If Looks Could Kill

by Gary Kittle

‘But that’s not important,’ Richard continued calmly. ‘The fact is she is immune.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Her words came out in gasps. ‘You’re not a doctor.’

  ‘I just explained that.’

  ‘And has she been drinking tap water, too?’

  ‘Oh, come off it. You don’t actually believe that nonsense still,’ Gareth chipped in.

  ‘She’s been drinking tap water the whole time,’ Richard clarified. ‘I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned.’

  Fiona became quiet again for a few moments. ‘Maybe they’ve treated the water somehow, purified it.’

  ‘It’s all Government spin,’ insisted Gareth.

  ‘He’s probably right. Governments lie even when things are going well.’

  Fiona was thinking. ‘Where exactly did this exposure take place, may I ask?’

  ‘As many public facilities as possible: shops, supermarkets, toilets, waiting rooms, public transport.’

  Women were encouraged to go out in public only with a male escort, for safety reasons. There had been instances of stoning in many parts of the country.

  ‘We even took her to the football once,’ Gareth laughed. ‘Sorry. Joke.’

  ‘If she could have caught it, she would have caught it,’ Richard concluded.

  Fiona lunged at Devina, grabbing a sleeve and wrenching it up as far as her elbow. The slightly browned skin beneath was remarkable for its ordinariness. Fiona’s voice rose to a bellow. ‘Why don’t you have what I have, you bitch?’

  ‘Because she’s immune?’ Gareth whispered.

  ‘Think about it, love,’ Richard said, softening his tone of voice still further. ‘She’s immune for definite. No lesions, no boils, no swelling. Her vital signs have stayed constant throughout. There’s not so much as a rash.’

  ‘So you have checked?’ the voice behind the flamed burqa accused, still clutching the girl’s sleeve.

  Richard ignored the question, but beneath his ski mask he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. He wanted to hit her, but he knew if he did something would probably burst.

  ‘So you think you can sell her, is that it?’

  ‘Not the way you think,’ Richard sighed.

  ‘You arrogant bastard!’

  ‘Darling, please. Is it any wonder I was reluctant to tell you before now?’

  ‘You haven’t told me. I found out!’

  ‘It’s not just about you and him,’ said Gareth. ‘We’ve all lost loved ones to this disease.’

  ‘Yeah,’ added Jamie. ‘We’ve all got a vested interest in this.’

  ‘Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re the brains behind this!’ Fiona snorted.

  ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ Richard scowled.

  Fiona shuffled from foot to foot in front of him. ‘So, sell her to the authorities, so they can use her as a guinea pig, hey?’ She was getting louder by the minute.

  ‘Go easy with what you say, darling. The poor girl is sitting right there.’

  ‘Oh, sod her. I’m right, aren’t I? She’s worth nothing as a person,’ Fiona said with venom. ‘But her immunity could be priceless.’

  ‘Exactly,’ confirmed the overconfident Jamie.

  ‘Ha! You’re all crazy! They’re not going to pay you anything. They’ll round us all up the minute you issue a ransom demand.’

  Fiona turned away angrily, heading for the door.

  ‘Whichever way you look at it, her immunity has to be worth something to somebody,’ Richard added.

  Fiona laughed over her shoulder. ‘And you don’t think that making sure any witnesses disappear won’t be equally as important to ‘somebody’?’

  ‘That’s the risk we have to take, I’m afraid.’

  But Fiona was already at the door, sweeping it out of her path with a rustle of fabric. Richard stared down at Devina. It wasn’t a risk they were about to take, he realised. It was a risk that had started the moment she walked through their door.

  Chapter Four

  Dan was back in Jenkins’ office two days later. This time he wasn’t offered a drink. Jenkins didn’t seem to be in a black mood, however; he looked rather excited, in fact. Still, this didn’t feel like a routine chat to Dan. Something had happened and it somehow involved him.

  ‘Sit down, please, Dan.’

  Dan looked around the office as Jenkins studied a sheet of paper from his desk. The desk, the chairs, a couple of plants: the room had a ‘thrown together at the last minute’ quality to it. Everything was there, but nothing really matched. The workforce outside was much the same.

  ‘We’ve got a lead. Or rather you’ve got one for us.’

  Dan tried to look composed, but for a moment he had the insane urge to jump out of his chair before it disappeared through a trapdoor in the floor.

  ‘Immigration told us you had a nose for the job.’ Jenkins smiled. ‘Don’t worry. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid you need to explain, sir.’

  ‘Call me Trevor. In private, that is. I think we’ll both do well from this.’ And as if to prove it he shook the sheet of paper.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘One of your interceptions. Most people in your position might have let it go. Especially given the amount of cranks around these days.’ Jenkins handed over the piece of paper.

  It was an email he had saved yesterday. Jenkins was right. There were hundreds like this received from hoaxers and chancers every week. The trick was to recognise the genuine information that was neither too sloppy nor frankly tried too hard to convince. In other words, the instinct borne of a decade’s experience protecting Britain’s borders.

  ‘What stopped you deleting it?’

  ‘The attachment.’

  Jenkins handed over an enlarged print from the original image received with the email. It was the photograph of a young girl, head and arms uncovered for the benefit of the camera, without a mark on her skin. She was sitting behind a table. Eyes wide with fear, she could only have been around twenty. She looked Middle Eastern. Palestinian? Lebanese perhaps?

  ‘Ah, a picture is worth a thousand words?’

  The succinct email claimed to have found an immune female. Usually emails claimed to have located suspects who had poisoned the water supply six months earlier (usually racially motivated against immigrants generally). Or they had found stocks of the biochemical agent that would lead to a scientific breakthrough in finding a cure (usually glory-hunters or fantasists). All of them were scams; all the senders motivated by the lure of hoodwinking a desperate government into parting with taxpayers’ money. The immunity claims (exclusively from criminals) were the rarest, though.

  Jenkins raised an eyebrow. ‘The last ‘symptom-free woman’ we grabbed turned out to be half way through gender reassignment,’ he sniffed. ‘But mostly the photographs are out of date. Several turn out to be photoshopped. And that newspaper the other woman is holding doesn’t really prove anything. So what made this one different?’

  ‘Look at the newspaper closely.’

  Dan handed the blow up back to Jenkins. Standing in the background was a woman in a multicoloured burqa, holding that day’s newspaper out in front of her.

  ‘Very striking design,’ mused Jenkins.’ One can almost hear the leaves rustling.’

  The burqa in question was bright yellow with startling flashes of orange.

  ‘I did some research. It’s only been in the shops since last week.’

  ‘The winter collection,’ Jenkins chuckled.

  ‘I doubt she wore it deliberately. It’s the newspaper that’s supposed to be the proof. That’s what made me suspect this claim might be genuine.’

  ‘Well, well, well. I am impressed. With people like you around I’m surprised this country has any illegal immigrants.’

  Dan’s stomach tightened. Did Jenkins know? Had Immigration warned him that Dan had a reputation for ‘conscientious objections’ when it came to detentions and deportations? ‘So you
really could be looking at the only woman in the entire country who hasn’t been infected.’

  ‘Actually,’ Jenkins stared into Dan’s worried eyes and a grin spread across his mouth. ‘I know I am.’

  Jenkins reached down into a drawer and tossed over a small padded envelope. ‘Things are moving quickly. We received this first thing this morning. Don’t worry. Forensics has already been over it.’

  Dan opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of yellow card. There was a message inside made up of words snipped from newspapers.

  ‘Very old school, I’m sure you’ll agree?’ Jenkins purred. ‘Or just plain amateurish.’

  ‘Blue Peter meets the Black Hand,’ Dan muttered. He read the message twice. ‘So, they want money.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise.’

  ‘Four million. Why not more?’

  Jenkins laughed. ‘Like eight or twelve or twenty million?’

  ‘So you think there are two of them?’

  ‘It’s a common mistake among blackmailers and extortionists to pick round figures. But given what this country is going through at the moment I think one million each would be somewhat unambitious.’

  ‘So, two people. Two million each.’

  ‘Exactly. One acting as a jailer, one as a bargainer.’

  ‘And you want to pursue this on the basis of my instincts?’

  ‘There’s more. Look inside.’

  The question of why the blackmailers had used a padded envelope had already crossed Dan’s mind. He shook out a small plastic slip containing what looked like a square inch of slightly browned material. Only it wasn’t. He flipped it over and saw that the other side was pink.

  ‘What are your instincts telling you now?’

  It was the first time Dan had seen this much skin unattached to its owner. He threw it down on the desk with a sniff. It must have been a painful procedure.

  ‘So it’s a sample of her uninfected skin and an implied threat of further violence, right?’

  ‘Very good, Dan. The skin is relatively fresh. Forensics estimates it was removed in the last twenty-four hours. And there is absolutely no trace of the disease whatsoever.’

  ‘What do you want to do? Lure them into a trap at the pick-up point?’

  ‘If it turns out to be that simple, all well and good.’ Jenkins stood up, heading for the cabinet where he kept his liquid refreshments and glasses. ‘But someone will need to go out into the field and be my eyes and ears. If I call this in, I’ll be sticking my neck out.’ Jenkins poured two drinks and handed one over to Dan. ‘Without boring you with office politics I have ‘colleagues’ who will be salivating at the prospect of my making a balls-up of it.’

  ‘What if they’re armed?’ Dan took the drink, and let the whisky vapour tickle his nostrils before taking a sip.

  ‘I was rather assuming that men who can rip skin from a living girl would be.’

  ‘So why me?’

  Jenkins sat on the corner of his desk. ‘Office politics again, I’m afraid. You haven’t been here long enough for any of my detractors to get to you. You’re not on their radar, so I can trust you.’ Jenkins shook the blow up as evidence. ‘But you obviously know your stuff.’

  Dan stared down into his glass. ‘So who will I be working for - Trevor - the department or you?’

  Jenkins smiled again and rolled whisky around the bottom of his own glass. ‘Both,’ he said, before tipping it back.

  Chapter Five

  ‘What choice did I have?’ Richard turned away, red-faced. He wished the girl was with them so he could at least have hidden behind a ski mask. But she was downstairs in another part of the building, ‘resting’.

  Jamie was pacing the floor, as if the horror of what Richard had done chased him round the room, whilst Gareth could only stare in disbelief.

  ‘How else was I going to make them take us seriously?’

  Jamie stood briefly. ‘I know, Richard. But taking a knife to someone?’

  ‘Not just someone, a young girl. Jesus!’ Gareth hissed through his teeth.

  ‘Sick! That’s what it is, sick!’ Jamie started circling them again.

  ‘Listen, don’t get me wrong,’ Gareth continued. ‘I can see the reasoning, all right.’

  ‘But actually going through with it?’ Jamie added.

  ‘That’s a different matter.’

  ‘It’s bloody torture, Richard, that’s what it is!’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, I gave her something to knock her out first. She didn’t feel a thing!’

  ‘How did you do it? I’d imagine getting it off in one piece is skilled work.’

  ‘Please don’t tell us it took more than one attempt,’ pleaded Jamie.

  Richard rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘There was this video online. OK?’

  ‘You’ve got to be shitting with me.’ Gareth’s eyes widened. ‘How to remove human skin? Where?’

  ‘Dark web.’ Richard gazed at the floor. ‘It showed how to sterilise the area, the anesthetizing procedure, the post operative care, everything.’

  ‘Does she even know?’

  ‘I’ve gave her painkillers but she’s bound to be a bit sore.’

  ‘Sore where exactly?’ asked Jamie.

  ‘Top of her thigh,’ Richard muttered. ‘It’s healing up well already.’

  ‘What did she say?’ asked Jamie.

  ‘What she always says, Jamie: absolutely nothing.’

  Jamie strode towards Richard, his face disfigured by rage. ‘Then maybe I should say a few things for her.’

  Gareth stepped between them. ‘All right, let’s all calm down, shall we? It’s done, and like Richard said, they’ve probably got the message by now.’

  ‘And if not?’ Jamie sneered. ‘What will you send next time, a finger?’

  Richard stood tall, asserting his authority. ‘If that’s what it takes.’

  Jamie launched himself at Richard, who easily pushed him away. ‘This isn’t like selling dodgy DVDs at the back of a pub, boy.’

  Jamie seemed to be considering having another go, but satisfied himself with a tirade of insults and foul language.

  ‘It wasn’t his idea, anyway,’ said a new voice.

  They turned to see the bright yellow and orange burqa in the doorway.

  ‘Fiona?’ Jamie’s face lost all its colour.

  ‘Richard’s right. This was the only way to be taken seriously.’

  ‘You knew about this?’ Jamie hissed.

  Gareth sniggered loudly. ‘Well, if we get caught the jury will certainly be taking the charge of torture seriously, along with kidnapping and false imprisonment.’

  ‘You think the people we’re dealing with use a jury?’ Richard laughed.

  ‘Oh, and just for the record,’ added Fiona, ‘if they don’t take us seriously I’ll send them one of her fingers myself.’

  There was an awkward silence that at least allowed the edge to fall off everyone’s temper.

  ‘So what happens next?’ asked Jamie.

  ‘Well, they can’t reply, obviously,’ said Richard.

  ‘And if they do, it will be by kicking in the front door,’ Gareth scoffed.

  ‘So we send them details of an exchange,’ Richard continued.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A pick up, in return for which they get an address where they can find the girl,’ Fiona cut in.

  ‘Bloody hell, Fiona, a few days ago you were all for turning her out onto the street. What changed your tune?’ asked Gareth.

  Fiona bent forward, bringing her veiled face to within a few inches of Gareth’s. Despite his best efforts, Gareth recoiled. ‘A mirror,’ whispered Fiona.

  ‘We’ll arrange a pick-up, but won’t try to collect. Instead, we’ll watch and see what happens when someone else sticks their paws on it,’ Richard elaborated.

  ‘Even if it’s bored kids with itchy fingers?’ asked Jamie.

  ‘But if someone other than us does take the money won’t that make them assume it
’s just a hoax?’ added Gareth.

  Fiona turned her veiled head his way. ‘No. Because I wasn’t joking about that finger.’

  ‘You don’t like her, do you?’ Gareth sniffed.

  ‘Listen, I doubt there’ll be any money the first time,’ Richard answered patiently. ‘That’s why I’m playing it this way.’

  ‘If there won’t be any money, what’s the point of doing it?’

  ‘Gamesmanship.’

  ‘Where did you find all this out, the dark web again?’ Gareth said with sarcasm.

  Richard looked away quickly.

  ‘Bloody hell, Richard,’ Gareth whispered. ‘That was meant as a joke.’

  ‘Don’t knock it, Gareth. Where do you think the terrorists go on line - Citizens Advice?’

  ‘So how will we actually get our hands on the money?’ Jamie began.

  Gareth cut in. ‘Yes, and how much are we asking for, by the way?’

  Richard looked over at the burqa covering his wife’s face, but she said nothing.

  ‘Two million quid,’ he said decisively. ‘Nice round figure we can split four ways.’

  ‘Five hundred grand,’ whistled Gareth. ‘Are you sure we couldn’t squeeze them for a bit more?’

  ‘This isn’t like selling a second hand motor,’ Richard growled. ‘And one more thing, Fiona,’ he continued. ‘You won’t be removing so much as a lock of the girl’s hair. If it comes to it, I’ll do that little job myself.’

  Jamie and Gareth looked at one another. It was Gareth who said what they were both thinking: ‘Christ, you two. Anyone would think you were both serious about it.’

  Neither Richard nor Fiona replied.

  Chapter Six

  The targets – as Jenkins told him to call them – might use internet cafes, libraries and numerous mobile phones to avoid detection. However they communicated it would probably not be the same way twice. The two closest locations pinpointed so far were miles apart. CCTV had spotted a couple of them hunched over a laptop with a latte, but they were both wearing peaked caps and disappeared off the street camera network outside within minutes.

  ‘How have you got this close so quickly?’ Dan asked in the van.

  The two men sitting opposite looked at each other and grinned.