The House That Jack Built: The House That Jack Built

'Probably a gas leak or summat,' Steve said as he and Rob worked their way past her.

Rob rolled his eyes. 'Thanks for that. Big comfort, really.'

Julia ignored them as they vanished into the house. She walked down the path and tried to get a glimpse of whatever was going on. The policemen marched out, got in their cars and drove away. That had to be a good sign, surely?

Stepping into the street, her heart jumped into her mouth as a black four-by-four came speeding along the road towards her. The car pulled up sharply and a tall man jumped out.

'Sorry about that, didn't see you coming.'

He was handsome but his vintage military clothing made her suspect he would never be her 'type'.

'What's happened?' she asked, still the only question she had any interest in.

'Couldn't tell you,' he replied, his American accent as unusual in Cardiff suburbia as his clothing. 'I just got here. You too?'

She had to look over her own shoulder to understand what he meant. Rob and Steve were forcing the mattress through the front door. 'Oh… Yes, just moving in.'

'It's a nice house,' he sounded like he was reassuring her rather than passing comment. Whatever the intention, he had nothing else to say, turning his back on her and following the dark-haired woman beyond the police tape.

Julia stared after them for a while before moving back across the road and into her drive.

'The Wilkinson boy,' said a woman's voice from beyond the privet hedge that lined Jackson Leaves.

Julia peered through the foliage. The speaker was wreathed in cheap gold and cigarette smoke, mouthfuls of which she puffed onto the breeze as she worked her way through the length of a Dunhill.

'Dead as you like, buried in the pavement.'

'I'm sorry?' Julia felt as if she were still making dream shapes from the silhouettes of rain. Nothing was making sense.

'Kid from up the way. Buried in the ground, he was, arms and legs sticking out all over.'

'That's horrible.'

'It is, and you can bet there'll be drugs behind it. They're all on drugs these days.'

Later, Rob and Steve were putting flat-pack furniture together as if everything was all right.

Maybe it was. Julia found she still couldn't tell. She watched from the dirty (and now broken) front window as the police tape, tent and investigators vanished and rain appeared. There was a big trench by the side of the road where a chunk of the pavement had been removed — she could see it filling with water. She tried to imagine what the body might have looked like.

'Don't suppose you could make us a cup of tea, could you?' Rob asked from behind her. 'That bed frame's turning out to be a right bastard, and Steve's moaning about the lack of service.' He shifted awkwardly in the doorway. 'You know what he's like… gobby.'

Julia nodded and made her way through to the kitchen. She should get on anyway, staring out of the window wasn't going to make her feel any better. She needed to crack on, knock the unfamiliar away and start making this home. As she worked her way through the last of the kitchen things, she almost felt normal, even convinced herself that there wasn't the faint outline of a fat man watching her from the back garden, that it was nothing but the rain.

THREE

Gwen pulled up alongside the cordoned-off police tent that was keeping Danny Wilkinson's body out of sight. She stepped out of the car, smiling despite herself as she watched a couple of men struggle to drag a mattress from the back of a transit van. Beyond them, a woman was staring back at her from the open doorway of a house that looked to have seen better days. Certainly the weeds on the drive and the cracked front window spoke of neglect. The two men stumbled at the kerb, mattress wilting between them as they turned in opposite directions. There were a number of people hovering on pavements and in front gardens. Most of them had probably already seen the body but still wanted to see more.

Gwen, realising that she was staring at the woman in the doorway, gave an embarrassed smile and turned away. She ducked under the police tape and did her best not to appear hurt by how hostile the uniformed officers were on her arrival. The ranking officer on site simply waved at the small team of officers loitering around the body and walked out of the tent. Not a word was spoken as she was left on her own.

While the existence of Torchwood was still deemed 'secret', most of the police force knew of them, albeit only as 'that weird Special Ops lot'. Things had been too public of late, what with zombies marching the streets and people dropping like flies during the Welsh Amateur Operatic Contest. There was only a certain number of times the regular force could be kicked off an unusual crime scene by a handful of plainclothes operatives before two and two would be put together and a degree of resentment fostered. Nobody liked to be deemed unskilled for an investigation — whether they might want to pursue it or not — and there was no more effective phrase in the policing handbook for pissing off an officer than 'need to know only'.

Gwen squatted down next to Danny's body. The only overt physical damage was the shattered teeth and bloody gums where the boy's face had hit the ground, but that somehow made it worse. The surreal presentation and the palpable look of fear in his eyes was far more disturbing than anything so obvious as an open wound. How long had he been trapped like that? How long had he struggled? It made her itch just to think about it.

'Weird, huh?'

Jack's voice startled her and she wondered how long she'd been staring. 'You were quick.'

'Knew the way.'

He hissed air between his teeth as he took in the details of the body. 'That's just… wrong.'

It looked like he'd be using Alexander's pager sooner than he'd hoped.

Ianto parked the unmarked white van as close to the police tent as possible, grabbed a toolbox off the passenger seat and a white cotton face-mask from the glovebox. He hopped out of the van, only too aware that every net curtain within spitting distance was twitching as the locals ignored their usual afternoon telly for a slice of voyeurism closer to home. It must be like having Jeremy Kyle on all day. 'My boy in pavement scandal — lie detector special.' God, but he hated the suburbs…

He ducked down and entered the police tent.

'Hello, campers,' he said, putting down his toolbox. He cracked it open and pulled out a medium-sized chrome flask. 'Who's for coffee, then?'

'You read my mind,' Jack smiled and gave Ianto a wink.

'If the first thing that pops into your head when you see me is 'hope that sexy devil put the kettle on before he left', then I can honestly say I don't know you half as well as I thought.'

'OK, it was the second thing that popped into my head.'

Ianto walked around Danny's body, sipping at his own drink. 'Poor sod,' he muttered before turning to Jack. 'When I got Gwen's message, I was already heading over here.'

'How come?'

'We picked up a huge chronon surge in the area. I cross-checked it with police reports and picked up news of Danny Wilkinson here.'

'The Rift?'

Ianto shook his head. 'Don't think so, the decay signature was different.'

Gwen began to make a sarcastic 'chat' gesture with her hands. 'Chronons… blah, blah… decay signatures… Try to remember we didn't all grow up playing with chemistry sets. Some of us had a life.'

Ianto smiled. 'Actually, I loved Action Men when I was growing up.'

'Plus ca change,' Jack said with a wink. 'Chronon particles are the fallout from temporal disruption,' he told Gwen. 'Like radiation. You can look at the way the particles degenerate to trace where they came from in the first place. The Rift has a very specific particle-decay signature. This didn't match it.'