Off the Rails

∨ Off the Rails ∧

30

Lost Tribe

The asymmetrical complex of towers, gables, dormers, chimneys, spires and angled arches that comprised the old redbrick Cruciform Building had been abutted by the vast white façade of the University College Hospital. Together, the two medical centres, one Victorian, one millennial, dominated the streets around Euston. Meera Mangeshkar and Colin Bimsley arrived on the hectic third floor at the hospital just before five P.M. Naimh Connor, the duty nurse, took them to Tony McCarthy’s bed.

“How’s your arm, Meera?” asked Connor. “Fully healed? You didn’t come back to get signed off.”

“I took the sutures out myself,” said Mangeshkar. She had recently received a minor injury in the course of duty, and regarded anything less than twenty stitches as something not worth mentioning. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s on heavy medication for pain management. I’d be in favour of keeping him that way, to be honest. He’s nothing but trouble when he comes off his methadone program.”

“You’ve had him in before?”

“He’s turned up on my emergency room shift a few times.”

“Is he ever with anyone?”

“Gentlemen with anger management issues like Mr McCarthy here don’t have too many friends,” answered Connor. “No-one’s tried to see him. You can have a word. Hope you get more out of him than I do.”

Mac was propped on a stack of pillows with a white plastic OxyMask fixed to his face. His right wrist was strapped to the bed-rail to prevent him from pulling out his saline drip. He yanked down the mask when he saw the officers. “I need to get to a private room,” he told them. “One with a door.”

“Sure,” replied Mangeshkar. “Just give me your credit card and I’ll have you moved this evening.”

“I don’t feel safe in an open ward, man.”

“You think he’s going to come after you again?”

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

“Tell us. We may be able to help you.”

Mac leaned up on one yellow bony elbow. He’d been washed, but still looked grubby. “He’s a crazy man. He hired me to do a bit of work, right, nothing shifty, make a delivery, drive a van, only he goes and – ” Even in his doped-up state, Mac realised he was about to incriminate himself.

“Kills someone,” finished Mangeshkar. “We know all about Mr Fox.”

Bimsley pulled his partner to one side. “And if he admits he does, too, it could make him an accessory to murder,” he whispered. “We have to tread carefully.”

“We want to stop him before he gets to you, Mac. He tried once; he’ll probably try again. You’re safe and secure in here. But once you step out of those doors, we can’t protect you. Why did Mr Fox attack you?”

“Because I know what he did – I know who he killed. I saw it in the paper.”

“So did everyone else in London,” said Bimsley. “So why’d he single you out? Just because you performed a few legals for him? Doesn’t make sense, mate.”

“It’s not that. It’s other stuff.” Conflict twisted Mac’s face.

“What other stuff?”

“If you don’t tell us, we can’t protect you,” Mangeshkar repeated.

Mac’s eyes flicked anxiously from one officer’s face to the other’s. “I know who he really is,” he said finally.

♦

“This was an ordinary street crime until you interfered,” claimed Raymond Land, somewhat unfairly. “Now it’s turned into the pair of you chasing some kind of supernatural being through the London Underground. I simply cannot sanction this. I can’t have you creeping through the tunnels of the subway system looking for a giant bat, placing yourself and everyone else in danger.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have told him,” mouthed Bryant to May, rolling his eyes.

“Apart from anything else, it is not under your jurisdiction. The transport police have their own division for this sort of thing.”

“We’ve spoken to them,” May explained. “They have no record of anyone living rough in the system. I quote: ‘They used to have this sort of problem in New York, but it’s never happened here’. But if the Hillingdon boy is in hiding and there really are people down there, don’t you think they might have taken him in?”

“They could be holding him against his will,” Bryant added, more for dramatic effect than anything. “All right, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned the part about the Night Crawler, but we know this creature was in roughly the same area of the tube system when the boy disappeared.”

Land folded his arms in what he hoped was a pose of determination. “You might as well tell me the boy’s been eaten by cannibals or strung up inside a giant web by aliens. I’m simply not going to buy it.”

“All right, but Hillingdon is missing and may already be dead. Somebody in that house knows something because a travel card used by him on the evening he went missing has mysteriously reappeared in one of the other students’ bedrooms.”

“How do you know that?” asked Land. “You didn’t search the place without a warrant, did you?”

“No need for a warrant, old sock. I used my legendary charm and discretion. And my light fingers. Hardly any of his friends can properly vouch for their movements on Tuesday night.”

Land massaged the centre of his brow. He was starting to get a migraine. “You usually come to me with some kind of theory that makes a sort of distant, twisted sense, but this is the first time you haven’t even bothered with that. First you let this Mr Fox get away, then you take it upon yourselves to start interrogating a bunch of innocent students who obviously have nothing to do with the case I’ve put you in charge of. I sometimes wonder what I’m here for.”

“Don’t worry, old sausage, we all wonder about that. Look, we’ve got evidence pointing in at least two directions and we think someone in Hillingdon’s group knows where he is, so why don’t we keep a discreet eye on them?”

“And how are you going to do that?” asked Land suspiciously.

“Well, there are five students, so we send Janice, Meera, Colin, Dan and Jack out to monitor their movements, see where they go and what they get up to. Meanwhile, John and I can search the tube system.”

“Don’t you think you’re a bit old to be climbing down into tunnels?” Land scoffed.

“At least I’ll be able to move at my own rate. I can’t be expected to trail a fit young student all over town, not with my legs.”

“Fair point.”

“So we’ll do it and report back.”

Land suddenly realised he’d been tricked into letting London’s most senior detective team go underground to look for some kind of lost tribe. He dreaded to think how this would look on the report to the Home Office.

“Don’t be so glum, chum.” Bryant gave his acting superior a friendly tap. “Detection is not an exact science. It’s not like you see on the telly, all mitochondria samples, antibacterial suits and slash-resistant gloves. Most days we’re lucky if I can manage to locate the murder site on my A to Z.”

“That’s because it was printed in 1953,” said Land. “You are not filling me with confidence.”

“Look, if we’re wrong about the giant bat, I’ll simply blame my medication.”

“I’m the one who has to carry the can for the Unit’s mistakes,” Land complained.

“Then we’ll tell the Home Office you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. We’ll say you had a nervous breakdown after you found out about Leanne.”

“Leanne? What has my wife got to do with this?”

“Oh. Er, nothing.” Bryant offered up an unreassuring smile. “Right, let’s get cracking.”