Part 2 (1/2)

In many ways she was viewing this holiday as a make-or-break period for all of them. Whatever happened between her parents, it would certainly be a watershed of sorts. This time next year she would be eighteen, and, if her suspicions were borne out, the mother of a child. She wasn't certain certain that she was pregnant, but she intended to pluck up the courage to take a test some time within the next few days. Here, away from the stifling familiarity of everyday life, she had a.s.sured herself that it would be easier to bear somehow. And if the test proved positive, she would tell Mum and Dad and take it from there. that she was pregnant, but she intended to pluck up the courage to take a test some time within the next few days. Here, away from the stifling familiarity of everyday life, she had a.s.sured herself that it would be easier to bear somehow. And if the test proved positive, she would tell Mum and Dad and take it from there.

She glanced at her brother, Chris, in the vain hope of a little moral support, but he was being his usual moody self.

He had hardly strung two words together since they had started out early this morning, and not for the first time Charlotte found herself wondering whether it was their parents' problems that were causing him to withdraw into himself or whether his behaviour was simply that of a typical acne-ridden, rebellious fourteen-year-old. Not so very long ago she and Chris had been quite close, but these days he was behaving as if she and their parents were the three people on the planet he'd least like to be with.

'Come on,' Charlotte said with mock cheerfulness, hefting her suitcase, 'let's see what our rooms are like.' She climbed to the top of the steps and stretched out her hand to the doorbell. Before she could press it, the door was yanked open.

The tall, thin-faced man in his late twenties looked almost as surprised as she must have done. He was hurrying out of the house and had to stop dead to avoid barging straight into her. They both apologised in unison, then laughed. 'Are you staying here too?' Charlotte asked, immediately blus.h.i.+ng and hoping she hadn't made it sound as if she wished that he was.

'Just for a night or two. Here on holiday?'

She nodded. 'What's it like?'

The man grinned. He had a pleasant smile, easy and unselfconscious. Glancing behind him, then leaning a little closer, he murmured, 'Oh, it's fine, just as long as you watch out for the dragon.'

The sun had climbed to its zenith, and even though sweat rolled down Mike's back as he hurried along, he couldn't afford to take off his suede jacket because of the gun he wore strapped to his torso. The distance to the mouth of the fis.h.i.+ng harbour was further than it had appeared. By the time he arrived at the edge of the police cordon, the crowd had grown. The majority were rubber-necking tourists, but there were also a number of locals, frustrated because they couldn't get to their boats.

He excused his way quietly and politely through the throng, offering a conciliatory smile and an apology when people scowled at him, not wis.h.i.+ng to draw attention to himself. It was ironic really; the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce was a top-secret organisation, and yet the Doctor, who usually undertook such investigations for them, did nothing but draw attention to himself. Mike imagined how different the scene would be if the Doctor and Jo Grant had been here. draw attention to himself. Mike imagined how different the scene would be if the Doctor and Jo Grant had been here.

The Doctor would no doubt have been elbowing his way through the crowd, Jo in tow (and she alone was enough to draw the attention of most men), proclaiming, 'Do excuse me, old chap,' in that loud, theatrical manner of his. Then, flouting authority, he would no doubt have ducked under the police barrier without explanation, leaving Jo to root out their UNIT pa.s.ses to avoid arrest.

Mike smiled to himself. The Doctor's showmans.h.i.+p and his blatant disregard for protocol used to drive the Brigadier to distraction, and sometimes still did. Still, at the end of the day, the Brig was first to admit that if the Doctor came up with the right result then a little unwanted attention was a small price to pay. In some ways, Mike thought the Doctor's flamboyance worked to UNIT's advantage. It caught people off-guard, made them take the Doctor less than seriously, which often proved to be their undoing.

He reached the barrier and leaned towards the uniformed constable standing a few feet away. 'Excuse me.'

The constable ignored him, just as he was ignoring all the other comments and questions being hurled in his direction.

Mike sighed, reached into his back pocket and produced his UNIT pa.s.s. He held it out for the policeman's inspection and said with a little more urgency, 'Excuse me, but would you mind having a look at this, please?'

The policeman's eyes flickered in his direction, focusing on the pa.s.s. Mike gave him time to read it, then asked, 'Would it be possible to come through, do you think?'

The constable reached for the pa.s.s. 'May I take this, sir? I shall have to make an enquiry.'

'Of course.'

A couple of minutes later, the policeman was back. He returned the pa.s.s to him, and lifted the tape barrier for him to duck beneath. 'If you'd care to follow me, sir?'

Mike heard a few comments behind him as he followed the policeman along the jetty. Someone muttered something about MI5 and several people laughed. A plain-clothes detective was waiting for Mike on the jetty beside the trawler.

He had a square, pockmarked face and a C-shaped scar on his chin. His green suit sagged on him as if he had been wearing it for a long time without a break, and the top b.u.t.ton of his s.h.i.+rt was undone beneath the fat knot of his tie.

'Mr Yates,' he said, offering Mike a strong but sweaty handshake, 'Detective Inspector Pickard.'

'Inspector,' said Mike. 'Good of you to see me.'

'Not at all. I'm a bit intrigued to be honest. I'd have thought something like this would be well outside UNIT's area of interest.'

Mike shrugged. 'Perhaps it is. To tell you the truth, I'm only here on a hunch. I saw some of what was going on from the window of my boarding house.'

'I see. So what really brings you to Tayborough Sands? Oh no, don't tell me. The so-called UFO that came down in the sea?'

Mike smiled, a little embarra.s.sed. 'I don't expect anything to come of it, believe me, but UNIT is obliged to look into such matters.'

'Of course it is,' said Pickard, struggling to conceal his smirk. 'But if you're thinking what happened here is related to your flying saucer, then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed.'

'And what did did happen here?' asked Mike, hiding his irritation behind a mask of breeziness. happen here?' asked Mike, hiding his irritation behind a mask of breeziness.

'Murder,' said Pickard bluntly. 'Multiple murder to be precise. Six-strong crew and not a single one left alive. Very nasty. Bloke who did it must be a madman.'

'Do you mind if I take a look?'

'Help yourself. Hope you've got a strong stomach, though, Mr Yates.'

'Cast iron,' said Mike evenly.

Pickard raised his eyebrows and Mike followed him on to the trawler. The deck was wet, oily. The stench of rotting fish was almost overwhelming. Pickard said, 'The stink was even worse when we found the boat this morning It was reported missing last night by the skipper's wife and we spotted it at first light, drifting on the sea. The murders must have happened right after the catch was winched aboard. There were dead fish all over the deck. We reckon there must have been some sort of argument. It's a bit early to say, but what we think is that the killer may have been mortally wounded by the last man left alive, who then died of his injuries.'

'How did the men die?' asked Mike.

Pickard fixed him with a deadpan gaze. 'Why don't you take a look for yourself.'

Mike held his gaze for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

'Thanks.' He moved to the nearest red blanket, noting the thick runnels of now-dried blood that meandered from beneath it and ran into the drainage gutters on both sides of the deck. He had seen death before in many forms and lifted the edge of the blanket without hesitation. He saw an arm that looked like it had been torn from its socket, lying in a pool of blood that had congealed to the consistency of black glue. The arm was mottled blue, purple and black in the places where the blood that was left inside had settled. On the bicep were four small circular bruises that could have been caused by the tight grip of a human hand.

Mike replaced the blanket and straightened up.

'What do you think?' said Pickard, in a challenging tone.

Mike had not been wholly unaffected by what he had seen - he was aware of the quick pumping of his heart - but he was calm enough for his response to sound clinical, considered.

'The arm wasn't severed by a blade. It was torn off. Which means that, unless I'm missing something, your killer had incredible strength.'

Pickard nodded as if in satisfaction and moved to the second blanket. 'What's under here is even stranger,' he said, and lifted a comer of the blanket up for Mike to peer beneath.

It took Mike a few moments to work out what he was looking at. Finally he said, 'My G.o.d, that's part of a ribcage, isn't it? And that... that must be a heart.'

Pickard let the blanket fall back. 'Ribcage, heart, lungs and some surrounding tissue. They're quite badly crushed, but it's as though -'