The CCTV bore out the manager’s story in time-lapse. Crowded lunchtime in a Cardiff restaurant. Lots of business. Only a few empty tables. People came and went. 3pm: the restaurant started tidying up after lunch. 3.17pm: between one frame and the next, the skeleton appeared. 3.18pm: one of the waiters noticed, and the screaming begins.
Gwen pocketed the disc and went over to the table.
Jack was looking at the skeleton, and standing closer to Ianto than he’d ever stood before. He smiled at Gwen briefly, and then looked back at the corpse. ‘It’s a young skeleton,’ he said.
‘How can you tell?’ asked Ianto. Gwen suddenly realised that he really, really missed having pockets. His hands were patting the top of his skirt nervously. It wasn’t an attractive look.
‘Calcium deposits?’ put in Gwen.
Jack shook his head and pointed to the body. ‘It’s the clothes – they’re very new, they’re trendy without being expensive. We can bother with the scanners in a bit, but I’m going to bet this was a young man.’
‘Out on a date,’ Gwen put in. ‘The table’s set for two, and he’s wearing his finest pulling gear. White shirt for clubbing, stripy shirt for a date. Those are the rules.’
‘Oh those rules,’ sighed Jack. ‘What did the CCTV tell us?’
‘Middle of the afternoon. Blink and he’s there. But the look of the table suggests he’s been there hours.’
Ianto checked a clipboard, happily. ‘Table’s got a good view.’
Jack nodded. ‘See if he’s got a wallet or a phone would you, Gwen?’
Gwen bent over and started rifling through the pockets,
Ianto had spotted something. ‘There’s lipstick on this coffee cup!’ observed Ianto.
‘Excellent work, Ms Jones,’ said Jack.
Gwen sighed, and tried to feel inside the jacket without touching the ribcage or retching. She managed to undo one of the buttons and was just edging her hand in when the body moved slightly and – oh god – she touched it, then jerked back as the body moved. It fell forward and just hit the table and carried on going, and she yelled and shut her eyes.
When she opened them again, she was covered in dust. There was no sign of the skeleton, just a pile of clothes. She gagged.
‘I just touched it and…’
Ianto shook his gorgeous head disapprovingly, and bent over the body. ‘Well, here’s the mobile,’ he said.
Gwen started to brush herself down. ‘Honestly, I just…’
Jack tutted. ‘Complete cellular exhaustion. The only thing holding those molecules together was boredom. Just a tiny nudge and…’
Ianto smiled. ‘Aw, Gwen, it’s made such a mess of your nice trousers.’
Gwen laughed. ‘Look at Ianto Jones, criticising my clothes! Fancy that – your first bitchy comment. Welcome to the sisterhood.’
Jack looked up from sweeping some dust into an envelope.
‘You two aren’t going to gang up on me, are you?’
Gwen’s mobile rang. Inevitably Rhys. No matter how many times she said ‘Please don’t call me at work unless another starliner lands in The Hayes, or there’s a new Heat with Gavin or Charl looking fat.’
‘Hello, lover!’ he said. ‘What’s up? Apart from Ianto’s cup size.’
Gwen stepped out onto the balcony. It was cold and windy, and she watched the wind blow vital crime-scene evidence off her and into the Bay. Ah well. ‘Nothing much. I’m covered in bits of corpse.’
‘Eugh!’ there was a pause. ‘I was eating a doughnut,’ said Rhys reproachfully.
‘I knew you were cheating,’ Gwen smiled. Rhys was on another semi-diet, which gave Gwen hours of innocent pleasure.
‘No… not really. Pastries left over after a meeting. Stolen food doesn’t count.’
‘Really?’
‘You’ve always said so. Anyway, corpse?’
‘Yeah.’ Gwen did a little relationship maths – how much could she tell him against how much would it make her feel better. ‘Yeah. Skeleton turned up at a table-for-two.’
‘You are kidding! Classy!’ Rhys sounded worryingly enthusiastic. ‘Where?’
‘You’ll never believe it – Abalone’s,’ said Gwen. Rhys laughed. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in there!’
‘Well quite,’ said Gwen. ‘Poor bugger seemed to be on a date.’
‘Abalone’s. What a way to go. It’s only one up from keeling over at the Chinese Buffet. What’ll you tell the relatives? Died of shame?’
‘Ah,’ said Gwen. ‘We’re still working out who he is. You see, I touched him and he… well, exploded over me…’
There was a dangerous pause, in which Rhys had the chance to say something reassuring. Instead: ‘So you’re seriously wearing skellington?’ Rhys was really amused. More amused than when Gwen had trodden in dog turd. Wearing flip-flops. ‘Well, mind you have a shower before tonight – we’re going round to Darren and Sian’s. They’ve got a new pet.’
‘What did they choose?’ Knowing them it was going to be something fluffy and low maintenance. Their ideal pet would be a spider plant that could purr.
Another laugh from Rhys. ‘A rat.’
Gwen squeaked. ‘Oh this is the best day ever.’
PATRICK MATTHEWS IS NOT DEAD
Gwen scurried back into Torchwood. She’d nipped out for a sandwich and got soaked. She’d needed a break from combing through interviews with ferry passengers and CCTV from the bar. She’d been hoping to come back refreshed. Instead her teeth were chattering.
And there was Ianto. Sat at a desk, looking annoyingly perfect, not a hair out of place.
‘You bloody cow,’ laughed Gwen, dumping her bag on the desk. ‘How do you do it? You look… You’re not even wearing make-up.’
Ianto shrugged. ‘It’s getting weird, isn’t it? It’s like this body can only be pretty.’ He pointed to the hair. ‘And the hair! It just naturally… bounces into place. I’ve not even moisturised. This’ll take some getting used to.’
‘Hey, ladies!’ Jack bounded into the office, laying a fond hand on Ianto’s shoulder. I bet they’re at it like rabbits, thought Gwen. Jack picked up a leaflet on caravanning in the Gower and then favoured them with a wide grin. ‘Ianto Jones – looking amazing. Gwen Cooper – looking damp. Keep it up troops!’ They followed him through into Owen’s old medical area, where what remains they’d salvaged lay in an untidy heap on a slab.
‘I have news about our corpse,’ said Ianto. ‘His wallet says he’s Patrick Matthews. He checks up as living in Adamstown. He’s 25. And he’s still alive.’
‘Really?’ Jack looked pleased.
Ianto nodded. ‘I went over to his flat. He answered the door. Oddly, I didn’t have to think of a cover story. He seemed perfectly happy to chat.’ With those knockers, I bet he bloody did, thought Gwen. ‘Nice bloke, really,’ Ianto went on. ‘Works in Chippie Alley, moved from Neath. Got a nice car. Very friendly. Even gave me his mobile number – but told me it wasn’t working. He was off to get a new one, which was why I’d caught him in. Not at all dead in any way.’
‘Ah.’ Jack held up the corpse’s phone. ‘I have a theory. Two copies of the same mobile can’t function on the same network. You’d need a degree in temporal engineering and a soldering iron to get around it. Dusty the Corpse is from the future.’
Ianto coughed, gently. ‘And there’s more. I rang the restaurant. Patrick Matthews has booked a table for Saturday.’