Part 18 (2/2)

The Doctor was thrown into a police van that smelled of alcohol, urine and dogs. Other people were being bundled in and, through the melee, the Doctor could just make out the face of the girl. She had sad eyes, big and brown. The Doctor felt something he had rarely experienced during his travels through the cosmos: shame.

'That woman has not -' he began to say, but again he was forced into silence by a well-placed blow to his body.

'You her pimp, or what?' asked one of the young constables with a snarl.

The Doctor remained silent. There would be no reasoning with these people in the mood that they were in. As far as they were concerned, he was a criminal, a deranged man who had endangered the lives of innocent people. He looked across at the girl as the van doors banged shut. She was staring out of the back window, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears.

Two burly constables sat on either side of the Doctor, digging their elbows into his sides.

'I'll tell you everything I know about Shanks,' said the Doctor, which certainly seemed to capture the attention of the police officers in the van. But let the girl go.'

'No deal, suns.h.i.+ne,' said a man in an expensive suit sitting opposite the Doctor. 'Possession is nine-tenths of the law...'

He guffawed loudly and his colleagues joined in with sycophantic sn.i.g.g.e.rs. Right, Frank,' he shouted, banging the grille behind the driver's seat. 'Let's get these sc.u.mbags down to the shop and have some fun!'

Steven Chen pulled the thick curtain back across the stairwell. 'So, what's it all mean?' he asked, his voice echoing through the empty church like a bell.

Ace shrugged. 'Dunno. But it's well weird, and that's enough to interest the Professor.' She walked towards the side door, the torch illuminating the plaques and stone caskets that lined the wall.

'Maybe we should ask Reverend Baber about the photos,'

said Steven, hurrying after her.

Ace snorted. 'What, and admit that we broke into the church? No thanks.' She reached the side door, and pulled it open.

Something stood in the doorway, something that had once been human, but had changed beyond all recognition. It was a stickman, a puppet stuffed full of straw and corn and gra.s.s - but the dark eyes, just visible through what seemed to be a mask of roughly st.i.tched leather, were alive with a sadness that was human, corrupted by an evil that was not.

Two hands shot upward, spraying ears of corn. Ace glimpsed twigs and bone, wrapped with ill-fitting skin.

She slammed the door shut. Next to the archway was an ornate chair, and she jammed it up against the thick planks of oak. 'Give me a hand!' she exclaimed.

Steven was as motionless as the scarecrow had seemed, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. Only his lips moved. 'It's...

It's...'

'Course it is,' snapped Ace as blows rained down on the door. 'Help me wedge this door shut!'

Steven shook himself from his reverie, and ran towards the baptismal font. The simple stone construction had an ornately carved top that resembled a fantasy castle's spired turret. With grunts of exertion, he heaved the cover into the air, rolling it towards Ace, who was trying to keep the chair in position. Steven wedged the font top between the door lock and a fluted stone column that ran up into the rafters.

'Can't you just blow that thing up?' shouted Steven.

'I didn't bring any more Nitro with me,' said Ace, just as a straw-covered fist punched through the wooden door.

'Turn out your pockets, sir,' said the duty sergeant. The Doctor was in the charge room, a red-bricked alcove next to the cells which held most of the people arrested at the club.

The people around him whooped and hollered as if a trip to the police station was part of the evening's entertainment.

Only the young woman was silent, her dark eyes blinking back the tears.

'I wish it to be noted,' said the Doctor, 'that Shanks tried to force me to plant some drugs on that young lady. She is wholly innocent. Somehow, Shanks must have taken the drugs off me and implicated the young woman.'

'So the drugs were yours?' queried the well-dressed CID officer. 'That'll send you down for a long time.'

'Handful of heartbeats to a Time Lord,' said the Doctor.

'What?' asked the man angrily. 'Turn out your pockets.'

'Of course,' said the Doctor with a smile. 'You'll have to bear with me, gentlemen, this may take some time.'

Nicola Denman was the first person to be taken to the interview room. She wondered if they were showing her preferential treatment - that an observant officer had already twigged who her father was - but the force with which she was propelled into the bare brick room belied any comforting thoughts of bias. In a way, she was pleased. Perhaps there was a way of getting out of this without Daddy even knowing.

It was the feeblest of hopes, but it was all that kept her going.

She watched as a couple of audio ca.s.settes were unwrapped by a uniformed policewoman, the cellophane crackling like fire. Moments later the twin tape deck was running.

'DC Fielder questioning female suspect,' said the policeman for the benefit of the recording. 'WPC Murphy also in attendance.' He glanced at the big clock on the wall. 'It's ten past midnight, Tuesday the seventeenth of June.' He turned his tired eyes towards Nicola. 'Right, these are just some preliminary questions, but what happens over the next few hours depends on the quality of the answers I receive.

Understand?'

She nodded silently.

'Name?'

She shook her head.

'Name?' The officer paused. 'Look, you're not helping yourself, you know. We've got enough evidence to hang you out to dry. The drugs in your handbag were dealer-quant.i.ties. We want to know where you got them from.'

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