Best New Zombie Tales, Vol 3

by James Roy Daley (ed)

  He turned away from her. "I'll see you again."

  Beth yanked open the door and virtually walked into the PC who was standing guard there. She motioned for him to lock the cell again.

  "Are you all right, Dr Preston?" he asked her.

  But she didn't hear him. She was looking through the slit in the door, watching the man in there as he held up a toy car and stared at it.

  "Dr Preston?" His fingertips brushed her arm and she jumped back. "I'm sorry."

  "Take me to Robbins," she said. "Take me to your DCI right now."

  ~

  For the third time that day there was a knock on the door.

  This time it was PC Valentine who answered it, welcoming in the visitor Mrs. Daley had called at his suggestion.

  "Is there anybody who could sit with you? Anybody you could ring?" said the black policeman once he'd finished taking her statement----a statement that made about as much sense as the rest of that morning's events.

  Mrs. Daley had nodded, and he'd handed her the cordless phone.

  Now he was here, standing at her door. And just as the dark uniform that Valentine wore betrayed his profession, so too did the dark shirt and suit that this man had on. But the most significant piece of attire was the dog collar at his neck.

  "Father Lilley?" asked Valentine of the priest who was only marginally younger than Mrs. Daley herself.

  He bowed his head in greeting. "Where's Irene... Mrs. Daley?"

  "Through here." Valentine took him to the dining room; he hadn't been able to get her back into the living room at all. She was sitting at a small round table with her hands clasped together, bible to the right of them.

  "Thank you, my son," said Lilley to the PC, noticing the woman flinch at those last two words. Then she got up and fell into the priest's arms.

  "Oh father, I'm so pleased to see you."

  "There, there," said Lilley, patting her back. "Whatever's the matter, Irene? I couldn't make head nor tail of your call." He looked to Valentine for an answer, but he was asking the wrong person.

  "Some... something terrible. Matthew..."

  The priest's expression changed and he cut short the embrace. "Matthew? I don't understand. I thought you'd had an intruder?"

  "She did," Valentine reported, "of a kind."

  "He... he looked just like Matthew, Father," Irene added.

  It seemed like Lilley didn't know what to say, then he talked slowly as if to a child. "Irene, haven't we talked about this before? Matthew's gone. He is with Our Savior the Lord where he has found his peace. 'His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and his dominion is from generation to generation.' The Book of Daniel, Chapter Four, Verse Three. Matthew wouldn't want you upsetting yourself like this, now, would he?"

  "He said he was Matthew."

  "The man in your house?"

  She nodded.

  "Said Arnold would have listened, would have believed him."

  "Irene, Matthew's no longer with us. I buried him myself."

  He saw that she remembered all too well that day: the angry clouds had gathered as if in sympathy, looking down at the patch of grass behind the church. A group of mourners, dressed in black, standing around the hole in the ground as the perfectly polished coffin with the brass handles was lowered into it.

  Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

  Irene had broken down on that day too. At one point he thought she might even stagger forward and follow the coffin into the ground. But instead she had held back, tears pouring from her eyes for a son who had been taken prematurely.

  "Officer, who was this man?" Lilley asked Valentine.

  "That's what we're trying to find out, Father. But he's insistent that he's Matthew Daley."

  "That's impossible."

  "I know," said the PC, a little offended that he had to explain that to the priest.

  "I'd like to see him," said Lilley.

  "Perhaps, in time," Valentine told him. "But for now..." He nodded towards Irene. "I think Mrs. Daley needs you here."

  The priest's eyes flashed momentarily, as if he didn't like being told his job. Then the kindness returned to them and he said, "Of course." He led his charge back to her seat, pulling out the chair nearest to her for himself. "Don't worry, Irene. I'm sure this will all be sorted out soon. Everything that happens is according to God's design and purpose, even if we can't see it at the time. 'Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.' Proverbs Chapter Three, Verses Five to Six." He held her hand in his and patted it. "Trust in the Lord, Irene, and He will show you the way."

  ~

  "I don't like being hung out to dry, Steve."

  Dr. Bethany Preston paced up and down in DCI Robbins' office, arms folded. He was sitting back behind his desk, watching her, like a member of the audience at Wimbledon.

  "I wasn't hanging anyone anywhere," he said, after telling her repeatedly to calm down. He'd never seen her so agitated.

  "You deliberately withheld information from me about that prisoner, didn't you?" As she said this last bit she jabbed her finger in his direction.

  "I didn't want you walking into there with any preconceptions. Besides, you never asked."

  Becky threw her hands up in the air. "And what exactly was I supposed to ask... oh and excuse me, but by any chance was this guy picked up for impersonating a dead man?"

  "I told you everything you needed to know at the time."

  "Bullshit. You told me he was a weird one, that he might be on something, and to try and get him talking if I could."

  "You've done it before. You have a good... bedside manner."

  "People tell me things, Steve. They trust me. I don't abuse that trust. Unlike some." Now she was standing with her hands on her hips.

  "Let's not make this personal again, Beth."

  "If I recall rightly, it was you who made things... 'personal' the last time."

  He winced at that remark. "No need to dig up the past. What exactly did he say to you in there? What's really got you like this?" Robbins rose from his chair and leant against his desk.

  She avoided his eyes. "Nothing."

  "I don't believe you."

  Beth raised her head, but her eyes were far from warm. "Your prerogative. But you're right about one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "He is a weird one. In fact, in all my years as a Doctor, and the last few years working for you lot, I don't think I've ever come across anyone quite like him."

  Robbins folded his arms now. "No, me either. But he isn't Matthew Daley."

  "You sound very sure of that."

  "Oh come on, Beth. You've seen the photos and the report now, what that fucker did to him. It's just not possible. He was dead by the time they loaded him into the ambulance. The paramedics called it on the way to Accident and Emergency. They buried him for Christ's sake."

  Beth rubbed her forehead. "I should be going," she said.

  "Wait."

  "Look, you want me to test the blood, Steve, I'll test it." She picked up her bag and left, shutting the door behind her.

  Leaving Robbins to stare at the space she'd occupied only moments before.

  Chapter Five

  He saw things as he waited in his cell. More quick flashes he wished he could slow down, more images----this time accompanied by smells and sounds too. A burning, acrid aroma, a scream that turned rapidly into a yelp. The stink of faeces, a thudding. And there was music, a rock band belting out their latest hit for all they were worth. All of this mish-mashed into a nonsense as he sat there.

  He'd been given his meals by Wilson, but the man couldn't bear to be in his presence for more than a few minutes. Not that it really mattered, not that any of this really mattered. The important work was still yet to be done; he felt that, knew it somehow. He knew what some of it should be, too, while other parts were still hidden. Just like his ragged and torn memory, some bits perfect, others barely more
than fuzzy blurs.

  As day passed to night and dawn broke again, he explored the confines of his cell more fully, discovering a spider's web in the bottom corner. There was no sign of the spider itself, but there was the carcass of one of its victims caught there on the fine gossamer strands. He felt exactly like that fly, stranded here. Trapped with no means of escape.

  When Wilson next came in to bring him breakfast, he asked if there was any word yet from Dr. Preston. He also asked when he would be released and whether they were intent on charging him with anything.

  Wilson could answer neither.

  So he had to be patient. Wait until it all started to fall into place.

  ~

  "It still doesn't prove anything," Robbins said as he gripped the phone tighter, bringing his other hand up and almost wringing the plastic.

  "No it doesn't. But the man in your cells and Matthew Daley definitely had the same blood type," Beth told him down the line.

  "Along with how many other millions?"

  "Granted. But here's the thing: I noticed yesterday that the man you're holding has a birthmark on the top of his left leg."

  "So? The autopsy reports don't mention anything about a birthmark," Robbins snapped.

  "That's because the thigh was a bloody mess, Steve. But according to Matthew Daley's local practice, he did have a birthmark on the upper part of his leg."

  "All right, so they've both got birthmarks."

  "Same blood type, same birthmarks, same height, hair color, eye color..." Beth continued.

  "All right, all right," Robbins said. "But they can't be the same person. What're we talking here, twins?"

  "I think Mr. and Mrs. Daley would have noticed if there was a baby missing at the birth," said Beth.

  "A fluke, a look-alike?"

  "I don't know what to tell you, Steve. None of this makes any sense to me. Not really."

  Again he wondered just what had spooked her in the cell yesterday.

  "But there were certain... anomalies in the blood itself," she said after a pause.

  "How do you mean? Drugs?"

  "No, he was clean, like I said. It's just that his white blood cell count is incredibly high... and his humor immunity is quite outstanding."

  He swapped the phone to his other ear. "In English, Beth."

  "There are an inordinate amount of antibodies in his system. Triggered by what, I don't know. Some exogenous antigen I can't identify."

  "I do believe I said English."

  "Simply put, it means he's extremely resistant to infection."

  "Okay," Robbins said slowly.

  "And there's something else."

  Robbins sighed. "Do I have to ask, or were you planning on telling me eventually?"

  "Matthew Daley had type two diabetes, but there's no sign of that now in this blood."

  "Then it can't be him."

  "You'd think so, and yet... Steve, we really need to do some more tests."

  "Look, Beth, I'm not really interested if he's the scientific discovery of the century. The bottom line is, I have someone in custody and I don't know what to charge him with... if anything. Trespass, possibly. But there aren't any laws against looking like someone who's died. Give me something to go on."

  He could almost hear her mind ticking over. "The case is still open, right?"

  "Technically yes. They never caught who did this to Matthew Daley."

  "Then get a decent DNA sample. The people who were handling all this back then weren't exactly CSI material. Exhume the body, Steven."

  Robbins asked her to repeat what she'd just said in case he'd misheard it. He hadn't.

  "Jesus... we can't do that, Beth. The mother would go ballistic, and as for the church... Valentine says that the local priest hasn't left Mrs. Daley's side since this happened."

  "Get a court order."

  "By tomorrow? You know how many strings I'd have to pull?"

  Becky tutted. "You're telling me you can't? From what I hear Croft would've been able to manage it."

  He ground his teeth. "It'd be professional suicide."

  "And the career always comes first, doesn't it?" said Beth.

  Robbins exhaled another deep breath. "The shit's really going to hit the fan."

  "It's the only way to be sure."

  "About what?"

  She didn't answer that one, but he knew the answer anyway. He placed the 'phone in the crook of his neck, took a packet of indigestion tablets out of his pocket, and tapped a couple into his palm.

  "I'll see what I can do," he said, tipping the tablets into his mouth.

  "One more thing," said Beth before she hung up.

  "Yeah?"

  "I want to be there."

  "What?"

  "I want to be there when they open the coffin up."

  "You?"

  "Don't sound so shocked. You're the one that brought me into this, Steve."

  "Okay," Robbins promised her. Then he looked up at the ceiling, wondering just what he was about to set in motion.

  Chapter Six

  The morning was an overcast one.

  As the group waited around the grave they resembled the mourners from the funeral that had been held there seven years ago. Except these people had only come to know about Matthew Daley's life in the last forty-eight hours or so. They hadn't watched him grow up, hadn't loved him or grieved over his passing. They were here for one reason only: the truth.

  Bethany Preston had arrived early, as soon as she'd been given the call. Robbins told her that it hadn't been easy, but they'd been granted express permission to exhume----in spite of Father Lilley's protests. Lilley had been particularly vocal when the teams of police and forensics experts arrived at Westmoor. Said it would be a sacrilege in the eyes of the Lord. Valentine had to hold him back from the scene, while Robbins tried to explain their position.

  "I'm really sorry, Father, but this has to be done."

  "Heathens, all of you. 'Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping!' Psalm Six, Verse Eight," shouted Lilley, shaking his fist. When that didn't work, he tried another tack. "My father was a Captain in the army. He died in the war. Died so that our freedoms should be upheld."

  "We need to give Mrs. Daley peace of mind. There might be evidence in that grave which could help in the investigation----"

  "Investigation!" Lilley spat. "You couldn't find the person who killed him the first time, what makes you think you will now? Leave the poor boy in peace, I'm begging you."

  "And what about Mrs. Daley's peace of mind?" asked Robbins.

  Lilley squinted with one eye. "This is about the man who came to her house, isn't it?"

  "It might help to settle things," replied Robbins, deflecting the question.

  "In the name of the Lord our God, man, she doesn't need things 'settling.' She knows already, knows that man cannot be her son. The peace of mind you're talking about will only be shattered by this."

  "The case was never closed though, Father," said Robbins. "This is important."

  "This is unheard of! You'll burn for it," Lilley warned them. "All of you. 'Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and a horrible tempest; this shall be the portion of their cup.' Psalm One Verse Six."

  Beth had heard the commotion but was crouching by the gravestone itself, reading the inscription there.

  MATTHEW KEVIN DALEY

  Devoted son, husband, and father.

  Taken from us early.

  Sleep well, Angel.

  There were a couple of stems from long dead flowers that had been left there possibly weeks or even months ago. When Robbins returned from his encounter with Lilley, chewing more of his tablets, he gave the order for the exhumation to begin. Beth stepped back to allow the police to start digging. It took them the best part of two hours to reach the coffin, though even then it was only because of their numbers.

  She watched as the men in white suits fed straps under the coffin, signalin
g for it to be lifted out slowly and carefully. Like a huge wooden baby, it was cradled back down again to the earth.

  "Are you sure about this, about being here?" said Robbins, now at the side of her. "It's not going to be pleasant."

  "Steve, I'm a Doctor for Christ's sake. And I'm a big girl."

  Robbins gave the order for the coffin to be opened, which the men did, again with the utmost professionalism, care, and respect. Beth and Robbins drew closer as the final nail was removed and the lid heaved off.

  ~

  Irene Daley lay in bed, unable to move.

  She knew what they were doing that morning. Father Lilley had broken the news to her as gently as he could. They'd obtained an order to exhume Matthew, earthly laws obviously carrying more weight than religious ones. She'd run the gamut of emotions then: surprise, fear, anger, resentment. But hadn't there been something else at the back of her mind, a little voice telling her that at least they'd know for sure when it was done? At least she'd be able to get the picture of that person out of her head, the man who'd sat in Matthew's chair, who'd looked around his old bedroom and found the forgotten toy car in the wardrobe. The man who'd told her that his father----no, Matthew's father----would have believed him.