City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [159]
One of the sergeants on duty informed him that something now dubbed a mute bomb caused the destruction, just one of dozens that had rained across the city in a short-lived assault the night before. Over fifty civilians had died, and another two hundred and twenty were found permanently silenced by some component in the bombs, which the cultists were currently studying in order to find a cure.
Jeryd moved away from the scene in disbelief. What was happening to this world? For decades he had known only relatively predictable offences – murder, theft, violence – but in the last year he had witnessed a huge increase in malevolence. It was as if the ice was bringing with it some kind of insanity.
Head down and his hands in his pockets, he stormed on towards the house of Doctor Voland. Before leaving headquarters the previous night, Jeryd had written up a full report and left it on the desk of his superiors, with the strict instructions that Voland and Nanzi should not be released pending their trial. He had underlined the words twice:
Highly dangerous.
For a couple to work together in this way was something rarely encountered. Jeryd didn’t know what to make of Nanzi or her bizarre abilities. He was mildly disgusted to have been duped by her all this time, but he was getting used to it, getting used to the crap he had to deal with every day, and he felt glad he could put some distance between them. He accepted she was a ‘blend’, which helped him get his head around her being a killer. But Voland . . . he was something else entirely.
The man was a beast builder. He must have a clear sense of purpose and an ice-cool conscience to accept a contract to slaughter so many people in order to feed others.
Jeryd passed beggars and children skidding on ice as he followed the route he remembered, until he finally came to the house. He was prepared to prise the door open with a crowbar if necessary, but it was unlocked – obviously due to the killer’s hasty exit to save his partner. He headed inside and drew back the curtains. He was searching for hard evidence, something beyond the word of Voland and Nanzi.
Over to one side, Jeryd found a lantern, and lit it.
Fine decoration, antique furniture, superior paintings on the walls embellished a well-stocked library. Everything tidy, with bottles of spirits neatly lined up alongside crystal glasses. The end of a cigar in an ashtray. A taxonomy book lying open. Nothing to denote a psychopathic killer. But then what personal items would do so exactly?
Jeryd moved from room to room, as he sifted through the couple’s existence, the lantern casting aggressive shadows across the polished furniture.
A pencil sketch of the two of them by a harbour was wedged in the corner of a mirror standing on the dresser. A tribal fertility ornament lay on a side table. In their plush bedroom, with audacious drapes and a decorative mirror above the bed, he found some erotic lingerie, which made Jeryd contemplate the ways in which Nanzi gave Voland his kicks.
Another of the rooms clearly acted as a study of sorts. Notebooks lined the shelves, detailing biogeography and evolution and cladistics. Complex cross-sections of species he didn’t know smothered the papers littering a desk. Diagrammatic representations of what looked like some weird form of fusion surgery could be seen on the walls. On another desk lay a wooden display case containing a neat array of pin-raised insects, with a scalpel and mount to the side.
A small book nearby was labelled ‘Voland’s Journal’, and contained sheets of lined paper containing names and addresses. Jeryd picked it up and several