wanted them to do; more than once he’d had to grab at the arm of the chair with its interesting texture to stop himself slithering to the floor. Where there was a really beautiful rug with colours like jewels that he wanted to embrace.
A strange blob kept crossing his field of vision. Pink with bristles, topped with thick brown fur like a bear. The fur was different, somehow. Before it had been like a flowing horse’s mane, but suddenly the mane had exploded into the air in a great spiral of silky strands. He had watched it whirl through the air in slow motion before it landed on the wooden floor.
Kevin turned his heavy head, heavy heady heavy head to look at it again. Like a pompom that somebody had steamrollered flat. Beautiful. Everything, really, was beautiful.
The next thing he knew was the blob was in front of him, making a noise. It all felt very sudden, as if he’d fallen asleep and woken in a different place. But no, he was in the same chair. At least, he thought he’d been in this chair once before. A long, long time ago.
And suddenly, he wasn’t. He was on his feet. Hands in his hands, leading him. Too hard. Too very strangely hard. Kevin collapsed to his knees and fell forward, My, how smooth the beautiful rug was. He kissed the rug and felt a giggle well up in his throat. As he laughed, he began to roll, aware of the hands on his body. A hundred hands, a million hands, a Brazilian hands, rolling him.
He felt he could roll across the planet for ever. And ever. And ever.
Gaining access to the building was easy. Lord Pannal had been desperate to help, as if, by hiring a bad apple, he had somehow been responsible for what had happened. So he’d given them the spare swipe card that would let them into the underground garage, the lift and the apartment itself, provided they had the right PIN code, which he’d also given them.
Everything worked perfectly till they got to the door of the apartment, where the LED display told them the PIN was incorrect. Carol tried it a couple of times before admitting defeat. ‘I bet he changes the PIN when he arrives and changes it back when he leaves,’ she said. ‘Bastard.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘Hasn’t Stacey got one of those gadgets you plug in that reads PIN codes?’
Chris snorted. ‘I think that was in a movie, guv. But even if she did, we haven’t got time for that sort of malarkey. What about building security? D’you think they’ll have some sort of override card, like a master key?’
‘Go and find out, Carol said. ‘I’ll wait here.’
It was a long eight minutes before Chris returned with an erect elderly man in the uniform of the Corps of Commissionaires. He looked sniffily at Carol from under the peak of his cap. ‘I’m going to need to see photo ID,’ he said.
‘Staff Sergeant Malory is in charge of security,’ Chris said, doing her level best to be ingratiating.
Silently, Carol produced her warrant card and her Bradfield Police HQ building pass. Malory scrutinized it carefully, tilting it against the light to make sure the holograph was authentic. ‘Shouldn’t you have a warrant?’ He gave her a stern look.
Carol bit her tongue. ‘Section Eighteen of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act,’ she ground out between her teeth. ‘I don’t need a warrant if I have grounds to suspect that I can prevent a serious criminal offence from taking place. Which I have. And which I am not going to share with you, Mr Malory.’
Behind his back, Chris rolled her eyes and mimed hanging herself. But contrary to her expectation, Malory folded. ‘That’s fine by me, ma’am,’ he said, swiping the card and tapping the number pad with a flourish.
A subdued buzz, and the door swung open at the pressure of fingertips. Signalling Chris to follow silently, Carol crept down the short hallway. She could see nothing through the open doorway at the far end, but she could hear the grunts and groans of exertion from the far side of the threshold. She had a moment to decide. Creep or rush?
With a quick flick of her hand to beckon Chris forward, Carol leapt through the doorway. She took it in like a snapshot. Kevin on his back on the floor, legs bent, trousers undone, arms above his head, ginger hair askew and a silly smile on his face. Beyond him on the floor, like a discarded soft toy, a wig resembling a starburst of hair. Bending over him, trying to roll him, was the man in the photograph. The man who had come a very long way from the starting point of Jack Anderson. His short hair was plastered to his head with sweat and he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, but there was no question of identity here.
Chris streaked past Carol and made for Anderson. But he was quicker than either of them expected. He jumped to his feet and used Chris’s momentum against her, straight-arming her in the face and twisting her over to his left so she’d have to trample Kevin or stumble over him. Blood blossomed across her face as she windmilled her arms, trying to stay upright.
Anderson kept going, shoulder-charging Carol. She snatched desperately at him, managing to grab his shirt as he passed. Buttons flew off as he wrestled away from her, shedding the shirt like a snake its skin, leaving her staggering backwards, away from him.
Then he was gone, past them both and racing for the door. ‘Fuck,’ Carol screamed in frustration as he disappeared.
She had forgotten Staff Sergeant Malory.
Tony was still working his way through the features section when Carol and Chris limped into the squad room. ‘Result,’ Carol said. ‘We’ve got Anderson, or Andrews or Anson, whatever you want to call him.’ Then she saw Tony. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘The subconscious. It’s a great tool. We got there just in time to save his next victim. Anderson had got him off his face, but we’re pretty sure he hadn’t delivered the poison yet.’
‘Tell me?’ Tony felt faintly sick.
‘You were right to warn Kevin. You just didn’t know who you should be warning him against,’ Carol said.
‘Is he OK?’ Tony demanded.
‘The medics seem to think he’ll be just fine. He’s still high as a kite but he’s not showing any symptoms of anything other than rohypnol or GHB or something like that.’
‘So, do we have any idea what happened?’
