Spectre's Rest Page 10

  ‘Grace, this is Mac,’ it said. ‘We’ve got a big problem here.’

  ‘For God’s sake, what now?’ Montano snapped. She pressed the talk button. ‘What is it, Mac?’

  ‘It’s Corbyn,’ Mac replied.

  Here we go, Trev thought. I knew this power cut was no fluke event. Someone staged it so they could break Corbyn out. Mac’s just got down there and found his cell empty.

  ‘What about him?’ Montano demanded. ‘He’s escaped?’

  ‘No,’ Mac replied. ‘He’s dead.’

  Twelve

  There was a moment of complete silence in the room.

  ‘What?’ said Montano. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Mac’s voice. ‘He’s still locked in his cell, but he’s dead.’

  ‘Stay there,’ Montano said. ‘I’m coming down.’

  She strode out of the room, jerking her head at Richie to indicate that he should go with her. Desai looked at Trev, shrugged, grabbed a torch, and went after them. Trev followed her lead, stunned. Corbyn was dead? Why? How?

  ‘Simon,’ Montano said into her walkie-talkie.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said a deep voice.

  ‘Is Block B secure?’

  ‘Yes, all prisoners accounted for.’

  ‘Thank you. Suzanne?’

  ‘I’m here, go ahead,’ said a female voice with a Scottish accent.

  ‘Is Block C secure?’

  ‘Aye, all present and correct.’

  ‘Good. Liz?’

  ‘Yes, Grace.’

  ‘When are we getting the power back?’

  ‘Any minute now.’

  Montano and Richie reached the stairs and headed down. Desai waited for Trev to catch her up. He was still a little wobbly, but nothing was going to stop him from going down to the cells. He had to see Corbyn’s body for himself.

  He might have known who the traitor was, Trev thought. Could that be why he was killed? Or maybe it was Seth Lysander tying up a loose end? Neither explanation was entirely convincing. Only Trev had known what sort of information Corbyn was offering; and if the vampire had been a threat to Lysander as a result of their previous dealings, surely he’d have been “disposed of” long before the Custodians captured him?

  ‘Did you really see a creature outside?’ Desai said to him as he caught up.

  ‘Yeah,’ Trev said. ‘No idea what it was or what it was doing, but I saw it.’

  ‘Do you think it’s something to do with the power cut and Corbyn’s death?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue,’ Trev replied. He kept his eyes on his feet as they descended the stairs. One head injury was quite enough for the evening. ‘It’d be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t, though.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Desai. ‘I think we’ve walked into the middle of something here, Trev. We should tread carefully.’

  ‘Bit late to tell me that,’ Trev said, pointing at his head.

  ‘You should probably go to the infirmary with that,’ Desai suggested.

  ‘I will,’ said Trev. ‘I want to see Corbyn first.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To be sure it’s actually him, and not some sneaky trick.’

  ‘If he’d got a plan to fake his death and escape, surely he wouldn’t have bothered calling you out here to negotiate?’

  Trev scowled at Desai’s annoyingly sensible question. ‘Maybe that’s what he wants us to think,’ he said.

  ‘I think you should go to the infirmary,’ Desai replied.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs. Desai shone her torch down the corridor and Trev’s heart-rate accelerated as he looked through the bars past Cell Block A. The big metal door stood open where Montano and Richie had gone through. The shadows Trev could see seemed perfectly normal; he wondered for a moment whether he should tell Desai about the shadows, but as telling her about the creature outside appeared to have made her think he was concussed or hallucinating, he decided to keep it to himself.

  Trev’s frayed nerves were given another tug as the fluorescent lights above them suddenly buzzed and flickered on. Liz and Frank, whoever they were, had got the power running again.

  ‘Finally,’ said Desai, switching off her torch.

  They made their way through the door and Trev got his first look at one of the prison’s cell blocks. It was a huge space. The cells were three storeys high and extended all the way to the far wall. Metal staircases led up to catwalks that allowed access to the upper cells. Nets were strung between the catwalks so that anyone who fell, jumped or was pushed from the higher levels wouldn’t drop all the way to the concrete below.

  The cells themselves were split into two types. Those on the ground floor had old-fashioned bars, with one side able to slide across to allow access. A prisoner in one of those would have almost no privacy. The cells on the upper floors had metal doors with circular inspection windows set into them. Trev tried to imagine being imprisoned in that cold, bleak place, and wished he hadn’t.

  Montano, Richie and Mac were standing in front of one of the ground-floor cells. Trev and Desai joined them. The cell was more Spartan than King Leonidas. It contained a metal bedstead with a thin foam pad instead of a mattress, a small desk and chair, and a washbasin and toilet. Everything was built to last and bolted down. The tiny window at the back of the cell was recessed into the wall, and Trev doubted that there was much of a view out of it.

  Corbyn’s body lay on the floor. It was tangled in a blanket, suggesting that he’d fallen from the bed. His flesh had dried and shrivelled, and his hands were pulled up to his chest as if in spasm. Vampirism was caused by a virus, and Trev knew from past experience that when one of the creatures died the virus began to feed on the body in an attempt to survive. Older vampires, who had lived past their natural human lifespan with the virus’s aid, were often consumed completely, turning into a revolting sludge. Corbyn hadn’t been that old, for a vampire at least, so most of him was left.

  Montano flicked her eyes across Trev and Desai but didn’t ask them to leave. She was listening to Mac, who was filling her in on how he’d found the body. Trev hadn’t been able to get a good view of him on the stairs. He was a muscular man, with black hair so heavily gelled it looked like it was made of plastic, and a week’s growth of beard.

  ‘And he was just there, like this,’ Mac was saying. ‘The shrivelling has got worse since I found him, so he can’t have been dead long or the virus would already have burned itself out.’

  ‘No obvious wounds,’ Montano said. ‘He can’t have been shot or stabbed through the bars.’

  ‘Poison?’ said Richie.

  ‘We won’t know until we get a post-mortem done,’ Montano said. She ran a hand down the side of her face. ‘This is a nightmare.’

  ‘We need to lock the place down, Grace,’ Desai said. ‘Nobody in or out. The power cut can’t have been a coincidence.’

  ‘I know that,’ Montano snapped. ‘In the unlikely event that I require your advice, I’ll ask for it.’

  ‘All right,’ said Desai, holding up a placating hand. ‘I was just saying, that’s all. Trev and I are happy to help in any capacity we can. Just let us know.’

  ‘As one of you was found outside the cell block covered in blood just before the body was discovered, I’m more likely to lock you up than ask for your help,’ Montano said. ‘Don’t push it.’

  ‘What, you’re saying I’m a suspect?’ Trev said. ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘You conduct an off-the-record interview with Corbyn, and a few hours later he’s dead, with you hanging around his cell block,’ Montano replied. ‘Can you see why I might be suspicious?’

  Trev’s jaw hung open. ‘How could I have engineered a power cut?’ he said at last. ‘How could I have got in here? And even if I could have done those things, how could I have killed him from outside the cell?’

  ‘Those questions are all that’s keeping you out of a cell yourself,’ said Montano. ‘But I can tell you this: if I find you were involved, i
t won’t matter how pally you are with Feargal Deacon – you’ll be in some very deep shit.’

  ‘Neither of us was involved,’ Trev said. ‘And for the record, I’m not “pally” with Deacon.’

  Montano eyed him. ‘Then you’ll be in really, really deep shit. Now go and see Dr. Bookbinder in the infirmary and get that cut looked at.’

  She walked away and began snapping orders into her walkie-talkie. Trev flicked a v-sign at her back and crouched down to get a closer look at Corbyn’s body. When did I get so blasé at seeing dead bodies? he wondered. Or is it just less shocking if you really disliked the deceased?

  ‘Is it him?’ Desai asked.

  ‘I think so, but I’m not a hundred percent,’ Trev replied.

  ‘They’ll do a DNA check,’ Richie said, sidling over to join in the conversation. ‘It’s usually the only way to be sure with dead vamps.’

  ‘Well if it isn’t him, then he’s out roaming the prison somewhere,’ Desai said. ‘The place is mostly empty, so he wouldn’t be short of places to hide.’

  ‘Well, that was reassuring,’ said Trev. ‘I’ll sleep soundly tonight.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Desai. ‘But until the DNA test confirms the victim’s identity, we have to allow for the possibility that Corbyn is loose.’

  ‘His car’s still here?’ Montano was coming back to the group, still talking on her radio.

  ‘Yes, I’m looking at it on the monitor right now,’ came the response. ‘I don’t know where he is, but he hasn’t left.’

  ‘If you see him on any of the cameras, let me know.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Someone missing?’ asked Desai.

  ‘Jerry Phelps,’ said Montano wearily. ‘Hasn’t been seen since before the power cut and isn’t answering his radio.’

  ‘Sounds like we have a suspect,’ Trev said.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Montano. ‘I thought I told you to go to the infirmary?’

  ‘We were just going,’ Trev said. ‘I wanted to get a look at the body before–’

  ‘Mr. Irwin, you are not a part of the investigation,’ Montano said, her voice rising. ‘You will go to the infirmary and get treatment, and then you will go to your assigned quarters and you will stay there. Understood?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Trev. ‘Fine. I’m going.’

  ‘We’re not trying to undermine you, Grace,’ said Desai. ‘Like I said, we’re happy to help. This doesn’t have to be another… I mean, we should work together on this.’

  ‘Another what?’ Montano’s voice was abruptly very quiet. Trev knew that kind of tone. It indicated that you should think very carefully about what you said next, because saying the wrong thing was likely to end with somebody nursing physical injuries.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Desai, flustered. ‘I didn’t… we’re going to the infirmary.’

  ‘Yes, I think you should,’ said Montano. She made a show of turning her back on them. Desai took Trev’s arm and steered him out of the cell block and into the corridor.

  ‘Wow, and I thought I was good at pissing people off,’ Trev said. ‘You got her from nought to murderous in under three seconds. What was it you stopped yourself from saying?’

  Desai grimaced. ‘I almost referred to the reason she’s here.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Grace was a high flyer in the Custodians a few years ago. Only behind Feargal and Jeannette Nicklin in the pecking order. But she made a pretty huge mistake.’

  ‘She didn’t look happy that you brought it up,’ Trev said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s probably best I don’t tell you,’ said Desai. ‘She’s annoyed enough with us as it is.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to ask her,’ Trev said.

  Desai glared at him. ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘Better tell me, then.’

  ‘I’m beginning to understand why you rub Feargal up the wrong way,’ Desai said with a sigh.

  Trev raised an eyebrow and made a circling get on with it gesture with his hand. ‘Come on, I need something to take my mind off this headache.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Desai. ‘I’ll give you the short version. Grace was working down in London. They had a problem in the East End with a small gang of vampires who were snatching people off the street to feed on. Grace had a good network of informants and managed to find out where the vampires were hiding.’

  ‘They raided the place and it all went horribly wrong?’ Trev suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ Desai said. ‘Grace took a team to the site to do some reconnaissance. They were supposed to wait until another team joined them before going in, but the backup was delayed and Grace decided her team could handle it. The vampires had just taken a new group of victims. All of them were killed in the raid, along with two of Grace’s team. The youngest casualty was twelve years old.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Trev. ‘I understand her reaction now.’

  ‘I can’t believe I almost brought it up with her,’ Desai said. ‘She hasn’t been in a pressure situation like that since, and it was on my mind because she was behaving a bit… erratically. It just slipped out.’

  ‘Erratically? That’s putting it mildly,’ Trev said. ‘She all but accused us of being involved in Corbyn’s murder.’

  ‘That’s why I’m worried,’ Desai said. ‘She was sent out here to run this place as a kind of punishment for the East End incident. Credit where it’s due, she’s done a good job of it. She was serving her time, salvaging her career. But now this happens… someone’ll have to carry the can, and Grace will make sure it isn’t her.’

  ‘You think she’ll try and pin the blame on us?’

  ‘I’m not sure what to think. But it’d be a good idea not to provoke her any more than you already have.’

  ‘OK,’ Trev said. ‘But it wasn’t our idea to put Corbyn in a cell block all on his own. No way she can blame us for that.’

  ‘You hope,’ Desai replied. She ran a hand through her hair. ‘It’d be nice if the only thing we had to worry about was being locked in a prison with a murderer on the loose.’

  ‘Your definition of the word “nice” must be substantially different from mine,’ Trev said.

  ‘We’ve got another problem, too,’ Desai said.

  ‘Really? What?’

  ‘We’re supposed to be going to the infirmary, right?’

  ‘Yes. Because I’m getting bored with looking like an extra in a Quentin Tarantino film.’

  ‘So do you, well, know where the infirmary is? Because I don’t.’

  Trev stopped walking. ‘I hope that was a joke.’

  Desai shook her head. ‘I just wanted to get us away from Grace as quickly as possible. I was hoping the infirmary would be signposted or something.’

  ‘I see,’ said Trev. ‘In summary, then: we’re locked in a prison with a murderer on the loose, the prison warden’s unstable and has fixated on us as possible scapegoats, I’m injured and haven’t got any weapons, and we’re lost?’

  ‘Could be worse,’ Desai said.

  ‘Only if I was on fire,’ Trev said. He looked over both shoulders, trying to see down his back. ‘I’m not on fire, am I?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I suppose we’d better find someone to ask for directions.’

  ‘I didn’t think men ever asked for directions.’

  ‘You’ll have to do it, obviously. I’m not allowed.’

  ‘Right.’

  Thirteen

  Eventually they ran into a harassed-looking guard who threw a concerned look at Trev’s bloodied face and gave them directions to the infirmary. It was located in the central section of the building, on the ground floor. Trev and Desai entered through a set of double doors and walked into a room that resembled a small hospital ward. There were eight beds, though all but two had been stripped down to the metal frames. There were lockers, cabinets and a large fridge for storing equipment and medical supplies, all of which were secured with padlocks. A handful of Chr
istmas decorations were scattered about the place in a haphazard fashion. A door in the left-hand wall stood ajar, a shaft of light spilling from it.

  ‘Hello?’ said Trev.

  ‘Hold on,’ said a voice from behind the door. Sounds of movement followed, then the door was flung open and a short, bespectacled man with thinning grey hair entered the room. He was wearing a white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck; the look was “stereotypical doctor” but the man’s clothes were so creased and rumpled, and his eyes so bleary, that Trev decided he looked more like someone who’d gone to a fancy dress party as a doctor and then slept in a ditch afterwards.

  ‘Dr. Bookbinder?’ asked Desai.

  ‘Yes, I’m Leo Bookbinder, good evening,’ said the doctor.

  ‘I’m Mishti Desai and this is Trevor Irwin,’ said Desai. ‘We’re with the Custodians.’

  ‘Hello there,’ said Bookbinder. He stepped forwards and shook hands with Desai before turning to Trev, who caught a strong whiff of alcohol on the man’s breath. As they shook Bookbinder flinched slightly, withdrawing his hand with a jerk.

  Trev glanced down at the palm of his hand to see what had caused the reaction. It looked as normal as it ever did. ‘You all right?’ he said.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ said Bookbinder. ‘Must’ve been a bit of static.’

  ‘Right,’ said Trev. ‘Anyway, you can probably guess why we’re here.’

  ‘My doctor’s intuition is telling me that you have sustained some form of trauma to the head recently,’ said Bookbinder.

  ‘Wow, you’re good,’ said Trev, smiling. ‘I think it’s probably not as bad as it looks.’

  ‘Is that your professional opinion?’ said Bookbinder.

  ‘Yep, that’s my professional opinion as an estate agent. I’d put it under the category of “structurally sound but the roof needs work”.’

  ‘I’d better have a look at it then,’ said Bookbinder with a chuckle. ‘Come through to my office.’

  He showed them through into the adjacent room. It was much like a GP’s office, with an examination table and a desk and chairs. A walkie-talkie sat on the desk, chattering away to itself with the volume set low. Bookbinder asked Trev to lie on the table and proceeded to clean and inspect the injury while asking questions. Trev had been worried that the doctor’s alcohol intake might make him heavy-handed, but the examination was quick and carried out with the minimum of discomfort. Either Bookbinder had a strong tolerance for alcohol, or he was used to working while drunk. Trev mentally filed him under “possible high-functioning alcoholic”.