Doctor Who_ Timeless Part 13

She heard Guy turn and walk away, into the spare bedroom. The door closed with a quiet, definite click.

Hot tears were escaping Anji's eyes before she could even try to stop them. She wanted to run to the room and say that she was sorry, and drag him back out and lay him down on the couch again and for them to carry on as before. But she couldn't. She stayed crouched where she was.

They made a good team, she decided. Him with the wisecracks about eggs. Her the chicken.

She rose shakily, wiped her eyes, drained her own mug in one grimacing gulp, and went into her bedroom. The sheets smelled safe and just of her, and the pillow was soft, so she cried into that.

Sixteen.

Night thoughts 'h.e.l.lo, honey, I'm home!' hollered Fitz as he came crashing through the front door. It was gone one o'clock in the morning, he was knackered, troubled and had somewhat childishly resolved to wake up Trix the second he got back in after his long journey.

'How'd it go?' she called calmly from the bedroom.

Fitz sighed and wandered in. She was propped up in bed in a black T-shirt, engrossed in a chat show on the portable with a big box of chocolates beside her.

'Not great,' Fitz confessed. 'Basalt killed someone.'

'G.o.d, really?' Trix finally tore her eyes from the screen at that and popped another chocolate in her mouth. 'Who?'

'Some woman in her fifties.'

'Tell me what happened.'

'I'd rather not. Anyway, it's all fine and dandy, because the same woman was fit and well again half an hour later.'

Trix paused mid-chew. 'Have you been drinking?'

Fitz shook his head. 'It's mad. I know. But I saw tbe woman, terrified, bleeding, Basalt laying in to her. Then I called round once he'd left and... there she was!'

'An identical twin?'

'I thought maybe at first, but...' He shook his head. 'Timeless offers a safe murder service. A twin would be missed, surely. By her twin sister for a start.'

'Unless her twin was in on it...' Trix shook her head, apparently dismissing the idea. 'A double, then. Someone in make-up, to put people off the scent.'

'Maybe. She did say she was moving away...' Fitz wanted to believe such a rational explanation in a way. 'I don't know though. It was an exact double. Right down to the eyes...'

Trix shrugged. 'Clones, then. They're cloning people so they can kill them without any worries. The original is still about.' Her face darkened. 'Or maybe the clones are killing off their originals.'

Fitz stared at her. 'G.o.d, do you think so?'

'I think...' Trix stared into s.p.a.ce, apparently in deep thought. 'I think I'll have a caramel cream next.'

'You'll get fat,' remarked Fitz, nonchalantly eyeing her slim form. 'In about a hundred years time.'

'Chocolate helps me concentrate,' Trix told him, her eyes glued again to the TV. Fitz took the admission with the pinch of salt he reserved for most things she came out with. 'No. Can't be clones, can it? Can you clone someone old? I thought they'd be a baby or something.'

'Out in s.p.a.ce you can do that, naturally,' Fitz a.s.sured her with a veteran's knowledge. 'I've seen it done. But I don't know about here.' He sighed. 'How is Basalt doing it? And why? If we were to kill this Nencini guy would another one breeze round half an hour later and act like nothing had happened?'

'Have a chocolate,' said Trix, and pa.s.sed him one.

He popped it in his mouth and grimaced. 'Marzipan!'

Trix nodded in sympathy and pa.s.sed him a tissue. 'Yeah, I hate those ones too.'

Fitz spat the chocolatey lump out into his hand. 'I wish I'd stayed in bed today.'

'Me too. I had a pretty c.r.a.ppy time.' She chomped down on a hard centre. 'If you're interested?'

'You're selling it to me.'

'I did some digging around on Nencini. Got in touch with some people I know.' She tapped her small, straight nose. 'They have access to all kinds of things. They make enquiries.'

Fitz gave her a sharp look. 'You're meant to be undercover! What if you're being followed? What if '

'Relax,' she sighed, and shushed him so she could catch the punchline of some film star's funny story. She chuckled. 'Susan Canonshire got in touch with them. They didn't know it was me. The only thing they recognise is money. How do you think I got hold of all those forged doc.u.ments for us? Your driving licence, cash card...'

'I thought the TARDIS '

Trix shushed him, eager to catch the actor's next joke. Fitz stabbed impatiently at the flicker and turned off the TV. Trix glowered at him. 'It helps me '

' concentrate? Fine. But it doesn't help me, and I need all the help I can get, savvy?'

'All right.' She shrugged and turned to him, making a great show of giving him her full attention.

'So, you have friends who forge doc.u.ments,' he said. 'Big deal. How did they help you with the Italian?'

'They can access records. Births and deaths. They can fit you up with a dead person's or an emigrant's ident.i.ty, National Insurance number...'

'Suppose that's an a.s.set in your line of work,' said Fitz, p.r.o.nouncing the last word like it was dirty.

Trix just nodded. 'Not only is it easier to scab benefits off the government but it's ideal for the detail in all that early life stuff if you reckon your past's going to come under scrutiny.'

'So Ralf and Susan Canonshire were... real?'

'Yeah. But they didn't make as nice a couple as us, believe me.'

Fitz didn't want to know any more. The idea of standing in a dead man's shoes made him feel somehow sordid.

'Did the Doctor know you were doing all this... illegal stuff?'

'He thought it was a good idea and trusted me to sort everything out,' said Trix. 'I told you. People like Basalt do their research, Fitz. If you're caught out...'

Fitz nodded. 'I guess so. So what did you find out about Nencini?'

'There's no record of him existing in this country.'

'So what, he's visiting from abroad?'

'I called round to the address Basalt gave us and he's there all right. Seems pretty settled, too.' She wrinkled her nose. 'Lives in a total tip. Forty odd. Spends his days slumped in a chair half buried beneath lager cans and empty pizza boxes.'

'Sounds all right,' said Fitz. 'Did you introduce yourself, then? Make an appointment for when we can kill him without too much bother?'

'I said I was a social worker, but I don't think he much cared who I was.' She licked her finger clean of chocolate, thoughtfully. 'He doesn't seem well. Depressed. "Waiting to die," he said he was, though he didn't make a whole lot of sense...'

'So do you think he's an illegal immigrant or something?'

'I thought it could be possible. I took a picture of him, brought it round to my contacts to see if they could place the face to any foreign records.'

'They're very well organised.'

Trix nodded agreement. 'And not cheap. In any case, they came up with a match for Signor Pietro Nencini at an address in Florence.'

'So, he is is an immigrant.' an immigrant.'

'No.'

'Well, what then?'

'I gave the place a phone call.'

'And?' Fitz swiped another chocolate from the box and held it threateningly to his mouth.

'And it's not so much a house as an estate. I finally got through to the very successful and extremely wealthy art dealer, Signor Pietro Nencini.' Trix frowned. 'Fitz, his voice was just the same. It was like he was the same guy only everything the other one wasn't.'

Fitz's jaw dropped. He stuck the sweet inside. 'A double. Or a clone. Or something. We're just going to have to do as the Doctor says and hope we can figure it out.'

Trix checked the calendar on the wall. 'We don't have long. We'll have caught up with ourselves next week.'

'It's a time for maximum brainpower,' Fitz a.s.serted.

Trix nodded listlessly and counted the sweets she had left. 'Shame my concentration span is all screwed,' she sighed. 'I think it must be the caffeine in these d.a.m.ned chocolates.'

Seventeen.

Dumped 'The sea in this area is his killing ground, right?' The Doctor placed an easy arm round Stacy's shoulders, steering her on a path leading down to the dock. 'That's what Basalt said.'

'Well, what are we going to find out by boat?' protested Stacy. 'We know what the sea looks like, it's what beneath that we want to know.'

'You'd prefer to keep diving, searching for that aquatic needle in a soggy haystack, I suppose,' said the Doctor, breaking stride only to savour deep, hungry breaths of the sea air. 'That's an area covering scores of square miles remind me, how long is your vacation?'

'I knew it was a long shot, I just felt I had to do something,' Stacy muttered.

'Don't be embarra.s.sed,' said the Doctor. 'You're driven, I like that.' He came to an abrupt stop by a white, unmarked van, its dirty doors b.u.mpy and scored with rust.

'What's the matter, you like that too 'cause it's driven?'

'Not much,' admitted the Doctor, gazing sulkily at the van as if it might bite him.

'Did you see this sc.r.a.pheap in a book as well?' Stacy enquired, eyebrows raised mockingly.

'Of course not,' he said. 'There's just something about it... Oh no.' He rubbed his eyes. 'Tell me, is a mist coming in?'

The day was bright and clear. 'No.'

He spun on his heel and stared past the stained hulks of tugboats and trawlers, out to sea. 'No. No of course there isn't.' He turned back, looking suddenly tired. 'And yet when I look at that van, it's like I can't quite focus, like my vision is clouding...'

Much like my judgement, thought Stacy, in letting a lunatic like you lead me about. 'Well then,' she said patiently, 'shall we just leave the van and move on?'

'I was drawn here, just as you were. Except by less roundabout means. Why?' The Doctor rubbed his eyes again. 'To drown me in the sea? Surely not. Perhaps to show me something...' He looked at Stacy with a sudden near-religious fervour. 'Something you can help me with.'

Stacy figured it was time she a.s.serted herself. 'Doctor, I've been very patient. I've saved you from a watery grave, I've listened to some very tall tales and even tolerated you losing me my place to stay.' She looked at him pleadingly. 'When you said you knew Basalt it was such a relief I mean, I thought maybe I wasn't totally out of my mind. But now I'm kind of thinking that I am am totally out of my mind and so are you.' She took his baby-soft hand in hers. 'Please, Doctor. Just say something that makes sense.' totally out of my mind and so are you.' She took his baby-soft hand in hers. 'Please, Doctor. Just say something that makes sense.'

'I'm trying to piece it all together, just like you,' the Doctor snapped, yanking back his hand like she'd burned it. 'There's something close by, something we're only allowed to see in s.n.a.t.c.hes...' He reached out for the van door handle and tried to open it. 'Locked.'

'As you might expect,' agreed Stacy.

The Doctor closed his eyes, pressed his lips together in concentration and tapped his fingers over the lock on the driver's side. With a soft clunk, the lock b.u.t.ton shot up. He casually opened the door.

'Doctor! What the h.e.l.l are you doing?'

His eyes were watering like the van was full of chopped onions. 'Stacy, look inside, see if there's a log book, something to suggest who owns this thing.'

'Why?' She stared about, anxious that someone had seen them.

'Do it, please. Humour me. For some reason, I...' He banged his fist against the side of the van in frustration. 'I can't see inside.'

She could barely believe it herself when she found she was rummaging through the tapes in the glove box and rifling through empty chip packets and sandwich cartons. 'Nothing to say who it belongs to.' She found a small box of transparent plastic and opened it up. 'A clue!' she reported half-heartedly. 'Bags of absorbent padding. Biodegradable.' She dropped the box. Big deal. Was she ever Sherlock Holmes.

'What about in the back. Look there.'

She peered through. The windows in the back doors were blacked out but enough daylight was spilling in for her to see quite clearly.

'OK, something big is in here,' she reported, 'covered by a grubby old tarp...' She looked worriedly down at the dark, crusty stains that littered it. 'If I used my imagination, the tarp could be grubby with bloodstains.'

'I have a lot of respect for a healthy imagination. What's underneath it?'