Department 18 [04] A Plague of Echoes

by Maynard Sims

  “Oh my Christ!” Tyler heard Barnes say, followed a second later by the sound of him retching noisily.

  She turned in the room slowly. Barnes was bent double, losing his lunch on the linoleum floor. Foster was just standing stock-still, white-faced, staring at something in the corner. Something that looked like it had just come from an abattoir.

  It took Tyler a full three seconds to realize he was staring at the mutilated and decapitated remains of Fiona Meredith.

  Behind her the humming continued as Mae Middleton crooned a lullaby to Fiona Meredith’s disembodied head, nestled carefully in her lap. Gently and lovingly, she stroked the auburn hair and continued to smile at them.

  Chapter Four

  Trudy closed the file and yawned. Rubbing her eyes and stretching, she looked up at the wall clock. Ten past ten. Running the cursor over the screen, she hit the Shut Down icon.

  “That’s it for tonight. Above and beyond the call of duty,” she said to herself. She found she was doing that more and more these days, since Eric left. The thought of going back to her empty flat in Clerkenwell held little appeal for her now. At work she had colleagues, friends, almost like a family. At home she had nothing except for a handful of happy memories and a mountain of regrets.

  Switching off the lights to the office, she walked the corridor to the lift and headed down to the ground floor. Tom McLeod, the night duty officer, was sitting at his desk, head buried in the latest copy of Angler’s Digest. He glanced up at her as she passed his desk.

  “Late one tonight, Trudy?”

  “No rest for the wicked, Tom.”

  “Then you must be more wicked than most,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I can use my imagination.”

  “Just don’t think about it too hard, Tom, because the reality could never measure up. Good night.”

  “Hey, listen, I heard about Mr. Crozier. How the hell did that happen? Who’d want to hurt him?”

  “Harry Bailey’s looking into it. He’ll get us some answers.”

  Tom McLeod nodded thoughtfully. “You’re probably right. Bailey’s a bit of a legend around here. I know he’s had his problems in the past, but he’s a good man.”

  “One of the best, Tom. One of the best.”

  Once she hit the street Trudy picked up her pace on her walk to the underground station. She toyed with the idea of grabbing a taxi and going back to the hospital but commonsense prevailed. Better to go home and get to bed. Who knew what tribulations tomorrow would bring?

  “My name’s Fiona, Mae. I’m here to help you. Do you understand?”

  Fiona Meredith’s Roedean accent sounded even more cut glass as it issued from the speakers of the digital recorder.

  “Do you understand, Mae?” Gentle, encouraging.

  “Have they sent you to help me find Barney?” Mae Middleton’s voice—weak, pleading.

  “I’m sure Barney will be fine, Mae. But you on the other hand… Do you realize that you’re in a lot of trouble?”

  “He needs his medication, you see? And he won’t let anyone else give him his pills.”

  “Do you remember being on the South Bank this evening? By the Thames, Mae? Do you remember that?”

  A long pause. Just the sound of breathing. Mae’s slightly wheezy, whistling through her nose.

  “Mae? Do remember what happened this evening?”

  “Barney ran away. Took one look at me and crashed through the cat flap as if the devil himself was after him.”

  An audible click of the tongue as Fiona Meredith started to lose patience.

  “I saw him run into next door’s garden, and they hate cats. They chase them away with a big syringe full of water. I do hope he’s all right.”

  “Mae, this evening on the South Bank…”

  “She’s worried about her cat, you stupid cunt! Are you too thick to see that?”

  Another voice. Male. Coarse and very loud.

  Susan Tyler hit the Back button and played the section again.

  “She’s worried about her cat, you stupid cunt! Are you too thick to see that?”

  “Who the fuck is that?” she said quietly, even though she was alone in the anteroom.

  The recording continued to play.

  “Mae. I don’t under… Mae?”

  “Poor little rich girl, working for a drunk.” His voice again, contemptuous, needling.

  “Who are you? Mae, why are you…”

  Fiona’s voice silenced by the cracking sound of skin hitting skin. A yelp. Fiona.

  “Oh my God! What are you? Mae? Get away from me!”

  The crashing of a chair as it toppled to the floor. A rustling sound as Fiona scrabbled away from her attacker.

  “No! Please! Oh, my God! My God, help me!”

  A scream followed by some of the most disgusting noises Susan Tyler had ever heard.

  Rending, sucking, tearing sounds as Fiona Meredith was ripped to shreds.

  Tyler switched off the recording and stood there, leaning her knuckles on the table to steady herself, the blood leeching from her face as she fought back the nausea threatening to overwhelm her.

  Bailey looked up as Tyler hurried into the reception area and crossed to where he was sitting.

  “There’s something I need you to hear,” she said in a whisper. “Quickly,” she added.

  “What’s going on?” Middleton said, getting to his feet.

  Tyler wheeled on him. “Not now, Mr. Middleton.”

  “But I demand you tell me what’s going on. She’s my mother, and if anything’s happened to her, I have a right to know.”

  “You will be told when we have a clearer idea ourselves. Mr. Bailey, please. If you could.”

  “Not good enough,” Middleton said, grabbing Tyler’s arm. “Not nearly good enough.”

  Tyler reacted quickly, grabbing Middleton’s hand and twisting his arm behind his back, pushing upwards until the hand was between his shoulder blades.

  Middleton yelped and staggered forwards. Tyler let him go but his momentum was too great and he kept on going, crashing into the row of chairs and scattering the empty ones. He hit the wall with a thud and sank to his knees.

  The only thing that was seriously hurt was his pride. He glared up at Susan Tyler venomously. “You’re finished, Tyler. I have witnesses. I’m going to make sure Ms. Meredith gets a full report of this incident.”

  T returned the glare but said nothing, turning her attention instead to Bailey.

  Bailey stood. “We’ll let you lead the way,” he said.

  In the corridors leading to the interview room Susan Tyler explained what had happened.

  “Good God,” Jane said. “The poor girl.”

  “How did Mae Middleton summon the strength to tear her apart like that?” McKinley asked.

  “I’m hoping that’s what you’re going to tell me. This is outside my sphere of experience. And we haven’t got long,” Tyler said. “S.O.C.O. are on their way here, as well as a full forensic team. They should arrive in about half an hour. The Chief Superintendant may be longer. He’s at a golf club dinner and is thoroughly pissed off at being dragged away from it.”

  “Can I see the body?” Bailey said.

  “No, I can’t let you do that. We won’t disturb the crime scene unless it’s absolutely necessary. Is it absolutely necessary?”

  Bailey shook his head. “Curiosity more than anything else.”

  “Perhaps we’d better hear the recording then,” Jane said, as they moved into a side room.

  “I’ve never heard anything like it,” Tyler said as she reached out and pressed the Play button.

  “Possession,” Bailey said as soon as the male voice manifested.

  “You can tell just by listening to t
he recording?” Tyler said.

  “It’s my best guess,” Bailey said. “I’ve heard similar things before. Demonic voices, speaking in tongues; it’s all part of Satan’s arsenal.”

  “Satan?” Tyler said.

  “A shorthand term for ultimate evil,” Bailey explained.

  “It would explain the strength needed to rip off the poor girl’s head,” McKinley said.

  “Are you sure it was just the two of them in the room?” Jane said. “No one else could have got in there?”

  “I had Barnes stationed in here. There was no one else in the room.” Tyler stopped for a moment and ran a hand through her perfectly cut bob, sweeping it away from her face. “I really don’t believe this. I’m standing here having a conversation about demonic possession with three psychics. It’s not exactly my average Wednesday night.”

  “What are you going to tell Mr. Middleton? Jane asked.

  “I’ll tell him we’ve locked his mother in a cell pending further investigations. I’ll have to wing it when he starts asking more difficult questions. How the hell do you explain something like this?”

  Andy Foster stuck his head round the door. “S.O.C.O.’s here, ma’am.”

  “That was quick. Okay, Andy, send them along.”

  “I take it I won’t be allowed to see Mrs. Middleton now?” Jane said.

  “After what’s just happened it’s not such a good idea, Jane. Plus the fact we have no jurisdiction,” Bailey said.

  “Unless we make it official,” McKinley said.

  Bailey shook his head. “We haven’t been asked to do that.” He turned to Tyler. “Do you want it made official?”

  “To be honest, Mr. Bailey, I think we’re going to need all the help we can get on this one. But decisions like that are way above my pay scale. Wait until I’ve spoken with Chief Superintendant Dickens.”

  Bailey took out a business card and handed it to her. “This is my direct line. Call when you need me.”

  She took the card and slipped it into the top pocket of her jacket. “I will,” she said.

  She watched them as they walked to the door. “Wait!”

  They paused at the door and turned back to look at her.

  Tyler stood there, indecision playing on her face. “I can give you ten minutes with Mae. Is that enough?”

  “It’s a start,” Bailey said.

  “Do you know your name?” McKinley said.

  The three of them were in the ten-foot-by-ten-foot holding cell standing just inside the locked door. Mae Middleton sat on a low bunk, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, a look of total confusion in her eyes. She shook her head in answer to McKinley’s question.

  “Mae?” Jane said gently. “We’re here to help you.”

  Bailey was standing just behind the others, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he probed his way into the old woman’s mind.

  He was looking out at a neatly kept garden, island beds set in a manicured lawn. Goldfinch clustered around a large Perspex bird feeder, ten or twelve of them, flying to the feeder, settling for a moment before plucking nyger seeds from the slots in the Perspex and fluttering away again. A riot of gold, blue and red, they seemed to be working some kind of system so that they all fed. Away in the distance, on the far side of the garden, a ginger cat was curled up asleep on a wooden bench. Despite being yards away, Bailey could hear it purring contentedly.

  In a large greenhouse at the end of the garden a shadow moved behind the glass. Black and amorphous it swirled and eddied, hiding from sight and yet watching and knowing.

  Bailey snapped open his eyes and stepped forward, grabbing Mae Middleton by the shoulders and shaking her. “I know you’re in there, you bastard! Show yourself!”

  Mae flinched, a look of fear replacing the confusion in her eyes.

  Jane grabbed his arm. “Harry, she’s an old lady,” she said.

  Bailey shook her again. “You’re in the greenhouse. I can see you. I know you’re there.”

  Jane exchanged looks with McKinley. “Greenhouse?”

  “Fuck you!” The voice seemed to fill the tiny cell. Rough and discordant, it sounded as though it were being played through a badly programmed synthesizer.

  Bailey recoiled, letting go of the woman’s shoulders and taking a step back.

  Mae was grinning, her mouth stretched wide, showing a set of gleaming false teeth. “You’re pathetic, Bailey. Do you really think you’re a match for me?” Mae spoke, but although the lips moved they were out of synch with the harsh voice echoing off the walls of the cell.

  “At least I don’t have to cower away inside the body of an old lady,” Bailey said. “Who are you? At least let me know which demon it is I’m supposed to be battling.”

  “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

  Bailey clapped his hands very slowly. “Oh, very enigmatic,” he said sarcastically. “I bet you do a great line in melodramatic pronouncements too. It’s quite common with lesser demons, but very tiresome.”

  “I am Baal.”

  “Oh yes? Then I’m the Queen of Sheba,” Bailey said. “You’re no more Baal than I am. So who are you, and why have you decided to wreck this woman’s life?”

  “I am Baal.”

  “No, we’ve just laid that one to rest. I’ve met Baal and you’re not him. He wouldn’t waste his time with something as trivial as this.” Bailey paused and started to pace backwards and forwards in front of Mae. When Jane cleared her throat and tapped the face of her watch Bailey stopped pacing and stood directly in front of the old lady.

  “Show yourself,” he said.

  For a moment there was no reaction but then, after a second or two the grin slipped from the old woman’s face to be replaced by a scowl, followed by a look of confusion. Bailey closed his eyes, focused his thoughts and, with a flick of his hand, beckoned McKinley and Jane to do the same.

  With the three of them standing there concentrating, Mae Middleton’s body started to twitch. First the legs, and then the arms, within seconds her whole body was convulsing as the thing inside her tried and failed to battle the focused thoughts of the three of them.

  Mae threw back her head and stretched her mouth open wide. With a howl of rage she pitched forward and thick black liquid poured out of her mouth like water gushing from a hose. It formed a dense puddle that swirled and eddied before rising from the floor and coalesced into a shape that was vaguely human. For a moment it stood before them, swaying slightly, constantly shaping and reshaping itself, and, with a screech like a startled hyena, the black glistening figure threw itself backwards and sank into the grey-painted wall of the cell. In less than a second it had gone, leaving only a black stain on the brickwork.

  There was the click of a lock and the door swung inwards. Tyler entered the cell. “Time’s up, I’m afraid,” she said, and then her eyes settled on Mae Middleton, slumped sideways onto the bunk and breathing raggedly. Glancing around at the others she said, “What the hell happened here? I said you could talk to her, nothing else.”

  “We exorcised her,” Bailey said simply. “If that’s the correct term.”

  Tyler smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Fuck it! I knew it was a mistake, letting you in to see her.”

  “I’m not sure it was a demon,” Bailey said, looking to the others for confirmation.

  Both Jane and McKinley nodded in agreement.

  “It seemed more human than anything else,” Jane said.

  Tyler stared at them as if they were speaking a foreign language.

  “The distilled thoughts of one person, inhabiting Mae’s body and using her like a puppet,” Bailey said to himself, thinking aloud.

  “I know you’re having trouble assimilating all this, Detective Inspector,” Jane said. “But it’s a possible explanation. Someone…or something…using Mae as
a…well to put it simply…as a weapon.”

  “Why?” Tyler said.

  “That’s what we have to find out,” Bailey said.

  “Great, that helps a bunch,” Tyler said heavily. “And in the meantime, I have a god-awful mess to sort out. How do I explain this to the Chief Super?”

  “You don’t,” Bailey said. “I do. And if he’s a problem, then I’ll take it higher. To the Home Secretary if necessary.”

  “You can do that? Tyler said.

  “Yes,” Bailey said. “I can do that.”

  Tyler glanced down at Mae Middleton. “I’m calling an ambulance,” she said.

  “Probably for the best,” McKinley said.

  Tyler rolled her eyes. “What a bloody evening,” she said.

  Chapter Five

  Trudy Banks got off the underground at Farringdon Road and walked the quarter of a mile to her flat in St. John Street. The flat was a modern conversion, above a photographic studio, boasting solid oak floors and a crippling monthly rent. Living there on her own stretched her budget to its limits, but it was a totally different experience to living there with Eric. The tranquility alone was worth the extra money she had to find every month. When he left she set about redecorating and refurnishing the place. Now there was nothing cozy about the décor, nor about the red leather couches and the Danish-designed furniture. It was a smart and functional flat, a living space and no more than that. As if to reinforce that ambience, the stark white walls gave the impression of an empty canvas upon which she could paint, with broad brush strokes, the next chapter of her life.

  She let herself in to the flat, kicked her shoes off in the hallway, dropped her bag just inside the door and padded through to the ultramodern kitchen on stockinged feet. Switching on the espresso machine she checked for messages on her answer machine and turned on the flat-screen LED television fixed to the wall, to catch the late news.

  Trouble in the Middle East, riots in Stockholm, an epidemic of a super-flu virus sweeping Japan. No good news there then. As she pulled down the handle of the espresso machine and forced water through the rich Colombian coffee, an image of Simon Crozier lying in his hospital bed flashed into her thoughts and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. She’d done well back at the Department 18 offices, to block her feelings and keep the tears at bay. But work had that effect on her. It was her anesthetic, her defense against the more trying aspects of her life. Back in the seclusion of her flat her defenses crumbled and life came crashing in again.