Halfhead - Страница 6

She flashed him a smile, but it turned into a scowl when she saw the space the red thing was supposed to fit through.

Will kept his mouth shut as she did her best to shove the ‘big square bit’ through a small round hole in the plasticboard. There was a thump. Then: ‘Fucking cock-monkeys!’ She crawled out from under the desk, sucking a set of raw knuckles.

‘You want some ice to put on that?’

‘Only if it’s keeping half a pint of gin company.’ She sat back on the office floor and scowled at the tiny drops of blood beginning to form.

Will dropped into a crouch and peered under the desk at the offending ‘big square bit’. The hole it was supposed to go through was less than half its size. ‘What’s on the other side of the wall?’

‘No idea. You want me to go look?’

He nodded and she marched out of the door and into the other room.

‘See anything?’

Her voice echoed down the corridor, ‘Just a manky pot plant. Junction box is further down.’

‘Good. Move the plant.’ Brian always kept a spare Palm Thrummer in his desk. Will spent a whole fifteen seconds bypassing the securilock, then went rummaging through the junk-filled drawers. Brian was a good enough Agent, but he had a nasty habit of turning every place he worked into a pigsty.

Will found the Thrummer-looking like a stainless steel vibrator-beneath a pile of discarded plastic things and dragged it out into the open. If he was lucky it would still have some charge left. He twisted the two halves of the cylindrical casing till something went ‘click’ and the tines slid out.

‘Stand back from the wall.’ He pointed the weapon at the offending small, round hole and thumbed the trigger. The Palm Thrummer growled and a fist-sized section of wall disappeared in a cloud of dust. There was a shriek from the other room.

A stunned face gawked at him through the hole. ‘Do you not think that was a bit over the top?’

‘Call it lateral thinking.’ He grabbed the ‘big square thing’ and tossed it through.

She grabbed the connector before it hit the carpet and laughed. ‘You’re not right in the head, you know that?’

‘Look, we got off on the wrong foot this morning, how about we start again?’ He stuck his hand through the hole for shaking. ‘William Hunter.’

‘Detective Sergeant Jo Cameron.’ Her handshake was firm, but warm. Made a nice change to find a professional female who didn’t feel she had to prove something by crushing all the bones in his hand. ‘You going to be my new room-mate then?’

‘Not really, no.’ He stood, waiting for her to come back round to the cramped office.

‘Ah…I get it.’ She pointed at the nameplate on the door ‘SPECIAL AGENT BRIAN ALEXANDER’. ‘This isn’t your office, but your picture’s all over the wall. What are you two, lovers or something?’

‘No, I’m his boss. Assistant Section Director.’

‘Ah…’ She raised an eyebrow.

‘Brian and I came up through the ranks together.’ That wasn’t strictly true, he’d come up through the ranks, Brian’s career had stalled at Special Agent.

‘You two aren’t an item?’

‘Don’t think Brian’s husband would approve.’ Will settled back against the cluttered desk. ‘So, how come you got lumbered with the liaison job?’

‘They stuck the posters up a fortnight ago, thought it sounded like a good idea. Put my name down.’

‘You’ve known about this for two weeks?’

‘Yeah. Why?’

Will closed his eyes and had a swift mental fantasy involving Director Smith-Hamilton, a seven-foot skewer, an open fire, and some barbecue sauce.

‘No reason.’ He forced a smile. ‘So, shall we start your induction DS Cameron?’

‘Sir, if you’re the ASD you have to call me Jo.’

‘Sir?’ Not what he’d been expecting after this morning’s run in.

‘Just because I’m a Bluecoat, doesn’t mean I can’t follow the chain of command. And anyway,’ she shrugged, ‘I might want to join the big N some day.’

They went through the building from the top down: toured the rooftop landing zones, walked the corridors of power on the seventh floor; pointed at the other Assistant Section Directors on the sixth; glided past the Special Agents on five, four and three; poked their noses in on the juniors and trainees on two and one; stuck their heads round the control room door on the ground floor; did more pointing at the famous paintings in the public areas; sauntered through the legal department, briefing rooms and operation zones on the first sub level; ignored the canteen and VR reconstruction suites; and ended up deep in the building’s bowels. Outside the mortuary.

Will didn’t take long to warm to his task as tour guide. DS Cameron was likeable, bright, and she’d joined in when he’d poked fun at the tourists gawping their way around the ground floor.

‘Quite some place,’ she said. ‘Beats the crap out of the clapped-out Victorian pile I work in.’

‘City Central?’

‘Yeah, for my sins. Than and the occasional jaunt out to Monstrosity Square: keeping an eye on the termites.’

‘Termites?’ He stopped with one hand on the mortuary door. ‘They’re not insects, they’re people.’

Her chin came up. ‘You’ve never been in a fire-fight down there, OK? So don’t tell me-’

‘Virtual Riots. Sherman House. We were three days out of the Academy.’

‘Oh…’ She blushed.

‘Dehumanizing them doesn’t help, Jo. Trust me.’ He pushed through the tinted double glass doors into the mortuary’s reception area. A pretty blond in tight-fitting patent leatherette looked up from a datapad and smiled as they stepped onto the immaculate marbled floor.

‘Assistant Director Hunter!’ The receptionist bustled out from behind his desk, arms out as if he was expecting a hug. ‘How nice to see you again.’

‘Afternoon, Duncan.’ Will turned to introduce DS Cameron and stopped when he saw the expression on her face: cheeks twitching, eyes all sparkly. Making little snorting noises. ‘Is George in?’

The shiny young man nodded. ‘Popped out earlier, but he’s back now. If you like I can give him a shout? Ask him to come out and meet you?’

‘It’s OK, we can manage.’ There was no way Will was going to hang around here with DS Cameron for any longer than was strictly necessary. Not when she was on the verge of the giggles.

‘God, did you see his suit?’ she said as the mortuary door hissed shut behind them. ‘I’ve not seen anything that shiny since I worked vice!’

Given the neon-green monstrosity she was wearing, she was in no position to criticize.

Will led the way along the long, antiseptic corridor to a door marked ‘STORAGE & EXAMINATION’. Someone had stuck a cartoon up beneath the sign: a hunchback and a mad scientist on the beach, playing volleyball with a brain. Frankenstein’s monster sat by the net, the top of his head open like a pedal bin. It was captioned: ‘IGOR’S DAY OFF’. And just in case that was too subtle, the word ‘IGOR’ had been crossed off and ‘GEORGE’ written in its place. It was a surprisingly good likeness.

The man in question was sitting on one of the slabs, drinking a mug of something that sent sweet-lemony-menthol steam into the cold, circular room. His lunch was spread out on the stainless steel beside him, and as they crossed the floor he popped a slice of CheatMeat in his mouth and made blocked up chewing noises.

‘Supposed to be teriyaki swan,’ he said, voice echoing off the metal walls, ‘but it tastes more like old socks.’ He polished off another slice. ‘Who’s this you’ve brought with you?’

‘George: Detective Sergeant Jo Cameron. She’s going to be with us for a while, helping coordinate Network-Bluecoat investigations and resources.’

‘A veritable vision in green…’ A smile pulled at George’s podgy face, making his cheeks swell and his eyes disappear into little wrinkly slits. Like a short-arsed Buddha on an off day. He reached out and took the hand Jo had stuck out for shaking, turning it at the last minute to kiss the back. ‘What’s a lovely creature like you doing hanging around with Mr Misery Guts here?’ He beamed up at her, apparently having no intention of giving her hand back.

Indecision flitted across DS Cameron’s face and Will got the nasty feeling she was about to punch the pathologist’s teeth down his throat. But she didn’t. Instead she performed a graceful little curtsey and batted her eyelashes.

‘Well now…’ she treated George to the full strength of her smile. ‘How else would I get to meet a man as handsome as yourself?’

George just giggled and blushed.

‘If you two have quite finished.’ Will marched over to the centre console and brought up the file on the mangled remains they’d retrieved from Sherman House that morning. The lights dimmed and an old holo projector flickered into life: 3D shots of the victim’s remains crackling in the air as the carousel started to turn-its long mechanical arms selecting the appropriate bodypod from the pigeon-holes lining the walls.

An examination slab creaked up out of the floor and the carousel clicked the metallic canister into it, retreating back to the roof as George waddled over and unclipped the tabs. With a faint poom of trapped air, the tube fell open, revealing a collection of pale-yellow body parts, all neatly labelled and categorized.

George had forgotten to put the top of the skull on, exposing a nasty interior view of their victim’s head. ‘Oops.’ He popped the hairy lid back in place and secured it with a squirt of skinglue. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr Allan Brown.’