Ghost Virus

Jerry was eating sausages and baked beans in the station canteen and reading the sports pages of The Sun when Jamila came in. Her right hand was bound up in a thick white bandage, like an enormous mitten.

‘How’s the mauler?’ he asked her, as she sat down beside him.

‘Oh, fine. No serious damage, but they’ve given me a tetanus shot and they gave Sophie a point-of-care test to make sure that she didn’t have HIV. We’ll be sending her to Springfield later today.’

Jerry said, ‘I’ll tell you, sarge, these cases are making me feel like admitting myself to Springfield.’ Springfield University Hospital was the main psychiatric centre in Wandsworth, and a maximum security facility for dangerous mental patients. When it was first opened in 1840, it had been called the Surrey County Pauper Lunatic Asylum.

‘Well, perhaps we’ll get some sense out of our druggie,’ said Jamila. ‘I’ve just had a call from St George’s and they’ve managed to separate him from his coat. He’s still anaesthetised but they reckon he should be compos mentis in two or three hours.’

‘What about the coat? I mean, I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s more like it’s alive, isn’t it, rather than infested? And the same with Sophie’s jacket.’

‘The coat’s gone off to forensics. We should know within a day or two how it managed to stick itself to his skin.’

‘Do we know who he is yet?’

‘Not yet, but we’ve circulated his picture around all of the local homeless shelters and charity soup kitchens and drug dependency clinics. The Evening Standard, too.’

‘This is all going way beyond your specialised field, isn’t it?’ said Jerry. ‘I mean, it’s looking less and less likely that Samira was the victim of an honour killing, isn’t it?’

‘What are you suggesting? That I should quit? I think I’m already too deeply involved. Besides, even though I don’t personally believe that it was an honour killing, there is still a remote possibility that Samira was murdered by a member of her family. Until we understand what effect her coat might have had on her, I think it would be premature for me to consider withdrawing from this investigation – or from the Sophie Marshall case for that matter. Supposing the coat somehow changed her feelings about marrying the man that her parents had chosen for her, and they resented it?’

Jerry prodded his last remaining sausage. ‘I think Smiley’s right about this. It’s one hundred per cent bonkers.’

They were still talking when Sergeant Bristow came into the canteen. ‘Ah, Jerry! I don’t mean to interrupt your lunch, but DS Morgan thought you ought to know about this female suspect we’ve just brought in. He said something about her case having similarities to the cases that you’ve been working on.’

‘“Similarities”?’ asked Jamila. ‘What kind of “similarities”?’

Sergeant Bristow checked the note he had scribbled down. ‘She’s the head teacher at St Blandina’s private primary school – Laura Jean Miller, aged forty-five. About an hour ago she threw two children out of the window of an upstairs classroom, a boy of four years old and a girl of just five. Both of them were impaled on railings outside the school and were fatally injured.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Jerry, and put down his fork. ‘Did she say why?’

‘They were misbehaving and they had to be punished, that was what she said. But she also said that it wasn’t her who did it – even though there were no other adults in the classroom at the time. And that’s one of your similarities. She said it was her coat that threw them out of the window, not her.’

Jerry looked at Jamila. Jamila said, ‘Her coat? What kind of a coat is it?’

‘Fairly ordinary brown woman’s overcoat, that’s all. About knee length. She’s still wearing it.’

‘Can’t we take it off her?’

‘She refuses, absolutely refuses, and when a WPC tried to remove it, she found that she couldn’t. It’s like it’s stuck to her. Same as that homeless bloke who was brought in this morning.’

‘We need to have a word with this woman,’ said Jamila. ‘Has she been cautioned?’

Sergeant Bristow nodded. ‘We’ve taken down all of her personal details but DS Morgan isn’t going to proceed with a formal interview until she’s been assessed by a doctor.’

Jamila stood up. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But I would like to see her at least. Are you coming, Jerry?’

Jerry put his knife and fork together and folded his newspaper. ‘Lost my appetite, anyway.’

*

Laura was lying on her side in her cell when Jerry and Jamila came in. Her eyes were open but she showed no sign that she had seen them.

‘Laura Miller?’ said Jamila.

Laura still didn’t respond, so Jamila sat down on the blue vinyl mattress next to her and laid her hand on her shoulder.

‘Laura Miller?’ she repeated, very gently.

Laura looked at her for a few seconds, and then said, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jamila Patel. Is it all right if I have a word with you?’

‘If it’s about those children I have nothing to say.’

‘No, Laura. It’s not about the children. It’s about you.’

‘What about me?’

Laura lifted up her head and Jamila stood up, so that Laura could swing her legs around and sit up straight. She squeezed her eyes shut a few times, as if she were in pain, and then opened them again, although she kept them fixed on the cell door opposite, hardly blinking at all, and didn’t look either at Jerry or Jamila.

‘We haven’t been able to take off your coat,’ said Jamila.

‘It’s her, that’s why.’

‘What do you mean by that? Who’s “her”?’

‘Me, of course,’ said Laura, as if Jamila were unbelievably stupid. ‘She’s me and I’m her and the coat is both of us. That’s why you can’t take it off.’

‘The officer who arrested you… you told her that the children were misbehaving and that they needed to be punished.’

‘I told you. I’m not going to talk about the children.’

‘I understand that, Laura, but I just need to know who punished them – you or her?’

‘It wasn’t me.’

‘So she punished them, not you? Even though she’s you and you’re her?’

‘It was the coat.’

‘All right, it was the coat. We won’t trouble you any more, Laura. Get some rest. The doctor’s coming in a while to see if we can get it off you.’

‘You can’t get it off me. It’s me.’

‘Well, we’ll just have to see. I’ll come back and talk to you later.’

‘Listen! They think they can do and say whatever they like, those children. It’s the parents. I blame the parents. But you can’t let them get away with it. Otherwise they’ll grow up to be hooligans.’

‘But those two little children are dead now, Laura. They’re not going to be able to grow up at all.’

‘It’s no good blaming me. At least I didn’t try to eat them. She would have eaten them, given the chance.’

‘She would have eaten them? What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing. I’m not answering any more questions. My head’s too noisy.’

‘Laura—’

‘No. I’m not saying any more. And neither is she.’

Jerry and Jamila left the cell and the duty officer locked the door. Jerry turned to Jamila, spinning his index finger around his head and letting out a whistle.

‘Nutty as a fruitcake, just like the others. But that’s three of them now, all blaming their coats for what they’ve done, and all of them with fibres from their coats stuck into their skin. Four, if you count Samira Wazir. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.’

‘Once we manage to take off Laura Miller’s coat and send it to forensics, I think we need to have a meeting with Dr Fuller,’ said Jamila. ‘Like DI Saunders said, there has to be some logical explanation for this. My grandmother in Peshawar used to warn me about jinns, and she terrified me. She said that if I wore perfume at night, a jinn would be lured by the smell into my bedroom and stick to me while I was asleep, and I would never be able to get free of him. But that was only a story. This is something quite different – if only we could understand what.’

‘Some granny you had, scaring the crap out of you like that,’ said Jerry. ‘My granny used to tell me the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and that was frightening enough. Whenever she tried to say “who’sh been shleeping in my bed?” her false teeth fell out.’

As they were walking along the corridor, DC Willis came plodding towards them.

‘Jerry… just the man! Young Billy Jenkins says he’s got something you might like to hear. I get the impression he wants to do a deal.’

‘Couldn’t he tell you?’

‘No… he reckons he can only trust you. He reckons if he told me, I’d only use it as evidence against him – and yes, well, he’s probably right. I would, the little sniveller.’

‘OK,’ said Jerry, and then he turned to Jamila and said, ‘I won’t be long, sarge. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.’

He found the duty officer, who was just about to sneak out of the back door of the station for a quick cigarette in the car park, and asked him to open up Billy’s cell for him. Billy was sitting hunched on his bunk, shivering and twitching and looking even more like the last days of Sid Vicious than he had before. His cell smelled as if he had been sweating and breaking wind all night.

‘Wotcher, Billy!’ said Jerry, trying to sound cheerful. ‘How’s it going? Are we treating you all right? Had your lunch, have you?’

‘I need to get out of here, Mr Pardoe. I really do. I’m going barmy.’

‘DC Willis said that you had something you wanted to tell me.’

‘Yes, but only if you promise to let me out.’

‘I can’t promise until I’ve heard what it is, Billy. It could be something I already know, like the price of Marmite after Brexit.’

‘It’s about Liepa. But you must never let him know that I told you. I mean like, not ever.’

Jerry sat down on the bunk next to him. ‘OK, I’m listening. But don’t take too long, it smells of farts in here. What have we been feeding you on? Cauliflower curry?’

‘Tomorrow’s Thursday, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right, because today’s Wednesday. Bloody hell – and to think I called you thick!’

‘Yes, but this Thursday is collection day for Cancer Research. You know, for people to put out bags of old clothes and shoes and stuff and the Cancer Research van goes around in the morning and picks them up.’

‘I know. Go on. What about it?’

‘The thing is, Cancer Research always get the best-quality stuff, and much more of it than anybody else, even the NSPCC, I suppose because everybody knows somebody who’s had cancer. But Liepa’s been missing their collection days for a while, on purpose, because he knows you’ve been watching him.’

‘I’m not saying we have and I’m not saying we haven’t.’

‘Well, he reckons you have, which is why he’s been leaving out the Cancer Research collection days, in case you catch him in the act.’

‘I get it. In flagrante delicto.’

Billy had no idea what Jerry meant, but all the same he said, ‘Tomorrow Liepa’s going to go for it, though. I was supposed to be going with him, to help him out. He’s got four vans, plus himself in his estate car, and they’re going around Streatham and Mitcham and most of Tooting, all before it gets light.’

‘What time are they setting out?’

‘Half past three, from his house.’

Jerry thought for a while, and then he said, ‘OK… if I let you out, you’ll be able to go with him, won’t you? And you’ll be able to text me as soon as he’s picked up some bags. In fact, just one bag will do. That’s all I’m going to need to nick him.’

‘You won’t say that I grassed on him, will you? He’ll nail me to the fucking wall and set fire to me.’

‘No, Billy. I promise you that, on whatever’s left of my honour. I’ll go to see Inspector Callow now and see what I can do to get you bailed.’

Billy shivered, as if a goose had walked over his grave. ‘You won’t be too long, will you? I have to get out of here, Mr Pardoe, or else I’m going to have a fucking heart attack. I mean it.’

Jerry clapped him on his bony shoulder. ‘Don’t you fret, Billy boy. I’ll run all the way.’

*

Jerry hurried towards the lift to take him up to Inspector Callow’s office just as the doors were closing. Sergeant Bristow was already inside the lift and held the doors open for him.

‘Thanks,’ said Jerry. ‘Going up to see Callow?’

Sergeant Bristow held up a sheet of notepaper. ‘We’re looking to make a forced entry, that’s all. Some woman reported that she was supposed to be going shopping with her friend this morning, but her husband said that she wasn’t at home because she was visiting her sister, who was supposed to be sick.’

‘I see. So what’s the problem?’

‘The woman said the husband was acting peculiar and wearing nothing but a sweater and exposing himself.’

‘Oh, well. There’s nothing like a tasty sausage first thing in the morning. What’s she complaining about?’

‘The husband said his wife had left her mobile at home, but this woman thought this was suspicious, and so she looked up her friend’s sister’s number and phoned her. Her sister said she wasn’t sick at all and that she hadn’t seen her friend in weeks.’

The lift arrived at the second floor and Jerry and Sergeant Bristow started walking along the corridor towards Inspector Callow’s office.

‘She called the husband’s work to talk to him again, but apparently he hadn’t shown up,’ said Sergeant Bristow. ‘We had a car just around the corner from where the husband lives so I got them to knock at the door and have a quick word with him – only to check that there hadn’t been some kind of domestic.’

‘And, what? Nobody at home?’

‘Oh, there was somebody at home all right. There was no answer when the uniforms knocked but they could see a man watching them from behind the bedroom curtains.’

‘Weird. But then some people have a phobia about the police knocking at their door, don’t they? I can’t for the life of me think why. Listen – do you mind if I go in first? I only want the OK to let that bin boy out on bail.’

They had reached Inspector Callow’s office. The door was open and they could hear the inspector barking loudly at somebody on the phone.

‘No problem at all, Jerry,’ said Sergeant Bristow. ‘Be my guest.’