Something in the Water

Gwen approached the huddle with a sheaf of paperwork in her hand. ‘I’ve done some research on water hags,’ she announced. ‘I did try phoning Professor Len, but he’s not picking up.’

Toshiko smiled. ‘Pity. I liked him.’

‘Well, he did save your life.’

‘That always does it for me.’

Owen looked up. ‘So you typed “water hag” into Google and pressed enter. I don’t know … With all your police training and dedication to duty I’d have expected more. Whatever happened to the plod’s meticulous fact- finding and slow-but-sure attitude? I think you could have gone that extra mile and tried Wikipedia.’

‘You’re so funny, Owen,’ Gwen said without a trace of a smile. She held up the hard copy for Jack and Toshiko to see. ‘Thought I’d print it off rather than send it across.’

‘Surprised you didn’t write it all down in your little notebook,’ muttered Owen.

Gwen ignored him. ‘Water hags are basically lumps of marsh weed that look vaguely like an old woman lurking underwater,’ she said. ‘That’s the fact side of things, anyway. They were commonly sighted in medieval times in areas of marshland all over the country, but they sort of went out of superstition fashion a long time ago. There are some references in literature and folklore down through the ages, though, and famously there was a giant water hag in Beowulf. She was Grendel’s mother, and she used to live under a black lake and drag people down to their deaths with hooked talons.’

‘I think I went out with her once,’ said Owen.

‘Which is probably why Beowulf killed her with his magic sword,’ Gwen said. ‘Put the poor woman out of her misery.’

‘Ho, ho, ho.’

‘There was another well-known water hag in Cheshire called Jenny Greenteeth,’ Gwen continued. ‘She used to lurk in ditches and drag unwary travellers down to her underwater den.’

‘Jenny Greenteeth?’ repeated Owen. ‘Yep, definitely went out with her.’

‘Professor Len said that some of these water spirits could disguise themselves as normal women,’ Toshiko said.

‘There you are then.’

‘The point is,’ said Gwen, ‘it’s all the same kind of location and the same modus operandi.’

‘So Professor Len was right after all,’ said Toshiko.

‘You reckon our dead friend back there was an unwary traveller?’ wondered Jack, jabbing a thumb towards the Autopsy Room. ‘Walking across the Greendown Moss one night forty years back, and dragged down by one of these old witches?’

‘Sally Blackteeth, to be precise,’ said Toshiko. ‘That’s the name of the water hag Professor Len told us about.’

‘And there’s something else which may be relevant,’ said Gwen. ‘These witches or water hags couldn’t have children. They dragged men down into the swamp but it never worked out. So they used to make their own children out of dried snot and mud.’

‘The homunculus,’ said Toshiko quietly.

There was silence for a moment before Owen said, ‘But if these water hag things went off the superstition radar like you say, what’s brought them back again now?’

‘Well, in the absence of Professor Len, I did go that extra mile,’ Gwen smiled sweetly, ‘and came up with this.’ She placed a sheet of paper on Toshiko’s desk. ‘Several more water hag sightings in modern times. They’re not as old-fashioned as you think.’

Jack picked up the hard copy and scanned it. ‘Nine sightings in the last year alone. Why didn’t we spot this sooner?’

‘We’re on the lookout for all sorts of things,’ Toshiko argued. ‘We can’t follow up every single paranormal sighting or report.’

‘But look at the locations,’ said Jack, snapping his fingers against the paper. ‘Six of these were within a five- mile radius of here.’

They all knew what he meant by that — the chromium tower rising through the centre of the Hub, trickling with water, the base practically covered in moss and algae.

‘The Rift,’ nodded Toshiko, moving around so that she could check the report herself. ‘We know these things have a special connection with space-time — and I’ve correlated chronon discharges with nearly all of these areas. If I made a closer comparison, I bet they’d be exact matches.’

‘Get on it — double-check. We need to know for sure.’ Jack tossed the papers towards Gwen and Owen, adding, ‘Look — there was even one sighted in the local canal! Right under our noses.’

‘Anywhere there are stagnant ponds or marshy areas,’ Gwen said, studying the map. ‘Even in city areas.’

There was a polite cough from behind them. When they looked around, they saw Ianto standing a little off to the side. ‘I can only think it appropriate at this point to remind you about Saskia Harden,’ he said.

‘Who?’ Jack frowned.

Owen straightened up, saying, ‘The girl I went to Trynsel to investigate …?’

‘The serial suicide?’

Ianto nodded. ‘That’s right. If you recall, she had been found by the police floating in water, on a number of occasions. In a canal, in a pond, in a disused swimming pool …’

‘Stagnant water,’ said Toshiko. ‘Or as near as she could find.’

‘Could she be a water hag?’ wondered Gwen.

‘Let’s ask her,’ said Jack. He turned to Owen, only to find him already heading for the exit.

FOURTEEN

Owen drove straight to Bob Strong’s house. He felt vaguely guilty for not having taken Ianto’s original request seriously enough, but Strong’s illness had seemed more important at the time and Owen had forgotten all about Saskia Harden.

He was reminded of just how bad Bob Strong was as soon as the door opened. His skin was grey-green and his eyes, beneath the heavy, swollen lids, were veined with blood.

Strong stood in the doorway for a moment, focusing. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said gruffly. He coughed and then stood back. ‘You’d better come in. Hope you’ve got some good news.’

As he spoke, he started coughing again and his knees buckled. Instinctively, Owen caught him, took his weight and helped him back inside the house.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ Strong assured him, leaning on the furniture for support but making sure he took the shortest route back to the sofa. The room was a mess, full of half-drunk cups of coffee, medicine bottles, crumpled tissues and a terrible smell.

Owen sniffed cautiously. He knew what the smell was — sickness, illness. And something else. It took him a moment to work it out: rotten cabbages. Maybe something in the kitchen was going off.

Strong’s cough sounded ragged and guttural, and Owen heard him moan as the pain ripped through his chest.

‘Sit down,’ Owen said. ‘I’ll get you something.’

‘Feel … like … hell …’ groaned Strong, lowering himself into the cushions of the settee.

‘What have you taken?’

Strong’s eyes were closing, as if he was too weak to reply.

‘What have you taken?’ Owen repeated, quickly sorting through the bottles of painkillers and decongestants spread across the floor. There was nothing too serious here.

‘Found anything?’ Strong asked.

‘What?’

‘The blood tests. What did they show?’

‘Nothing,’ Owen said truthfully. ‘All clear.’