Another Life by Peter Anghelides Page A

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