‘Deakins ran their faces through SEISINT. Got a match with Homeland Security. Two of these squirrels-’ he indicated Church and Shavi ‘-are on Global Red Status from British Intelligence.’
Eddie looked Church up and down. ‘Now isn’t that something. They’re going to have to build a whole new wing to keep you guys safe. Terrorists
3
The holding cell was starkly lit and smelled of ammonia. Church felt like a gorilla in a zoo as various men and women in suits cast a cursory, puzzled eye over him before moving away, deep in hushed conversation. Every protest, every request, every comment he made was ignored. His visitors gave no sign that they even heard him speaking.
After three hours he was led to an interview room with a single table, two chairs and a mirror along one wall. The two detectives waited for him in shirtsleeves. Church was shown to a seat with a politeness that somehow managed to infer incipient menace.
‘Detectives Nelson and Brinks interviewing suspect Jack Churchill,’ the ginger-haired one announced for the recording. Nelson sat at the table. Brinks remained standing, like a big cat ready to pounce.
Brinks grinned broadly. ‘Tombstone, they call me. I haven’t decided if that’s an unfortunate slur on my size and the colour of my skin, or the destination of the people who annoy me.’
‘Good cop, bad cop is a bit of a cliche,’ Church said.
‘You see, you don’t get to be smart,’ Nelson said calmly. ‘You don’t get to be wry. Or aloof. Or British. You don’t get to pretend you’re a normal person. We’re extending you the courtesy of treating you like one, but we all know you’re not.’
‘Anyway,’ Tombstone noted with a slow nod, ‘we’re bad cop, worse cop. And we have a competition to see how bad we can really get.’
‘Funny,’ Church said.
‘Says the man carrying a sword strapped to his back,’ Nelson said. ‘At least, we
‘No.’
Nelson flipped open a plastic folder. ‘Okay, let’s review. This afternoon we responded to a nine-one-one on Delancey. Blood leaking through a light fitting into the apartment below. We found two deceased — one white male, one Chinese-American female. Look familiar?’
He tossed Church a handful of crime-scene photographs. The bodies were in such a gruesome state that Church gave them only half a glance before handing them back. ‘I don’t know these people. I’ve never been to that apartment. I didn’t kill them. Categoric enough for you?’
‘Take another look. You’ll see that the bodies are missing several organs. Let me draw your attention to the close-up of the male torso. You see the jagged edges of the wounds? The crime lab tells me those are teeth marks.’
‘I’m sorry for these people, but I had nothing to do with their deaths.’
Nelson glanced at his partner. ‘Detective Brinks?’
Tombstone threw another file on the table. ‘Crime scene number two. Partially eaten victim in a Dumpster at the back of the Happy Chicken fast-food joint on Houston. Time of death around ten p.m. About a half-hour before we picked you up.’
‘We were in McSorley’s half an hour before. There were witnesses.’
‘We got witnesses, too, haven’t we, Detective Nelson? Ours don’t lie or have random memory failure.’
Nelson opened his laptop and spun it towards Church. Grainy CCTV footage played out above a time-code. Three people feasted on a body next to a Dumpster. One by one they glanced up at the camera. It was unmistakably Shavi, Tom and Church.
‘It’s a fake!’
Nelson shook his head firmly. ‘The digital signature holds up. Anything you want to tell us now?’
Church wrestled with the images he’d just been shown. Some kind of set-up by the spider-controlled elements of the NYPD? Why go to so much trouble?
‘We’ll get you a lawyer,’ Nelson began.
‘No point. There won’t be time.’
Nelson and Tombstone exchanged worried glances. ‘You’ve got something else planned? Bomb?’
‘I’m not a terrorist, either.’
‘No, you’re a freedom fighter.’ Nelson was uneasy now. ‘Let’s get the Homeland Security guys.’
4
Church only had to wait in the holding cell for ten minutes before the uniformed police officer watching him left quietly. The Homeland Security representative entered a moment later sporting a government-issue haircut and the kind of focused but frozen expression that always reminded Church of an Action Man doll.
‘Where is he?’ Church said.
The Action Man shifted uncomfortably.
‘He’s preparing another theatrical entrance, isn’t he?’
A fearful, fixed look grew in the Action Man’s eyes. Church had seen it before when the victim’s mind was in conflict with the controlling spider.
‘Oh, stop tormenting him.’
The Libertarian sauntered in. He was still wearing sunglasses to hide his red eyes, but this time his outfit was a smart charcoal suit and a white shirt. ‘I thought a formal approach would be appropriate in these circumstances, don’t you agree? Good for funerals, too.’
Church shivered involuntarily, bleak horror overcoming him as he looked the Libertarian up and down, seeing for the first time the familiar body language, the gait, the bone structure. ‘How did I get to be you?’ he said, sickened.
The Libertarian was mildly surprised. ‘Oh, a revelation. I never thought you’d see it myself. Convinced you’re the big, big hero — you could never believe you were working towards becoming something like me.’ He held Church’s stare for a long moment, enjoying what he saw there, then turned to the Homeland Security representative. ‘Get out, Oakes. You irritate me. Go and urinate in the coffee or something.’
Sweating, Oakes left.
The Libertarian sighed. ‘Alone again, me and my shadow. I have to say, you’ll have much more fun as me than you’ve ever had as yourself. All that pain from the woman who spurns your feelings for your arch-rival. And poor Niamh — all those years as a love-sick puppy and you not even noticing. She’s a wild woman in bed. You really missed out there.’
‘At least I know you can’t kill me.’
‘A little pain never hurt anyone, though. But business first. I have to ask — what has possessed you? Killing and eating people? Not that I don’t admire the artistry, and not that you won’t be doing it on a regular basis very shortly, but … somewhat out of character, shall we say?’
‘Very funny.’
‘What do you mean?’ The Libertarian looked honestly puzzled.
‘Slight overkill. The terrorist charge was enough to keep me locked up till you get what you want.’
‘You’re suggesting I had something to do with this?’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I saw the recording …’ The Libertarian paused, annoyed. ‘Now, who would be playing games at this late stage in the proceedings?’
