discoveredinalj | Day 29

A Bodie Carol
by Ancasta
(continued)

Something roused Bodie from slumber. He woke to find himself lying on his sofa, his mouth cottony, his back sore. It was still dark outside, but a glance at his watch told him dawn would be breaking soon. The seemingly endless night was nearly over.

Sitting up, Bodie surveyed what he could see of his flat. Things looked much as he remembered them. The lounge was dim, lit only by the light in the kitchen and the television, which currently displayed an early morning news program. His shoes were stashed between the sofa and the coffee table; an empty can of lager stood atop the latter. However, Keller's gun no longer lay beside it. Nor were his remains littering the floor. There were no signs of Bodie's ghostly visitors at all.

It looked as if he had been right.

It had all been a dream.

His RT's noisy summons ended Bodie's musings. Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he stood and crossed to where he had stowed his gear the night before. "3.7."

An unmistakable Scottish burr responded. "3.7, is 4.5 with you?"

"No, sir," Bodie replied, running his hand over his rumpled hair. He wasn't yet entirely awake. "Did you try ringing his flat?"

"Don't be daft, man," Cowley replied, his voice tart with impatience. "Of course I did. There was no response."

Bodie frowned, the first seeds of concern beginning to take root. Where the hell would Doyle have gone off to? He had practically been asleep on his feet when Bodie had seen him last…

…but that hadn't been real. Had it? Bodie had only dreamed Doyle had made it home the night before and come to Mrs. Perry's rescue. The last time he had seen Doyle for certain had been when his partner had set off for home so many hours before.

"Why are you looking for him?" Bodie asked.

Cowley hesitated before responding. When he spoke, his tone was oddly gentle. "I think perhaps you better come down here, lad."

All vestiges of sleep were instantly erased. "Why, sir? What's the matter?"

"Two bobbies picked up a vagrant about an hour ago, wandering down by the docks. The man was covered in blood and talking nonsense. He had Doyle's ID on him."

"What…what does he say about Ray?" Bodie queried, surprised he was able to ask the question in a reasonable tone of voice. Inside, he was screaming.

"He doesn't say a thing. Not yet. We can't get a sensible word out of him."

"I'm on my way."

Minutes later, in the car, speeding down nearly empty streets made shiny by puddles and streetlight reflections, Bodie couldn't even remember how he had made it to the Capri. He was operating on instinct alone, knowing only that he had to hurry, had to get to HQ, had to solve the mystery of Doyle's disappearance.

Feeling as if, somehow, some way, he were responsible.

"You better be all right, you reckless git," he muttered, shifting gears to accelerate smoothly around a corner.

He should never have let Doyle get out of the car. He should have insisted he stay, row or no. The man had been exhausted the night before, alone, his guard down. All it took was one moment of inattention. Anything could happen.

"He's fine," Bodie told himself as he headed towards Westminster. Doyle was as tough as old shoe leather and certainly not a novice to the street. He could take care of himself.

He could.

Parking the car in the garage and flying past security, his ID in hand and waved under the guard's nose like a pennant, Bodie ran up the stairs to the controller's office, taking them two at a time. He was just about to step inside Cowley's inner sanctum when Murphy stopped him.

"Bodie!" the tall dark-haired agent called from the other end of the hall. "He's down here."

"Doyle?" Bodie asked eagerly, a smile at the ready.

Murphy's face fell. "No, sorry. I'm sorry. I…I meant the old man."

Bodie's breath rushed out of him, as if he had been dealt a physical blow. But he let nothing show on his face. "Right." Marching quickly down the corridor, he joined his friend outside one of the interrogation rooms.

"Listen, you might want to prepare yourself," Murphy said, his hand on Bodie's forearm, his voice low and more intense than Bodie was used to hearing from him. "I've been in there for the last half hour, watching the Cow trying to sweat this guy. He hasn't been making much headway."

"Didn't Cowley get anything?" Bodie asked. "Anything at all about how the bloke got Ray's ID?"

Murphy shook his head. "Not a word. I'm telling you—this one's a head case, mate. Spends half his time taunting us and the other half laughing at his taunts. There's something about the guy. If you ask me, he's spooky as hell."

Taken aback, Bodie wondered at Murphy's words. His friend was not the sort to get carried away by superstition or fancy. There must be something very odd indeed about their suspect for Murphy to indulge in such observations. "I want to talk to the nutter."

"Just don't let him get to you."

Entering the room, with Murphy at his heels, Bodie saw George Cowley, leaning with his hip propped on the edge of the room's only table, looking every one of his fifty odd years. A man was seated opposite him at the head of the table. Bodie couldn't see his face.

"Bodie," the Scot said, standing. "You made good time."

"You gave me reason for haste, sir," Bodie said.

"This is the cause of it all," Cowley said as the two agents came to his side. "Meet our very own John Doe."

Sitting, wrists handcuffed behind him and through the chair's back, was a brown-haired man of average height and weight. Bodie guessed he was perhaps ten years Bodie's senior. His face reminded Bodie of a hound's muzzle; it was long and fleshy with a pronounced nose and jowls forming at his jaw. His eyes were brown, his gaze keen. He was dressed in a pair of raggedy work trousers, battered lug-soled boots and a t-shirt with the collar ripping away at the neck. He was unshaved and unbathed, and a smell rose off of him that made Bodie's eyes water in protest. But more disturbing than any of that were the dark brown stains splashed across the front of his clothing like spilled paint. Bodie knew what would cause such marks.

Blood.

And an awful lot of it.

Catching Bodie's eye, the man smiled as if in greeting, revealing crooked, rotting teeth and no small measure of malice.

Bodie looked away, unable to hold his stare.

"He still hasn't given you a name?" he asked Cowley, ignoring the creature in the chair. Murphy was right. There was something about the bloke, something beyond the filth and the stench. Even though he stood with his back to the man, Bodie could feel the prisoner watching him. His attention made Bodie's skin itch.

"You gave me your name," the man husked from behind Bodie, sounding as if he had spent his infancy nursing on cigarettes rather than mother's milk. "Or rather somebody did. Bo-dee. Bodie, buddy, beauty. Don't I know you, love? Pretty, pretty boy."

Taking a deep breath, Bodie faced him once more, his expression schooled into remote politeness. "I don't believe we've met. I'm sure I would remember someone like you."

"I'm sure you would," the man said with a sly wink. "I'd make certain of it."

"We've taken his fingerprints and are running them through the system," Cowley interjected. "It will be awhile yet before we know if we have a match."

"What about the blood?" Bodie asked, turning to his superior.

"According to the lab, it's A positive," Cowley replied.

Bodie frowned. "That's Ray's blood type."

"Aye, lad. I know. This one's blood is O negative."

"Ray's blood type is red," crooned the man, drawing their focus back to him. "Red as a rose, like holly, like hearts. Red-Ray, Red-Ray. Red, red, red."

Cowley bent down to bring his face level with that of the other man, his hand braced on the table for balance. "What do you know about Ray Doyle? How did you come into possession of his ID?"

The man giggled, the laughter manic and high-pitched. "I-D, I-D, I-D. Hide-ee. Hide-ee-oh-doe-doe. I hid him, didn't I? Hid him good."

"Hid him where?" Bodie demanded, stepping past Cowley and grabbing hold of the man's yellowed t-shirt with both hands, lifting him out of his seat so his chair dangled from his bound wrists, connected only by the cuffs. "What did you do with him?"

"Bodie," Cowley warned, laying a hand on Bodie's arm.

"Come on, mate," Murphy said, reaching over and taking hold of Bodie's shoulder. Bodie shrugged them both off. His attention was all for the man hanging in his grasp.

"Are you his partner, pretty?" the man asked, looking up at him, his fetid breath bathing Bodie's face. "The lad with the curly, curly hair? Is he yours?"

"Yeah," Bodie growled. "Doyle's my partner and I want to know where he is."

"You shouldn't misplace what's yours," the man tsked, shaking his head with mock reproach. "That's very careless of you. Anyone could come along and steal him away, couldn't they? Away, way far away."

"Is that what you did?" Bodie asked, clinging to his composure by his fingernails. "You stole him?"

The man didn't answer. Instead, he grinned up at Bodie, his eyes glittering with cruel amusement. "I like you. Bodie, buddy, beauty. I like you and your partner both. Give us a kiss, love. He can't. He's not here." He puckered up and stretched out his chin.

Disgusted by the man and fearful of what he might have done, Bodie released him, throwing him into his seat so hard the chair rocked and skittered across the floor. "Fuck you."

That small bit of violence transformed the mystery man. "Fuck me? FUCK YOU!" he screamed in what looked to be genuine fury, straining forward, face contorted with rage, the veins in his neck standing out in harsh relief. "You son of a bitch! You're the one who's FUCKED! You FUCKING COCKSUCKER! I've got you by the balls and don't you forget it, Bodie boy. I know what you want to know, you FUCKING FAIRY. But I won't tell you anything unless you're very, very nice to me."

"How do I know you can tell me anything worth knowing?" Bodie countered, his voice at a similar pitch, determined not to bow down before the bastard, not to let him know how unnerved he was by the man's insinuations. What have you got yourself into, Ray? How the hell did you cross paths with this lunatic? "The blood doesn't prove anything. A lot of people are A positive. How do I know you were anywhere near my partner tonight? You could have found Ray's ID on the street."

"I could have, couldn't I?" the man sneered. "But then I wouldn't know your friend had bumped his head."

"What are you talking about?" Bodie asked.

"Had a bandage, didn't he?" the man said. "Taped on his forehead, white and square like a tiny piece of paper. I wanted to write on it, but the blood already had."

Oh Christ. If nothing else, the man had to have seen Ray that night. That was the only way he could know about the head wound.

"What do you want?" Bodie asked, quiet and as scared as he had ever been. "What will it take for you to tell me about Ray?"

The man stared at him, like a cat considering a particularly desperate mouse. Then he smiled, his eyes glittering with an unholy gleam and whispered, "Be alone with me, Bodie love. Just we two. I can tell you all kinds of secrets if we're alone."

"I don't know about this, sir," Murphy said from somewhere behind Bodie. Bodie had forgotten he was even in the room.

"I see no harm in allowing Bodie to question the man on his own," Cowley said, coming to stand between Bodie and the man in the chair. "Our guest is locked up good and tight, and Bodie knows how to handle himself."

"I'll be fine, sir," Bodie assured him, sparing the older man only a brief glance, his focus centered wholly on the man in the chair. "Leave him to me."

Cowley nodded. "All right, lad," he said, clapping his hand on Bodie's shoulder. "Take your time. If you need us, call. Murphy, you're with me."

"Yes, sir," Murphy said, giving Bodie a worried look and a supportive pat on the back before following Cowley out of the door.

Left alone, neither Bodie nor the prisoner said anything at first. Each man sized up the other, like prizefighters, circling in the ring, searching for their opponent's weakness.

"All right," Bodie said at last, perching on the table now, much as Cowley had, his arms folded across his chest. "You got what you wanted—me, all to yourself. Seems as if you might reciprocate, give me something I want in return. How about a few answers? You can do that, can't you?"

The man lifted his brows. "I can do quite a lot of things, Bodie baby."

"So tell me," Bodie said, ignoring his sally. "How do you know Ray Doyle?"

The man smiled, the noxious grin a leer. "Intimately."

Jaw clenching in frustration, Bodie stood and crossed away from the prisoner, thinking perhaps he should change tactics. "Where did you see him tonight?"

The man sighed, as if relenting. "I called and asked him to come out and play, didn't I. 'Come play with me, Ray', I said, I said. 'Come play by the water'. And he did, beautifully."

"By the water?" Bodie echoed, latching on to that bit of information like a lifeline. "What water? The Thames? Did you meet Ray by the Thames?" That made sense, didn't it? After all, they had found the man near the Docklands.

"I like the water," the man said, his eyes going soft and dreamy, not looking at Bodie at all. "It's cold and clean, the water is. And it moves, wiggling, wiggling, wiggling. It won't tell your secrets. It holds them, keeps them, hidden away, away, away in its deepest, darkest heart."

"What secrets do you have, mate?" Bodie said, returning to his place at the table, leaning in now as if hoping they might share confidences, even though such close proximity made his gorge rise. He kept his tone low and persuasive. "You said you were going to tell them to me. Your secrets. I'd like that, I think."

The man's gaze refocused to meet that of Bodie. Their eyes held for a beat or two. Bodie said nothing, determined to wait him out. He allowed his lips to curve, smiling gently, coaxingly…

Come on, come on.

At last, the man smiled back. "Do you know what's inside your partner, Bodie love?"

Bodie shook his head, losing the direction of the conversation. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what Ray's made of?" the man asked in a hush, his voice strangely compelling. "What makes him who he is?"

"Of course I do," Bodie said, sitting back. "I've known him for years. He's my partner."

"Describe him for me," the man wheedled. "Maybe I can help you find him."

Describe him for me? You son of a bitch. You said you'd been with him. You've seen his picture. You know who he is.

"All right," Bodie began, trying to give the madman what he wanted. Hoping against hope that if he did, Bodie might finally gain something in return. "He's…uh, a bit shorter than me. Brown curly hair, green eyes. His right cheekbone—"

"The inside, Bodie beauty," the man admonished, gently, as one might correct a child. "The inside. All blokes are the same in the dark, aren't they? It's the inside that matters. Describe that for me."

Standing, Bodie hesitated. They were wasting time. He shouldn't be chatting with this monster about Ray's inner workings. He should be out, looking for him.

But he couldn't do that until he knew where to look, now could he.

Bodie would have beaten the information out of the man with great pleasure. Only the bugger didn't seem to respond well to violence. He didn't get scared; he only got angry. No, fists wouldn't work. Bodie was going to have to persuade, something Doyle was better at than he.

Hey, Ray. Would you mind questioning this bloke about where you are? I think I'm in over my head, mate, and could really use a hand.

Christ. No help for it.

"He…Ray's…well, he's tough," Bodie said, picking his words with care. "He's not as big as a lot of blokes on the squad, but he's not scared of anything. He never backs down."

"Has a bit of a temper then?" the man asked.

"Ray?" Bodie queried, unable to hold back a chuckle. "Oh yeah. He doesn't suffer fools gladly, nor is he particularly tolerant of bullies. Can't say I blame him on either account. But I usually try to ignore idiots. Not Ray. He's not built that way."

"What else?" the man prompted, leaning forward in his seat. "Tell me more about your ravishing Ray. What sort of mate is he to you?"

"The best," Bodie said, without thinking. The words were flowing easier now that he had got started. "He makes me laugh, the stupid sod. Always has some sarky comment to make, usually at the worst possible time. Or sometimes…sometimes he doesn't say a word. He'll just give me a look out of the corner of his eye and it's like I can hear the punch line in my head. I don't know how he does that."

"Do you work well together?"

"Yeah. Ray's a good partner. He's smart. Not in a bookish way, but he knows things. Things I don't."

"Like what?"

Bodie shrugged, then began to pace. "All sorts of things. Copper rules and regs, the city, modern art. 'Course, I'm the same, with the army and such. It's one of the reasons we're a good team. We're different, but we complement each other, fill in the gaps."

"What does he care about?"

"Justice," Bodie said, not even breaking stride. "He cares that the streets are safe and the villains get what's coming to them."

"What about you?"

Bodie looked over his shoulder at the man. The prisoner stared back at him, his gaze unnervingly acute. All at once, Bodie felt as if he were the one being interrogated, rather than the other way around. "What about me?"

The man smiled. "What do you care about, Bodie buddy?

Bodie turned to face him more fully. "I thought you wanted me to describe Ray to you."

"I've changed my mind," the man said, the smile gone, steel underpinning his voice. "Answer my question."

"Then you'll answer mine?" Bodie bargained, hands on his hips.

The man nodded slowly. "Oh yes."

Bodie sighed and dropped his head, frustrated, tired and wanting more than anything for this man to give him something—anything—he could use to find Doyle. "Fine. I'll answer your question."

"What do you care about?" the man said again, prompting him, his eyes locked on Bodie. Bodie couldn't look away.

"At this moment?" Bodie said. "I care about my partner. I want him found and I want him safe."

"But you didn't want him at all, earlier this evening," the man said softly. "Or maybe he didn't want you."

Bodie frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"When Ray came out to play with me, he was alone," the man said. "All alone."

"He didn't call me," Bodie said. If he had, Bodie would have been there to back him up, no questions asked. Just like always.

"Why was that, do you think?" the man queried in a way that suggested he already knew the answer. "Why would your partner leave his flat in the middle of the night to meet a bloke like me, all on his own?"

Bodie had no answer. Oh god, what had he done?

The man shook his head. "He must not have thought you'd want to hear from him."

"No," Bodie mumbled, agreeing, denying. He couldn't be sure anymore.

The man smiled mockingly. "He doesn't sound all that smart to me."

Bodie was across the room before he knew how he had got there. Patience gone, reason vanished, he was aware of only one thing. He needed to know where Ray Doyle was. Now.

He fisted his hands in the man's t-shirt and leaned in close enough to bite. "All right, you bastard. I've played your game, answered your questions. Now you're damned well gonna answer mine. What have you done with Ray? Where is he?"

"Came to meet me, didn't he?" the man told him, unafraid. His voice went oddly sing-song, his words hitting Bodie's face in moist little puffs of rancid breath. "When I called, he came. All alone, poor sod. Alone, alone, alone, except for his shooter. But even that I took from him. I took so much. Didn't see me in the shadows, standing there, watching him. The night is my friend. My bestest, bestest friend. We're mates. Almost like you and Ray."

"What did you do?" Bodie gritted out, shaking the man so hard his head lolled like that of a rag doll. The creature only laughed. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I hurt him," the man whispered as if he were speaking love. "I hurt him slow and I hurt him deep. And when I hurt him last, Ray called to you, called for you. 'Bodie,' he said, real soft and whispery like. Only you never heard him, did you Bodie boy? Because you weren't there."

"No," Bodie said in a hush.

"I know what's inside Ray Doyle," the man said. "I've seen it all and it's covered in blood."

For a moment, the earth ceased its rotation. Nobody breathed, nobody moved. What was the point anymore?

Then the man smiled. And Bodie's vision turned red, yet blurry. Fire and water, both at the same time.

"I'm going to kill you," Bodie promised, his voice cracking on the words.

"You can't kill a dead man," the man replied, smug as a cat with cream on its whiskers.

"Watch me!" Bodie roared and wrapped his hands around the man's throat. He had only just begun to squeeze, when the interrogation room door flew open.

(to be continued)