Skulk of Foxes Read online

  ‘You mean that it’s your fault we are all trapped here? That you were the one who forced the borders between this demesne and our own to be closed?’ Her voice was cold. ‘Yes, I heard. But it will not hinder my ability to do my job, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘Morgan and Artemesia weren’t bothered by the revelation. In fact, they were almost relieved to learn the truth.’

  Viburna didn’t miss a beat. ‘They are entitled to their opinion.’

  I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. It was quite something to realise that I inspired absolute revulsion and hatred in another person. Most people garnered apathy and ambivalence. Not me; I was too cool for that.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘your job in this scenario is to ensure that I’m properly locked away.’

  The Fey woman blinked in surprise. ‘Pardon?’

  I waved a hand. ‘You heard me. We have to keep the sphere away from Rubus. As long as I’m in jail, that’s exactly what will happen. Given that the police are already onto him, I doubt that even Rubus will try to sneak his way in here to nab it. It’s my job to keep it as far away from him as possible.’

  ‘You’re martyring yourself?’ Viburna asked with a doubtful – and rather disparaging – sneer.

  ‘I want the songs,’ I said.

  Her brow furrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The songs. All good martyrs have songs written about them. Once they’ve thrown away the key I expect you, as my lawyer, to contact Right Said Fred.’

  ‘What on earth are you on about?’

  Clearly, human pop culture was beyond Viburna’s frame of reference. ‘Right Said Fred. They’re a British pop duo. Their original hit ‘I’m Too Sexy’ could easily be re-worked for me. I’m even prepared to help them out with the lyrics. Or if Right Said Fred are too busy, perhaps The Specials could re-write ‘Free Nelson Mandela’ for me.’ I pursed my lips. ‘It’s a good tune.’

  I’d managed to flummox her into momentary silence by comparing myself to Mandela. Unfortunately, she recovered quickly. ‘Morganus wants me to ensure your release,’ she said, ignoring my musical suggestions.

  ‘He’ll have to manage without me. You have to ensure that my release doesn’t happen.’

  For the first time, Viburna smiled. ‘If you insist. But you can’t tell the police you’re guilty and end up in prison just like that. They’re still going to want to ask questions. A lot of questions. We probably don’t want to appear too eager to get you charged with the crimes either, or they’ll suspect something is up. Generally speaking, people who are keen to end up in jail are hiding more than they let on. The police and the world at large are far happier if you at least pretend to put up a fight. You will also be more convincing if you actually tell the truth. Within reason, of course.’

  I inclined my head. ‘I bow to your wisdom.’ I paused. ‘Metaphorically, I mean. I’m not actually going to bow to you. And I’m not yet convinced by your wisdom.’

  ‘The feeling’s mutual,’ she grunted. She got to her feet, walked to the door and knocked on it. When it opened, she told the duty officer outside that we were ready.

  I rubbed my palms in anticipation. I’d played a lot of roles in recent times. This one might prove to be my best yet.

  Jones and Mulroney ambled inside, taking the chairs on the opposite side of the table. Jones took out a digital recorder and placed it between us. I made as if to reach for it and she glared at me.

  ‘Not a gift for me then?’ I asked.

  Her glare increased. ‘For the purposes of the tape,’ Mulroney said, ‘present in the room are myself, DI Mulroney, and DC Jones.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Jones said.

  ‘Representing Ms Hatter is…’

  Viburna cleared her throat. ‘Viburna Smith QC.’

  Mulroney gestured at me. ‘Please state your full name.’

  I deepened my voice to a villainous half-cackle. ‘Madrona Hatter.’ I inhaled deeply, holding the stale air inside my lungs. ‘I’m guilty of murder. I confess. I did it. I deserve whatever happens next.’

  ‘You admit to murder?’

  Viburna muttered under her breath, obviously annoyed that I’d ignored all her instructions.

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded vigorously.

  Unfortunately Mulroney and Jones’s disbelief at my immediate confession was so obvious that I began to suspect Viburna had been right: my rush to admit my guilt merely raised doubts rather than dispersing them. I had to backtrack somehow. If I made matters too easy for them, they’d remain suspicious. People like to work a bit to get what they want because it makes the desired outcome much sweeter when it arrives. I should have realised that earlier – or Viburna should have explained it more clearly.

  I was fortunate that Mulroney gave me the opening I needed. ‘I thought you had amnesia,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded wisely. ‘I don’t remember killing anyone. But I don’t remember not killing anyone either.’ I raised my shoulders helplessly. ‘I’m a danger to the public. Send me to prison!’

  Mulroney sighed. Rather than ending the proceedings because of my botched confession, he started with his other questions. ‘Ms Hatter, please explain what brought you to the vicinity of the Manchester Library on Monday 8th October.’

  I sank back in my chair. I would have to try a lot harder than I’d thought to get these two to charge me properly. Didn’t they know who I was? Couldn’t they spot my dangerous edge? I twisted my lips into a snarl and did my best to help them along. ‘I’d heard that Rubus, a local drug dealer, was going to be there and that he was up to no good. Plus, I wanted some drugs.’

  Viburna shot me a narrow-eyed look.

  ‘What is this alleged drug dealer’s full name?’

  I shrugged. ‘Rubus Evil Bastard. I don’t know his last name. I just know that he was going to be there doing bad things.’ It was a sort of truth. ‘When he didn’t do what I wanted, I wrestled a gun from him.’

  ‘Wrestled?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘someone knocked him to the ground and the gun he was holding fell with him. I took it. It was almost a wrestle.’ I smiled nicely. ‘Then once I had it, I shot it.’

  ‘At who?’

  ‘I think the question you want to ask is ‘at whom’?’

  Jones drummed her fingers on the table in irritation. Good. I wanted her to despise me. It was the easiest way to get this all done and dusted.

  ‘I guess you were off school that day,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I shot the gun into the air. I wasn’t aiming at anyone.’

  I felt Viburna relax slightly now that I was doing what she’d told me to do. Even Jones appeared placated. Given that my actions could well have been filmed, just like my murder of Charrie was, I didn’t feel like I could say anything else.

  ‘You also shouted something. What did you shout?’

  ‘‘I have killed before’,’ I intoned, ‘‘and I shall kill again’.’

  Mulroney leaned forward. ‘What did you mean by that?’

  I frowned. ‘Which words don’t you understand?’

  ‘Who had you killed before?’

  A sudden knot of unexpected – and very real – tension tightened in my chest. ‘I don’t remember. As I keep saying, I have amnesia. But I think I might have killed a man called Charrie. I believe you have evidence that proves I did just that.’

  At a nod from Mulroney, Jones took out a photo from a brown envelope and slid it across the table. I immediately recognised it; it was indeed a still from the golf-course CCTV footage, the footage that proved once and for all that I’d killed Charrie by cutting off his head with a sword.

  I bit my lip. This was what I wanted, I reminded myself. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I think that’s him.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, obviously pleased. ‘We have his wife and children next door.’

  The last of my well-intentioned, lock-me-up-now bluster flew out of the window with all the speed of a buzzard on crack. What? My mouth felt dry. ‘Wife and children?’ />
  ‘She’s a grieving widow now. And those cute little kiddies will grow up without a father.’

  All I could do was stare at the pair of them. I supposed it would be a bad thing if I vomited all over their digital recorder.

  ‘Charrie’s wife is very keen to talk to us. She’s being interviewed right now.’ DC Jones sounded positively gleeful.

  My shoulders sagged. ‘I’m an evil bitch,’ I whispered.

  Mulroney raised his eyebrows. He didn’t disagree. No one did. ‘Your alleged amnesia—’ he began.

  There was another knock at the door and a head popped round the edge of it. Jones got up. Although she kept her voice low, I had keen enough hearing to hear every word. ‘The entire footage?’ she asked.

  ‘We just ran corruption software on it. Some of the images are still blurry but most of it is visible. You’ll want to see it. You should probably watch it on your own first, though.’

  Jones sniffed. ‘We have nothing to hide. We’ll watch it with the suspect.’

  She took the proffered laptop and returned to her seat. ‘We have obtained some evidence,’ she said. ‘The full footage of the night in question. This is a video from Chorlton Golf Course. It was deliberately corrupted but we’ve managed to recover most of it. I’m sure you didn’t expect that our technological abilities would be quite so advanced, Ms Hatter,’ she added, implying that it was my efforts that had corrupted the footage in the first place. Not for lack of trying, I thought. Rubus, in the glamoured guise of Mendax, had gotten there before me.

  ‘We are all seeing this for the first time.’ Jones licked her lips in anticipation. I felt even more nauseous. Viburna was looking rather pale too. Either that, or she was just lacking in Vitamin D.

  ‘We’ve already seen an image from a video that shows you using a sword to cut off Charrie Mickelson’s head. The video was a short clip, however. Here is the scene in its entirety.’ Jones smiled. ‘This will be interesting.’

  I didn’t want to look; I didn’t want to watch myself killing another living being yet again. I deserved to be made to look, though. Whoever Charrie was, I owed it to him to at least live through the experience again. And I owed it to his family, who were just next door.

  Jones pressed play. Collectively, we held our breaths.

  The boffin who’d handed her the laptop was right: the first images were desperately grainy. Neither did it help that the footage was from night time. It was just possible to make out a flag then, as the murkiness dissipated somewhat, I recognised the spot where I’d woken up. The spot where I’d murdered Charrie.

  A moment later, the man himself wandered into view. His body appeared to be drooping and his feet were shuffling. He didn’t look like someone who was thrilled to have finally obtained Chen’s little magical sphere.

  For several moments nothing happened. I wanted to cry out to him to run, to get away and escape while he still could. But it was pointless; the video we were watching had been taken three weeks earlier. This was the past. There was nothing I could do to change it now.

  As I continued to watch the screen, wholly aware of the sickening fate that was about to befall the bogle, another person came into view. It was unmistakably me. I held up a hand towards Charrie as if in friendly greeting then walked right up to him with that damned rowan-poisoned sword in my hand. I started gesticulating and talking. I didn’t appear to be threatening him, although I was waving the stupid weapon around.

  Charrie’s mouth moved as he replied. I squinted, desperately trying to lip-read the conversation, but with both our faces in profile it was impossible. Even an expert couldn’t have worked out what we were saying.

  Charrie held out his hand. Seemingly reluctantly, I passed something over to him. It looked like a small bottle or vial; when he unscrewed it and tipped the contents into his mouth, I knew I was right. What I didn’t know, or couldn’t remember, was what he was drinking.

  It wasn’t long afterwards that he collapsed, his knees giving way before his chest fell forward to the ground.

  Jones paused the video screen and turned to me. ‘What was that?’ she demanded. ‘What did you give him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘I don’t remember anything! I told you already, I’ve got amnesia! The first thing I remember is waking up next to him after he was dead. No one else was there. It must have been me who killed him. This though,’ I pointed at the screen, ‘I don’t know what this is.’

  Mulroney’s gaze was hard. ‘It’s very convenient that you don’t remember.’

  ‘I can’t prove that I’ve got amnesia,’ I half-yelled. ‘But whatever is happening on that video, I’m telling the truth. I don’t remember any of it.’

  The last thing I wanted was to be caught in an obvious lie. I had to tell the truth where I could – but I could still gently nudge the two police officers in the right direction. ‘It could be poison though. It must be poison.’ I warmed to my topic. ‘I poisoned him. I probably lied and told him I was giving him apple juice. He wouldn’t have known what he was really taking. He wouldn’t have known what was going to happen.’

  Mulroney’s answer was cool. ‘Then let’s see, shall we? Let’s see what happens.’

  Jones started up the video again. We all watched as my past self dropped the sword and collapsed beside Charrie’s fallen body, hunching over him with shaking shoulders. I was crying. Not just crying; I was sobbing my heart out. Was he dead? Had I actually killed him with a potion? Had I tricked him into drinking it? But if that was the case, why was I so upset that it had worked?

  I shook my head, my own confusion as palpable as that of the other three people in the room. From underneath the table, I was aware of Viburna’s legs jiggling with nervous tension. It appeared that she was almost as thrown by all this as I was.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the video showed me standing up. I spun round and walked away several steps then I walked back. I seemed to be muttering to myself. I ran my hands through my hair and kicked angrily at nothing. Throughout it all, Charrie didn’t stir.

  ‘He was already dead,’ Viburna murmured. ‘Whatever you gave him, whatever that was, that’s what killed him.’ She shook herself, apparently remembering she was supposed to be my lawyer. ‘Those are not the actions of a cold-blooded murderer,’ she declared to Mulroney and Jones.

  I nudged her sharply with my elbow. We wanted them to believe I was a cold-blooded murderer. That was the entire point. ‘But it’s possible,’ Viburna added, ‘that there is indeed some culpability on my client’s part.’

  On the video, I took another little bottle out of my pocket. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand before holding it up towards Charrie’s body as if in a toast. Then I drank it down. As soon as I’d swallowed the contents, I grabbed the first empty vial and disappeared from view.

  ‘Where has she gone?’ Mulroney demanded.

  Jones grimaced. ‘The cameras only cover the course holes and teeing-off points. She could have gone anywhere.’

  I rubbed my forehead. I was getting rid of the empty bottles. They hadn’t been there when I woke up, so nothing else made any sense. ‘But the sword. Charrie’s head…’

  My voice drifted off as my image returned to the screen, a grimly determined tilt to my chin. I picked up the sword again and squeezed my eyes shut. Oh no.

  I continued to watch with horrified eyes as the video version of me swung the sword downwards with one strike. The weapon was clearly razor sharp. It only took one blow.

  Both the me on screen and the me in the interrogation room heaved. Until this point, it had seemed that nothing made me retch. Now I knew why: I’d already reacted biologically to the worst possible thing that could happen. Nothing could top dismembering an already-dead body.

  I continued to stare at the video.

  On the screen, I dropped the sword before rolling Charrie’s body so he was on his back. I didn’t seem to notice that I’d covered the sword wit
h his corpse. Instead, I appeared to arrange his limbs as if I wanted him to look more like he was sleeping and less like he was dead. I gently adjusted his decapitated head then leaned over and kissed his brow.

  The quality of the recording made it difficult to tell for sure but I was almost certainly still crying. I leaned back on my haunches, swaying. Now it was my turn to look ill. Within seconds I also collapsed, falling sickeningly parallel to Charrie.

  That was it, I realised. That was the position I’d been in when I’d woken up with amnesia. I swallowed and looked away from the laptop.

  DC Jones reached over and closed the laptop lid with a loud snap. ‘Wait here.’ She and Mulroney got to their feet and walked out of the room.

  Silence settled and stretched out as I struggled to make sense of what I’d seen. It seemed to neither entirely prove nor disprove that I was a murderer. At no point had Charrie resisted or tried to run away. While I might well have given him poison, he’d willingly drunk it. What kind of daft arsebadger would do what I told them to do?

  Tension snapped in my spine. This was ridiculous. Lock me up already.

  The only sound in the room was the ticking from the large clock on the wall. It continued to tick and fill the air until I couldn’t stand it any more. I opened my mouth in a silent scream of frustration and horror and jerked pointlessly against my restraints until at least the rattling muffled the blasted noise.

  I turned to Viburna. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said, fully aware of the tremble in my voice. ‘I don’t understand what any of that was.’

  She met my eyes. ‘Neither do I.’ Her mouth flattened grimly. ‘But I’d bet my life that you gave yourself amnesia. Whatever you drank, that must be what caused it. You did it to yourself.’

  ‘I had to forget,’ I whispered. ‘I had to forget that I killed him.’

  Viburna shook her head. ‘No. From the way he was acting, he knew what he was getting into. Actually, I don’t think you did kill him. I don’t think those two coppers do, either.’

  ‘But…’

  The door re-opened and Mulroney and Jones stalked back in. This time neither of them sat down. ‘You discharged a firearm in a public place,’ Mulroney said.