Lost in a Good Book

that she probably learned off a springer spaniel.

‘I’ve got him waiting right here, now, in the canteen. It won’t take a moment, ten minutes tops Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. I’ve only asked two dozen journalists and news crews—the room will be practically empty.’

I looked at my watch.

‘Ten minutes [1], then—who’s that?’

‘Who’s what?’

‘Someone calling my name. Didn’t you hear it?’

‘No,’ replied Cordelia, looking at me oddly.

I tapped my ears. It had sounded so real it was disconcerting [2].

‘There it goes again!’

‘There goes what again?’

‘A man’s voice!’ I said somewhat idiotically. ‘Speaking here inside my head!’

I pointed to my temple to demonstrate but Cordelia took a step backward, her look turning rapidly to one of consternation.

‘Are you okay, Thursday? Can I call someone?’

‘Oh. No, no, I’m fine I just realised I—ah—left a receiver in my ear. It must be my partner; there’s a 12-14 or a 10-30 or… something numerological in progress. Tell your competition winners another time. Goodbye!’

I dashed off. There wasn’t a receiver, of course, but I wasn’t having Flakk tell the quacks I was hearing voices. I walked off briskly towards the LiteraTec office [3]. I stopped and looked around The corridor was empty.

‘I can hear you,’ I said, ‘but where are you?’ [4]

‘Her name’s Flakk. Works over at SpecOps PR.’ [5]

‘What is this? SpecOps Blind Date? What’s going on?’ [6]

‘Case? What case? I haven’t done anything!’

My voice rose with injured pride. For someone who had spent their life enforcing law and order, it seemed a grave injustice that I should be accused of something—especially something I knew nothing about. [7]

‘For God’s sake, Snell, what is the charge?’

‘Are you okay, Next?’

It was Braxton Hicks. He had just turned the corner and was staring at me very oddly.

‘Fine, sir,’ I said, thinking fast ‘The SpecOps tensionologist said I should vocalise any stress regarding past experiences Listen: “GET AWAY FROM ME HADES, GO!” See? I feel better already.’

‘Oh!’ said Hicks doubtfully. ‘Well, the quacks know best, I suppose. Did you sign that picture for my godson Max?’

‘On your desk, sir.’

‘Miss Flakk ran a competition or something. Would you liaise with her over it?’

‘I’ll make it my top priority, sir.’

‘Good. Well, carry on vocalising, then.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

But he didn’t leave. He just stood there, watching me.

‘Sir?’

‘Don’t mind me,’ replied Hicks, ‘I just want to see how this stress vocalising works. My tensionologist told me to arrange pebbles as a hobby—or count blue cars.’

So I vocalised my stress there in the corridor for five minutes while my boss watched me.

‘Jolly good,’ he said finally, and walked off.

After checking I was alone in the corndor. I spoke out loud:

‘Snell!’

Silence.

‘Mr Snell, can you hear me?’

More silence.

I sat down and put my head between my knees. I felt sick and hot, both the SpecOps resident tensionologist and the stresspert had said I might have some sort of traumatic aftershock from tackling Acheron Hades, but I hadn’t expected anything as vivid as voices in my head. I waited until I felt better and then made my way, not towards Flakk and her competition winners, but towards Bowden and the LiteraTec office. [8]

I stopped.

‘Prepared for what? I haven’t done any thing!’ [9]

‘No, no!’ I exclaimed. ‘I really don’t know what I’ve done. Where are you!?![10]

‘Wait! Shouldn’t I see you before the hearing?’

There was no answer. I was about to yell again but several people came out of the elevator so I kept quiet. I waited for a moment but Mr Snell didn’t seem to have anything more to add, so I made my way into the high- ceilinged LiteraTec office, which more closely resembled a library than anything else. There weren’t many books we didn’t have—the result of bootleg seizures of literary works collected over the years. Bowden Cable, my partner, was already at his desk, which was as fastidiously neat as ever. His quiet and studious approach to his work contrasted strongly with my own directness. The partnership seemed to work well.

‘Morning, Bowden.’

‘Good morning, Thursday I saw you on the TV last night.’

‘How did I look?’

‘Fine. They didn’t let you talk about Jane Eyre much, did they’!

I gave him a withering look and he understood.

‘Never fear—some day the full story will be told. Are you okay? You look a little flushed.’

‘I’m okay,’ I told him, then added in a quieter voice: ‘Actually I’m not. I’ve been hearing voices.’

‘Stress, Thursday. It’s not unusual. Anyone specific?’

‘A lawyer named Snell. Akrid Snell. He said he was representing me.’

‘On what charge?’

‘He wouldn’t say.’

‘Sounds like an inner guilt conflict, Thursday. In policing we have to sometimes close off our emotions. Could you have killed Hades if you’d been thinking clearly?’

‘I don’t think I would have been able to kill him if I wasn’t. I’ve not lost a single night’s sleep over Hades, but poor Bertha Rochester bothers me a bit.’

‘Maybe that’s it,’ replied Bowden. ‘Perhaps you secretly want to be held accountable for her death. I heard Crometty talking to me for weeks after his murder—I thought I should have been there to back him up, but I wasn’t.’

This made me feel a lot better and I told him so.

‘Good. Anything else you want me to reassure you about while we’re on the subject?’

‘The Goliath Corporation?’

Bowden’s face fell.

‘Sometimes you ask too much.’

‘Ah, there you are!’ said a booming voice. It was Victor Analogy, the head of the LiteraTec office. He was in his mid-seventies and possessed a mind as sharp as a razor. He was a natural buffer between us at SO-27 and Commander Braxton Hicks, who was strictly a company man. Analogy guarded our independence closely, which was the way we all liked it.

We all said our good mornings and Victor sat on my desk.