The Cloned Identity (9 page)

It seemed ages before we saw the handle turn and in walked the vicar. He looked completely different from the broken man I had left in the cells.

“Good morning, Reverend,” I said in a voice which sounded so normal it surprised me.

“Morning, Inspector, Sergeant,” he replied. “Do sit down.” He was certainly beaming with confidence.

We declined his offer.

“We have come about the Miss Wood case. I've been instructed to inform you that all charges made against you regarding the case have been withdrawn.”

“All the charges, Inspector?”

“Yes, sir – all the charges.”

“What a surprise, Inspector! Isn't it a pity you didn't believe me when I said I was innocent? Instead you twisted the truth to suit yourself, fabricating lies. You destroyed me. I've lost my church, my credibility; all the good work I've done – gone! Do you really think it is that easy? You have violated my life, and you will pay – pay dearly, Inspector.”

I motioned to Joe and we made to leave. I didn't want to get into a slanging match as the Bishop was probably listening outside the door – the Chief as well, I shouldn't wonder. Joe went through the door first.

“Oh, Inspector.”

I turned back to face the vicar.

“I've got a present for you.”

He passed me a small paper bag. I looked at it with suspicion.

‘Is it something nasty?' I thought.

I opened it and looked inside: a condom. I looked at the vicar.

“You never know, Inspector, it could save your life one day.”

“Just one thing, Reverend – one thing we both know as well as a couple of other people – and that is you are guilty. You did it.”

The Reverend Wright's eyes narrowed with hate.

“And another thing: He knows too.” I looked upwards as I said that.

He followed my glance and blushed.

I turned and left. I followed Joe out through the front door. I felt the rush of air on my neck as the door was slammed behind me.

Back at the office, I went through the files again and again, but, like the Chief said, there was not a lot in the way of concrete evidence. I thought of interviewing Miss Wood. Perhaps if I showed her the picture her uncle had obtained, told her where it had come from … But what if the shock sent her back into a coma? What if she complained to the Bishop? What if… ? What if… ? Oh, my God, damn the bloody Church! Whatever the Bishop had said to her had had such an effect that she had lied to the police, of that I was sure, so her fear of the Bishop was greater than the moral issue of lying. Or perhaps she didn't look on it as lying – more a way of protecting the Church, being a martyr. I threw the files into the out tray in disgust.

Two weeks later I received a letter from the Chief: I was being lent to another force as part of an inter-force exchange scheme. I was ordered to report to the Chief Super at Wheyton, a small town north of Tolchester. A quick check on the map told me what I had feared: I was going to be a long way from the Met – a bloody long way. More punishment! And how come my new appointment started in just five days' time? I knew that the force never usually moved that quickly. You would normally be given at least three months' notice of such a move. And why didn't the letter say how long the move would be for?

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Joe came in. He had heard about my news on the grapevine and was sympathetic.

“Don't worry, boss – you will soon be back.”

“No, Joe, I don't think so. More likely they will send me off on another scheme after this one, and another after that. You know, Joe, not a year ago I was at the top, with a lifestyle to match; now look at me. In a few days I'll be as far from the Met as you can get.”

Joe nodded. “But at least you will still have your rank, boss.”

“Oh, yes, I mustn't forget my pension,” I replied in a sarcastic tone. I looked up at Joe. “Sorry, Joe – I shouldn't take it out on you.”

“That's OK, boss.”

He turned and left me to my misery, and thoughts: ‘I wonder what the women will be like up there. Probably all prim and proper, no sex before marriage, have you got good prospects? Ah, some hope! Then again, it could be wild country. I might have to get used to being dragged into haystacks or barns by burly farmers' daughters to satisfy their primitive desires and lusts.'

Chapter 8

Wheyton was worse than I had feared – a small, decaying farming town, which had become a dormitory for the nearby city of Tolchester. They hadn't had a murder (not even a suspicious death) for years. There were plenty of petty crimes, but, unlike Milton, there didn't even seem the chance of anything more serious happening. Oh, I mustn't forget the rustling! It had never occurred to me that people went round nicking sheep or cows – well, not in this country. ‘Perhaps I had better learn how to ride a horse and throw a lasso,' I thought.

My new colleagues were a good bunch, though a bit basic about life. The major topic of conversation wasn't women, but fishing. As you can imagine, I felt out of it at first. It was like listening to a foreign language.

I rented a nice detached bungalow – very nice. The garage had an electric door, so I didn't have to get wet if it was raining.

I had been there for a couple of weeks, and was finding it quite pleasant and relaxing. In Milton, there had been much more pressure. If you went to the loo in Milton, you tended to hurry, whereas here the loo seemed to be a meeting place. There always seemed to be two or three people having a debate there about some new rod or reel. Everything seemed to be done at half speed, but, despite this, work was done. Even the radio transmissions seemed relaxed. An outsider listening in would have thought he was listening to some local radio station dedicated to fishing. The controllers in the Met would have gone mad. When I asked the desk sergeant (whose nickname, by the way, was Pike) if the Chief Super ever complained, I was introduced to the cunning side of rural policing.

“No, lad. When he first came in he was a bit of a problem. He didn't like the idea of us carrying our tackle in the pandas or the way they always smelt of fish, so we introduced him to the president of our club, Lord Simms. The Chief Super, being a bit of a snob, was impressed – even more so when we voted him on the committee as vice president. He's been as good as gold ever since.”

At first I found it difficult to fit in, despite the fact I was treated so well. The difficulty was of my own making. Firstly, I was carrying round a grudge at being sent here; and secondly, how could I take a job seriously when for the life of me I couldn't see what possible benefit my gaining experience of rural policing would have on my career in the Met – unless, that is, I wasn't expected to return, and this was the beginning of the end. But I found, despite all my reservations, that after a few weeks I was beginning to enjoy myself, my life, in a way I never had before. I think it was all down to working with people who were completely down to earth and honest – honest about themselves. They all worked for one another; there was no back-stabbing or trying to score points off one another. In short, they were a complete team, fishing for crime! If they got a good result, it was referred to as ‘a good catch', and never ‘
I
had a good catch', but always
we
. The same applied if a mistake was made by anybody.
He
didn't get the blame directly;
we
accepted the responsibility.

Even Joe Public was different. It had never occurred to me that there were actually people in the world that couldn't read or write, or didn't have a bank account or credit card, but there were. Not only that, but they seemed to survive very well. It was completely new to me the way people seemed so willing to help one another rather than themselves, more willing to give than to receive. I must say, as I went out amongst these people I was very suspicious of them at first. I mean, they actually seemed happy with what they had, which in some cases wasn't a lot. I could see the contrast between their contented attitude and the way my parents had slaved away to buy a bigger and posher house and car – they always seemed to be working for something. I can never remember hearing my parents laugh together, never remember seeing them with their arms round each other. They simply never had time for each other. I now met people who didn't even lock their front doors; they had nothing worth stealing, so they didn't have to live out their lives behind locked doors, jealously guarding their possessions. They just enjoyed life.

I began to realise that the way most of us live is stupid. We fight our way to the top of the pile, through fair means or foul, then spend the rest of our lives fighting off people who want to take our place. It is the same with possessions: we buy expensive things, then spend our time worried that someone will steal them from us. Rather than giving ourselves more and more things to worry about, we should learn to enjoy ourselves instead. Yes, my outlook on life was changing for the better. I even went fishing with Pike a couple of times and caught some fish. And – you know what? – I felt more satisfaction than nabbing a bank robber red-handed.

At about this time I got a letter – well, a note – from Joe: ‘Hi, boss. I hope you have settled in well. Just thought you might be interested in the enclosed.'

I unfolded the newspaper cutting and saw a wedding photo. The happy couple beamed up at me, causing me to frown. I read the caption under the picture: ‘Miss Susan Wood, of this parish, was married today to the Reverend Thomas Wright. The Bishop of Milton officiated.' The only thing missing was the Chief as best man. I stared at the smiling Miss Wood, and I realised that I had never seen her with her eyes open before.

‘Well, Susan, was that your price for keeping quiet?' I wondered.

I carefully folded the cutting and note and put them in the drawer of my desk. I sat and thought back over the Wood case. It made me realise how the Met had become nothing more than a political weapon. Results won votes, won promotion. No wonder there were so many innocent convictions and so much corruption! It wasn't about people any more – the stakes were too high. Everyone was fighting one another to get to the top as fast as they could. Blow the people! Blow law and order! I wonder if those back in the Met realise what a big favour they did me. Being at Wheyton might not improve my policing skills, but it certainly improved my outlook on life and my quality of life. Little did I realise that events were about to unfold which would change my life for ever.

Pike came to see me and gave me a memo headed ‘ARP'.

“What's ARP?” I asked.

“Animal rights protesters,” he replied. “It's that time of the year again.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“Hunting season. As soon as the hunts start up they come out from under their stones.”

“Trouble?” I asked as I studied the memo.

“Can be. If it's just the locals, then no trouble; but if some of the professional mob turn up from the city, then it's big trouble. It used to be a nice day out, but then the city louts appeared, organised and violent. You'll need to swot up on this.”

Pike passed me a thick folder, and I flipped through the pages, noting that some of the pages had coloured photos.

“I keep it up to date. They're the bad lot – the ones with a red line. They're the nasties. They go from place to place just stirring up trouble. Tom Busby, the chap who took your place in London – well, one of them broke his arm last season, hit him with a three-inch post when he wasn't looking. Mind you, we are lucky just having the two hunts; Tolchester's got four or five, and they have to cover the research lab. That's been done over a couple of times that I can remember. Still, it serves them right. I don't like animals being used that way myself.”

“What exactly do they do there?” I asked.

“I don't rightly know. I've only been there once. It gives me the creeps. They have lines of cages, mainly monkeys, just sitting there zombie-like – vacant eyes, no sign of life, not natural. I am glad we don't have to deal with the place.”

I looked up at Pike. “Where exactly is the lab? I might pop in and take a look if I am passing sometime.”

Pike looked at me for a second, then gave me directions. I made a mental note to take a look the next time I was over at Tolchester.

A couple of weeks later I was on the way back from an interesting lecture on drugs at HQ at Tolchester when I found myself subconsciously taking the long route, which according to Pike would take me past the research lab. I soon spotted the car park he had told me about and pulled in. I parked facing the heavy chain-link fence. The area behind the fence looked like a park. There was no sign of any movement; the place look deserted. I could see some buildings semi-concealed by a screen of trees and bushes.

I got out and followed the concrete path round to a small metal gate adjacent to the large, heavy main gates. The gate squealed as I pushed it open.

Pushing open a white wooden door I entered the gatehouse. An aged security guard faced me across a worn counter. I would have been impressed by his alertness, but he must have been warned of my approach by the squeal from the gate.

“Yes, sir, can I help you?”

“I've come to see Professor Edward Mark.”

“Is he expecting you, sir?”

So he did work here! I had known it would be a long shot.

“No, not exactly; but if you tell him DI Roger Watson from London is here, I am sure he will see me.” I flashed my warrant card.

“Yes, sir. Please take a seat and I will try to locate him.”

I sat down on one of the plastic chairs surrounding a small table sprinkled with a few magazines. The wall opposite was covered with some posters which looked like they had been purloined from a travel agent's. I heard the mumble of the guard's voice on the phone.

‘I wonder what the Professor's reaction will be,' I thought. ‘I expect he knows what happened – probably went to his niece's wedding.'

Five or ten minutes must have passed before the door off to my left suddenly opened and a man in a white coat came in. It was not the Professor.

“Mr Watson,” he said, holding out his hand.

I stood up and shook hands.

“Tim Brown, Professor Mark's assistant. I'll take you over.”

I followed him out and we made idle conversation as we walked towards the buildings I had seen behind the trees. As we neared the complex I could see the buildings were all single-storey, and in the centre was a fairly new red-brick structure. All the other buildings belonged to an earlier era – a wartime military camp or something similar. I was impressed by the overall tidiness of the place. We made our way up the clean path to a glass door in the new building.

Tim pushed open the door and I followed him into a small hall. There was only one other door and that was to the right. Tim opened this door and we entered a small room. I could see from the furniture, which was almost identical to that of the gatehouse, that this too was a waiting room.

Tim gestured to a chair. “If you would care to wait here, the Professor will be with you shortly. Would you like tea, or coffee?”

“Coffee, please,” I replied.

I sat down as Tim left the room through a door which I noticed was fitted with a security lock. I strained to hear any noise, but the place was totally silent. A few moments later I turned as the door opened and in walked the little man with the very blue eyes. I stood up quickly.

“Mr Watson,” he said as he approached me, his face beaming a smile, “how nice to see you again.”

We shook hands like long-lost brothers.

“Please – please sit down,” he said.

I sat down in my seat and he sat in the chair facing.

“I hope you don't mind me dropping in like this.”

“No, not at all. Are you still with the police?”

“Yes, I am – locally actually.”

“Locally?” the Professor echoed, looking a little puzzled.

“Yes, I am based at Wheyton – part of an inter-force programme,” I explained.

“Oh, I see. I did wonder what happened to you. I thought I might have seen you when I came down to Susan's wedding.”

“No, I was already up here. How is your niece, by the way?”

“Oh, she's fine, but I am still puzzled by her choice.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he asked, “Are you here officially?”

“No, I just thought while I was up here I would look you up.”

The Professor looked a little relieved at my answer.

“Well, it is nice to see you, Roger; and thank you for not saying anything about our project.”

“Did you tell Susan?” I asked him.

“No, I realised you hadn't disclosed anything, and Dr Moore was keen not to bring the matter up, so I thought it best not to. Anyway, she wouldn't have understood.”

“No, I suppose not.”

The anger I had felt towards the Professor had all evaporated some time ago, and it had been replaced by a yearning to know what had gone wrong.

“Tell me, Professor: what do you make of all this? Do you think we got the wrong man?”

The Professor thought for a while.

“Well, it's possible. We no doubt got the right data, of that I am sure; however, it's possible that Susan was so emotionally involved with the vicar that her mind substituted his face for that of the attacker. You see, she might have wanted it to be him who made love to her – so much so that her mind took over her memory. In many ways my experience with Susan has added new dimensions to my research, and I believe we recently confirmed what I've just said.”

“New dimensions to what?” I asked.

The Professor looked at me, studying my face. Then he leant forward in his seat. “You know, Roger, from the first time I met you I felt I could trust you. I could tell that your interest in my work was professional, rather than for personal gain.”

“Yes, I must admit I am fascinated by what you are doing, but I am worried as well. You are delving into the unknown; however, the benefits to the human race could be enormous.”

“Quite so, Roger. Now let me explain what I have been working on lately – strictly in confidence, mind you.”

I nodded. “Of course – you have my word.”