'Your understanding of science is as loose as your morals,'
said the Doctor. 'This is genetic material, but it has nothing to do with BSE.'
'What then?' queried Denman.
The Doctor stared at Shanks, trying to remember the rest of the paperwork he'd glanced at in the office. 'I have a suspicion that this substance is more mind-expanding than half a tonne of your drugs. How long has this fluid been pumped into the water supply?'
'I ordered that it be switched on as soon as I knew you'd broken into my office,' replied Shanks. 'A bit ahead of schedule, but I wanted to make a point. You and the copper have failed. The good people of Liverpool are already drinking this stuff.'
PART THREE.
HAPPYJACK.
CHAPTER 9.
TWISTED FIRESTRRTER.
Matthew Hatch waited for the call from Phil Burridge. It never came.
Something was wrong. Phil would never let Hatch down, not even if there was a pint or a shag involved. He loved Hatch too much.
Hatch picked up his mobile phone and started dialling.
'Hello?' The voice at the other end sounded out of breath.
'Rebecca. Did I catch you in the middle of something important?'
'Matthew!' she said. 'No,' she continued with an embarrassed giggle. 'Actually, I'm taking the year-ten netball class. I've broken up two fights already.'
'Well, there you go,' said Hatch with little attempt to conceal his lack of interest. 'Listen, are you free tonight?'
'Free?'
'Yes.'
'I can't get up to London, Matthew, I've got school tomorrow.'
'What about halfway? That restaurant in Hungerford where we met last year?'
Rebecca paused. 'It's still a hell of a long drive back, Matthew.'
'I'll send a car down for you after school, and make sure you're back in your bed by midnight, in case you turn into a pumpkin or something.'
'In my own own bed?' bed?'
'Probably,' said Hatch. 'The car will be at the vicarage by six.'
'OK,' she said with a sigh.
A wretched smile of satisfaction crossed Matthew Hatch's face and he terminated the call.
The Doctor stared at Shanks. 'Turn it off,' he said. 'You have no idea what you're pumping into the water supply.'
'I trust Matt,' said Shanks. 'I owe him.'
'You owe him nothing,' nothing,' said the Doctor. 'He looked at you, and saw someone he could use. I'm told that's always been his way.' said the Doctor. 'He looked at you, and saw someone he could use. I'm told that's always been his way.'
'Don't try to reason with that piece of filth,' said Denman angrily.
Shanks turned to Denman and laughed. 'That's rich, coming from you. We're going to take you to the cleaners.
Cop's daughter, busted for drugs, kills herself in the cells.
Has quite a ring to it, eh?'
'You bastard,' said Denman. 'I'll make you pay for what you've done.'
'And there are some strange rumours about you and your girl,' continued Shanks. 'But I don't like to spread gossip.
Anyway, you'll be suspended, your department will be investigated... All those cases you've got ready to bring against me will fall through.'
'I wouldn't be so sure,' said Denman.
Ignoring the exchange, the Doctor crouched down at the side of the vat, his hands moving over the keypad.
Shanks's gun waved back towards the Doctor. 'Stop that, Doc,' he said.
'No,' said the Doctor simply.
'Look, I'm warning you,' said Shanks, flustered again.
'Leave it alone, or I'll kill you.' Shanks turned towards the crouched form of the Doctor. It gave Denman the opportunity he needed.
The burly policeman threw himself at Shanks's legs, catching them in a perfect rugby tackle. The gun flew out of Shanks's grip.
The men hit the walkway as one. Denman was the first to respond, pummelling blows against Shanks's head with his fists.
The Doctor ignored the commotion, and concentrated on switching off the vat. He glanced up just as Shanks smashed his forehead against the bridge of Denman's nose. Denman twisted away, blood pouring from his face. Shanks powered his knee into the man's groin, scrambling to his feet, desperately seeking out the gun.
Denman charged at Shanks, head down like a bull. The drug dealer caught the brunt of the impact on his chest, and he flew backward, slamming into the handrail that ran along the side of the walkway. His legs flicked upward, his body pivoting around the low metal wall, and he disappeared from view, screaming.
Denman pulled himself to the edge of the walkway, and looked down. Shanks had landed on the edge of the enormous water tank, his head and shoulders bobbing beneath the water, his legs curled over the other side. It was obvious that his spine had snapped in two.
The Doctor's hands flickered over the keypad, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched the numerals blinking on the electronic display. At last, he switched off the device, the LEDs dimming one by one. He glanced across at Denman. 'I had to deal with this first,' said the Doctor. 'Every second could have been vital.'
Denman rolled on to his back, too exhausted to speak.
The Doctor stood up, and moved to the edge of the walkway. He looked into the water below, the surface still broken and rolling. 'Did it have to end like this?' he asked quietly.
'Yes it did,' said Denman, assuming that the Doctor was addressing him. He wiped away the blood from his upper lip.
'Him or me.'
The Doctor busied himself at the vat again, filling a test tube with the mysterious liquid. He placed a stopper on it gingerly.
'What is that stuff?' queried Denman.
'As I said, I'm not entirely sure. I saw a flash of DNA on the screen in Shanks's apartment.' He shook the test tube gingerly. 'My guess is that this activates certain dormant human genes. Those involved with the more esoteric or vestigial mental functions.'
'Like what?'
'It could be telepathy, or precognition, or just a trigger for mass hysteria. I'll need to do a full analysis, which will mean going back to Hexen Bridge.' The Doctor paused. 'Or...'
'Or... ?' said Denman, pulling himself to his feet.
'I could go and ask Matthew Hatch what this material is.'
'Yeah, right,' said Denman. 'Forgive me if I'm sceptical.'
'You don't think it'll work?' queried the Doctor, seemingly surprised.
Denman laughed bitterly and struggled to his feet. 'You do what you want. But I've got some things to take care of.'
'Really?'
'Yeah. I've been thinking about that BSE laboratory that was bombed recently. There might be a link. After all, Hatch told Shanks it was all to do with mad-cow disease. I think I'll take a look - my last piece of official business. The vultures will be raking over what's left of my career by this time tomorrow.' Denman turned away. 'And Shanks's thugs will be checking up on him soon. Let's get out of here.'
Joanna Matson awoke to bird song and sunlight filtered through white cotton curtains. Bob was waking up, too. She trailed her fingertips over his chest, and he chuckled sleepily.
There was less anger in him than usual, probably a result of their having had a blazing row in the kitchen last night, followed by an hour's vigorous sexual gymnastics in the bedroom. That always went some way towards a temporary healing of the eternal rift between them.
'Sleep well?' she queried.
Bob grunted.
Joanna paused, turning things over in her mind.
Everything always seemed better in the mornings, but she knew that they'd made too many fresh starts down the years.
None of them had ever amounted to much. 'Bob,' she said at last, 'we really ought to talk.'
'What about?' he said through slurred lips, his eyes still closed.
'God knows we've had our ups and downs, but... well, they had this guest on Danny Baker's Dozen Danny Baker's Dozen yesterday. A psychologist.' yesterday. A psychologist.'
'Bloody daytime TV,' muttered Bob.
'He made me think. You're sailing pretty close to the wind at the moment.'
Bob opened an eye. 'What do you mean?'
'This business with the Chens. Everyone knows that you were the one who -'
'Look,' said Bob sharply. 'Don't spoil the day before it's even begun, for crying out loud.'
Joanna sighed. 'I still love you. I'm just trying to look out for you - I'm the only one who will. You're too handy with your fists, Bob. If you don't sort out that anger of yours, you'll pay a terrible price.'
Bob Matson snorted and rolled over. 'Damn the consequences,' he said.
Trevor Winstone strolled past Shanks's secretary and into his office. Shanks had called earlier that morning to say he had to 'sort a few things out'. Winstone was to go ahead and meet their contacts on the local papers.
As expected, the journalists had lapped up the revelations about Denman and his daughter, just as keen to hear the hinted innuendos as the objective facts. Within moments, the hacks had been on the phone to editors, photographers, friends in the Smoke. The tabloids felt that they had made Denman a public figure, and so were happy to break him now he'd had his fifteen minutes of fame. Wapping editors always loved and loathed outspoken coppers in equal measure.