Untitled (5 page)

       But, if the unknown corpse had taken his own life, where was the blade he'd used to ensure he didn't fail in the task? Harrison walked around the bed, scanning the floor with the torch as he went. He stopped on the far side and squinted at the floor, bending at the knees as he did so. From his pocket Harrison took a sealable bag and a pair of latex gloves. He slid the gloves on, his large fingers pushing the boundaries of their elasticity. He reached out and picked up the straight edged razor by the tip of the handle, lifting it over the neck of the opened bag.

       "You know better than that." The voice made Harrison jump.

"Fuck me, Tom," Harrison looked up to find Thomas Flannigan standing in the hallway, his box of tricks in one hand and a coffee in the other. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock?"

       "Course she did." Tom nodded. "But it's very rare for the dead to answer." He took a long drink from the Thermos mug.

       "Well, think of the living next time," Harrison suggested. " I almost shit myself." Despite the situation they both smiled.

       "I doubt anyone would've noticed in here." Tom moved to one side and allowed a younger man to enter.

       "Harrison," the man nodded his welcome and began setting up the first of the halogen units.

       "Adam," Harrison returned the pleasantry.

       Adam Green sat the unit in the corner of the room and adjusted it so the lights were at about head height, one pointing left and the other right. His nose flared in disgust.

       "Can we open a window?" Green grinned. "It smells like Harrison shit himself." He flicked the switch and the room was bathed in an artificial yellow glow.

       Harrison's eyes took a moment to adjust to the brightness, but as things began to focus he saw another object under the bed. Placing the bagged knife to one side he reached out and took hold of the leather bound note book.

"Anything interesting?" Tom asked, watching Harrison flick through the pages.

       "Could be a suicide note," mumbled Harrison. "Am I alright taking this outside?" he asked.

       "Be my guest."

       Harrison stood, holding the book and left the room. "Give me a shout when you find something."

*

       Since then Harrison had sat against the wall outside the apartment and flicked through what turned out to be a journal of one man's descent into madness.

       "I'm all done in there; Green's just doing the bagging up." Tom stood over Harrison.

       "He sounds like a real fruitcake." Harrison held up the book. "He thought he was here to save the world, but the voices ate away at his will."

       "Makes sense."

       "What's your opinion on cause of death?" Not that Harrison needed to be told.

       "I'd say he killed himself with the razor," Tom explained "I'll check the blood samples and stomach contents, but loss of…" Tom was interrupted by the ring of Harrison's mobile.

Harrison pulled at the phone in his inside coat pocket, flicked it open and raised it to his ear. "Harrison." He paused and listened. "I'll be right there." He snapped the phone shut.

       "You look like you just lost a pound and found a penny," said Tom.

       "It's Maria," Harrison stated.

       "What's the ex want this time?"

       "Nothing, she's dead." Harrison stuffed the journal and the phone in his pocket and ran to the elevator.

       Night had fallen over two hours ago and with it their shift had begun. It wouldn't end until six the next morning and, as usual, they intended to make the best of a shitty deal.

       "Twist," said Norman Oliver, swiping his fringe from his eyes.

       Sid Fowler pulled the top card from the deck and passed it, face down, to his work colleague. Norman took the card and turned it over.

       "Bollocks." Norman threw the hand on the table. "Bust again."

       "Dealer wins," Sid goaded as he dragged the pile of chips to his side of the table.

       "I'm sure you're cheating." Norman leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head.

       "You didn't say that last night."

       "That's 'cos I was winning." Norman pushed the chair back and stood up.

       "Why'd I have to get you for guard rotation?" complained Sid as he reshuffled the deck of cards.

       "I guess you're just lucky."

       "Fucking unlucky more like," Sid half joked. "Even Blondie would be better than you."

"Don't mention that bitch to me," snapped Norman.

       Sid smiled to himself, he knew Norman well enough to know which buttons to push and just how to get a reaction out of him. Blondie was one of only a handful of females on the site and she was what most of the men called a prick teaser. Unless, that was, she had already teased your prick. Then she was a bitch. Hence Norman thought she was a class A bitch.

       She'd originally been placed on guard duty with Norman and had immediately started playing her mind games with the poor soul. Unfortunately Norman wasn't very well versed with the ways of the opposite sex and had taken her flirtatious behaviour as a serious interest in his manhood.

       The resulting come on had ended with a broken nose for Norman and a bigger bruise on his ego. Blondie had received a slap on the wrist and was quickly moved on to the other shift to save Norman a shit load of embarrassment.

       Sid didn't think much of Blondie either, but only because he blamed her for his being paired with Norman. Not that Norman was all bad, they had plenty in common, it was just that Norman could moan for England. Sid was quite sure that in another life Norman must have been a woman.

       "We better do a walk round," Sid said, glancing at his watch and seeing the hour hand creeping its way around to ten.

       "Can't you do this one?" Norman bleated. "My feet are playing up." As if to prove the point he sat back down and started undoing his boot laces.

       "Only if you do the next two." Sid wasn't giving for free.

"Go on then," Norman agreed and Sid climbed out of his chair and picked up his belt.

       Sid liked the feel of the belt and the safe weight it placed on his hips when he wore it. It gave him a feeling of authority. He'd worked other sites before all over England, but this was the first one that had given him a gun. And it was the firearm that made the belt so special. Not that he'd had any need to use the gun. He'd yet to take it out of the holster, but that didn't make any difference. Sid had a pistol and that made him stand tall.

       "See you in fifteen," he said to Norman as he swung open the cabin door and stepped out into the slightly chilly night air.

       "I'll get the kettle on," replied Norman, rubbing at the sole of his barefoot and wriggling his toes.

       "Sad bastard," Sid whispered, the door banging shut behind him and automatically locking as the latch dropped.

       Sid looked around the main courtyard from the top of the stairs and shivered. He didn't like the place at night, it gave him the willies. The day shift was far better. It was lighter and at least there was other staff around for him to stop and chat to.

       The night shift, however, was unnerving. There was something that just didn't feel right about wandering around a church ruin when it was dark.

"Should be in bed," Sid muttered as he started his rounds, walking briskly down the steps and across the courtyard to the front entrance. "Should be at home."