Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [64]
Tommy switched off the trolley. The buzz of the electric engine faded away. He steered it to the corner of the room, out of sight of the video camera. The three cats and the dog watched him warily as he checked that their cages were secure.
Then Tommy turned and hurried out of the building. He went back through the medical area and out through the back door of the barn, heading for the labs.
Tommy had an appointment with natural justice and specimen number 417.
* * *
Chapter 16
For one horrified moment Creed thought that his dog had used his doorstep as a toilet. The thought gave him a nasty turn because Creed prided himself on having brought his dog up as a well‐adjusted, stable kind of individual. He felt a warm flash of relief when he realized that it was just a curled autumn leaf which had blown on to the porch. Creed stepped over it, amused at the perfection of the illusion, and unlocked the front door of his apartment.
He set the bag of groceries on the floor as Bert jumped up and down to greet him. The sun was pouring through the windows in his living‐room and he felt a prolonged surge of happiness.
The euphoric mood lasted almost a full minute. Then Creed felt his heart sink, the way it always did. He was trapped here in his apartment with nothing to do when he should be out working.
It was normal procedure to spend a couple of days off duty after a major operation. He hated the inactivity but he’d learned to live with it. But he’d never spent so long out of action as he had since the Mayan bust, and Chavez refused to give him a new assignment or even to discuss the matter.
In fact, Creed had begun to feel like Chavez was avoiding his calls. He’d gone down to the station house once in person, but that hadn’t proved any more successful. There was something going on and Chavez wouldn’t tell him about it.
So here he was, cooling his heels at home with Bert asleep in the basket in the kitchen. Creed had used up so much nervous energy taking him for walks that the dog had begun to hide whenever he took out the leash.
Creed paced aimlessly around the apartment. How was he going to fill the hours ahead?
Creed had resolved to clean up his act. There had been two small sachets of coke in the spice cupboard in the kitchen. He’d flushed them down the toilet, although not without regret. Various kinds of speed he’d ditched in the same manner; Creed had never been very fond of amphetamine derivatives. You talked too much and your eyes looked like mad doll’s eyes.
The boo he’d got rid of by the simple expedient of smoking it. All the pills, enough to fill a big cereal bowl, all the colours of the rainbow, he’d taken to a public incinerator and burned.
All except one.
The small white tablet was in front of him now, sitting on top of a hardback book. Creed picked up the pill and held it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. It was curious; the distinctive liquorice smell hadn’t diminished at all.
But even as he thought this Creed realized that the powerful odour was ebbing. It faded and then it was gone. It had been emphatically there a moment earlier. Now it was undetectable. Was it his imagination?
Creed held the tablet close to his nostrils. He could smell nothing. He held it closer still, so the coarse, grainy edge of the white pill was touching his nose. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.
He couldn’t smell anything from the pill at all, although he could distinctly detect the fragrance of oil on his fingers from working on the turntable. He rubbed the edge of the pill with his thumbnail, hoping to release some trapped odour. Still nothing.
But it was an oddly comforting sensation just to touch the tablet. The feel of