The Face Stealer

by Robert Scott-Norton

19

  The engineers had decreed certain areas of the building absolutely off limits, but most of the first floor where CID were based was safe to use. A hush settled over the incident room when Payne entered. Carter approached with a coffee ready in her hand and looked for a terrifying moment as if she might want to hug him. She settled for a smile and left him to it. He headed for his office and once in, closed the door and twisted the blinds round.

  He’d taken his time driving back from Pauline’s, turning up the volume on his stereo and trying to remember a time when he’d had been excited to be involved in a murder investigation. Pauline had been as devastated as he’d expected. She’d been married to Charlie for a long time and they’d known each other since high school. He’d had to tell her twice that Charlie had been killed. The first time, it seemed that the words just weren’t sinking in. He’d been offered a drink from her new husband, a pleasant enough fellow called Richard but he’d declined. But if he ever went back to the drink, today would be the day to do it. Everyone would have understood his falling off the waggon on a day like this. Well, nearly everyone.

  Payne listened to the chatter from the incident room whilst staring out of the window at the people on Lord Street below him. It had been a long day for all of them and Payne wanted to let them get home and get some rest but his mental list of tasks was growing all the while he was on his feet. Anna used to warn him about the job eating him away one mouthful at a time, and she’d been right. He was being nibbled to death by procedure and red tape.

  Payne’s mobile rang again. He checked the number and for the third time that day he thumbed the reject option. Anna’s mother Kathryn was trying to get hold of him. But, he knew what the call was going to be about and he was determined to avoid it at all costs.

  Kathryn would ask him how he was holding up. Payne would smile and lie and report back that things were fine, work was keeping him busy as usual but he was looking after himself, eating well, getting enough sleep; he was a picture of health. And then Kathryn would mention that she’d got some nice steaks in and her and Frank were planning a quiet night in and they’d love for him to go over and spend the evening with them.

  And Payne would refuse—politely. But a polite refusal didn’t fall lightly on Kathryn’s ears: it never did, and she’d try to persuade him some more, maybe throw a bit of guilt at him for not coming over as much as they’d like him to. Eventually Frank would take over and the change would be refreshing for a couple of minutes because all Frank wanted was an easy life and in all honesty Payne suspected Frank wanted to be left alone as much as he did. The last thing either of them wanted today was to see each other and talk about Anna.

  Anna was Payne’s late wife. She died a little over three years ago in a car accident. Today would have been their ninth wedding anniversary.

  There was a plain silver frame on the edge of his desk and he looked over at the photo of Anna. She was smiling at the camera—smiling at him. That had been taken on their last holiday together, a cheap getaway to the Canary Islands. Payne had gotten ill from the all-inclusive resort and spent a day in the hotel room complaining about foreign food. Anna looked after him, making sure he had plenty of bottled water and books to read and when the boredom of being ill on holiday reached a low, Anna had appeared with a mischievous grin and a television set and they had watched Friends in Spanish.

  Carter knocked on the door and entered. “Guv, I spoke to the hospital ten minutes ago. Cindy Harding's been missing since this morning. With all that’s happened today, they’ve not been able to get through to us. Looks like she's absconded.”

  “But she'd been stabbed. I thought it was serious.”

  “So did I,” she said shrugging her shoulders.

  Payne sat and tapped his fingers on the desk, drumming a rhythm to the thoughts racing through his head.

  “She's missing?” he said slowly.

  “Yes. The doctors were surprised. Her injuries couldn't have seemed as bad as they'd first assessed.”

  “Do you think Max will be after her?”

  “Every chance,” she replied.

  “Then we should try to find her. Can we spare anyone?”

  “I’ll sort it sir. We’ve also got a few witnesses from the restaurant who say they got a decent look at the shooter and we’ll run it through the databases.”

  “Go home, and get some sleep.”

  “What about your sir?” Carter asked.

  “I’m going home too.”

  Carter tilted her head. “Aren’t we going to interview Carey now?”

  “He can wait. After the bang he had on his head, I don’t think his brief will thank us for questioning him straight away. No, you get off. I’ve a couple of calls to make, then I’m out of here too.”

  Payne headed back to his office, and waited for Carter to get her stuff and leave. She headed out with Nixon as per usual, and he watched them both leave before he sprung to his feet, and headed down to the cells. That bastard wasn’t going to have the luxury of a good night’s sleep.

  20

  Payne entered Carey’s cell and the door clanged in its frame behind him. Carey, who’d been lying down on the metal bunk, slowly eased himself into a sitting position.

  “How’s the head?” Payne asked quietly.

  “OK,” replied Carey, rubbing his eyes. “I suppose some more ibuprofen is out of the question.”

  “And the hand?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine too,” said Carey, refusing to break eye contact.

  “You’re not wearing a dressing.”

  “What?”

  “On your hand.”

  Carey clenched his fists and rested his hands beside him on the bunk. “It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

  Payne didn’t know why he was lying. He’d seen the red of the blood and could still picture the fork piercing the back of his hand, and Carey’s reaction at the time certainly hadn’t been one of ambivalence as it was now. Payne let it go; if Carey wanted to pretend he hadn’t been injured, that was up to him.

  “I’m sorry, it’s late. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Carey smiled. “Of course you didn’t. What time is it anyway?” he said. “They took my watch.”

  Payne took his hand out of his pocket and checked the time, making a deliberate point of obscuring his own watch from Carey. He whistled softly. “Jesus, it is late.”

  “Cute. Really cute.”

  “The station’s quiet. Hardly anyone around at all. I was going to save your interview until the morning but I figured you’d be pretty anxious and I thought we could save some time and have a little chat now. Oil the wheels so to speak.”

  The man grinned. “Inspector, are you trying to intimidate me?” then he chuckled. “I’m sorry but this is brilliant. I hadn’t expected you to be so entertaining.”

  “Is that right.” Payne said softly, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

  But Carey hadn’t finished. “And if this is an official interview, perhaps we should go to an interview suite and get my solicitor here.”

  “I wasn't sure whether you'd want this conversation recorded. I wanted you to know you could talk freely.”

  Carey leaned forward on his bunk. “About what?”

  “Let me think,” said Payne indignantly. “I guess we could start by you explaining why you killed Charlie Harris tonight.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “No, that’s right, your accomplice did.”

  “I don’t have an accomplice. I never met that man before tonight.”

  “You were carrying a gun. There’s reason enough to bang you up right there. But, if only it was going to be that simple for you,” said Payne as he stepped away from the wall and started pacing the room, in slow confident strides. “I don’t know what we could pin on you. There’s the weapon, of course; pointing it at a police officer in a crowded restaurant wasn’t that smart. I suppose we could charge you with attempted kidnapping, but really that’s nothi
ng compared to being an accessory to murder.” Payne stepped closer. He clenched his fists tightly feeling the nails biting into his palm.

  “I’m not saying anything until you get my solicitor here.”

  “I want to know three things,” said Payne looking Carey straight in the eye. “What was in that file? Where can I find Thadeus? And what do you know about the blanks?”

  “Jesus, you don’t expect a lot do you?” Carey said, shuffling on his bunk. “I thought you were meant to be a detective. What happened to the custody sergeant? Turn a blind eye did he?”

  “What was in that file?”

  “Stuff you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Tell me,” Payne thundered.

  Carey flinched, then a frown appeared on his tired, grey face. “I’m going to do you a favour. Leave now and I won’t mention this transgression of my rights to my solicitor. If I were you, I’d back off this investigation.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No Inspector. I’m being brutally honest with you. More so than I should be. This case isn’t going to get your name in the papers or get any bad guys off the street. Pain is the only thing you’re going to find at the end of this investigation—for you, and everyone around you.”

  Carey didn't see the fist coming. Payne surprised both of them with how quickly he'd leapt across the room to lamp one on him. Carey rubbed his jaw and was about to shout for help when Payne's hands grabbed Carey's shirt under the chin and cracked his head against the brickwork.

  “Now are you listening to me?”

  Carey could do little more than bob his head in a gentle nod. Payne's grip was under his chin, pushing up and back against his windpipe. His face was red. His eyes showing the first sign of fear.

  “If you don't want to answer my questions now, fair enough, don't answer them. But think on this, if you get out of here, there's one seriously pissed off detective with a whole load of resources at his disposal with a very long memory and all the time in the world to get his satisfaction.”

  Payne let go and Carey slumped back on the bunk, gasping for air. When he could finally muster a sentence, he glared at Payne, any fear evaporated. “Back to basics,” exclaimed Carey as he rubbed his neck. “Good old fashioned police brutality. I thought you lot went the way of the dinosaur. But it won’t help you. I’m done giving you advice.”

  “Whatever it takes to get the job done, that's who I am. Now where were we? Questions, that's right. And this time, without the attitude.”

  Carey looked away, then sighed and closed his eyes.

  “What was in the file your accomplice took from Charlie Harris?”

  “No comment.”

  “What do you know about the attack on this police station?”

  “No comment.”

  “Where can I find Thadeus?”

  Carey’s eyes snapped open.

  Suddenly Carey clutched his chest with both hands and gasped in pain. He bent forward on the bunk and shuddered in a deep powerful spasm.

  Payne dropped beside him, knees cracked on the tiles, and helped him sit upright. “What's the matter? What's wrong?” His immediate fear was that this was somehow brought about by the punch he'd laid on him, or the bang against the wall, but he can’t have hit him that hard, surely. But Carey waved his hands and gestured that Payne should step back. Payne gave him room but stayed low, his anger at this man subdued by his concern for his wellbeing. When it became clear that the pain had gone, Payne relaxed a little.

  “What was that?” he asked the prisoner.

  Carey leaned back on the cot but kept his arms folded. “It's cold in here. Isn't it? Cold?”

  Payne tried to focus but it was proving difficult. He wanted to get back to his questioning but now didn't seem the time to ply the pressure on.

  “Do you need a doctor?” he asked.

  Carey reached for the coarse grey blanket at the end of his bunk and draped it around his shoulders, cocooning himself. “It seems I’m more disposable than I thought. Thadeus isn’t happy that I’m here. It’s going to get pretty difficult for me to answer any questions in a few minutes Inspector. I need to get to a hospital. I don’t have much time.”

  “Tell me what I want to know, then I’ll get you to hospital.”

  Carey let the blanket fall and he lurched off the bunk and stumbled to the door. “I need a doctor!” He pounded the door with his fist.

  Payne dragged him back, and for a moment they struggled as Payne pushed him back to the bunk, but Carey didn’t put up much resistance.

  “Talk to me. I can protect you.”

  Carey shook his head, and looked at Payne with sad eyes. “No, you can’t. No one can.”

  “I’ll get you to hospital. Just tell me what I need to know.”

  “I don’t know what was in the file. Thadeus didn’t tell me. He just wanted me to stop Charlie talking to you.”

  “What might Charlie have told me? Something about this case? Something from his past?”

  “It’s all connected. Your murder, the blanks, our Charlie.”

  Carey coughed. Payne saw misty cold air leave his mouth like he was stood out in the cold. But it was warm in the cells.

  “What's wrong with you?”

  “Thadeus knows I’m here.” Carey smiled, his face pale. “Things don't always pan out as you envisage them do they Inspector? Did you see yourself in the police for the rest of your life?”

  Payne shrugged his shoulders.

  Carey continued. “Like that with me. My dad used to tell me to go with the flow. Path of least resistance and all that.” Carey paused then removed the blanket. He looked up and Payne could see the breath coming out of his nose and mouth was now a steady stream of white air. With shaking fingers he tried to undo the buttons on his shirt.

  “What are you doing? I'll get a doctor.” Payne started for the door but Carey blustered “No! I need to show you.” The shivering in Carey was advanced now, his fingers couldn't manage with the buttons on his shirt so with one frustrated effort, Carey yanked the shirt open. Buttons popped onto the tiles.

  With the shirt undone, Payne could see the discolouration of the man's skin more clearly. The paleness that Payne had noticed on Carey's face was all over the man's abdomen. Carey's lips were tinged blue as were his fingers.

  With stumbling fingers Carey moved the shirt aside from his chest so Payne could see above the man's hip. There was what looked like an infection, a scab or some other scar tissue. But it was moving, growing and pulsating as Payne watched.

  “Ca—careful. Don't let it to—touch you.” Carey stammered.

  “Jesus, what the hell is it?” Payne asked. Around the edge of the moving scab, Payne thought he recognised puncture wounds.

  “It's insurance. Thadeus doesn't want me in your custody any longer”

  Payne wrapped the blanket back around Carey's shoulders and started for the door.

  “To—too late.” Carey whispered.

  Then he screamed as a layer of frost spread outwards from the pulsating bite mark, up his neck and enveloped his face, filling his mouth with ice and clouding his eyes. Seconds was all it took for him to become a silent ice statue, sitting hunched on the bunk.

  Payne staggered back.

  Then Carey shattered into a million tiny fragments.

  21

  For the first time in a month Payne didn't wake from a nightmare about the car crash. There was someone in his house, moving around in the kitchen. He propped himself up in his empty bed, and squinted at the clock radio. It was shortly after midnight.

  His heart was galloping. Calm, keep calm. Don’t let the fear overwhelm you. They’ll be more scared than you are and that’s how we’re going to get through this.

  He leaned towards the open doorway and strained to hear the noises that had pulled him from his sleep. He heard a cupboard door close. His heart skipped a beat. Shit.

  Payne stretched his eyes open wide and blinked a couple of times. A glow came up the stair
s. The cheeky bastards had turned the kitchen light on; he was being robbed in his own home in the middle of the night, and the burglars didn't even have the shame to work by torchlight. If they weren’t worried about working quietly they could be high on something.

  The metal pole beside his bed was a remnant from a floor standing lamp that fell out of favour when Anna had last decorated the lounge. He fished it out from under the bed. Payne didn't care that the courts might consider such an item a weapon. When he’d been working on the Barry Johnson case in 2003, he’d been on the receiving end of some nasty intimidation, and threats against him and Anna. Although she’d disapproved, she’d never made him remove it from the bedroom. He crept out of the bed gripping the pole, reassured by the solid weight of the cold steel. He rested it on the bed a moment whilst he pulled on a t-shirt.

  Every floorboard across the room creaked alarmingly as he inched across the room and out onto the landing. His heart raced.

  What were they after?

  A nasty thought crossed his mind; Carey and his accomplice had been carrying guns.

  Suddenly the metal rod in his hand seemed pathetic and amateurish.

  The treads on the stairs made as much noise as the floorboards upstairs and Payne considered whether it would be better to rush them and make good whatever was left of his surprise element. But the shuffling around the kitchen continued with another cupboard door opening and closing.

  If he thought any more about this, he was going to lose his bottle. Payne hurried down the remaining stairs and kicked the kitchen door open.

  The woman from Taylor's office was sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water in one hand, sipping it like it was Chardonnay, whilst in the other she held a gun, aimed at Payne’s chest.

  “What the hell—get the hell out of here!” Payne said.

  “We need to talk,” she said sternly. “Sit down.” She gestured that Payne should take a seat at the table. He did so, then put his metal bar on the table. “Nothing stronger?” she indicated the glass of water in her hand. “I've been looking but all I found was coke and milk.”