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A walk on the dark side of science fiction
Martyn K Jones
Martyn K Jones Head of the Beast Excerpts
Category:
Science Fiction
Pages: 210
Copyright: October 2012
Price: $4.99 (eBook)
The first in the series of Paul Calvin novels. Special Kindle edition.
"The living shouldn't talk to the dead. We say too much and know too little." Runs the gospel according to Nick Calvin, ex Uniform Police Inspector.
The problem is, Inspector Nick Calvin has been dead for over seven years. Killed in the line of duty.
The other problem is, his son Paul can now hear him quite clearly. Paul can also hear a lot of other dead people, as well as the thoughts of the living. Having your brain rebuilt by a genius in neural stem cell technology can do that to a man. Which should turn him into some kind of super hero. Only he's neither super nor hero.
Yet his abilities push him unwillingly into the very front line against an evil plot. One which threatens to spread mayhem and bloody destruction all through the streets of London. He is also now squarely in the sights of a ruthless Swiss consortium, with designs on the impossible to replicate technology between his ears.
Threatened with personal disgrace and impending divorce, this is not how he saw his career as a Police Detective working out.
With his wife about to divorce him, and professional disgrace in the offing, this is not how Paul saw his life as a career police officer turning out.
Head of the Beast is the first of the Paul Calvin series of Science fiction novels and Cerberus Conspiracy titles. It takes us from the event which begins Pauls journey from average police patrol officer to startlingly good detective with an uncanny ability to see the evil that dwells within the hearts of all men.
Excerpt
The darkness of the soul leaves a stain wherever it goes. That stain contaminates even the most innocent, leaving the black mould of guilt to corrupt anyone who stayed for long. This is very true of Police interrogation units. The older they are, the more corrupting they become. The cocktail of anger, deception, guilt and hatred pollutes the very atoms, alters the way the electrons vibrate and leaves a shadow that not even the night can make disappear.
It was eighteen months after his reinstatement, in just such a bare room devoid of comforts but three chairs and a table securely bolted to the floor, that Paul was hard at work. Seated across the interview room table was a wannabe hard case. An obvious carrier of the darkness within.
“That robbery. Tell me about it.” Paul leaned back in his chair, feeling his way gently into the surly looking kids mind. He’d been a passenger in a stolen car stopped close to the crime scene. The driver was still being processed through custody suite.
“What robbery? I never robbed nuffin’ man.” The surly kids aura was a shrunken, sullen travesty streaked with dark red. He reeked of guilt.
“You and your friend have been ID’d by CCTV coming out of the shop after the Manager got shot. Good images too.” A sharp yellow flash of alarm showed although the surly kids café au lait face never twitched. Good actor.
“Yeah, well, there was this other guy right…”
“Try again.” Paul said, with the air of one who'd heard it all before.
“Do what?”
“I said, try again.”
“Eh?”
“What happened?”
“I’m tryin’ to tell yer.”
“How about the truth?”
“I’m tellin’ yer the troof!”
“No you’re not. I can tell. Now tell me what really happened.”
“I told you, there was this other guy..”
“No.”
“How do you know pal? You weren’t there. I seen it all.”
“I read minds.”
“Fuck off!” Streaks of panicky yellow disbelief flashed through the poisoned red. Also fear. A real, primal, bowel loosening fear.
“No really, I can.”
“Oh yeah, so what am I thinkin’ now, Copper?”
“You’re starting to panic because I won’t believe your version of events.”
“Wrong. You’re full of shit, Copper.”
“That’s what you say. What’s going on in your head tells me you’ve been a bad boy. A very bad boy. You’re running through it in your head right now. I can see it plain as day.” Paul half closed his eyes and let the thoughts come at him. ”When you told him to download the till credit chips the Manager told you to frag off and you pulled that - let me see now. A .32 Automatic sold to you by that Australian guy you know from Flat Willies regular smokey-drinky parties, what’s his name – Bloxie?” The boys face twitched in alarm as all his secrets spilled uncontrollably into his upper thoughts. “You shot at the Manager twice at less than a metre range. Only one bullet hit him by the way; you’re a lousy shot. You saw the blood, panicked and ran out, throwing that gun away when you ran down…. An alleyway, yes, back of the Chinese, no Afghan restaurant. Up over the fence where someone’s cut down the razor wire. Don’t try to hide, I’m in and I can see the memory. You’re thinking about it right now. You can’t help yourself; it’s like trying not to think about sex when you see a naked woman – well hello memory, so you pimp for two of your girlfriends? One abortion – unofficial of course, oh yes, you like beating Chrissie don’t you? She is so submissive you think she gets off on it. Bondage fantasies. My you are a bad boyo aren’t you?” Paul grinned from across the table. The surface thoughts had unfolded like a guilty flower, exposing all. He could almost smell the panic as the kids stunted consciousness scuttled round inside the vaults of memory, opening doors to wrongdoings at random, right back to childhood as it tried to hide from Paul Calvins godlike vision. If only I could get Legal to see all this, he’d never get out of prison.
“I wan’ my fookin’ lawyer!” His suspect wailed in alarm. The dam breached and all pretence was swept before a raging flash flood of confused guilt. Faces, names, places, deals all laid bare in front of his inner eye. Paul sat back. “Okay. Suspect has asked for legal representation. Interview suspended by Detective Calvin at sixteen forty two.” Detective Indrus shut down the recorder.
For a moment or two, they sat in silent tableau. The suspect staring sightlessly at the coffee stained table top, rocking slightly, arms pulled in tightly across his hooded sweat shirt as though exhausted. Paul sat back with his arms carefully folded; an expression of satisfaction at a job well done camped on his scarred and almost handsome heart shaped face. Detective Indrus flickering professionally veiled glances between interrogator and suspect. Then Paul and Indrus stood up and left, leaving their suspect to sweat a little under the surveillance cameras.
Outside the interrogation room Paul spoke to Indrus. “I’m pretty sure the gun is over the back of that Afghan place somewhere, I’m going to see if Wallace will sanction a ground search. Keep an eye on you know who in there. Just give him the silent treatment and see if he spills until his lawyer arrives. Don’t let anyone else talk to him until then.”
“Right.” Indrus’ twitched her mouth in a half smile; she knew the score.
Paul messaged his bosses comms unit. “Hi Boss, Calvin here. I’ve got a prime suspect for the Highland Street shooting. He's scrubbed most of the gunshot residue off his hands, but there's enough trace to back it up. CCTV places him in the area and I know he did it. His mind’s wide open.”
“You know that’s inadmissible as evidence.” Ben Wallace, also newly transferred from uniform to detective, responded crisply from his end of the line. “Some clever Lawyer is going to quote the Human rights code and the court will throw the case out for breach of privacy.” He cautioned his junior soberly. "As for what you said to him about reading minds...."
“I know boss, but he’s wide open. I need a few uniform or scene of crime to retrieve the gun before he gets news out to his buddies to pick it up.”
“Got a location?” Wallace brightened.
“Back of that new Afghan place corner of Willmore and Highland.”
“Go get ‘em. I’ll see if I can get scene of crime to go with you. I take it you’ve done a swab test?”
“Done in custody suite. We’re waiting for the lab results.”
“Good work. How’s your new boy?”
“Good one. Knows when to keep her mouth shut.”
“I thought you and Indrus would get along. She’s bright but a bit too gung ho. Watch her back.”
“Right. She’s in interrogation four with a Uniform and the suspect. I can leave her there. She’ll be fine.”
“Just a moment. I’ve just got an e-mail from scene of crime, they’ve got a man in the area. Forwarding it on to you.” Calvin’s ePhone bleeped as the E-mail arrived. He took a quick look into the 8 centimetre holographic screen and grinned.
“Makes a change.”
“Let’s get lucky. We need this one off the street.” Wallace’s dry remark cut all thought of levity short. The boss wanted results, not excuses.
“Right boss. I’ll meet them there.”
Paul made his way out to the concrete wall lined yard to pick up one of the unmarked pool transports, grinning like a maniac. The background whispering of the dead didn’t bother him much nowadays. You could get pretty much used to anything eventually. Most of it was pretty incoherent and undirected anyway. Nothing to worry about. Although it could almost drive you crazy sometimes.
“I’m getting the hang of this.” He smiled, sure in himself that the shooter was going down. Lawyers notwithstanding of course. “Evidence, that’s what we need. Hard evidence.”
“You all right?” One of the enquiry officers at front desk heard him talking to himself as he passed by.
“Never better Nisha. Never better.” Paul replied after signing the keys out. The clouds had parted and the birds were singing. It was going to be a very good shift.
The alleyway, crowded and jumbled with rubbish bags and wheeled bins, stank. Stale and rotting fast food, foetid and greasy, overlaid with the richly acrid odour of Urban Fox and rat. The scene of crime forensic team were already waiting for him in their distinctive white and orange banded coveralls.
“Calvin.” Paul announced himself, keying his ID tab which flashed up as genuine on their E-phones. The taller of the two figures, indistinct behind their white deflector masks, nodded.
“What are we looking for?”
“Firearm, slug thrower, possible .32 calibre. Dumped about fifteen hours ago.” Paul half closed his eyes and ran through the kids memories until he found the right one. “That bin there.” He pointed at a large, crusty, orange painted dumpster type bin, rectangular lid overflowing with biodegradable paper bags and other rubbish.
“You sure?”
“Sure.” Paul was glad he didn’t have to do the nauseating job of wading through piles of stinking refuse himself.
“Okay, it’s your departmental budget.” The scene of crime officer shrugged. “Right, let’s get in there.” He told his number two wearily. Detectives and their hunches. He thought to himself acidly.
“It’s not a hunch.” Paul replied as the surface thought rolled across his mind. “It’s a fact. Got a confession.” He ignored the sudden startled spike of alarm in the lead forensic officers mind, he’d gotten used to that reaction as well.
“Still spooking people for fun Detective?” Paul twisted round in surprise.
“Well Sarah Campbell, as I live and breathe.” Pauls lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. Shit! How did he allow a god-damn Journo to sneak up on him like that?
“This to do with last nights shooting?” Sarah prompted him in that half innocent, half teasing way of hers. Her E-phone was out, no doubt in ‘Record’ mode.
“Tell you in a few minutes.” He tantalised before the lead forensic officer clambered out of the battered orange bin, a black object clearly visible in the thick transparent wrapping of an evidence bag. “You should be behind the cordon.”
“You never learn anything there.” She rumpled up her face as she caught the stench of a freshly ruptured bin bag. “Mind you, I’d rather be there right now; but a story is a story.”
“God bless old fashioned journalism.”
“Sarcastic bastard you are.”
“Who me? Never.” He enjoyed the banter for what it was.
“Your confession was spot on. Looks like a .32 and we’ll have to run some tests, but it looks like you’ve scored again, Calvin.” The lead forensic officer was back in front of them, stripping his gloves and mask. Paul grinned broadly and quickly keyed off a one word message to Ben Wallace. It read “RESULT!”
A few seconds later an incoming message bleeped on Pauls phone. “GD JB. CU LTR.” Paul turned away and headed back towards his pool car, Sarah Campbell in tow, nipping at his heels like a playful puppy.
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