Tedd and Todd's secret (5 page)

"I'm not going to argue with you," Aidan said, turning and continuing up the stairs. "I'll find an excuse before Friday. And stop calling me unbalanced. I wouldn't exactly call you normal."

"I'm only trying to help you," Lance explained, panting. His legs felt as heavy as iron. "The first thing's to accept your problem, that's the only way to get over it. The mind is very delicate…" He paused as Aidan shot him a glance. "Very well, I'll stop, but only if you let me help you with the other problem. You've got to admit your social circle's the pits. You need a push. Besides you accepted the idea of going on Friday and I–"

"Ok, I'll go," Aidan cut in, realizing Lance wouldn't let up. "Now, enough of this crap." Lance had the smile of a winner written on his face even though he was puffing. "We're here," Aidan said, "and it's only the fifth floor. You look like you've run fifty miles. Why don't you spend more time burning fat than giving me a hard time?"

"It's my bad luck that the lift's out of order," Lance grumbled, running his hand over his stomach, promising himself he would lose weight. "Well, at least I get mine in now and again. You, with all those muscles of yours, you're hard pressed eating a chicken."

Aidan spun around and crossed his lips with his index finger.

Lance knew that he'd reached Aidan's edge of tolerance and backed off. He nodded and watched his partner walk to the door of Mrs Black's flat.

The flat was full of police and there were a few that Aidan didn't know. Some were taking samples, others looking for prints. Photographers were taking photos. Others were standing around drinking coffee and talking about what had happened as if the whole thing had been a scene from a new film. Inspector Wystan was frowning in the corner at something one of the pathology squad was telling him. To tell the truth, there was nothing strange about the scene. Just more police than normal, which Aidan imagined was because of the weird nature of the crime.

"Have you ever seen so many police?" Lance asked, looking around. "Seems like decapitations bring them out. It looks like an office party."

"I'll take a look at the body," Aidan said. "It looks like Mrs Black's in the kitchen. Go and find out."

"Somebody else's sure to have done that. I'd prefer to go with you."

"I want you to do it. The psychiatric team has no doubt been harassing the woman. They've probably already given her tranquillizers."

"I can see you don't have much time for our psychologists," Lance said, laughing. "Ok, I'll interrogate her but don't get used to giving me orders."

Aidan watched Lance disappear into the kitchen. He walked into the living room. The headless body was sprawled on the carpet, dressed in an elegant black suit. A pool of blood filled the space where the head should have been. Aidan observed that Mr Black had been very short, five foot six or less. He looked around the floor at the evidence of a fight. The furniture was broken and boxes were tossed everywhere.

He recognized Fletcher Bryce kneeling by the body. He was, in Aidan's opinion, one of the best pathologists, and had a lot of experience. He was sixty years old, and his propensity for getting into bad moods was his only defect.

"Seems like someone's lost his head," Aidan said, crouching down beside Fletcher, who was stretched out beside the body studying the cut on the neck. "A clean cut, don't you think?"

"Too good," the pathologist answered. "The head rolled over there by the wall. Maybe yours should be there too, Aidan. You know how many head jokes I've been listening to? Can't say you detectives are that original."

"I see you're still grumpy," Aidan said, extending his hand. The pathologist shook it with difficulty from the angle he was at. "Just as well you don't have to wait that long before you retire."

"You'll miss me when you have to work out one of these without me. How you going with the shrink?"

"Doesn't anyone forget my appointments with the psychiatrist? You never remember my birthday, old man. Come on, let's have a coffee and I'll tell you about it."

They walked over to a corner of the room, next to the window that looked out over the street that was still full of journalists. Aidan assured him everything was going well with his therapy, trying to talk about it as if it was nothing, sounding bored, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Fletcher frowned most of the time he was listening, but didn't say anything.

"Have we got the weapon?" Aidan asked, changing the subject.

"No, it would seem that he took it with him."

"Was it a sword?"

"Could've been. It must have been very sharp, and the thrust would've had to be perfect. It isn't easy to cut a head off so cleanly with one slash of a blade. Unless, that is, the victim was standing still to make the killer's job easier, which doesn't make any sense."

"Could he have immobilized or drugged him?"

"We'll check for drugs in the laboratory," the pathologist answered. "But I can't see how he could have been immobilized. There are no rope marks. Besides, his wife saw what happened. She said it was a sword fight."

Aidan didn't know what to think. It was strange enough that somebody would kill another person with a sword. To tell the truth, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen a real sword. He'd never worked on a case like this. Typical weapons were flick or kitchen knives. But swords? It seemed very strange. Nevertheless, the sword fitted the witness's description of what had happened. He decided to wait and hear what Lance had found out. It might have all been made up. Or maybe the wife had simply lost it from the shock.

"Aidan," Wystan yelled behind his back. The Inspector's voice didn't sound exactly happy. "Come here."

"Fuck!" Aidan said, gritting his teeth. "See you later, old man. I've got to see what's up with the boss."

"Be careful, Aidan," Fletcher warned him. "The rumour's doing the rounds that they're putting a lot of pressure on him in this case, and that he's not happy with you."

"Great. Then why did he give me the case?"

Fletcher just shrugged his shoulders as Aidan turned around and walked towards Wystan. The Inspector's enormous stomach looked like it was going to burst the buttons of his shirt, and his usual poor dress sense was underlined today by the choice of the ugliest tie Aidan had seen this year or any other. It not only didn't go with the suit but the colour was so bright he felt like throwing up.

"Fine place to meet," Aidan said when he made it to the Inspector.

"I hope you're working on this," Wystan grumbled. "Taking it serious. This time I don't want to hear about any problems."

"Nor do I. You can give it to someone else if you haven't got faith in me. But if things don't work out right it won't be my fault. You know who's going to be the lawyer this time?"

"That's enough, Aidan." Wystan was tired of going over the same thing time and time again. "That's history. Whoever they assign to this case is irrelevant."

"I don't look at it that way, Inspector. That imbecile ruined my investigation and made me responsible. I'm not going to take the rap for that. They don't crucify him when he loses a court case, but if I make a mistake…"

"That doesn't justify what you did," Wystan pointed out.

Aidan knew he was right. Six months earlier he'd lost a case and the drug dealer who had been so hard to bring to justice had walked free. The lawyer had put the blame on him, sullying Aidan's image to discredit him. His insubordination hadn't helped, the year that his drinking problem had got out of control and various not very flattering psychiatric reports. His wife's death five years before was brought up. It didn't create an image that the jury would have expected from a law enforcement officer.

The whole affair highlighted his sense of impotence. His anger threatened to consume him. His had been the key statement, and without witnesses the profile established by the defence lawyer brought the whole affair down. When the lawyer accused him of making the whole thing up, Aidan punched him in the mouth in front of the whole court, breaking two teeth.

"He deserved it," Aidan said defiantly. "They shot me in the arm. They were close to killing me and this individual got angry because his legal reputation suffered a little."

"Do you really believe that we resolve all our problems by thumping people?" Wystan paused and Aidan realized that he was making an effort to contain himself. The Inspector continued his speech, controlled. "You weren't expelled because I think you were right, but I'm not going to tolerate you going around punching every Tom, Dick and Harry. Is that clear? I want this time to be different. No confrontations. Take what I'm saying seriously. You're walking a tightrope. Another problem like the last and it won't matter how good a detective you are. The force and the public want normal blokes who know how to control their tempers."

"Understood, Inspector," Aidan said grumpily. "I'll get whoever killed this dwarf in the black suit."

"You already know that this murder has attracted the curiosity of the press. Being decapitated by a sword makes an interesting headline. It's going to be a very public case and there's going to be a lot of pressure. So no scandals, thank you very much."

"How come all of these jokers are here so soon?"

"Must've been the neighbour," Wystan explained with a shrug. "She found Mrs Black in a state of shock. She informed us straight away and without any doubt anyone else in hearing distance… what do you know about the case?"

"Almost nothing. I've just arrived, I've only had time to glance around a bit and talk to Fletcher for a while."

"Well, get up to date, quick. The victim is William Black and he doesn't have a record. There are no drugs in the house, no weapons, nothing suspicious. No sword, either. He'd just moved into this house with his wife. There are no children. He worked with computers for a multinational that's got a branch near here."

"I'll see what I can find out. I've sent Lance to question the wife."

"Keep me informed, Aidan," Wystan said.

Aidan nodded without much enthusiasm and went looking for Lance. The conversation could have been worse. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken with the Inspector like that. There'd been almost no tension, not like almost every other time they'd spoken in the last few years, when it had turned into an argument. They were like chalk and cheese, their different points of view keeping them far apart. Aidan knew Wystan was a good man and carried out his job in an exceptional manner and kept corruption to a minimum. He didn't fly off the handle for no good reason. And the thought crossed Aidan's mind as he walked out of the room that maybe the fault was his.

It seemed that Lance was still questioning Mrs Black. He was seated beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder. He was much better at this sort of thing, and Aidan treated him like a brother, but sometimes he just couldn't stand him. Lance was too protective and Aidan needed to be alone from time to time.

The thought came to Aidan that he hadn't looked at the head of the victim. It was lying on the floor next to the wall. He guessed they didn't want to move it for some legal reason. He walked over and bent down and began to study the former Mr Black in detail. The hair was very dark, almost black, like the eyes. The mouth, half open, showed perfect teeth. Aidan couldn't take his eyes away from the man's lifeless face. He looked familiar, in fact he could swear that he knew him from somewhere. But that wasn't possible, he thought, because he never forgot a face. His visual memory was faultless, and that had always served him well in the job. But his intuition was screaming at him that he was missing something this time.

"You can take a photo," Lance said behind his back. "You don't have to stay there all day staring."

"You know something?" Aidan said standing up. "Look closely. Does his face look familiar?"

"Are you saying it does to you?" Lance leaned over and studied the face, "I've never seen this bloke in my life."

"I don't know why," Aidan said, thoughtfully, "but I could swear I know him from somewhere."

"Let's hope he's not one of the lawyers," Lance said, smiling.

"Very funny. Now tell me what you found out."

"A seriously interesting story. It seems the killer entered the house and started a fight with this poor bastard," he said, looking at the head on the floor. "The pair of them drew medieval swords and this here was the result. As far as Mrs Black knows her husband had never had a sword in his hand his whole life. She didn't even know he owned one. Wait, wait!" he said, stopping Aidan interrupting him, "I still haven't told you the best. The killer was dressed exactly the same as her husband, except he was dressed in white.

"Did she sound affected by the medication?"

"Let me finish, mate. You're going to love this. The killer looked exactly the same as her husband. She was explicit on this point. They were identical except for two details. The killer was blond with blue eyes. Everything else matched down to the finest detail. What do you make of that?" Lance opened his hands and smiled as if he'd just performed some magic act and was waiting for the applause. "This is going to be the best case we've ever had. And the press is going to love it, especially when they get wind of this. What I liked most about it was the suits. We're going to be famous, mate. We'll be a feature in all the tabloids. The investigators of a medieval murder. No, you don't like that. What about detectives investigate sword duel? Yeah, that's better."

Aidan looked at William Black's head again. He wasn't crouching but his eyes hadn't left the head. He hadn't even heard Lance's last words; he was too absorbed in trying to work out why William Black seemed so familiar. For the first time he concentrated on his surname and something clicked. It had to mean something. He was vaguely conscious of Lance speaking at his side. He ignored him deliberately and then an idea came to him. He crouched down quickly and extended his hand towards the head.

"Hey!" someone from the pathologist’s team called out. "Nobody can touch it. At least not without gloves."

"You'll know that these prints are mine," Aidan explained after closing William's eyes.