The SOCO turned gratefully towards her. ‘Is this true? This is Torchwood business?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ Gwen said, mustering a smile from somewhere. She put on her official voice and said, ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you and your men to leave the area. Thanks for responding, but we’ll take over now.’
‘Uh … yeah. OK.’
The SOCO looked utterly bewildered, and Gwen softened her tone slightly. ‘You could set up a cordon around the park, though. We don’t want any innocent nosy parkers getting involved, do we?’
Sergeant Kilshaw nodded, as if only too glad to be given an excuse to withdraw. Then he hesitated, looking down at the gutted corpse dumped on the grass nearby. ‘Miss, we have a dead body here. I understand what you’re saying, and I know Torchwood has absolute priority, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving it like this.’
Gwen held his gaze, steady but not combative. ‘I’m sorry, but you said it yourself — absolute priority.’
‘I need to find out who he is. We have to inform his family. Can I do that?’
‘Not yet. We’ll liaise with you and get the details sorted out as soon as.’
Sergeant Kilshaw still wasn’t happy, but he knew there was nothing he could do. Yet he paused again, unwilling to leave without claiming some sort of concession. ‘What about my man?’ He indicated the officer who had shot Jack. Already another member of the firearms team was relieving the marksman of his weapon, and dropping it into a plastic evidence bag for the routine forensic tests that would follow. ‘There’ll be an enquiry. It’s the law.’
‘No need,’ drawled a voice from the lakeside. Jack was getting slowly to his feet, his face and coat soaked with muddy water and streaked with his own blood. He walked slowly across to the SOCO and smiled. ‘No harm done.’
‘What?’ Kilshaw looked down at the deep red stain spreading across Jack’s shirt.
‘He missed,’ Jack said simply.
The policeman frowned. ‘What?’
‘Cap’n Jack Harkness,’ said Jack warmly. He shook the SOCO’s hand and flashed him another bright smile. ‘Like I said, no harm done. Get your men together and go, Sergeant. We’ll handle things from here.’
‘He missed?’ repeated Kilshaw, still staring at the blood seeping through Jack’s blue shirt.
‘Yeah. In fact, I’d reprimand him if I were you. Looks like he needs a bit more practice on the shooting range, wouldn’t you say?’
‘So where’d it go?’ Owen asked a little while later. The three of them were standing by the lake. It was still and deathly quiet. The surface was placid, mirror-smooth under the black night sky.
‘Up there, I think.’ Jack was looking up at the sky, searching the low clouds tinged with orange from the sodium lights of Cardiff. Spots of rain began to hit his face, making the blood and dirt run.
‘You mean she can fly?’
‘Crocodile with a jet-pack. She rose up out of the water, and then we lost her in the dark.’ Jack looked back down at his revolver, which had its cylinder out so that he could reload. ‘Think I winged her, though.’
‘It got away again, then.’ Owen kicked at the grass in disgust.
‘You reckon it’s the same thing we saw in the fish farm?’
‘Look at the body.’ Owen crouched down next to the dog-walker. He used a pencil to indicate the gaping wound, teasing at the torn cloth and flesh. ‘This is just like the security guard and Big Guy; practically split him in half.’
Gwen, who had been standing a little apart while she reported back to the Hub, called over. ‘I’ve given Tosh the details. She’s going to sort out removal of the body and a suitable story for the cops.’
‘What about the press?’ asked Jack. ‘They’ll be all over this place soon.’
‘She’s on it. She says the press and TV are the easiest to sort out, because brutal murders in local parks are just what they like to hear about and they’ll believe anything.’ Gwen suppressed a shiver at the thought of Torchwood’s cover-up expert going through the routine of disguising their involvement and ‘normalising’ the incident. It was something Gwen almost took for granted now. Almost. Just like the violent, terrible deaths she had witnessed with incredible regularity since joining Torchwood. She had made a promise to herself, early on and with Jack’s encouragement, that she would never become desensitised to it. And yet here she was, staring dispassionately at the eviscerated body at their feet with the same sort of cool, professional detachment that she had seen displayed by the other, experienced members of Torchwood when she first joined the team.
Jack, as ever, seemed to read her thoughts. ‘You OK?’ he asked softly.
Gwen shrugged and blew out a long, slow breath of mist into the cold night air. ‘I dunno, Jack. I don’t feel anything. Just a bit sick — but that’s the adrenalin climb-down, I think. You get used to it after a while, I suppose.’
Jack pointed a finger straight down at the corpse. ‘Take a good look at him, Gwen. That’s a real guy. He was just out walking his dog. He’s — what? — around twenty-five, twenty-six. There’s a mother somewhere who doesn’t even know she’s lost him yet. Imagine how she’s gonna feel when a cop turns up at her door with the news. Won’t matter if her boy was the victim of a gun crime, a backstreet fight, an RTA or an alien psychopath — he’s still gone.’
Gwen dragged her eyes off the corpse and looked at Jack. ‘Your point being?’
‘You’ve got to care, Gwen. You’ve told me that often enough — you have to remember to care. He’s been murdered by something we just don’t understand and we can’t find. And it’ll do it again unless we do find it, and stop it. That’s our job. That’s why you have to care.’
She nodded, biting her lip, and turned away.
It was a long walk back to the SUV.
‘So, what now?’ asked Owen as he and Jack began the trudge up towards the gates after Gwen.
‘How’d you get on with the doctor?’ Jack asked.
‘He’s still sick — really sick. He should be quarantined.’
‘What’s up with him?’
‘I don’t know. Symptoms indicate some kind of respiratory infection, but it’s the worst I’ve ever seen.’
‘Worst as in
‘Torchwood.’ Owen described the strange, subcutaneous movement he had observed at the back of Strong’s throat. ‘It’s nothing that originates on Earth, at any rate. That’s why I didn’t send him to hospital — it’s too risky. Maybe we should bring him back to the Hub.’
‘Not if it’s contagious,’ warned Jack.
‘Well I don’t know about that.’ Owen rubbed his throat and coughed. ‘But I think I’ve caught it.’
SEVENTEEN
Ianto placed the coffee cup carefully next to the Rubik’s cube on Toshiko’s desk. She was slumped across the workstation, head buried in her folded arms. The various displays on her monitor screens were reflected as blue highlights in her glossy black hair. There were some grapes in a dish buried beneath piles of paperwork and notes, a half-eaten apple and a number of screwed up tissues.
‘Tosh?’
She stirred and then, realising that she had fallen asleep at her desk, jerked awake. ‘Ianto! Gosh, I must have dropped off …’
‘Fresh coffee,’ he said smoothly. ‘Thought you could do with it.’
She stretched, but not hugely, trying to contain her embarrassment. ‘I’m more tired than I thought.’
‘Good job Jack didn’t catch you sleeping on the job,’ Ianto said with a smile. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Rough.’ The word turned into a series of coughs and Toshiko reached for her tissues again. ‘Oh, I feel so awful. What a time to catch a cold …’ She coughed again, more forcefully this time, and tossed the tissue at the waste basket.
It missed and, when Ianto automatically bent down to retrieve the discarded tissue, he could not fail to notice that it contained a small number of red specks. He paused momentarily, wondering if Toshiko knew. She was already back at her keyboard, tapping hurriedly, looking up to see the screens flickering with data.
