It seemed like only moments ago he had been running
through the fresh cut grass, the sun beating down on his back as he kicked a
ball around a makeshift court to a couple of his friends. Now all he could feel
against his back was hard wood through a sweat soaked shirt. He was bound to
the table by several leather straps around his wrists, ankles, torso and head
–the latter of which cut into the sides of his mouth as he struggled, sending a
warm metallic liquid trickling down his dry throat. It took Nathan a moment to
realise it was his own blood he was tasting. There was movement around the
room, but everything seemed to be just out of Nathan’s line of vision. The only
thing he could see was the ceiling, the tops of grotty walls, and a small tray
in the corner of his sight that had various metal objects laid out upon it. A
cold, clammy hand ran along Nathan’s hairline, pulling his head roughly as a
second hand bore an electric shaver that removed his dirty blonde hair from his
scalp and tumbling to the floor, clumps of shaved fluff rolled tauntingly away
from him as if trying to make a great escape. He had never so much wished he
could be something so small, able to scurry away from this murky, menacing
room.
All thoughts ceased as something sharp – a scalpel,
maybe? – cut along his hairline and a pair of gloved fingers widened the
incision as if to see what was underneath. Nathan could feel his body shutting
down, trying to block out the signals of panic, fear, pain, as another object
is lifted from the table and placed somewhere along the incision, digging into
his skull and-
Out on the grass students laughed and chatted to each
other, passing their breaks with casual conversation or friendly competition as
the sun beat down happily on the green. None of them noticed that the faint
howl on the wind was actually the last desperate screams of someone they had
been in a lecture with just an hour earlier…
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“He
who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt.
He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would
surely suffice” ~Albert Einstein
LONDON
The black Vauxhall Astra wound through the roads of
London slowly, but surely, making its way towards the cold stone and glass
building that overlooked the River Thames. When it, at last, pulled into the
car park it merely sat, unmoving, as if waiting for something spectacular to
occur. When it did not, the engine purred into silence and the door slowly
opened, giving way to a black polyester clad leg. A well-built male of average
height stepped out, surveyed the area with weary green eyes and closed the
door. Even when he tried to get away from it all, his job just reeled him back
in as if he were on the end of a rope, ready to return to the office with but a
tug… letting out a deep sigh, the brunette briskly made his way to the lift,
ensuring his suit was immaculate before pushing the button to go up to the 3rd floor. The building had 9 floors in total: the first,
archives, was below ground. The second floor, or ground floor, was the car park
and main reception, for public inquiries and the like, whilst the third floor
dealt with more important duties still classified by most as ‘receptionist’
duties. Floors four to seven were general offices, bull pens, teams, etc. All
specialists in whatever fields they worked in. He had never been up to the 8th floor, and never heard much about it. Apparently it had
spent the past four weeks or so being remodelled. And the final floor, the top
floor, was reserved for the upper management, the ones who made all the big
decisions, and the section chiefs. The lift chugged to a halt, groaning in
annoyance at it’s over use as the steel-trap doors opened out to reveal the
busy office. There was a main desk not far from where the man stood as he
exited the mobile box, and many more desks lined up behind the first, each with
a person or two sitting either on the phone, typing away at keyboards, or
chatting about how their weekends had been. He only wished he had actually had
a weekend. Taking a deep breath of the familiar air, the man walked forward to
the main desk, where a pale woman with deep red hair sat sorting through some
papers.
“Good Morning. Timothy Thompson reporting for duty.” The
woman looked up from her work and smiled warmly, brushing a few strands of hair
away from her horn rimmed glasses.
“Ah, yes, we’ve been expecting you. If you could kindly
make your way to the waiting area by the office over there,” she pointed to a
few worn leather chairs where two people were already sat, a female in a white
long sleeve blouse and smart trousers, and a male in a charcoal shirt with the
top two buttons undone and black slacks, talking amiably to one another “, you
will be seen to in a moment.”
“Of course.” He stated dryly, amazed at how urgent
something could sound when you were 1200 miles away, but as soon as you were
there in front of them, ready for whatever it is they wanted to throw at you,
they suddenly believed that they had all the time in the world. Walking away
from the receptionist, Thompson lowered himself into one of the leather seats,
gaining the attention of the two sitting opposite him.
“Hey, Tim!” A tanned male with short, dark auburn hair
grinned before sarcastically stating “Long time no see!”
“How was your holiday?” the bubbly female asked. Timothy
couldn’t think of many occasions in which that happy smile hadn’t been firmly
set upon his colleagues face. The pair were, of course, none other than Jacob
Scott and Samantha Matthews, the only two other members left of their former
team of six. After the unfortunate loss of their ‘second in command’, Mervyn
Yates, who fell in the line of duty, their unit chief had decided it was time
to walk away and do something else with his life before early retirement.
Shortly after that their fellow field agent, and friend, Eva Harewood, decided
that the police line of work was not for her, either.
“What holiday?” he answered truthfully “I was at Pra Loup
for a grand total of three days, two of which were spent worrying about that
paperwork on the Brindely case.”
“Pra Loup?” Samantha frowned, her shining cyan eyes
showing how she was trying to figure out what he was talking about, whilst also
choosing to ignore his comment about the paperwork.
“Ski resort. Southern Alps.” He clarified, to which his
co-worker’s bright smile returned.
“Thompson, Scott, Matthews?” A man who looked to be in
his late 50’s beckoned the three of them into his office, shutting the door
behind Samantha before taking a seat at desk. “Do you know why you were called
here?”
“No, Sir.” platinum haired woman replied, knowing she
would be the only one who could reply without any bite to her words.
“Well… the three of you have been chosen to be the base
on which we will build a new team. A team of elite agents who will be sent to
deal with the most gruesome of crimes around the country, from terrorism to
homicide, kidnappings, supernatural encounters, and everything in between. Each
member of your team has their own special field, and their own list of reasons
as to why they were chosen.” Their minds were reeling with this new
information, too surprised to speak, and so the man continued “Agent Scott’s
knowledge of mechanics and weaponry, coupled with his experience in the bomb
squad and in the field of armed assault makes him an invaluable field agent and
a strong team member. Agent Matthews is both socially competent and a good
researcher. Her roles will include, but are in no way limited to, dealing with
the media as well as utilising her background in the Specialist Crime unit to
aid cases in whatever way possible.” As the informant stayed silent for a
moment, the agents standing before him began to wonder where Thompson stood in
the overall scheme of things. It wasn’t until he opened his mouth to query this
that the man continued.
“Agent Thompson…
your references are impeccable.”
“Thank you, sir?” the agent wasn’t sure what to say – he
wasn’t entirely sure where this was going.
“Which is why, after much deliberation, we have decided
to ask you to fill the role of Unit Chief.” Thompson was speechless. He had
left the United States and his life as a patrol officer to move to England for
this job offer, waited around and worked for the Metropolitan Police Force for
a year whilst they ‘finalized’ everything and so he could settle into his new
surroundings. He, naturally, had expected great opportunities from this new
career path, but he hadn’t expected such a jump in status and rank on his first
day. Scott had a goofy grin plastered on his face, whilst Matthews beamed at
him encouragingly. Only then did he realise they were waiting to hear his
verdict.
“I would be honoured, sir.” The older man smiled, shaking
each of the agent’s hands in turn before opening his mouth to speak again
“Good. Now-”
“-Excellent, your all here.” A dark haired woman burst
through the door, fatigued yet dangerous eyes surveying each member of the
group before her. “I trust Mr Dickenson has gone over everything with you
already? Yes? Good. This is Gregory Barker; he will be your Technical Analyst.”
All eyes turned to the man stood at the woman’s elbow. He was a little shorter
than the other men in the room, with green eyes that peaked out over the top of
square framed glasses and ginger hair that was arranged immaculately on top of
his head. Podgy fingers wriggled in a friendly greeting before he was pushed
aside by the unnamed woman. “You have a case to be on, the rest of your team
are already there, here are the files, car keys to the vehicles you will find
in the private car park, Agent Barker you may return to your office, and the
rest of you can see your workstations upon your return.” And with that, she was
gone, leaving the three agents to speculate on her identity, or continue to
refer to her in the way Scott burst out the moment the door swung closed;
“Who’s the woman with her head up her ass?” Thompson ran
his hand over his face in exasperation as the blue eyed female next to him
chided Scott’s use of language.
“That”
Mr Dickenson informed with a subtle hint of amusement “Was your new section
chief, Jean Weston. I can see you’re all going to get along.” The newly
appointed Unit Chief couldn’t help but let a sigh escape his weary lips. So
this was how it was going to be…
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“‘Shojime
Mokuro?’ What kind of name is that?”
“I
don’t know… an Asian name of some description?” Samantha looked down at the
papers in her hands that stated only the names of the team members that would
be waiting for them at the station. She sat in the back seat reading the names
aloud whilst she and Jacob speculated on the natures of their new co-workers.
“And
‘Valkov’?”the auburn male asked
“Umm…
my guess would be either Czech Slovakian or Russian.”
“So
what can we expect, a big northern bear and an Asian chick?” Thompson groaned
with exasperation, looking up from the case file in his lap and glaring at the
man to his right
“Scott,
stop being stereotypical and keep your eyes on the road!”
“Are
you really not curious?” Truth be told, Thompson was curious. It was his job to
be curious – they were officially his agents – but he knew where his
priorities lied. They lied with the three dead students of Bournemouth
University. The bodies of a girl and two boys had been found at the Talbot
campus, all three with heavy ligature marks, all three with their heads shaved
and opened up; all three with their brains removed. Police still hadn’t found
the missing organ. The three bore no resemblance to each other, but had studied
similar subjects at the Bournemouth – Carl Blake, 19, had been studying Outdoor
Adventure Management, Anne Roberts, 20, Sports Management and the most recent
victim, Nathan Daniels, 19, Sports development and coaching. The bodies were
found carelessly dumped within a few meters of each other, tossed away like the
trash you find on the side of the street, as if their purpose had been served
and they were no longer of use. Unfortunately, this was all the information
they had, they were still waiting for the more detailed post mortem results,
but at least they had one lead to follow. The three spent the next hour in
random intervals of silence and theories, before conversation took an
inevitable turn.
“So
what were those names again?” Thompson slumped in his seat as Matthews repeated
the names
“Alicia
Evans, Shojime Mokuro and Tala Valkov.” This time Thompson didn’t stop their
discussion: he was too busy lost in the confines of his own thoughts where he
himself was wondering about his new team, and what it would be like to lead
them…
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Tears
rolled down heat flushed cheeks as the girl watched her thick ginger locks
slump lifelessly to the floor. All she had ever wanted to do was graduate and
become a great coach like her father – the driving force behind the amazing
athletes she saw on TV every evening. Now all she wanted was to scream, to ask
why he was doing this. But she couldn’t. The leather straps chafing her worn
and bloodied skin prevented her.
“They’re
stupid. Ignorant. By rights, they should be dead!” Her captor growled,
aggressively inspecting and choosing one of his many metal implements. She
tried to protest; to say something, even if it was something as cliché as ‘you
won’t get away with this’, but to no avail. The man next to her muttered under
his breath, cursing and insulting the police for their ‘ignorance’ before
turning his rage fuelled gaze upon his victim. “Don’t worry,” he reassured, his
right hand stroking her newly shaven scalp “You’re doing the world a favour.”
The terrified girl’s eyes widened, reflecting the gleaming scalpel her captor
brandished in his free hand…
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Timothy Thompson had never been so glad to be out of a
car in unfamiliar territory as he did when they pulled up outside the police
station. Scott and Matthews glanced around in anticipation as their unit chief
went forward to greet the chief of police, who stated that the remaining
members of their team were already inside, hard at work. They were led to a
nice sized room with two boards, a cork board and a white board, at the side
and a large conference table at the centre.
“Hey, Chief!” a tinny sounding
voice called from a laptop set up amongst the paper bomb on top of the
conference table. The woman sitting there with her back to him turned, the
wheels of her chair squeaking as she did so.
“You must be Agent Thompson?” Thompson nodded, extending a hand to greet the woman. She looked at the hand for a moment before standing and taking it firmly in her own, her curly light brown hair framing a stern face and hard sea green eyes.
“Alicia Evans. Pleased to meet you, sir.” Matthews went forward to greet her fellow female whilst Scott observed from a distance. This woman seemed the no-nonsense type, so maybe it was for the best that he stood back and watched as Thompson questioned her as to her views on the case at hand. Scott’s thoughts were broken as he felt something light and solid collide with the muscular wall that was his back. Moving to face the offending item, he found himself looking down at a girl, rapidly and quietly apologising as she knelt to gather the papers she had dropped.
“What are you doing here? This
isn’t a place for nosy kids.” He snorted – the girl couldn’t be much older than
17 in his opinion. He took a step back as she looked from the floor to regard
him, his own deep brown orbs staring into mismatched eyes, one green, and one
blue. He had to admit, it unnerved him slightly “Maybe you should just run
along?” he stated at nonchalantly as he could, unable to tear his gaze away
from her somewhat offended stare.
“I see you have met Agent Mokuro.”
Evans stated dryly, to which the addressed male managed to tear his attention
away from the girl and reply that he hadn’t seen ‘the Asian chick’ anywhere.
Thompson found himself gritting his teeth as he remembered something his father
had once told him about first impressions with business associates: they could
set you up for life. And Scott certainly wasn’t making a good first impression.
The girl picked herself up off the floor, brushing down her pale pink shirt and
dark grey trousers before turning to address Thompson and Matthews.
“I am Agent Shojime Mokuro.” She stated, somehow managing to stress the
‘agent’ even though she was obviously very shy and nervous. A muttered curse
from the side lines told the other agents that Scott had identified his
mistake; even though he wasn’t about to openly acknowledge it to everyone else.
Mokuro tucked a few stray mocha brown locks behind her ear, timidly informing
them that she was 21 before showing them a map of the Talbot campus, explaining
that it was only between 8 and 10 minutes away from the police station.
‘21…’ Matthews silently mused ‘She must be
damn good at what she does to be here at such a young age…’
It was as the blue eyed woman
whispered this to her superior that she noticed there was one more person in
the room, leaning against the wall as he listened in. under any other
circumstances, she may have found the other man mysteriously captivating, the
top layer of his golden mane was cut short and seemed badly in need of
brushing, whilst the under layer had been allowed to grow past his shoulders and
was restrained by a small leather hair wrap at the base of his neck. Noticing
Matthews’ sudden silence, Thompson followed her stare to the object of her
distraction
“You must be Agent Valkov.” He
stated, causing the others to turn their attention on the final team member.
“That would be me. And these,” he
informed, turning the cork board to reveal the happy, smiling faces of 7
students next to the contrasting, disgusting pictured of their corpses and
injuries “, are our victims.”
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“Our victim count just jumped from
3, to 7, to 8 in the space of 20 minutes. The first case couldn’t be something
simple, could it?” Scott commented irritably as Thompson pulled up to the
latest dump site. First they were notified that the police had found another
dumpsite where they had found four bodies, hence the sudden jump in body count,
and then they had received a call that a new body had been discovered. Agents
Matthews and Mokuro had stayed at the station to interview the victim’s family,
whilst the remaining agents went to investigate.
“Criminals don’t take breaks or
‘take it easy’, so why should we? Who is she?” Thompson asked, crouching down
to the carelessly thrown away carcass. His action was mirrored by Valkov, who
seemed to be drinking in the details of the scene with his haunting blue-violet
eyes.
“Maria Lawrence.” Evans replied
“Studying ‘Sports Development and Coaching Sciences’, she’s 21 years old.”
“The same age as ‘Agent’ Mokuro.”
The other agents decided to ignore Scott’s comment, concentrating instead on
the stink of sewage and discarded bins and the pitiful scene strewn out before
them. The girl’s head was shaven, and you could still see the tear tracks upon
her pale cheeks. Her wrists, ankles, mouth, and neck were rubbed raw, giving a
pretty clear impression of what her final moments were like. There was not much
information to be found other than this kill was exactly the same as the ones
preceding it.
Upon returning to the station,
Valkov went to join Mokuro at the table, showing her the most recent crime
scene photos, to which she laid before him a picture of the first victim, only
discovered the day before. She seemed to be explaining something and as
Thompson crept closer, he saw how animated she became when she was discussing
something within her field of knowledge. She was describing to Valkov the
difference in the first kill to the others, how she could tell by closely
examining the photographs that the first victim, William Davies, had received
blunt force trauma to the head, cracking the skull. She went on to describe how
this could have caused internal bleeding, and how there were not any signs of a
struggle on his body.
“What is your field of specialty,
agent Mokuro?” Thompson enquired, making the young agent jump and return to her
previous nervous state whilst rambling to him the details of her degree in the
field of Forensic Anthropology and self-researched knowledge in medicine. She
had some impressive achievements for such a young age that was for sure. This
brought him to wonder about his other agents. He knew of Scott’s speciality, he
knew that Matthew’s had earned her merits mostly in the field of trafficking,
and he presumed Barker had always been, as Scott had put it, a ‘tech whizz’,
but he still knew nothing about Valkov or Evans. As if reading his mind, the
unit chief heard Scott echo his question to Evans, who proudly stated her old
position in the counter terrorism unit.
“What about you, Valkov?” The
blonde looked up from whatever it was Mokuro was showing him “What’s your area
of expertise?”
“…I’m the team’s Supernatural
Expert.” He stated warily, to which Scott erupted with laughter
“Nice one. But, seriously, what’s
your area?” As Matthews and Thompson had feared, Valkov seemed very unimpressed
and went back to what he was doing, ignoring further questioning from his
fellow agent. He had been serious. They had glazed over what Mr Dickenson had
said, and assumed that he had been joking about ‘supernatural’ cases. Matthews
now drew the conclusion that the sayings about assumptions were correct,
especially when it was Scott doing the assuming. Tension began to swarm the
room like a thick fog as the tanned male’s amusement faded into the same
realisation, and Thompson began to wonder if this team really would get along.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
The
team went to Talbot Campus the next day, where they were greeted by three of
the lecturers. Thompson had spent half the night looking over the case details
a few more times, and the other half wondering if the tensions would be lifted
by the time they got to the campus. The way Mokuro and Valkov chose to drive
with Evans rather than Scott spoke volumes, but at least everyone seemed to be tolerating
each other… for now.
“Good
morning, agents. I am Gareth Lloyd, professor of Forensic Science here.” The
team greeted the professor; his kind features a pleasant contrast to the reason
for their meeting “Accompanying me is Cecilia Holmes, lecturer of Law and Peter
Collins, from the Sports Development and Coaching department.” After greeting
each staff member in turn, the team split up. Thomson took Evans with him to
interview Peter Collins, whilst he trusted Matthews to keep an eye on Scott and
find out what they could from Gareth Lloyd. Meanwhile, Valkov and Mokuro were
under instructions to go with Cecilia Holmes and survey the layout of the
campus and gather what they could from potential witnesses.
Peter
Collins had surprisingly little to say for himself. It seemed as though the
deaths had still not completely registered in his mind, he would speak in
present tense about the most recent victims, his students, and spoke highly of
them.
“And
William Davies. He was a strapping young lad. Very smart, chose the wrong
subject to study though.” “What did he study?” Thompson enquired, remembering what Mokuro suggested about the first victim being killed differently to the others.
“Forensic
Science. Can’t imagine why, he was a true sportsman at heart. Was running
cross-country at county level, in fact! An excellent runner all round. He was
even going to leave university to compete in the Olympics. Terrible loss.” The
two agents exchanged a glance before excusing themselves to interview the rest
of the staff. Each and every one had praise for the students who were their
own, and little to say about the others. The competitive atmosphere between
staff, and students, was obvious the moment they had set foot in the
department, but still Evans felt they were no closer to catching the killer. ~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“The
first victim, William Davies, he was one of your students?” Matthews asked
gently. She had left Scott to interview the other staff members after seeing a
look in Professor Lloyd’s eyes that caused her to believe he needed to get away
from the gruesome truth of it all. “He was… he had a brilliant mind, Agent Matthews. One of the best students I have ever had the honour to teach.” His eyes shone with sadness as he looked to a picture frame propped up against several glass jars, a small one containing a lambs heart, one with some sort of liver, and a large one with a pigs brain suspended in some sort of liquid.
“Were
you close?”
“He
would often spend extra time in the lab, but he had other passions as well, so
he gradually spent less and less time here.” His voice broke as he spoke, and
Matthews couldn’t determine the mix of emotions that coated his words. Remorse,
most likely, from the sudden loss of someone he saw every day. She continued to
talk to the grieving professor until Scott returned, grimly informing her that
a girl had gone missing half an hour earlier…
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
There
were so many suspects, it was unreal. Thompson had had Barker do a background
check on every member of staff and every student in each of the victims
classes, but there seemed to be no way of narrowing the search. Each team
member sat in the canteen, throwing ideas to each other now and then between
bites of their chosen food. Scott had said little – he was busy tearing into a
meaty burger whilst Matthews asked him if he knew how to chew. Matthews had a
salad, whilst Valkov placed a chicken sandwich in front of Evans, who had
chosen to get nothing, insisting that he could hear her stomach growling from
where he sat across the table with some yoghurt coated concoction he had mixed
together. The youngest of the team remained silent, a small platter of sushi
satisfying her needs, and Thomson himself, whilst observing and trying his best
not to profile each of his team members, had the laptop set up to talk to
Barker, having already finished his own lunch of a Ginsters steak slice. Yes,
he liked to keep things simple.
“The missing girl is Sarah Price, 19. She’s another Sports Management student.” He informed
“The
subjects the victims studied have to have something
to do with why they were targeted.” Matthews spoke, disturbing the almost
companionable silence “that should narrow down the suspect list, right? Maybe
to the sports staff”“The missing girl is Sarah Price, 19. She’s another Sports Management student.” He informed
“Why would the sports staff kill their own students? According to the records Barker dug up, they were all high grade students.” Evans pointed out before Thompson picked up the conversation
“I think that the key to this case lies with the first victim. He was the only one without ligature marks, the only one with a fractured skull, and-”
“The only one to be buried.” Matthews finished “The UnSub may have held remorse for this victim…” Attention turned to Matthews as everyone thought back to what she had said about her conversation with Professor Lloyd.
“Matthews, take Valkov and Mokuro with you and check out Lloyd and his lab again. Evans, Scott, you two are with me. We’re going to check out the dumpsites again and see if there’s anything we missed.” Each team member nodded, jumping into action, hoping they could wrap this up before another young life was claimed.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Matthews took the seat opposite Lloyd, smiling with unease,
now fully aware of every movement he made. But his attention was not on her, it
was on Valkov, who moved around the room examining different objects as if to
serve his own unknown purpose. Glancing to her left, she was a little
frustrated when Mokuro gestured that she didn’t know what their co-worker was
doing either.
“Haven’t you asked me enough questions, agents?”
“I’m sorry,” Matthews replied as sincerely as she could manage “But we’ve been asked to come and see you again.” As Matthews began the questioning, the youngest agent’s eyes joined Lloyd’s in following Valkov around the room before she brought them to rest upon the glass jars.
“I’m sorry,” Matthews replied as sincerely as she could manage “But we’ve been asked to come and see you again.” As Matthews began the questioning, the youngest agent’s eyes joined Lloyd’s in following Valkov around the room before she brought them to rest upon the glass jars.
“Probably not. But if we follow the book to the letter we
won’t get anywhere fast. Follow my lead.” She had no time to ask what he meant
as he crossed the room with a few confident strides and smiled with what seemed
to be genuine care at the supposedly grieving professor.
“I really am sorry for your loss, sir, and for all these
questions. No doubt you are wishing we could just hurry up and catch the
UnSub?”
“Yes… indeed…” the elder man frowned, confused by the change
in person addressing him
“UnSub?”
“I must say I find forensics fascinating. This is a lamb’s heart, correct?” Valkov asked, picking up the jar and examining it before placing it back down “And a horse’s liver?”
“Here, let me help. Do you have a spare jar?” Despite the feeble attempts of the woman to calm the raging professor, the three agents found themselves promptly ushered from the room, the door slamming shut behind them.
“It was a human brain.” Stunned
silence was quickly broken as Matthews wasted no time in calling Thompson, who
had just left the morgue.
“Lloyd?” Scott frowned, watching the other man hang up, a grim look invading
his features. If Lloyd was in his office, chances were that Sarah Price was
dead already…
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“Freeze!”
Lloyd sat, uncaring, behind his desk, gazing at the brain that had been placed
in a new jar.
“Where
is Sarah Price?” Thompson demanded, hoping that they were not too late whilst
being all too aware of the likelihood she was already dead. But Lloyd just continued
to sit there. No admission. No denial. Just an eerie silence that chilled him
to the bone and a smile that made his stomach knot. The police searched the
office and his lab, and Evans was sent with several officers to Lloyd’s home,
but they found nothing. No sign of the missing girl. Thompson knew the presence
of a human brain on Lloyd’s desk wouldn’t be enough for a conviction,
especially with the crowd slowly accumulating in the corridors that arguing
their professor’s innocence.
“Thompson!!”
the unit chief turned to look at Scott, whose defiant gaze told him that all
was not yet lost “Barker says that Lloyd has a second lab space in the
basement!” He thought he heard Valkov mutter something along the lines of ‘How
cliché’ as the pair of them, along with Mokuro and a couple of officers,
charged down to the basement, leaving Matthews and Scott to deal with the flood
of protesting students.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
The
room was dark and dismal, the stench of blood and bleach hitting the agents
like a brick wall as they entered. To one side of the room was a display
cabinet containing 7 jars each with a brain suspended in a clear liquid and
labelled with the name of its previous owner. They were all there. Marco Adheo.
Diana Lee. Stacey Barnes. Carl Blake. Anne Roberts. Nathan Daniels. Maria Lawrence.
Valkov rushed to the centre of the room where a body lay strapped to a wooden
workbench, stepping over the hair which littered the floor. Mokuro could have
sworn that everybody held their breath as the blonde reached out and pressed
his fingers against the girl’s neck.“She’s alive!” He called, quickly holstering his weapon and unstrapping the girl before scooping her into his arms. Thompson and the officers shielded them as they exited; the girl had been through enough, without all the attention.
The team watched as the ambulance drove away and Lloyd was placed in the back of a police car. He had wanted to create a ‘smarter race’ of humans by killing those he deemed ‘unfit’, those who ‘didn’t use their brains to their full potentials’. William Davies had been an accident, hence the remorse, but also the factor that had left Lloyd with a taste for killing. The rant he had had about sports not being a science had lasted the whole 10 minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive for Sarah Price, but it was his parting comment that had stunned the team into silence.
‘They were doing the world a service by dying. People like you and them are hindering our race. They deserved to die.’
Thompson surveyed his team with weary eyes. This was their first case, and things had been pretty tense; eight lives had been lost to that man and the team didn’t exactly see eye to eye at the moment. That would be enough to break most people. But he could already see that his team was not most people. Each one of them was different, and, although they all knew now exactly what they would be getting into, not one of them showed any sign of backing down. Yes, it may take a while before things are settled between them, but there was at least one thing of which he was certain: he was in command of a group of strong and reliable people. And that in itself was an honour…
…Now all he had to do was write up the report.
“Everybody is a genius. But if
you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life
believing that it is stupid.” ~Albert Einstein
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