• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

'Curtain rings,' Bernice scowled.

'They might be important. Or they could come in useful.'

Bernice sighed. 'I suppose if we had to break into anywhere disguised as interior decorators ... '

The Doctor had pocketed the bag and had moved on to the next thing.

The door to the flat slammed shut behind them. Bernice looked worried by that, so he assured her that it had just been a gust of wind.

They went through into the front room, a combined bed/sitting room. A computer sat on a big desk in the corner, there was a small bookcase full of chunky computer manuals and square-bound magazines. A couple of posters were hanging there: a detail from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel showing God and Adam and a black and white picture of Kermit the Frog in Calvin Klein underpants.

A sofa bed lay unfurled along one wall, a duvet with an Op-art pattern was arranged over it. The body of the young man who had passed the note to the Doctor lay half-in and half-out of the bed. His eyes were closed. The Doctor gently prised out the knife that had kil ed him, a single blow between the ribs to the heart.

Behind him, Bernice swore under her breath and began searching the room.

'There's a man dead here, Bernice,' the Doctor reprimanded her.

'And your fingerprints are now all over the murder weapon,' she replied, more than a hint of apprehension in her voice. She found a card with a magnetic strip and a photograph. 'His name was Timothy Todd, and he worked at the Space Centre at Devesham.'

The Doctor didn't look up. The man was so young, he couldn't long be out of university. 'A life has been taken here. He died less than five minutes ago. The murderer was still here when we rang the doorbel . That was his voice we heard.'

Bernice was opening up a plastic box full of computer disks. 'He must have been a programmer at the Space Centre.' Every single disk had been snapped in two then put back in the box.

'We have to tel the police,' the Doctor protested.

The sound of sirens was dopplering along the main street.

'Don't you see, Doctor? Someone's already told them. We've been set up. He worked at Space Centre, and he wanted to tell us something.'

'He already has,' the Doctor corrected her, 'Violets.'

'Very useful,' Bernice answered as she began hunting through the bookcase. 'Every cassette has been smashed, too.' She held up the tangled remains of Twang: More Than Thirty Years of John Smith and the Common Men.

'Commander Michaels said that there was a beautiful violet sky. Then five minutes later he said "Condition violet should now be in place, you've had your ten minutes".'

Bernice stopped in her tracks. 'A code phrase?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Telling Mission Control to cut the live feed because there was a problem that they couldn't tell the TV audience about.'

35

The Doctor stepped over to the window, laying the knife down on the desk. The sirens had stopped, which meant that the police had arrived. He narrowed his eyes. At the end of the street a patrol car had been parked behind a van, in an attempt to obscure it. Two uniformed officers, a PC and sergeant were making their way down this side of the street, again trying to keep out of view. There was no sign of any other police activity. They are responding to a 999 call.

Bernice was hunched over the magazine rack. 'But Tim passed you the note before then. It was while we were waiting for the astronauts to come out.'

'Yes,' the Doctor declared triumphantly. 'He knew that there was going to be a problem before Michaels did.'

'Who's Who and What's That?' Bernice gasped.

'Where?' the Doctor asked.

'No. It's a fanzine - for UFO-spotters and conspiracy theorists. I've seen copies of this at my dad's place. It's gone upmarket since 1983. Look, glossy paper and a colour cover.' She pulled it out of the magazine rack. The Doctor twisted his head to take a look at the cover. There was a photograph of a thundercloud over a ruined tower, and a bold caption: 'Storms Over Avallion: Exclusive Photos from Carbury'. Bernice held