Wildman had picked his own way carefully over the fretwork of connecting girders, and now scrambled over the partly constructed exterior wall and onto the raised wooden and metal framework that surrounded the building. He had to use both hands to balance, and then to grasp the weathered steel of the scaffolding and hoist himself out onto the ledge. His beige coat no longer clung tightly to him. It rippled in the breeze that whistled through the carcass of the building. Gwen could see that the raincoat was actually too small for Wildman, and the arms had ridden up above his wrists to reveal the soiled cuffs of his grey suit.
Wildman stood on the pale brown scaffolding platform. He turned to face Jack. The race up the building and the subsequent scramble across this floor had exhausted him. He took deep, desperate breaths of air. Several metres to his left a stretch of the zigzag laddering straddled the side of the building, an even more precarious route down than the unfinished emergency stairs. To Wildman’s right, the battered plastic opening of a long debris chute yawned ominously, ready to devour whatever was dropped in and to regurgitate it many floors below into another, unseen yellow skip. Wildman couldn’t seriously be considering either of those exits, thought Gwen.
Jack must have been thinking exactly the same thing. ‘C’mon, Wildman,’ he called across to him. ‘Where are you gonna go from here?’
Wildman peered behind himself, out across the city. While he did this, Gwen shuffled carefully into the room. She could now see through the skeleton of the building at this height, and a momentary nausea washed over her. She clutched at the wall to steady herself.
When she looked up, she could see that Wildman was still staring out. The green fabric netting outlined this part of the building beyond the frame of scaffold poles, but through a gap in one section it was possible to see right out over Cardiff. They were high enough now to have a clear view, uninterrupted by nearby buildings. Streets criss-crossed their way towards the waterfront. There was the bronzed hump of the Millennium Centre. The glittering Bay reflected light between the moorings, and stretched out towards the barrage. Clouds were starting to roll in across the Bay, threatening rain from beyond the barrage and out into Môr Hafren.
Wildman swivelled back around to consider Jack again, careful not to overbalance on the scaffold platform. Gwen could see now that the top of Wildman’s grey jacket was wet and dark. The vivid red splash on his white shirt indicated that this was blood. Wildman’s neck and face didn’t seem to be marked. Maybe he had somehow scraped himself in the chase up through the building. The coat wasn’t his either, it was now apparent. The position of the buttons were for a woman’s raincoat, and that explained why the sleeves were too short. Wildman was breathing more easily now, and smiling broadly. His smile wavered a little when he saw Gwen at the rear of the room, but he soon refocused on Jack.
Jack had not moved from his precarious position in the centre. He held the pistol in a one-handed grip, unwaveringly pointed at Wildman. Jack’s other hand was at his side, the outside of his wrist against his hip. He knew Gwen was twenty metres behind him, even though she hadn’t spoken, had barely made a sound. He was waggling his fingers slightly, unseen by Wildman, to indicate that Gwen should stay back,
‘OK, so you checked out the view,’ Jack called to Wildman. ‘And you know you’re going nowhere.’
Wildman cocked his head to one side, contemplating Jack. ‘That weapon is a fascinating item,’ he said. His voice betrayed no worry, just amused interest. ‘Is it an antique?’
‘It’s a Webley,’ Jack replied calmly. ‘Mark IV. Point three-eight calibre, and a five-inch barrel. More than enough to pick you off where you stand.’
‘Interesting. Where do you get the cartridges?’
Jack’s aim didn’t falter. ‘What matters is where you might be getting one. Any moment now. Step back into the building. Away from the edge. Carefully.’
‘I think I’m safer where I am. Why don’t we just continue our chat right here?’
Jack moved his head to one side, and Gwen could see him smiling grimly. ‘OK. So maybe we start with the obvious stuff. Like, what’s your connection to the deaths of four vagrants. The ones that were found within a few minutes walking distance from the offices of the Blaidd Drwg nuclear research facility?’
Wildman tutted. ‘Shocking. I saw that on the news. We were all warned about it at the facility, of course. Wouldn’t want the staff to be harmed.’
‘No,’ snapped Jack. ‘No you weren’t warned. The murder of the vagrants didn’t make it to the media. We made sure of that. So you’re unusually well informed.’
‘I suppose I am.’
‘And their deaths match the times that you were just about to enter work, or you’d just left. We checked your ID badge accesses at Blaidd Drwg. They all match.’
Wildman’s smile didn’t change. ‘Do they?’
‘You even snuck out one lunchtime. What was that about? Hadn’t taken a packed lunch that day? No, that wouldn’t be it, because your access badge shows that you take lunch in the works canteen every day, 12.15 on the dot. Except for that day. The day the third victim died.’
‘It’s no crime to take a walk at lunchtime,’ observed Wildman mildly. ‘You could say it’s my constitutional right.’
‘You were killing people, not killing time…’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘… attacking defenceless victims and splitting open their heads.’
‘How dreadful,’ said Wildman.
‘It’s hard to believe, looking at you now. But you murdered them by biting into the backs of their necks.’
Wildman laughed in disbelief.
‘In fact,’ persisted Jack, ‘isn’t that spinal fluid now? There, down your chin? All over your shirt collar.’
Wildman raised his hands to his face, an almost involuntary reaction. His face clouded with anger.
Jack laughed. ‘Made ya look.’
The breeze through the building had begun to stiffen now. Jack’s greatcoat wafted out behind him, though his stance and his aim remained rock steady. The melancholy wail of a police siren carried up to them from the street as it drew nearer.
Wildman took another look backwards into the street far below. Returned his gaze to Jack. He didn’t look angry any more. He was calm.
‘C’mon, Wildman.’ Jack had adopted a cajoling note now. ‘There’s no escape from this. Gwen here, behind me, you’ve seen her. She’s called the police. So even if you get past me — and you won’t — you wouldn’t beat the cordon around this building. Come away from the edge now, carefully.’
‘Are you going to read me my rights?’ smiled Wildman.
‘You’re in the custody of Torchwood now. We’re not the police. We do things differently. But you’d know that already, from your work at Blaidd Drwg, wouldn’t you? And that means you know we can help you, Wildman. Whatever the problem is.’
Wildman raised his left arm, slowly so that it wouldn’t alarm his captor. Studied the chunky watch that poked out beyond his soiled cuffs. ‘Time of death…’ he murmured to himself. He lowered his arm, and studied his feet with a look that suggested he had never seen them before, or perhaps that they were the most fascinating things in the whole room.
Gwen thought she saw Jack’s arm tense up. ‘Don’t fool around, Wildman. I can take you out from here.’
Wildman looked up from his shoes. He stared past Jack, at Gwen. He was grinning now, like it was all a huge joke. He switched the grin back to Jack.