by James Fahy
“Calm down darling,” Marissa said, soothingly. “I’m sure there’s-”
“We’re here to help, of course,” Cloves said, reassuringly. “If only you’d come to us as soon as this happened… we only want what’s best for the people of this city. Of course Cabal will help to find little Melodie.”
“I already told you, Ms Cloves. I do not want Cabal’s help, and all the media circus that follows it.”
Cloves patted my hand, pulling me subtly into their small circle of conversation “Of course, of course, I understand completely. Discretion in all matters, especially something so personal. This is Doctor Harkness, an associate of mine. She heads a Paranormal Investigation Unit, not officially Cabal, although of course we liaise.” I felt as though she were offering me up like a vol-au-vent. “I’m putting her, and her team, entirely at your disposal.”
You are? I thought, withering under the scrutiny of the couple. And since when was I a paranormal-investigation-unit-head?
“A detective?” Marissa eyed me with open curiosity. She was taking in my attire and looking very sceptical.
“A scientist,” I replied. “My main work involves developing a vaccine to inoculate against the Pale virus, and hopefully one day an antidote to it. But… yes. I have been involved with several cases of a Genetic Other nature, with some moderately successful outcomes.”
“So you see, William,” Marissa nodded to her husband, squeezing his arm. “Cabal would not be officially involved. The monster detective here may be able to help.”
The monster detective. I died a little inside. I just knew that title was going to stick.
“We want to help get your daughter home safely, of course we do,” Cloves said in her most heartfelt tones. “But you’ve been so… efficient… in keeping these developments out of public knowledge.” She gave them both a sincere smile. “We would need you to tell us the details. The circumstances of your daughter’s disappearance-”
“And your reasoning for what makes you think it was a GO who took her,” I interjected.
“Of course it was!” William blustered. “They’re animals.”
I shrugged. “Humans can do terrible things too, unfortunately.”
I could feel Cloves glaring at me. I was supposed to be helping her win the trust and confidence of these people, and here I was mildly antagonising them instead.
Marissa leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Oh no, you don’t understand,” she said. “When Melodie was taken. At the party, you see.” She was nodding earnestly. “The other children told us. They saw. A devil took her. A smiling devil.”
Cloves blinked in the flickering, fluttering light of the many candles. “A… devil?”
“What party? I asked.
William looked conflicted. “Marissa I told you already, I will not speak of… devils… in church. This is inappropriate.” He glared at the two of us from beneath beetled brows. I could clearly see his struggle. Between accepting help from sources he didn’t trust and his wish to find his daughter. “You truly believe you can help us find my daughter?” he demanded to know. “Even if… as my wife states, a… demon… has taken her?”
Before I could tell him that I didn’t believe in demons, Cloves nodded. “I would never lie in church,” she lied. “We will find your daughter. My colleague here is the best in her field. No one else in the city has had more experience or interaction with the Genetic Others. She has a talent for it.”
William huffed, looking at me and seeming distinctly unimpressed. However, he reached into his suit jacket and produced a business card, which he handed to Cloves. “We cannot talk here,” he said. “You may come to the house tomorrow.” He scrutinised me, clearly finding me less than professional-looking in my Helsing get-up. “Please dress more suitably, I don’t want the neighbours having more things to discuss than they already have.”
Before I could respond, his wife nodded at me. “And, God willing, you will be able to track the devil for us. And bring back our little angel.”
First Dove’s talk of seraphs, now devils? I thought. Things were becoming decidedly more biblical than I was comfortable with.
Chapter 6
Portmeadow, in the northwest of New Oxford, is high-class. Once, before the war, it had been grasslands, but now every inch of it was peppered with silver and glass skyscrapers straight out of the Jetsons, the homes of the super-rich and powerful. At the northernmost edge of the district lies Wolvercote, where the towering palaces of the wealthy give way to large, privately owned estates of a more traditional, though no less lavish, nature. It was here, by the still-famous Oxford Ballet school, that the Cunningham Bowls estate lay. Several acres of private garden, high hedges and manicured lawns leading from the road right down past the large house itself to the edge of Wolvercote Lakes, which these days were privately owned by William and his wife Marissa.
It was a surprisingly sunny and crisp morning as our car turned into the long driveway, heavy and rather unfriendly-looking iron gates closing behind us, shutting the city out. October was a cold month and in my city, filled with drizzle and biting winds more often than not. But this morning, the sun beat down from a clear sky, making the day seem freshly minted.
The light filtered through the burning riot of orange leaves above, flickering between the rows of trees which lined the long gravel driveway, as Dr Denison and I drove towards the house. I felt better for having someone along with me. I’m still not convinced I’m waving a little flag of yay for the Genetic Others – most I’ve met have been murderous to some extent – but these people, the Mankind Movement, I had even less love for; for this indulgent sweep of old-world charm, the wide, rolling gardens of the estate, a decadence in a walled city where space and housing was a huge problem for many of its occupants. I was deep in enemy territory here, the belly of the bigot.
“Why didn’t Cloves come?” Denison asked, as the house came into view.
“She has a media thing this morning,” I replied, glancing out of the windscreen at the palatial mansion looming ahead of us. “Some interview with a few of the GO movie directors who are involved in this Fangfest events. You know Cabal like to at least ‘appear’ neutral and even-handed. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t engineered a celebrity cooking show starring the Bonewalkers yet.”
“Well it’s nice to get out of the lab for once, anyway,” he smiled. “You forget what daylight is like down there in the sub levels.”
Denison, or Dee, as we all called him was the latest official addition to our little Scooby gang, the Genetic-Other-Paranormal-Investigation-Monster-Detective-Liaison… squad, or whatever Cloves called us. We were basically her pet project, kind of like an ant farm she liked to observe, and then shake occasionally for her own entertainment.
I’d worked with Dee years back and had met again recently during all that business with the Tribals earlier this year. He and his team had been the ones who had first discovered the faceless girl in the river, and once Cloves found out he existed and that he was even remotely useful to her, she had him transferred to my team immediately. My little Blue Lab family was growing.
“Well, thank you for coming with,” I said. “I didn’t want to ask Lucy or Griff. I interrupted both of their evenings last night, and I think they’re both still sulking at me.” I peered out of the window at the house looming against the bright blue sky. “But I’d rather not go in there alone. Colonel Sanders and his trophy wife are not my people.”
Denison flicked his dark brown eyes my way as he killed the engine. “Who are your people, Doc?” he smirked. “You were always a loner. I think you only ever spoke to me when we were studying because you can’t resist incredibly tall and handsome Egyptian supermodels in peak physical condition. You know I have two PhD’s and a six pack right?”
“These days you’re getting a keg, Dee. And you’re very bald.” I happily patted his stomach and opened my door. “I have more qualifications than you, and I found you as perfectly res
istible back then as I do now. You only had eyes for forensics, that’s why you’re adorable.”
He climbed out of the car, laughing. “My head is a sculpture, Doc, it doesn’t need adornment. Jesus, look at this place. I feel like I arrived at the Cluedo mansion.”
Despite the bright sunshine, it was still bitterly cold. A flurry of papery leaves rattled across the turning circle before the house. I slammed my car door and looked up at the building, which to me seemed draconian rather than palatial. Like someone had converted an old Victorian orphanage into a home and thought that adding some hanging baskets would reduce the grimness.
“We’re looking for a missing girl, remember,” I murmured, walking up the steps to the large, classical porch. “Not a dead body in the library. The sooner we can rule out any GO involvement in this, the sooner I can get back to finding out who’s murdering vampires on rooftops.”
It sounded bleak, even to me.
“You see, this is why you have no friends,” Denison said in a friendly manner, following me. “Your interests are worrying.”
“You cut up corpses, Dee,” I countered, ringing the bell. “You’re practically a morbid savant. I don’t know anyone else with your forensic intuition. I swear you call tell bloody type just by glancing at a stain. Who but you spends five years training themselves to detect every biochemical compound found in the human body by scent alone?”
“For science!” he smirked. “Not for the fun of it. Well… not just for the fun of it.”
“We’re both going to die alone, my hairless friend,” I surmised.
The eminent Mr and Mrs Cunningham Bowls received us in an airy study with large arched windows giving commanding views down the long lawn to the edge of the lake, which was glittering prettily in the sunshine. It almost felt as though we were outside the city here. The illusion of freedom was almost perfect. But in the distant heat haze, beyond the treeline on the far side of the lake, you could just make out the shadowy barrier of the Wall, quiet and huge, keeping the apocalypse and its ravenous hordes, well out of our city. I tried to picture the Cunningham Bowls on a normal day, sitting on the lawn eating finger sandwiches and petit fours, incongruously within sight of the wall and the ruined world that lay out there beyond it.
Marissa sat demurely, dressed like a smart politician in a jade skirt and jacket, her hands clasped in her lap. Her husband stood, one hand on her shoulder. A different suit than last night, but just as expensively tailored. They looked like they were posing for a portrait. They both also looked tired, washed out and worried.
I made introductions, and Dee and I were seated opposite. He had taken a small pad and stub of pencil from his pocket and flipped it open, ready to take notes.
“If we’re to be able to help you find your daughter,” I began. “First of all you need to fill us in on exactly what happened. When did she disappear? What have you done so far, that kind of thing.”
“Melodie turned thirteen three days ago,” Marissa told us. “We had a garden party.” She waved her hand distractedly at the lawns outside behind her. “There were a lot of people coming and going from the house. Caterers, guests, staff-”
“Several important business connections,” William interjected.
“And of course Melodie’s friends,” his wife nodded. “Her ballet class, the gymnastics team, a few chosen friends from her archery club, and of course classmates from the academy.”
“Sounds like your Melodie leads an active lifestyle,” Dee noted. “Busy social calendar. Lots of activities.”
Marissa nodded at him. “She’s very athletic,” she said. “She has a tremendous amount of energy. You know how children are.”
“Your daughter disappeared during her birthday party?” I asked.
“She didn’t disappear!” William snapped. “She was taken.” He bristled. “And that woman was involved. I think she was working with the creatures. I bet she only took the job in order to get into the house, get close to us. I never thought she was trustworthy, not for a moment. Some of her references were not ideal.”
“Wait, what woman?” I asked. “Who are you talking about?”
“Ms Fraedrich,” Marissa explained, reaching up to pat her husband’s hand which still rested on her shoulder. She seemed in the habit of soothing his temper, almost unconsciously, as though it had been her job for many years. “Dana. She was Melodie’s governess. Elderly lady, came very highly recommended to us, but she’d only been with us a year.”
“You don’t think your daughter is getting a little old for a governess?” Dee speculated.
“We’re not talking about a nanny here,” Mrs Cunningham Bowls peered at him condescendingly. “Dana taught piano, French, classics. Practically a private tutor. We must have someone to watch over the girl. William and I are often too busy.”
“I thought you were retired?” Dee, who had done his homework on the couple, glanced at William.
“We attend a tremendous amount of social engagements,” his wife replied, rather defensively.
“And you think the nanny… sorry, the governess, she was involved in your daughter’s disappearance?” I asked.
“Well, something’s bloody fishy. She’s gone too,” William snapped. “Last seen together at the party, the two of them. Our daughter disappeared into thin air that day, and we haven’t seen the old woman since. She’s disappeared off the face of the earth too. It’s clear to me that she was involved somehow. Perhaps she gave the devil creature access to the house. It must have gotten in somehow. You don’t think it’s suspect that she’s vanished at the same time as my little girl?”
“They were together at the party?” I clarified.
Marissa nodded fervently. “There was a lot going on, of course. Guests to look after, staff to direct. William was in the city, but I was here having a hell of a time with the caterers, who were positively impertinent if you ask me. I certainly wouldn’t use them again.” She dusted an invisible piece of lint fussily from her pristine jade skirt. “Anyway, there was a drama about the children’s entertainer. He hadn’t turned up on time, and then when he did show up, he was drunk, apparently.”
“Apparently?”
“I never saw him, I was in the kitchens, trying to keep some semblance of order, and with the most terrible migraine coming on. He was a clown of some kind. You know, balloon animals and magic tricks, that kind of thing.”
Denison shivered next to me. “I hate clowns.”
“Everyone hates clowns,” I replied.
“Children adore clowns,” William insisted determinedly. I wondered briefly whether he had ever met a child, including his own.
“Regardless…” Melissa said. “Many of the children didn’t like him, he was…” she shot an apologetic look over her shoulder, “…creepy. Sorry dear.” She looked back to us. “I wanted to get a magician instead.”
“The disappearance?” Dee steered her back on track.
“Yes, yes, of course. So Ms Fraedrich decided to take Melodie to fetch the presents instead. They were all piled together in the music room.”
“But they never came back,” William said. “By the time anyone realised they were missing, we couldn’t find them anywhere. None of the presents had been touched, the window to the music room was wide open. It opens onto the patio. Our daughter, and the Fraedrich woman, have not been seen since.”
“We sent everyone home of course,” Melissa said. “The entertainment and caterers had already left at the point, and after the guests had gone, we searched the grounds, right down to the lake. Nothing.”
“There’s no unrestricted way off our property, Ms Harkness,” William explained, in a patronising tone. “The perimeter wall is high on three sides. The lake is the fourth. We have cameras at all the gates, and nothing. Our daughter, and the governess, have simply vanished.”
I couldn’t understand these people at all.
“It’s Doctor, not Ms,” I said. “And I understand that you haven’t called the police, i
s that right?” I pressed. “And it’s been three days?”
“No natural force could have taken my daughter from the property, Doctor,” William insisted with a kind of bleak pride. “We are very high-security. I have a large and loyal staff. We have combed every inch of the house and grounds. Nothing.”
Denison voiced the question I was afraid to ask. “I apologise for the bluntness, but, the lake?”
“Dredged,” he replied flatly. “Divers too. Melodie would never go near the water of her own accord. She cannot swim. We have found nothing.”
“Plus it’s incredibly unlikely that Dana would have swam away with our daughter on her back,” Melissa added thoughtfully. “The woman is in her eighties.”
“There’s no way your daughter could have been snuck out in the back of one of the catering vans, or a guest’s car perhaps?” I wondered.
Both of them shook their heads.
“Due to the nature of my business, security here is paramount,” William insisted, pride under his tone. “All vehicles entering or leaving are thoroughly checked.”
“And what is the nature, exactly, of your business, Mr Cunningham Bowls?” Denison asked.
The older man blinked at us in disbelief, as though it were simply unthinkable that we didn’t know of him. Denison clearly did. He was the thorough kind and had done his homework before he came here today. He was asking for my benefit, because unlike my associate, I had gotten home late and chosen sleep.
“It was biomodificatory research,” Cunningham Bowls said. “With medical and military application, at a purely R&D level of course.”
“You’re a scientist?” I asked.
“A bio-engineer,” he clarified. “Or at least, I used to be. My first wife and I developed the company. We were technicians together. After she passed away eight years ago, I did indeed retire from active involvement. The reins of the company are still firmly in my hands, but I’m not directly involved with projects any longer. I mainly oversee and finance.”
