The All Seeing Eye

by Mark Morris

  “Hey!” Hellboy shouted, and was starting to rise when the light flashed again, blinding him. He squinted and rubbed a hand across his face. Unable to see, he felt his hoof knock against something, which fell over with a clatter.

  “Hellboy!” he heard Cassie say, but he didn’t answer. His vision started to clear. He saw Proctor scurrying towards the door.

  “Hey, you little bastard! Come back here!” he yelled.

  Proctor turned briefly. “Don’t think so, mate.”Then he smirked and ducked out the door.

  It was the smirk which did it. Hellboy felt rage rushing through him. He roared and ploughed across the restaurant. He’d tear that little creep limb from limb — or, if not, then he’d smash his camera, at least.

  People screamed as Hellboy cut a swathe through them. He was not exactly oblivious to what lay in his path, but he was angry, and moving fast, and so was not as careful as he would ordinarily have been. He thumped against one table with his hip, knocking it over, scattering food and crockery. His duster, flying behind him, swept across another, tipping over a coffeepot, whose contents spilled across the lacquered surface and drooled onto the floor. In his haste to catch up with Proctor, he cracked his head on the lintel as he ducked out of the building.

  “Crap!” he shouted, giving a little old lady passing by on the street outside the fright of her life.

  Proctor was haring along the pavement as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. Hellboy sprinted in pursuit, hooves raising sparks from the paving slabs, duster billowing in his wake like the cape of a superhero. People screamed and leaped aside. On the opposite pavement they pointed and shouted. Hellboy was gaining on Proctor, but the journalist, sweat pouring down his face, had come to a halt beside a crappy little Astra and was ramming a key into the lock. Hellboy caught up with him just as the car began to pull away from the curb.

  “No, you don’t!” Hellboy shouted, and lunged forward. With his stone hand he grabbed the rust-speckled rear bumper. The car screamed, raising smoke and the stink of scorched rubber from its spinning but stationary tires. And then with a grinding screech of metal, the bumper parted from the car and the vehicle sped away. It slued into the road, narrowly missing a black cab, whose horn was a long blat of anger and alarm. Hellboy staggered backwards, the bumper still clutched in his stone hand like some bizarre weapon.

  “Please drop that, sir,” said a voice behind him.

  Hellboy ground his teeth as Proctor’s car receded into the distance, and then turned.

  Two uniformed constables were standing on the pavement beside a parked panda car ten yards behind him. Both policemen looked nervous. One had his hands half raised as if to placate a cornered animal; the right hand of the other kept straying subconsciously to the handle of his truncheon.

  “Hey, guys,” Hellboy said, “do me a favor and follow that car, willya?”

  “Which car, sir?” the officer with the raised hands asked, though Hellboy could tell by his tone of voice that the guy was merely humoring him.

  “The little blue Astra. The one missing a rear bumper.” He held the bumper up and instantly the two constables went for their truncheons. Hellboy supposed that if they’d had guns they’d have pulled them on him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Take it easy, guys. I’m the wronged party here. Look, I’ll put this down if it makes you happier.”

  He bent and carefully placed the bumper on the pavement. Then he said, “So are you gonna help me or not?”

  “Could you tell us why you caused damage to the car, sir?” asked the second policeman.

  Hellboy sighed. “I was trying to stop the driver from getting away. No chance of that now.”

  “And exactly why were you trying to stop him getting away, sir?”

  Hellboy closed his eyes briefly. “Because he’s been hounding me ever since I arrived here.”

  “Hounding you in what way, sir?” asked the second policeman.

  “He’s a journalist,” said Hellboy. “He’s been following me around, taking pictures.”

  The two policemen exchanged a glance.”There’s no law against taking pictures, sir,” said the first officer blandly.

  “We have a policy in this country, sir — freedom of the press,” added the second.

  “Oh,fer Chrissakes!” exploded Hellboy. “That little bastard is compromising the integrity of my mission here and you stand there spouting crap about freedom of the press. You guys are priceless, you know that?”

  He turned away, but the first policeman said, “Where do you think you’re going, sir?”

  “To finish my breakfast,” Hellboy said, “or is there a law against that as well?”

  “I think you should accompany us to the station, sir,” the second policeman said.

  Hellboy turned back. “What?” he said quietly.

  The officer looked nervous, but doggedly continued, “Regardless of your status here, sir, I really think you should come with us. We wouldn’t be doing our job if we just let you go. There are certain charges you may have to answer at the station.”

  “Charges?” Hellboy repeated. “Like what?”

  “Causing an affray,” said the first policeman.

  “Criminal damage,” said the second.

  “So you’re arresting me?” said Hellboy.

  “We’re just pursuing our inquiries, sir,” said the first policeman.

  “Just doing our jobs,” added the second.

  Hellboy expelled a long, deep breath. “Aw, great,” he muttered.

  ———

  When Richard and Liz arrived at Labuschagne’s apartment block the gates were already open. Parked close to the entrance of the building were two police cars and a blue riot van with grilles over the windows. The back doors of the van were open and Liz could see two rows of men, bulky in padded jackets, sitting facing each other. Standing beside one of the cars, Abe was talking to a rangy man in a gray suit. Although he was not wearing a uniform, the rangy man looked every inch a police officer. Kind of like Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry, thought Liz, but with shorter hair.

  A uniformed constable stepped into their path and raised a hand as they drove up to the gates. Liz showed him her B.P.R.D. pass and he allowed them through.

  Richard parked on the far side of the riot van. Although on the drive over he had heard Liz making the call requesting that a backup team rendezvous with them at Labuschagne’s residence, the physical reality of the police presence still seemed to daunt him somewhat.

  “You can stay in the car if you like,” Liz said softly.

  Richard shook his head. “No, I don’t want to sit here like a lemon.” He glanced at the glittering tower block, which was at the opposite end of the luxury scale to the one in which Credo Olusanya had lived and died. “I might not come inside with you this time, though, if that’s okay?”

  Liz smiled. “I doubt you’d be allowed in anyway, what with being a civilian and all.”

  They got out of the car and walked over to Abe and the rangy man.

  “Hey, Abe!” Liz called. “Where’s Hellboy?”

  If Abe had been able to raise an eyebrow she felt sure he would have done. “Would you believe, in police custody?”

  “You mean he’s been arrested?”

  Abe nodded.

  “What the hell for?”

  Abe looked pointedly at the rangy man, who grimaced with embarrassment. “It’s a misunderstanding, that’s all. It’s being sorted as we speak.”

  Abe introduced the rangy man as Detective Inspector Cart-wright. He shook hands with Liz and Richard, and asked, “So what’s the situation here, Agent Sherman?”

  Liz liked him immediately. She liked him because he didn’t seem to mind that she was the one calling the shots. Most British cops seemed resistant to the idea of being ordered about by an American girl, but there was no challenge in Cartwright’s voice, no resentment, no cynicism. His body language indicated that he was prepared to trust her judgment and defer to her greater experience.
>
  Of course, she told herself, she might be reading him completely wrong. After all, she had instinctively liked Labuschagne, and he had sent her into a trap.

  She quickly filled Abe and Cartwright in on the events of that morning.

  “And you’re certain that this man, Labuschagne, was behind the attack?” said Abe.

  Liz nodded. “It’s got to be him. He was the only one who knew we were going to see Olusanya this morning.”

  Abe turned to Richard, who was pulling a face. “You don’t seem so sure, Dr. Varley?”

  He flashed Liz a look of apology and said, “Well ... I’m not, to be honest. I mean, what Liz says makes perfect sense, but... I know Kobus. Or at least I think I do. He’s a good man, and a brave one. He’s always spoken out against the more unscrupulous practitioners of muti, and he’s taken a lot of flak for it over the years.”

  “A smokescreen,” said Liz dismissively.

  “But his wife and children were killed ... brutally murdered.”

  Liz looked at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Richard, but that changes nothing. Like I said before, you don’t live in my world. You really have no idea how ruthless some people can be.”

  Richard looked unhappy, but he continued to shake his head. “I still don’t believe it,” he said, “and I won’t until someone proves otherwise.”

  Cartwright had listened to the exchange patiently, but now he turned to Liz. “So what’s the plan, Agent Sherman?”

  “We go in,” Liz said simply. “Me, Abe, maybe a couple of your guys. But Abe and I take the lead. We don’t know what Labuschagne’s capable of.”

  “He’s just one man,” said Cartwright. “Surely four armed officers will be sufficient to deal with him?”

  “He’s a sangoma,” said Liz. “And if he’s tapping into the energy unleashed by the sacrifices, then literally anything could happen.”

  Cartwright rubbed a hand over his face. “To be frank with you, Agent Sherman, all of this is a bit outside my comfort zone.”

  Liz smiled. “Don’t worry, that’s why Abe and I are here.” She glanced towards the riot van. “Okay, let’s get going. Can you hand-pick a couple of men for us, Detective Inspector? We need guys who stay cool in a crisis, who think quickly and take orders without question.”

  Two minutes later they were good to go. A besuited guy with too much gel in his hair was hovering by the main doors to let them in. Liz guessed he was from whichever firm of glorified landlords owned this place. He was clearly unhappy about the unwanted attention the building was attracting, but he would just have to lump it.

  “I’ll need the master key to get into apartment 1101,” she told him.

  He shook his head firmly. “I can’t just hand it over. I’ll have to come up there with you and let you in.”

  “No way,” Liz said. “This is a B.P.R.D. operation and you’re a civilian. If anything happens to you, we’ll be the ones to get our asses kicked.”

  Gel guy pulled a petulant face. “Then I’ll have to call my superiors,” he said.

  “You do that,” answered Liz, and held her hand out. “In the meantime just give me the key. By which I mean, not the whole bunch, just the one I need. I don’t want anything to slow me down up there.”

  Gel guy still looked uncertain. Liz sighed. “Unless, of course, you want to be busted for obstructing a police inquiry, or whatever the hell it’s called over here.”

  His resistance crumbled. Suddenly he looked like a little kid who had been ordered to hand over his dinner money by the school bullies. His voice quivering, he said, “I want it to be noted that I do this under protest.”

  “Whatever,” replied Liz, and took the key off him.

  “I promise we’ll be as discreet as possible,” Abe said as he followed Liz into the building.

  Gel guy stared at him, aghast. Clearly he hadn’t expected the strange fish-man to talk.

  Once inside, Liz and one of the riot cops took the lift while Abe and the other cop took the stairs. All was quiet, just as it had been the previous afternoon. The four of them congregated on the landing outside Labuschagne’s door, but no one said anything; they each knew what was required of them. Despite their protective clothing and heavy-duty weapons, the cops’ role was simply to hang back and allow the B.P.R.D. agents to enter Labuschagne’s apartment alone. They would only come running if either Liz or Abe called for them, or if Labuschagne somehow eluded the two agents. If all went well, the cops wouldn’t have to do anything at all. If it didn’t go well, then Liz had instructed them in no uncertain terms how they should respond.

  “He gets past us, you take him down,” she had said. “Labuschagne might look like an unarmed civilian in a snazzy suit, but in his case appearances are deceptive. So you take him down, and you take him down fast. You understand me? Hesitate and you’re dead.”

  The two men had nodded grimly, their faces showing not a nicker of emotion. Liz was satisfied. Cartwright had chosen well. She only hoped they wouldn’t have cause to find out how well.

  She held up the key and they all nodded. Then slowly and deliberately she fitted it into the lock. She turned it and pushed the door, stepping out of the line of fire as she did so. When nothing happened, she and Abe went in.

  They found Labuschagne in his elegant and understated living room. He was dead. In contrast to the pale, muted tones of the decor, his blood was a vulgar shout of color. Most of it was pooled beneath his body on the polished wooden floor. He had been stripped not only of his clothes, but his skin as well. His raw, oozing remains were twisted into a position of frozen agony. His lipless mouth yawned in a dying scream. Liz noted with contained fury that the frame containing the photographs of his wife and daughters had been dashed against something, perhaps the corner of the table on which it had been standing. The remnants, including the mangled photographs themselves, were scattered across the floor. Shards of glass had been selected from the shattered pieces and rammed into Labuschagne’s eyes. His flayed skin, like a bundle of bloodied rags, had been dumped almost casually on a chair. On the largest section of blank wall, in the sangoma’s blood, was the sign of the eye.

  Abe surveyed the dreadful scene with what to the uninitiated would have seemed like dispassion. Then he crossed to Liz and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, “I was wrong about him, wasn’t I? He was on our side, just like Richard said. I feel awful now for doubting him.”

  Abe’s voice was soft. “No, Liz, you were right all along. When you first met Labuschagne you instinctively believed he was a good man. It was our enemy who made you doubt your instincts, and that’s who you should blame.”

  “Our enemy,” repeated Liz and swiped angry tears from her face. “Who is our enemy, Abe?”

  Abe shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, “but he’ll show his hand soon enough. You can bet on that.”

  Chapter 9

  “Screw it,” Hellboy said.

  DCI Reynolds snorted.”Oh, very mature. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Hellboy glared at him.”It means screw it. It means I don’t want a lift back to my hotel. It means I’m not a government resource and I’m sick of being treated like one. It means I’m gonna go off and do my own thing and no one’s gonna stop me.”

  Reynolds weathered the storm with equanimity. When Hellboy had done yelling, he said with spiteful amusement, “Your date really didn’t go well, did it?”

  Fully aware that the policeman was trying to wind him up, but still unable to prevent himself rising to the bait at least a little, Hellboy said, “It was going fine until your guys decided to try and get their faces on TV.”

  “Are you suggesting, Hellboy,” said Reynolds mildly, “that the officers in question arrested you simply because they were seeking self-aggrandizement?”

  “Damn right I am,” Hellboy said.

  “I’ll have you know that’s a very serious allegation,” Reynolds said. “Tantamount to slander, i
n fact.”

  “So sue me.”

  Reynolds laughed. He was clearly enjoying this. “But surely, Hellboy, you can’t deny that you were acting in a manner liable to cause a breach of the peace? We have dozens of witnesses who claim they saw you running along the street, shouting, making threats, pushing people out of the way ...”

  “I didn’t push anybody,” Hellboy protested.

  “Furthermore, you surely can’t deny that you caused criminal damage to a motor vehicle belonging to one Colin Proctor of... hmm, on second thoughts, maybe giving you Mr. Proctor’s address wouldn’t be such a good idea. After all, we don’t want to add assault or malicious wounding to your litany of misdemeanors, do we?”

  Reynolds was grinning widely now. Hellboy narrowed his eyes.

  “You really don’t like us being here, muscling in on your territory, do you?” he said.

  Reynolds shrugged as if the matter was neither here nor there. “It’s not as though I’ve got anything against you personally, Hellboy. It’s just that as far as I’m concerned, you’re doing nothing but muddying the waters of this investigation. I mean, you haven’t exactly covered yourself in glory so far, have you?”

  If he had been in an argumentative mood, Hellboy might have pointed out that he and his friends had actually been instrumental in opening the investigation out in all sorts of new and interesting directions. But he couldn’t be bothered. Standing up, he said, “You know what? I’m not in the mood for this.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Reynolds asked. “Walk out of here? Take a stroll through the streets of London?”

  “Yeah, why not?” said Hellboy.

  “I think you might find it difficult to blend into the crowd,” Reynolds said.

  Hellboy shrugged his massive shoulders. “Thanks to your wonderful press, I don’t think that’s an issue anymore. Might as well show my face. Say hi to the locals.”

  Reynolds shook his head, wafted a hand dismissively. “It’s your life.”

  “Yeah,” said Hellboy, “it is.”

  As soon as he exited the station, descended the steps, and began striding along the street, Hellboy felt the steel band of stress that was clamped around his thoughts easing a little. It might have been a typically murky day in London, but the cool, damp breeze felt good on his skin. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. Luigi’s place had been tucked away in a little side street close to Covent Garden, and the police station he had been taken to for questioning was just off Piccadilly. That meant to get back to his hotel he needed to head north up Shaftesbury Avenue and then on to Charing Cross Road.