Ghost Virus

by Graham Masterton

  Jerry and Jamila sat down on opposite sides of the bed. Mindy looked suspiciously from one to the other.

  ‘I know you,’ she said, in a husky whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jamila. ‘We talked to you before, if you remember, outside that house on Pretoria Road. I’m Detective Sergeant Jamila Patel, and this is Detective Constable Jerry Pardoe. We need to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it.’

  ‘What difference will it make?’ said Mindy. ‘I am dying.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Jamila told her. ‘You’ve had a traumatic experience, and you’ve had to undergo some quite extensive surgery, but you don’t need to worry. Before you know it you’ll be feeling much better.’

  ‘You are wrong. I am dying. I know what dying feels like. I have died before.’

  ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ Jerry asked her.

  ‘I told you before. Varvara.’

  Jerry looked across the bed at Jamila. ‘We were right,’ he said. He nodded his head in the direction of Sophie’s room and then he mouthed the words ‘they’re both Varvara’.

  ‘How did you die, Varvara?’ asked Jamila, taking hold of Mindy’s hand.

  ‘I had the flu. I couldn’t breathe. They took me to the hospital but I caught pneumonia. I don’t want to die like that again. It was like drowning, except in bed.’

  ‘Varvara, you can’t have your time over again,’ said Jamila. ‘You’ve taken over this poor young girl’s mind and body and you’ve made her commit the most appalling crimes.’

  ‘What else could I do? I needed to eat,’ said Mindy. ‘There’s only one way that I can come back to life, and that’s if I eat. And who cares about this young girl? She’s a nobody. My life is the only life that’s important.’

  ‘You’ve had your life, Varvara. Mindy’s only nine. She deserves to have hers.’

  ‘Ha! She will now, won’t she? If I don’t get anything to eat, I’m going to be dead in two days. This time I won’t even have a funeral.’

  ‘You have to have human flesh, though, don’t you, to stay alive?’ Jerry asked her.

  ‘Of course I do, because my body has been cremated. I am nothing but ashes, so I need to rebuild myself. How can I rebuild myself with anything else but human flesh?’

  ‘Is there any way in which I can speak to Mindy?’ asked Jamila.

  Mindy stared at her for a moment, and then said, ‘No. Why would you want to do that?’

  ‘She’s still inside you?’

  ‘She’s sleeping.’

  ‘But she’s still alive, and she’s safe?’

  ‘I need to eat. I’m so hungry I could eat my own arms. Can’t you please, please find me something to eat? This is a hospital, isn’t it? There must be sick or dead people here that nobody wants.’

  ‘Varvara, tell me something about yourself,’ said Jamila. ‘Where were you born?’

  ‘What do you care? I’m starving.’

  ‘It might help us to understand what’s happened to you... How you came to take over Mindy’s body. And if we can understand that – I don’t know, we may be able to help you in some way.’

  ‘What – you’re going to help me die? It was bad enough the first time. This is going to be worse.’

  ‘Please, just tell us where you came from, originally.’

  ‘I was born in Vilnius,’ said Mindy. ‘October the 12th, 1951.’

  ‘Vilnius? That’s the capital of Lithuania, right?’ said Jerry.

  Mindy looked at him as if he were retarded. ‘Of course. Where else?’

  ‘So when did you come to England?’

  ‘In 1991. I met my husband Wiktor when he came to Lithuania to work for Achema the fertiliser company, in Jonava. In 1989 there was a big explosion in the factory and a huge cloud of ammonia gas spread over the countryside. I breathed it in, and after that I always suffered problems with my lungs. Wiktor got a job here, in Merton, and we came here to live, but my chest always hurt and I was always catching cold. That was why I died before my time. Don’t you think I deserve a new life?’

  ‘Not at Mindy’s expense, love,’ said Jerry. ‘You’ve ruined this young girl for ever. She’s murdered her own parents and mutilated that bloke who picked her up, even if he was asking for it. When you’re dead and she’s got her own body back, how do you think she’s going to deal with that? I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t go mental.’

  Mindy closed her eyes while Jerry was talking, as if to show him that she wasn’t listening. When he had finished, she suddenly opened them again and blinked, and clutched at her sheet. ‘What is that light?’ she demanded.

  ‘What light?’

  ‘That red light! Why are they shining that red light in my eyes?’

  ‘Nobody’s shining any light in your eyes, Varvara. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘It’s blinding me!’ she said, angrily, covering her eyes with both hands. ‘Tell them to stop!’

  ‘I’ll fetch the nurse,’ said Jamila. She reached over and pressed the button to call for assistance.

  ‘It’s blinding me! I can’t see!’

  A nurse appeared, followed by Cherry Mwandi. Mindy kept her hands pressed over her eyes, but said nothing else, even when the nurse asked her what was wrong.

  After two or three minutes, she took her hands away and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Varvara? Can you answer some more questions?’ asked Jamila, but she didn’t respond.

  ‘I think it would be better to leave her for now,’ said Cherry Mwandi. ‘Dr Stewart’s anxious that she doesn’t get too distraught. We don’t yet fully understand her condition, but mentally she seems to be right on the edge, and we don’t want her suffering a stroke or any other kind of a seizure.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Jamila. ‘Perhaps you could call us again when she improves.’

  Jerry and Jamila left Springfield hospital and drove through heavy traffic back to the station. On the way, Jamila prodded intently at her iPhone, and didn’t look up until they had to stop at the junction with Tooting Broadway.

  While they waited for the traffic lights to change to green, Jerry said, ‘What do you think that was all about? All that fuss about a red light?’

  ‘I can’t even guess,’ said Jamila. ‘But she’s in such a peculiar psychological state, who can tell? What really disturbed me was everything that she was saying about her life in Lithuania. If she isn’t possessed by Varvara, how could she possibly know about that explosion at the fertiliser factory? I’ve just Googled it and it happened in 1989 exactly like she said.’

  ‘Blimey.’

  ‘Yes – it produced a cloud of ammonia gas seven kilometres wide and fifty kilometres long and seven people in the surrounding towns were killed. Hundreds of other people suffered from cardiac arrest and respiratory problems.’

  ‘Well, if it really is her, skip, that sort of fits in with what I was thinking about the red light. It could be that it’s infrared.’

  ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘She’s inside Mindy, isn’t she, and at the same time she’s inside Sophie Marshall, so she can be in two places at once, right? But maybe that means she can be in any number of places at once. Maybe she’s still inside her jacket, too. Dr Fuller’s sent the jacket to Lambeth Road for forensics, and one of the first things they’ll be doing there is putting it under an IR spectroscope.’

  ‘And you think that’s what she could see?’

  ‘I’m only guessing, but it could have been. And another thing – if she’s still inside that jacket, nobody else had better try it on. They might end up like Sophie and Mindy. The same could apply to that coat that Samira and Jamie were both wearing, and Laura Miller’s coat, and David Nelson’s sweater.’

  ‘Well, I doubt if anybody will try them on, but I’ll warn them all the same. I don’t have to explain the reason, do I?’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ said Jerry, as they turned into the station car park. ‘But then again, we don’t really know the reason ours
elves, do we?’

  42

  Jerry wasn’t sure why, but as the afternoon wore on, he began to have a feeling that something bad was about to happen. He hadn’t felt like this since he had walked into the Two Chairmen pub in Dartmouth Street near New Scotland Yard and seen two detectives deep in conversation with what they called their CRO friends – meaning convicted criminals whose names were listed in the Criminal Records Office – and then an envelope changing hands.

  Although it was only 3:15, the sky had grown almost black, and fat spots of rain started to speckle the windows. At the same time, the station was unnaturally hushed, with nobody shouting or whistling or banging doors. A phone was ringing somewhere along the corridor, and it went on and on ringing as if nobody was ever going to answer it.

  He heard squeaking footsteps outside the open door of the CID room, and DI French appeared. He was chafing his hands together and looked extremely pleased with himself.

  ‘Liepa’s up in front of the magistrates first thing tomorrow morning, Jerry, so I hope you’ve got your statement all sorted.’

  ‘Just doing that now, guv,’ Jerry told him.

  ‘Shouldn’t take long. They’ll pass it straight on to the Crown Court. Hope he gets twenty-nine years, the bastard.’

  ‘Do we know a date for Whitey’s funeral yet?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said DI French. ‘Next Thursday afternoon, two o’clock, Southwark Cathedral. It’s going to be the full ceremonial... Met service colour party, horse-drawn hearse, guard of honour, the lot. Callow’s PA can give you all of the details.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  DI French hesitated in the doorway. ‘By the bye... how’s it going with those two who got torn to bits on Rookstone Road? I was asking Saunders about it, but he was cagey, to say the least. He told me you suspect that a gang did it, but apart from that he wouldn’t elaborate.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s holding anything back from you, guv. The fact is that we don’t have any eye-witnesses and so far the CSEs haven’t given us anything to go on.’

  ‘Strange one. Very strange. Reminds me of my very first murder case. A pregnant woman was found floating in the lido with no head and no legs. That was supposed to be gang-related. I always reckoned it was one of the Tooting Trap Stars but we never did find out who did it.’

  ‘Well, maybe this is a little different,’ said Jerry.

  ‘Tooting Boys? They’re always chopping each other up with axes, aren’t they?’

  Jerry was tempted to tell him about the empty coats, but all he could do was shrug and go back to his laptop. DI Saunders had insisted that apart from Jerry and Jamila and those officers who had already seen clothes moving on their own, nobody else should be told who their suspects really were – not until it became impossible to keep it under wraps any longer. Even Inspector Callow was still under the impression that they were looking for a marauding gang of young men – maybe Asian or West Indian – and not empty coats.

  Jerry continued to prod at his keyboard with two fingers. The vehicle driven by Herkus Adomaitis with Jokubas Liepa in the front passenger seat was in collision with Police Constable White

  He was still painstakingly typing when he heard a sudden barrage of doors slamming, and shouting, and the sound of running feet. He stood up and went to the door to see what the noise was all about, and as he did so he heard sirens wailing and scribbling outside, and tyres screeching as patrol cars pulled out of the station car park, at least four or five of them, one after the other. Almost immediately, his phone rang.

  ‘Jerry?’ It was DI Saunders, and he sounded breathless, as if he had been running. ‘I’m in the control room. You need to come down here now.’

  ‘What’s up, guv?’

  ‘Come down and see for yourself. About ten minutes ago Sergeant Bristow had a call from the Crime Watch Manager at Wandsworth. Four or five charity shops along the Broadway and Mitcham Road had their front windows smashed, almost simultaneously, as well as Primark and some fashion store called Xclusive. Now there’s gangs running through the streets attacking pedestrians, knocking them over and pushing them into traffic.’

  ‘When you say “gangs”—’

  ‘You can’t see them too clearly on the monitor. But we’re getting dozens of 999 calls, and they’re all saying the same thing. They’re being attacked by coats and jackets and sweaters with nobody in them. No heads, no legs, but causing multiple serious injuries. It’s hard to estimate how many there are, but we’ve dispatched six units to start with, as well as two ARVs. If this starts to get out of control, though, we may need to call in more.’

  ‘OK, guv. I’ll be right down.’

  Jerry unhooked his raincoat from the back of the door, slung it over his shoulder and hurried downstairs to the control room. He found DI Saunders and DC Willis and Sergeant Bristow staring at the six CCTV slave monitors that were connected to the main crime watch centre at Wandsworth Town Hall. One of the screens showed the junction of Tooting Broadway and Mitcham Road, where traffic was at a standstill and people were running between the stationary cars in apparent panic.

  At first it wasn’t easy to see what they were running from, but then twenty or thirty figures appeared around the front of the Tube station, past the statue of Edward VII, and although many of them were hooded, Jerry could see that their hoods were dark and empty, like the coats that had attacked him and Alice. Then he saw headless sweaters, and dresses, too.

  When they caught up with any of the fleeing shoppers, they either seized them and started beating them or else they pushed them into the road.

  ‘This is really happening, isn’t it?’ said DI Saunders, and his voice was flat with dread. ‘It’s not mass hysteria. It’s really bloody happening.’

  ‘Yes, guv.’

  ‘We need to get down there now. Where’s DS Patel?’

  ‘She went out about twenty minutes ago to grab a bite to eat at Samrat’s,’ said Jerry. ‘I’ll give her a bell.’

  ‘All right. Let me know when she gets back. I’ll just go and update Callow and I’ll meet you out front.’

  Jerry went down to the front desk and picked up a set of car keys. Sergeant Clark was there, grizzled and paunchy and grey-haired. ‘Bleeding pandemonium out there,’ he said. ‘Bleeding World War Three.’

  Jerry went out to the car park. He had to jump back when another patrol car came speeding out with its blue lights flashing and its siren blaring. Then he went over and climbed into an unmarked silver Mondeo, driving it out of the station and parking across the road to wait for Jamila. While he waited, he listened to the frantic reports that were coming in over the Airwave radio.

  ‘There’s more than a hundred of them gathered outside the Tube station. I don’t believe what I’m seeing! They’re fucking coats!’

  ‘We’ve got more of them running south on the Broadway from Garratt Lane. Fifty or sixty at least. Coats and jackets and shirts and Christ knows what.’

  ‘They’re all across the road and they’re not stopping for nothing – not even for buses.’

  Jamila reached the car and opened the passenger door, and Jerry caught a waft of curry. As she climbed in, DI Saunders came hurrying down the steps in front of the station. He crossed the road and sat himself down in the back.

  ‘Right, let’s go,’ he said. ‘I need to see this with my own eyes. Callow’s arranging back-up with riot gear from Sutton nick, and the ASU are sending a helicopter over from Lippitt’s Hill.’

  Jerry pulled out and started to drive towards Amen Corner, but as soon as he reached it he found that the main Mitcham Road was gridlocked with cars and buses. Some drivers had climbed out of their cars to try to see what the hold-up was. He switched on the Mondeo’s blue flashing lights and gave occasional whoops on the siren, and when two cars had backed up to let him through, he managed to steer his way slowly down the centre of the road in between the two opposing lines of traffic.

  They had only reached the Granada Bingo Hall when they saw the first
people running. They looked as if they were trying to get away from a terrorist attack – only a few at first, but then more and more. Jerry saw mothers desperately pushing baby buggies and carrying small children, while some shoppers were throwing aside their carrier-bags so that they could run faster. One Asian man was even carrying an elderly woman in a hijab over his shoulder, with her skinny ankles dangling.

  Then, close behind the crowds of running people, the coats and the jackets began to appear. Jerry could see them bobbing up and down – black and khaki and navy-blue coats, as well as brown and chequered jackets and dark grey anoraks. They were headless, but whirling their sleeves, and billowing along the pavement in the same way that the black raincoat had flown down the road when Jerry was chasing it.

  Whenever the coats caught up with any of the fleeing shoppers, they snatched at their arms and wound their sleeves around them. Then they swung them violently sideways, so that they were thumped against the nearest shop frontage, or doorway, or lamp-post. If they weren’t concussed the first time, the coats swung them again and again until blood was spattered across the pavement and up the shop windows. After the shoppers had dropped to the pavement, the coats rolled them over so that they were lying face down, and then twisted their sleeves around their heads and jerked them back, and it looked as if they were breaking their necks.

  There were scores of assorted clothes, and they were tumbling along so fast that they began to overtake the shoppers, only to turn around and snatch at their arms as they desperately tried to dodge their way past. So many beaten and bloody bodies were now heaped on the pavements that the shoppers following them were stumbling over them, and that made them easy pickings for the hordes of coats and jackets coming up behind them.