The woman’s handbag was on the back seat. Her purse contained a name and address, plus an ID card from Blaidd Drwg. ‘Jennifer Fallon,’ Gwen read aloud. ‘Now we know why Tosh couldn’t reach Wildman’s secretary. She was with him in the car. Drove him here from the facility.’
No need to crouch over looking at the dead woman any longer, Gwen decided. She straightened, and a trickle of cold rainwater ran from her hair down her neck. All the fancy equipment at Torchwood’s disposal, she thought sourly, and they never had any umbrellas. She hunted her mobile out from her coat pocket, thumbed a fastkey and dialled the Hub. When Toshiko answered, Gwen briefed her on their discovery in the alleyway.
‘That fits,’ Toshiko told her. ‘Jennifer Fallon finished work early today…’ Gwen could hear the rattling sound of Toshiko’s typing. ‘Yes, the logout details confirm that they left at the same time. Her desktop machine was powered down a few minutes before she badged out of the building with Wildman. But she sent a couple of e-mails immediately before that…’ More tapping of keys. ‘OK, the last one is a quick message to her boss that Mr Wildman is still feeling ill, and that she’s insisted on driving him home.’
Gwen considered the ravaged remains of the secretary ruefully. An act of kindness had been repaid by a fierce, merciless assault. The savage attacks on the vagrants around Blaidd Drwg were disgusting enough, but on this occasion Wildman had brutalised someone he knew from work. Maybe even someone he once cared about. She suddenly realised how tired she was, unsure whether it was all the chasing around or something else — the numbing horror of the crime scenes today. She stifled a small yawn. Gwen angled her face into the night sky, letting the rain fall onto her.
Even with her eyes closed, she still had the image of Jennifer Fallon’s broken, brutalised body in her mind. ‘What could drive a man to that?’ she asked Jack.
Jack grimaced. ‘She drove herself, here, to her death. With Wildman. Unwittingly, that’s probably obvious. How do we know it’s Wildman?’ He studied her, expecting an answer.
‘The raincoat,’ Gwen remembered. ‘He took it with him, to cover the blood and remains that would have spilled on him. She’d have put the coat on the back seat, with her bag, because it wasn’t raining or dark when they left Blaidd Drwg.’
Jack gently pushed the Vectra’s door shut. Jennifer Fallon’s corpse rocked slightly with the car and was still again.
‘Oh, great.’ Jack threw his head back in disgust. ‘I’ve trodden in more dog shit.’ He bent his knee and twisted his foot out, illuminating the underside of his shoe with the torch. There was a large irregular gap in the sole.
‘Dog shit didn’t do that,’ said Gwen. ‘It’s like something’s eaten right through it.’
‘Consumed it,’ pondered Jack. ‘These are my favourite boots. Standard issue for 1940s non-jumping personnel. Ankle-bracing, leather soles, good laces, instep support. Where am I gonna find another pair?’
‘Army surplus?’ suggested Gwen.
‘Look at that.’ He balanced against the side of the car and removed the shoe so that he could waggle it at Gwen. ‘Whatever it is, it’s eaten through the sole and then stopped.’
‘Leather soles,’ mused Gwen. ‘Eaten could be the right word. What’s the inner sole made of? Sponge rubber?’
Jack nodded. Sniffed the sole of the removed boot experimentally. Coughed in disgust, and propped the boot on the Vectra’s roof amid the bouncing rain. ‘Yeah, you’re right, it’s been digested. Still being digested, too. See there?’ He pointed carefully with his forefinger.
‘That thing you trod on. The thing Wildman coughed up outside the building site?’
Jack cracked a huge smile. ‘Smart girl.’
‘Still here,’ said Toshiko’s voice from Gwen’s mobile.
‘OK, I think we’re done,’ Gwen told her.
‘Thanks, Tosh.’ Jack raised his voice so that the mobile would pick up his words. ‘End of your shift for the day.’
Gwen let Toshiko say goodnight before ending the call. She pocketed the mobile.
‘I’m starting to worry where else I may have trodden this stuff,’ Jack grumbled. He scrunched up his face in dismay, because he’d just absentmindedly put his unshod foot down on to the rainy pavement. ‘All right. Not looking so cool, now. Time to call it a night.’
‘What about this lot?’ Gwen jerked her head at the corpse. There was so much left to do here, and yet she knew she was exhausted. She felt the sides of her face tighten, but subdued the tired reaction.
Jack peered into the Vectra. ‘I’ll take her back to the Hub. You get our police friends over there to disperse, and then you can go home.’
Gwen couldn’t stifle the yawn any longer.
‘There you go,’ Jack smiled. ‘An honest opinion, openly expressed. I’m boring you. Go home. It’s past nine.’
She checked her watch and was dismayed to find he was right. Where had the day gone?
He was still looking into the car, probably wondering how he was going to move the body. Or maybe move the whole car. The obvious problem was that the unfortunate Jennifer Fallon was still in the driver’s seat.
‘Go home,’ Jack urged Gwen once more. He angled his head to look up at her. ‘Rhys is waiting. You promised me that you’d keep hold of your life, remember? You may even have promised him. Don’t let it drift.’
‘What about you?’
Jack straightened up, and pushed his shoulders back to release the tension. ‘Think I’m going swimming. I’m wet enough already. And it’s time to reconnect with life after all this death today.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ Gwen smiled.
She walked back over to the police cordon, to let them know they were no longer required. The police photographer repacked his camera case with bad grace. The Brummie was trying to object, but Gwen cut short his protests, more snappishly than she would normally.
In the distance, Jack was opening the nearside door of the Vectra and reaching into the passenger seat. Gwen could see the thick woollen sock on his shoeless foot, sodden from his journey through the puddles. He’d still be working long after the rest of the team had finished, as usual.
She dialled home. Told Rhys she was sorry to be late. Again.
Should she be ashamed, or relieved, or grateful that he reacted so calmly? Again. Was he being calm, she wondered, or did he really not care? Or maybe he was watching Matrix Reloaded on the DVD. Again.
Rhys told her that he’d saved her some tea, and he promised not to eat it if she got a shift on. ‘Get a shift on’ was what he told the drivers at his office when they were running late. She told him thank you. And yes, he could eat the final strawberry yoghurt if it was reaching its use-by date — she didn’t fancy it tonight.
She listened again for clues in his voice, to anticipate how he might be when she got back to the flat. Tired? Irritated? She let his words wash over her for a while, until she abruptly realised that he’d fallen silent. Asked her a question and was waiting for an answer. She’d let her mind wander, hadn’t been listening properly to him.
She told him sorry, she was a bit tired, and they could have a proper talk when she got home. But as she hung up, she knew that she’d said that to herself every night for the past two months. That’s what their evenings had become. Chit-chat, usually from him about office intrigue, or Banana Boat’s road warrior stories, or Sonja the Secretary’s latest emotional crisis. Telly often. Eating off a tray, some quick meal that Rhys usually cooked. Maybe some perfunctory lovemaking if they weren’t too tired before bedtime.
She was going to walk home now. She gave Jack one last look, then turned towards the main road. The drizzling rain that had clung to her all evening was now a steady stream, splashing in the growing puddles all around her.