Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [7]
She stopped dead. What was that noise? A rustle... She peered into the little thicket of evergreen nearby.
Nothing. It must have been some sort of creature: a dog or a cat; or a fox.
She resumed her gloomy trek up the hill, and her gloomy cogitations. Something a bit raunchy perhaps? The Fishy Way to Fulfil Your Feller... Oh, for God’s sake!
It might even be Japanese, the Skang. Some of their demons were pretty peculiar. Though the name didn’t sound particularly Japanese. But then it didn’t sound like anything she’d ever heard of before.
Sarah Jane Smith, lost to the world, walked into the autumn darkness.
Unaware.
The Doctor’s lip-reading skills had often proved as useful as a diploma in advanced telepathy. Although the detective constable was a good thirty feet from him as he talked to a stern-looking colleague, the Doctor could see him through the partition, and could make out his words as clearly as if he were a yard away.
‘...a right nutter. Obviously a false name - and he does seem to know more than he should about the bodies...’
Bodies! So he was right. And more than one!
He stood up as the door opened. ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’
he said, still tight-lipped. ‘I’ll be going.’
‘You’re not going anywhere, mate,’ said the newcomer. ‘Sit down.’
‘And who might you be?’
‘DS Harrap. There are a few more questions I’d like to ask you.’
The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. He moved towards the door -
only to find his way blocked by Willard. ‘Will you get out of my way!’
‘Best do what the Sergeant says, sir.’
He turned back. ‘This is intolerable! Let me go at once!’
‘Please sit down, sir.’
The Doctor didn’t move. ‘I have no intention of staying here.
You’d have to arrest me.’
‘If that’s the way you want to play it.’
The Doctor gave a little laugh. ‘On what charge?’
‘Oh, I’ll think of something... Obstructing the police in the performance of their duty? That’d do nicely. Don’t you agree?’
It was becoming obvious that he would have to play their ridiculous game. He sighed. ‘Oh very well,’ he said, and sat down.
‘That’s better,’ said the sergeant. ‘Now then, let’s try again.
What’s your name? Your real name.’
‘I’ve already told your colleague.’
‘Yes, sir. John Smith. Have you any means of identification?’
An image of the Doctor’s UNIT ID pass flickered briefly across his mind’s eye; tucked behind Gary’s tank along with the stack of official rubbish (income-tax returns and the like) that he habitually ignored. ‘If you don’t believe me,’ he said, ‘I suggest you ring your Commissioner at Scotland Yard. He’ll vouch for me.’
‘Friend of yours, is he?’
‘You could say that. I was able to put in a good word for him when the appointment came up.’
The sergeant lifted an eyebrow to his partner standing by the door. ‘I’m sure you did, sir. Very well, I won’t insist. John Smith it is. And maybe Mr John Smith would like to explain how it is that he knows so much about these bodies...’
The last stretch of the short cut led through a little spinney up a track that had been worn into the grass by the feet of the small army who shared its secret with Sarah.
Sarah could see the lights of the paved path that led to the gate glittering through the leaves some fifty yards away and hastened her steps slightly. Even the thought of her typewriter sitting on her desk awaiting fishy words of wisdom couldn’t detract from what was uppermost in her mind.
She could murder a cup of tea.
But then she heard them, the footsteps. She stopped, and so did they.
There was nothing behind her, save the darkness, and the distant lamps of the proper paths and the streets beyond.
And silence, apart from the far-off traffic, and the faint barking of a dog.
Come on! She wasn’t a child, to be frightened of the dark. It was just her imagination.
She turned and hurried on, trying