry looks in a bad way, is an ambulance on the way?” Robert asked the sergeant.

“Yeah, I just hope they get here bloody soon.  He looked screwed up there, Rob,” replied Jones, now getting his breath back and reassuring the two boys he’d brought down that they were safe now and there was no real fire in the building.  He told them their friends still in the dormitory would be okay too.  Help was on the way.  But would that assistance get there in time for Daly?

The first ambulance arrived around twenty minutes later.  Jones went up with the paramedics and stood there looking worried as Daly was given CPR by the paramedics.  A face mask was put on him, hooked up to a cannister of oxygen.  Then he was lifted onto a portable gurney and carried down the stairs towards the exit.  Robert and John looked on in horror as Daly was taken into the back of the ambulance and driven away with the siren blaring.  John was particularly sad as he’s liked the policeman when they had met a few days previously.  He really liked the way he had winked at him while pretending to tell him off in front of Mrs. Crowther.

Jones joined Robert again and said, “It doesn’t look too good, does it? I hope they can work their magic on him.”

“Shit, we came here to save lives,” said Robert, feeling angry. 

More sirens approached.  One of the firemen searching the building had found the almost skeletal, emaciated young children in the dormitory and used his radio to call his commanding officer downstairs, who in turn called for the police.  It was very obvious something out of the ordinary was going on at the school.  Child abuse at the very least.  When the head fireman was later questioned by the media he said it was more like a Forties concentration camp than a posh school.  Several police cars sped to the location as well as three more ambulances to take the children to hospital, which they had to do in several trips due to the number of gravely ill kids and the lack of ambulances available in the area.

Meanwhile, the first ambulance carrying Daly raced towards the Emergency Department of the nearest hospital, which was Watford General.  The monitor the detective was hooked up to gave several loud beeps and then a continuous tone.  The paramedic in the rear continued to work on him for as long as he possibly could, calling to the driver to speed up as he tried to keep his balance and tend to Daly at the same time.  He used the defibrillator three times on the patient before the ambulance arrived at the hospital.  The monitor was still resonating it’s monotonous death knell of a sound.

EPILOGUE:

Robert, Joanne and John were in the Children’s Ward of Watford General Hospital.  The kids there were mostly survivors of the evil experiments at The Academy.  John went to each bed in turn to encourage his new friends to get better.  He then thought if it wasn’t for the heroics of the two policemen and his dad he would have been like them… or even worse.  Just like Paul.

Initial reports revealed that several children had died during the experiments at the school over the years.  The use of their telekinetic ability draining the life from those children, as they were used to remotely assassinate people all over the world.  Millicent Crowther’s home was raided just a few hours after the horrors at the school were discovered.  A later investigation found that she had been working for the secret organisation for many years and had willingly aided the scientists and technicians recruited by them.  She was also prepared to make a deal with the authorities and give up the names of her superiors, in return for a no prosecution agreement and a brand new identity in another country.  She was a small fish at the end of the day, and it was imperative to catch and deal with the far bigger ones.  It was a scandal of massive proportions, reaching far and wide and involving a lot of politicians and large corporations who were not only murdering countless people around the globe, they were manipulating the financial markets as well, getting huge returns on their investments.  The evil cabal had been stopped.  For how long was anybodies guess.

***

The monitor beeped steadily.  Mark and Carly smiled down at the now conscious patient.

“How’s Nat and the baby?” Daly croaked, oxygen mask covering part of his face.  He was more concerned about his friend and the little one than for himself - even after suffering a massive heart attack at the school. Survival for him had been touch and go. He’d been very lucky… this time.

“She’s great mate, a bit sore as you can imagine though.  Little Erika is perfect and doing well.  We’ll bring her over to you as soon as we can, Nat too,” Mark grinned.  Now perfectly happy that it was all over and that it all went so well. Also now a proud father.

“Right, you idiot! We’ve all decided you need to take better care of yourself, you total arsehole,” said Carly.  “From now on no scotch apart from special occasions, and certainly no kebabs! You got that Detective Chief Inspector?”

It took Daly a few seconds to realise what she had said.  Promotion? After all the years of being passed over, mainly for his attitude and unorthodox methods. He was finally a DCI.  He smiled at her.  She took his hand.

“It’s about time you realised that people do care about you, and even love you, you big oaf, and we all want you to stick around. So when they let you out of here you’re coming to stay with me for a while to recover properly and we’ll see how thing’s work out, okay?” smiled Carly.

“Yes, boss,” smiled Daly in return.

*****

The usual grateful acknowledgments and a few thoughts:

So it’s the end of another book.  I hope you enjoyed it.  At least it didn’t take two years like the last one due to a lot less upheaval in my life.  Always a good thing, right? Anyway, we’ve had the return of the legendary Gerry Daly, by far my favourite character in the books, and I hope yours too.  I’m so glad I didn’t kill him off but like me, he needs to put a bit more effort in when it comes to his health.  Maybe Carly will succeed in sorting him out? I think I need a Carly too but in the meantime I’ve joined a gym instead.  Karma did get the very annoying Sergeant White when he was transferred to Wales.  I like Jones a lot more and he should stick around for another book or two but hopefully not end up like Jimmy Weatherby from the first two books.

This story about the school has been floating around in my head for three or four years and I finally got to write it.  Several bits were already mapped out in my mind and it was a struggle at times to connect all the dots, especially how to bring Robert into contact with Daly near the end.  I managed it eventually - maybe not 100% perfect though.  You’ll probably agree.  The schooldays came from my own memories and one of the teachers in this book, Mr. Berry, was one of mine well over 40 years ago.  I hope he’s still around because he was a real character - something that wouldn’t be allowed today from what I’ve heard.

I did get a little bit of good constructive criticism from a friend who was reading the second book, A Rip in Time.  She didn’t like a lot of kids getting killed, so there was only one in this book but that was necessary.  Sorry petal.  I want to thank her for that as I’m open to any feedback, good or bad.  You can reach me at ThomasJStone@mail.com  As a reward of sorts, she and her husband do get a mention in this book.  It’s okay - I didn’t kill them off, LOL.  I started off writing for myself for something to do back when the dreaded unnecessary lockdown was thrust upon us all, but now realise I do have a fan or two (how pretentious!) and have to think of them too, and what they like or dislike.  Most of the people in my books who do get killed actually deserve it (those who know me will know who and why in Reset Earth) but it’s a bit unavoidable sometimes when it has to drive the plot along a bit further down the road like Paul dying in this one.  At least it meant I could highlight the type of parent who is very critical and demanding of their own kids - I think we all know people like that, unfortunately.  I did try and tone down the political stuff, or at least tried to be a little more subtle in my derision of ALL parties and a few public services.  I think Daly’s own view of what the police have become is pretty evident (the ghost of Mallen too) and it’s very sad and I feel sorry for those of Daly’s age, and older, in the real-life force.  I don’t think Daly will be swapping his black Audi for a rainbow coloured vehicle anytime soon though.  I did try and do it all using my dark sense of humour though.

As always, it’s a bit of a struggle to write and not consciously rip off other books and films.  But is there really anything new anymore, anyway? There are at least nine other horror books called The Academy but luckily I’ve not read any of them. I try not to copy anyone else, especially plots, but as ever I’m inspired by the late, great James Herbert.  Still missed by me and a few million others.  As for writing from the point of view of the kids, John Saul is very good at that, and I’ve learnt how to write those parts in a more simple way.  Simple as in not thinking in a complicated way like most kids do and not anything else.  The way kids think is very honest, or at least it used to be when I was that age.   Check him out if you are so inclined. I highly recommend both authors if you are not a fan of either… yet.

Anyway - I hope you liked this one, or at the very least, read it to the very end.  I’m still working on the collection of short stories so maybe I’ll manage to get that out next but there is still a long list of ideas for full novels too (around 35), as well as a couple of the shorts that could develop in a pair of novellas or even a proper novel or two.  There could even be a book for kids about a very clever chimp, as suggested by my mate Alan.

This, and future books will only be in ebook format - mostly because of the escalating printing costs Amazon charge - I tried to keep the cost down on the paperbacks but even at a fiver I make about 30 pence per copy which is a bit sad for the amount of time and effort I put in, so for you lovely people who want to continue with me on my journey the price will be pretty low in future - maybe I’ll make 40p per copy from now on, ha ha! As most of you know I don’t do this for the money anyway - I do it as a hobby and to hopefully entertain a little and even to get some things off my chest sometimes.  One sale won’t even buy Daly a Mars Bar in the current climate, but at least he’ll be giving those up now after that major scare.  In the past I’ve tried to make the books longer so you get a bit of value but in ebook form I’ll be able to publish shorter books around 40,000-50,000 words instead of a target length of 70,000 - it cuts down on pointless filler that doesn’t add to the story IMO.  It also means I’ll be able to finish these dozens of stories in my head a bit quicker.

So, peace and love to you all - I think we all need a bit of that in this increasingly rotten and scary world.  A massive thanks to all my friends who have shown their love, support, help and suggestions.  My books are mainly for them.  As for the rest of you I’m sorry I can’t give you this stuff for free.  I’m certainly not in this for the money though! LOL.  Thanks to you all for reading.