The Absent Man Page 22

  Bermuda nodded, realising he hadn’t noted any of it down and immediately couldn’t be bothered.

  ‘Same as before. Heart ripped clean out. Her left wrist is broken, which indicates a small struggle, but again, the force in which the bone has been snapped indicates…’

  ‘That Parker isn’t human.’

  Both of them stood silent in the tent, the crime scene alive with activity beyond the flapping tarpaulin door.

  After some careful consideration, McAllister spoke. ‘Butler spoke to Strachan about your theories and, well, suffice to say she wasn’t too keen on them.’

  ‘Shocking.’ Bermuda’s tone was heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘I’ve been ordered to abandon all investigation into Parker not being human and dedicate all my time to other leads.’

  ‘Oh come on. You know I’m right.’

  ‘Franklyn, I’m sorry.’ McAllister looked beaten. ‘Maybe I was just so upset about everything that I wanted to believe you, I don’t know. But I can’t go hunting ghosts with you.’

  ‘Really? You’re going to deny the fingerprint, the photo, everything?’

  ‘I’ve been instructed to have you removed from all crime scenes going forward. Strachan says she has spoken to a Mr Black at your organisation and has agreed to your dismissal from the case and your leaving the city.’

  Bermuda stood quietly, the failure of his case almost outweighing the betrayal he felt from McAllister. They had shared some heated moments, but had opened up to each other when no one would listen.

  She had been one person who hadn’t turned her back on him.

  Until now.

  A few more moments of silence passed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she offered meekly.

  Bermuda forced a smile and retrieved his hat from his pocket, slicking his damp hair back against his head and then slipping the wool over his skull.

  ‘All the best, Sam.’ He held out a hand. ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

  She clasped his hand and squeezed, the two of them nodding before Bermuda turned and threw open the tent door and strode back across the crime scene. A few police officers looked on with intrigue. Paramedics carefully wheeled a table out of the gate towards the ambulance, the blood-drenched blanket failing to keep Mika’s death a secret. SOCOs stood silently in respect as the dead was transferred to the vehicle, Butler one of the few stood in silence with his head dropped.

  Bermuda kept his head up and his eyes focused as he passed, only for Butler to step out behind him, his thick Scottish voice travelling through the rain.

  ‘Good riddance to ya.’

  Bermuda stopped. He muttered to himself not to turn around and instantly ignored his own advice. Butler, sensing the impending confrontation, cracked his neck slightly and rolled his shoulders. Bermuda stepped up to him, but then to his shock, extended a hand.

  ‘All the best,’ Bermuda offered.

  Butler sneered and slapped it away. ‘Fuck you,’ he spat. ‘Why don’t you piss off back to London and go back to chasing your tail?’

  Bermuda smirked. ‘I could do that. However, due to the complete incompetence of Glasgow’s finest, I’m actually going to stay and stop a serial killer.’

  Butler’s eyes widened with rage.

  ‘Feel free to stay the fuck out of my way.’

  Butler swung, but instinct overtook Bermuda with surprise. He ducked and instantly raised his knee into Butler’s solid stomach. The detective arched over, the air leaving his body, and Bermuda stepped back, watching as Butler fell to his knee.

  Two police officers raced forward, each grabbing him by the arm and dragging him through the crowd of onlookers towards the tape.

  McAllister rushed out of the tent and stopped by her partner, helping him to his feet only to be shoved away. Butler was tough, but even he could have his pride hurt. McAllister sent a sad glance towards Bermuda, who shrugged as the two officer threw him under the tape. He hit the hard concrete and rolled slightly, his body covered in dirt and rainwater. A civilian offered him a hand up, muttering something about police brutality that Bermuda ignored.

  He straightened his coat by its lapels and stormed up the road, determined more than ever to catch Parker.

  ‘You handled yourself well and applied your training,’ Argyle complimented, walking powerfully beside him. ‘I am impressed.’

  ‘Thanks, Big Guy,’ Bermuda responded, ignoring the pain of his scratched hand. ‘He had it coming.’

  ‘Because he is a cunt?’

  Bermuda stopped dead and tried not to laugh. A sadness swept through him which he wouldn’t know due to his absence, but it must have been the feeling a parent gets when their child swears. The word seemed so harmless and innocent coming out of Argyle’s mouth. It struck Bermuda dumb how something so large, powerful, and deadly could be the personification of innocence.

  ‘Don’t use that word, Argyle. Trust me.’

  Argyle nodded, never questioning a direct order.

  They continued their march towards the BTCO office, with Bermuda affording himself a wry smile. McAllister may have abandoned their case, but beside him, he knew Argyle would be there until the bitter end.

  Whenever that might come.

  Kevin Parker sat on the stone floor, his legs crossed. Some rain had infiltrated the brickwork of the tomb, and a faint sound of water splashing against concrete could be heard in the darkness. On the stone wall before him, he could see a smudge of dried blood, undoubtedly from where that human had collided with the wall two nights ago.

  The one they called Bermuda.

  The one he wanted to kill.

  As the shadows of the tomb encompassed him, he reached his hand outwards, his fingers gently caressing the scratched markings on the stone.

  The very markings he had made when held here, locked in this stone prison. The only solace he had was that one day he would see her again. That he would hold her, let her know that he loved her.

  They would return her to him.

  As fury filled up inside him, he heard the slow, purposeful footsteps behind him as his handler entered the cage. Parker knew the rules; he was never allowed to turn. To lay eyes on his captor would result in her death.

  He remembered when they had brought him two of her fingers, the blood still fresh from where the bone had been severed.

  Parker closed his black eyes and held his breath. A hand gently landed upon his shoulder.

  ‘You have done well, my child.’ The voice was seasoned and well spoken as each word sent a chill down Parker’s spine.

  He slowly turned his face, resting his cheek on the hand like a loyal guard dog. ‘Can I have her now? Have I done enough?’

  The hope in his words bordered on pathetic, and he refused to turn to face the voice in the dark. It clearly didn’t belong to Bermuda, whose interference might now impact her return. He had made a sworn promise that the moment he saw Bermuda again, he would tear him apart.

  ‘Not yet.’ The voice broke his concentration, the pain returning. The hand gently soothed his face. ‘We are so close.’

  ‘But I did what you asked.’ He looked to the altar that sat in the middle of the tomb, the bloodstained heart of Mika resting in the centre. ‘I brought you the heart. Same as before.’

  The voice soothed him, gently shushing away his concerns. ‘One more.’ The voice was almost pure, gentle and soft. ‘For tonight, we will take him. My men have followed his every move, and tonight we will manoeuvre him to where we need him. He will kneel before me, right where you are now, and will surrender.’

  ‘Who?’ Parker’s voice rose with worry, his understanding of the agreement slowly disappearing like a sandcastle in a rising tide.

  ‘The one who walks in both worlds.’ The words slithered through gritted teeth, laced with menace.

  Parker nodded, pretending to understand. All he needed was to see her again. He didn’t care why.

  ‘How many more do you desire?’ he asked the shadows, the hand tigh
tening its grip on his shoulder. He felt the darkness of another world pulling him back; the name Caleb filtered through his mind and was instantly dismissed.

  He thought of her.

  Only her.

  ‘One more.’ The response made him sit up straight. ‘Bring me one more and let that be the end of it. Either we will return what was taken or end it completely.’

  ‘You promised.’ His words were feeble.

  He felt the face of his captor drop down to his ear level.

  ‘We will see, after I have spilt the blood of the one we have come for.’

  And with that, the fingers left his shoulder, and within moments Parker was surrounded by nothing but cold concrete and curtains of shadow. The rain hammered the outside of the tomb, echoing through the stone structure like chattering teeth. Tonight, one more woman would have to die.

  One more heart would have to be stolen.

  He slowly closed his eyes, dreaming fondly of what they would do when they took what they came for.

  The death of Bermuda Jones.

  For the first time in decades, Kevin Parker slept soundly, knowing it was time for his final collection.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bermuda sat at a small table at the back of Costa, watching as the first few customer filtered in, all of them yawning and with heavy bags under their eyes – the price to pay for having intense jobs. As he sipped his latte, he waited impatiently for McAllister to message him back.

  The very thought of her caused him to tense up with frustration. She believed him, he knew she did. But obviously toeing the line was more important than the truth, and he found himself respecting her less. She had been through hell outside of the police force, so she was always going to look for the easier path at work.

  But she knew the truth.

  Ignoring it would just lead to more hearts being ripped out and more women being killed.

  Bermuda knocked back the last of his coffee, his body screaming for the caffeine after his half-five start. The world was still enveloped in darkness, the sun a long way off from waking. Bermuda left the coffee shop and headed back out into the cold, the wind whistling through the narrow streets. Luckily the rain had died down, but the temperature still clung to him like a frozen koala.

  Argyle had headed straight to the BTCO HQ, which was where Bermuda was headed to now. Furious after McAllister’s rejection and his confrontation with Butler, Bermuda had needed to be alone. To gather his thoughts and to grab a coffee. Without question, Argyle had stepped away, as loyal as ever.

  What would Bermuda do without him?

  With his hands stuffed in his pockets, Bermuda walked down the high street, the streetlights reflecting off the shutters that covered the front of every shop. A few early birds wondered through, wearing expensive suits that their long-houred, highly paid jobs dictated they wore. A few homeless people lay huddled in the front doorway of a River Island, straining for warmth and begging for a better tomorrow.

  An Other strolled past on the other side of the street, refusing to allow its black eyes to meet Bermuda’s.

  They all knew who he was.

  The Other broke into a faster stride as soon as it passed Bermuda before joining a shadow and merging with it.

  Bermuda was only interested in one creature.

  Kevin Parker.

  As he approached the damp boards that acted as the front door to his office, he thought back to that night. The loathing in Parker’s voice.

  The desperation.

  Bermuda descended the large steps, going deeper underground and into the secrecy of the BTCO, consumed with the thought of finding Parker and catching him.

  Of saving the next young woman who he would slaughter.

  The office was dark and empty as he walked in, the old school desk lifeless and covered in dust. He slid his hat off his head, his hair spiking up like a pineapple. Argyle would undoubtedly be in his chambers; Bermuda smirked at the idea of him sleeping upside down like some sort of vampire bat. He closed his eyes, appreciating the warmth and the silence of the BTCO office. The isolation was welcoming, the loneliness for once sliding around him like a loving hug.

  He opened his eyes and saw the bespectacled eyes of Kelly McDonald staring back at him.

  He jumped back, cursing under his breath. She smiled a smile of pure adulation.

  ‘Hello, Bermuda.’ Her words were thick and Glaswegian. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ He wrestled his heartbeat back to normal. ‘Why are you here so early?’

  ‘Someone has to water the plants.’

  Bermuda shook his head in amazement as the small, tweed-wearing ball of chaos disappeared amongst the desks, not a plant in sight. He found a quiet corner of the office and checked the PCs on the surrounding desks; the bulky white machines were a decade out of time. He blew away the dust and booted one to life, the components within screaming in pain as they were called to action for the first time in eternity.

  The heavy screen burst into life, the Windows Vista logo proudly displayed despite its expiration. Bermuda almost felt guilty for the state of the office compared to the one underneath the Shard, with technology only seen in a Philip K Dick novel. However, for all the advanced computers and nude blue creatures tracking other monsters, the BTCO HQ back in London didn’t have a tornado of tweed jackets, woollen jumpers, and nailed-on spinsterhood quite like Kelly McDonald.

  Bermuda provided her with a knee-weakening smile as she placed a cup of tea down, her hero-worshipping causing her to walk away backwards to maintain eye contact. When she had finally disappeared, he logged into his terminal and was instantly confronted by a demand from the one thing the BTCO HQ in London did have.

  Montgomery Black.

  A barrage of emails flooded Bermuda’s inbox, all of them finding new and colourful ways to tell him he had ruined the case and was relieved of duty. The final one, a video recording of the furious Scotsman, demanded Bermuda return to London immediately, and that he was more than likely going to be relieved of his duty, especially now that Ottoway looked unlikely to resume control.

  That hit Bermuda hard.

  Throughout the years as a BTCO agent and through the acceptance of his curse, Bermuda had two people he had relied upon. One of them strapped a sword to his spine and followed him into the darkness.

  The other sat back in the office, defending his actions and fighting his corner after every indiscretion and every broken landmark.

  Ottoway had put an arm around him when the world had turned their backs.

  Now he was dying. Laid up in a hospital bed with more tubes than the London Underground. Bermuda felt a sadness swell in his chest, the thought of losing one of the few people left in his life filling him with sadness.

  Six months ago, Sophie Summer had walked away, her fear of his life far outweighing their growing attraction. Chloe had been broken by his failure to be there at her birthday. Not calling her had just added a dot to the already painful exclamation point.

  Ottoway was the closest thing he had had to a father figure, his own father nothing more than a rejected footnote that never had an input in his life.

  As the thoughts swirled in his head like a vintage wine, he realised he had shed a tear. Embarrassed, he wiped it away and unlocked his phone. He thumbed through the bizarre names that formed his address book before selecting the direct line to Ottoway, hoping beyond hope that the voice at the end of the line was the welcoming one.

  ‘Hello.’ It was.

  ‘Vincent.’ Bermuda exhaled with relief. ‘It’s Bermuda.’

  ‘Ah, Agent Jones. We have been trying to get hold of you.’

  ‘I can see.’ Bermuda rolled his eyes. ‘Has Monty ever heard of spam?’

  ‘Spam?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Bermuda leant back in his chair, sipping the tea that was basically hot milk. ‘How’s Ottoway?’

  ‘Lord Felix is comfortable.’ Vincent’s sadness betrayed the calmness of his voice. ‘W
e are in the final stages of a potential cure.’

  ‘For cancer?’ Bermuda sat up straight. The idea of vanquishing one of the world’s greatest evils was remarkable.

  ‘We can but try,’ Vincent said, dampening the optimism. ‘As you know, the breakthroughs in science we have provided for your race have been substantial. Yet cancer is a different beast entirely.’

  ‘Speaking of beasts,’ Bermuda started dryly. ‘This Kevin Parker chap, he isn’t a normal Other.’

  ‘The information we are gathering from the Oracles seems to correlate this. Due to his heightened strength, ability to be seen by the human world, and Argyle’s lack of detection, they are categorising him as an Exceptional.’

  Bermuda laughed. The new labelling system was too scattergun for him – he wanted to label all of them a threat and close the goddamn doorway. Yet with Ottoway laid up in bed, his life slowly being eaten by something worse than any Other, Bermuda knew why they kept it open. The Otherside would one day kill him, he knew that. Kill him and claim him.

  It had already started.

  But it was still Ottoway’s best chance of survival.

  ‘Agent Jones.’ Vincent refocused him. ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. An Exceptional or whatever it is you are calling your new project.’

  ‘That is exactly what we are calling it.’ Vincent spoke almost as matter-of-factly as Argyle. ‘You are to return to London immediately under orders of Montgomery Black, and in no way are you to engage with Kevin Parker until we can develop a greater understanding of his powers.’

  Suddenly, a door slammed on the other end of the phone and Bermuda could hear a rustling sound, like somebody wrapping the phone in a paper bag. After a while, the volume of the call got louder. Another voice told him he was now on speaker phone.

  And in a hell of a lot of trouble.

  ‘Jones, you are to come back to London right now, do you hear me!’ Bermuda could almost hear the veins straining against Black’s forehead.

  ‘Hello, Monty.’

  ‘Shut up.’ Venom spat from his lips. ‘You just shut your mouth. Not only have you disobeyed direct orders from your acting commander, but you have also brought the entire investigation into disarray. In fact, I’ve had Detective Chief Inspector Fowler, someone I admire very much, call me and demand I remove you from the goddamn case.’