Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [36]
‘I won’t go,’ Gilliam said, immediately aware of how childish this sounded.
Ala’dan gestured around the empty room. ‘You have something more important to do here?’
Her terminal chose that moment to buzz satisfactorily, indicating that it had finished its task. It had decoded the first section of the wall carvings.
‘Actually yes. I think I do have something better to do.’
A single sentence of translation sat on the screen. The translation software had marked the sections of the text that were its own best guesses. The sentence appeared to be part of a personal statement or journal.
My name is Petruska, First Queen of Kr’on Tep, Ruler of the Seven Systems, and I am a prisoner in this place. . .
60
5
Something Beneath The Skin
Chief Inspector Harris was shaving when the telephone rang. I’ll get it, love,’
he called out to his wife, wiping the last few smears of soap from his cheeks.
It was one of the sergeants from the station. Someone had burnt down one of the queer clubs last night. No one had been hurt, but it reflected badly on the policing of Soho. The chief superintendent was rousing his inspectors early for morning prayers – the daily planning meeting for all senior staff at the station. Apparently the chief inspector wanted a strategy for dealing with the extortion gangs by lunchtime.
Harris blew the air out of his cheeks as he pulled his starched shirt over his vest. It was a wasted effort as far as he was concerned. He could predict the result of the meeting. It would be decided to police Soho hard for a few weeks; arrange a couple of raids, pull in the familiar faces, make a few unnecessary and unproductive arrests and a good few more threats. In fact, generally make their presence felt to quieten down activity in the area. But it wouldn’t last. Give it a month or two and then it would all start up again just the same as before. The racketeers would crawl out of their holes to begin their rounds and the blackmailers would dip their quills in their murky ink, ready to put the squeeze on another pathetic victim. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Harris couldn’t see an end to it.
He glanced at his watch. He’d better get a move on if he was going to be on time for the chief super. His wife appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, a look of disapproval on her face.
‘Have your breakfast at least, dear? The things they make you do to your stomach. I ought to give you a packed lunch.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ll have one of the lads run out for a roll.’
‘You can’t live on a roll,’ she scolded. ‘What about dinner?’
‘Tell you what – cook it and keep your fingers crossed.’
‘I don’t know why you don’t move into that office.’
‘You’d never believe I was there.’ The conversation was a ritual. He spoke his lines without thinking.
‘What makes you think I do now?’
61
Harris smiled apologetically, kissed his wife gently on the cheek and headed for the front door. As it closed behind him, Harris found himself wondering when they had stopped kissing on the lips.
Harris was surprised to find the Doctor sitting cross-legged on the top step of Charing Cross Police Station. He was engrossed in a tatty paperback and chewing on an apple. On catching sight of the chief inspector, the Doctor leapt to his feet and hurried over, stopping only to throw the book into a nearby dustbin and tuck the apple core carefully away in his pocket. Harris could only laugh as the gnomic figure bounded up to him.
‘I do hope that wasn’t a library book, Doctor. I should have to run you in.’
‘How could you think such a thing of me, Chief Inspector? I’m a law-abiding citizen.’
‘I should hope so too, a man in your position.’
The Doctor frowned for a moment, as if unsure to what