Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men Part 19

'I've never taken drugs in my life.'

'That's not the question I asked.'

'They were planted on me. They must have been.'

'Really? By whom?'

'There was a small man in a white suit. I thought he was a bit weird.'

'He was carrying enough explosives to bring the roof down.

Are you two working together?'

'I've never seen him before in my life.'

'Come off it!'

Nicola was close to tears. 'I'm telling the truth. I didn't even want to go out clubbing tonight.'

The WPC leaned across the table towards her. 'Do you want a lawyer? Is there someone in your family we can phone?'

Good cop, bad cop.

'No,' said Nicola vehemently. 'Like I said. I don't want anyone to know.'

'Everyone will know about this, soon enough,' said the male officer, grinning. 'You can make it easier for yourself if you tell us who your supplier is. We're not so interested in you.

It's the main channels we're interested in.'

'I've told you. I don't know anything about drugs. I'm not saying anything else.'

The man turned to the WPC. 'Better take her away and search her again. Send the next one in on your way out.'

The desk sergeant, one of the young constables, and the bemused CID officer watched as the Doctor completed his search through his pockets. He looked down at his worldly possessions. 'There,' he said proudly. 'That's the lot.'

The desk sergeant removed a brown, padded envelope from the drawer and gave it to the constable. 'You hold them up while I write them in the book,' he said. 'One yo-yo. Blue.

One bag of...' He paused and looked inside.

'Jelly babies,' said the Doctor, brightly. 'Would you like one?'

The desk sergeant grunted loudly and carried on with his list. 'One Swiss Army penknife.'

'Very useful in a tight corner,' said the Doctor. 'Though I've never found a proper use for the implement that takes the stones out of horses' hooves...' He noted the black looks on the faces of the three policemen and fell silent.

'One teddy bear.' The desk sergeant raised an amused eyebrow.

'Sentimental attachment,'

said the Doctor with embarra.s.sment.

'One...' The sergeant reached out for the peculiar piece of electronic equipment the constable was holding. He looked at the Doctor quizzically.

'Oh, that's an etheric beam locator. Also useful for detecting ion-charge emissions.'

'I'm sure,' said the sergeant.

'Smart a.r.s.e,' muttered the arresting officer.

The list continued. Eventually the desk sergeant reached for another envelope. The mound of objects on the desk in front of him was threatening to topple on to the floor. He held up the TARDIS key. 'What's this?'

'A key,' said the Doctor.

'To what?'

'A door.'

The CID man grabbed the Doctor by the hair and pushed his face towards the desk. 'Just you wait till I get you in them cells, pint-size.'

'May I remind you,' said the Doctor, between gasps of pain, 'of the 1982 Police and Criminal Evidence Act?'

'Some sort of lawyer, are you?' asked the sergeant, casting a wary look at the CID man.

'I have practised law,' said the Doctor, straightening himself up as the officer let go of him. 'Would it be possible for these matters to be dealt with as quickly as possible?' the Doctor asked. 'I'm keen to begin my confession.'

'All in good time, sir,' noted the desk sergeant. 'There are a few particulars I require first. Could you sign here to confirm that this is your property?'

The Doctor did so, his mark producing another angry exclamation from the two men behind him. The desk sergeant, however, had seen it all in his time. 'Thank you, sir,' he said, tipping the various items into the envelope.

'Now, may I have your name, please?'

'John Smith,' said the Doctor with a nervous glance at his feet.

'Thank you, Mr Smith.'

'Doctor,' corrected the Doctor.

'Thank you, Dr Smith. Address?'

'No fixed abode.'

'Occupation?'

The Doctor said nothing. How could he explain his lifestyle in words that these people would understand? Saviour of the universe? No... possibly not.

'Unemployed?' suggested the desk sergeant.

'I wouldn't say that, exactly. I was once a scientific adviser at the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce.'

'No gainful employment,' wrote the sergeant firmly.

'All right, Dr Smith,' smiled the arresting officer. 'You have been charged with possession of explosives with intent to injure. Your right to representation has been explained to you. Do you understand all of that?'

'Yes, yes,' said the Doctor quickly. 'That doesn't matter.

Listen to me. I have only two things I wish to say at this time.

Firstly, I can state, categorically, that the young woman is completely innocent, and she should be released instantly.'

'And the second?' asked the incredulous desk sergeant. The Doctor glanced around, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

'I would like to speak to Mr Denman as soon as possible.'

The CID man seemed amused by this. I'm sure you'll appreciate how busy the Chief is,' he noted. 'And, I'm sure you'll also appreciate how little he enjoys being frigged about by toerags like you.'

'I think he'll want to speak to me,' said the Doctor. 'Tell him, I know everything there is to know about Kenny Shanks.'

In cell number 9, Nicola Denman sat hunched on a hard wooden bench, s.h.i.+vering. After the first - brief - interview, she had been taken into the cells by two women officers who had strip-searched her. When it was clear that she was still refusing to talk, the WPCs had thrown a rough woollen blanket at her. They took most of her clothes away.

The hours pa.s.sed, slowly. Her hands idly tore at the blanket. She knew what she had to do.

There was a tube of lipstick on the floor, under the bunk. It was covered with dust and seemed to have been there for months. The colour was a sickly shade of mauve, and Nicola smiled as she ran a finger over the tip. It came away purple, coloured like a bruise.

She stood up and walked towards the cell door.

The Doctor had been in the interview room for three hours.

His initial questioning had been with the CID man, Hill. But this had proved fruitless and frustrating for both parties. The Doctor had waived the right to be represented by a solicitor, but then parried every question asked of him and demanded, again and again, to see Denman.

After half an hour Hill had stopped the interview tape and threatened the Doctor with much physical violence. The Doctor had fixed the policeman with a cold stare and said, 'You're a better man than that, detective.'

'What?'

'You don't have to be so angry about everything. I know what you see every day. I know about the drugs, the violence, the child abuse, the death. I know there are days when it seems as though the whole world is divided into the police and everyone else, and that everyone else is a criminal. But it's not as black and white as that, you know.'

'I don't know where you picked up your degree in philosophy,' Hill had said, cynically.

'Vienna,' the Doctor had replied.

'Yeah. Right,' noted Hill, standing. 'To be continued...'

When Hill returned with a bacon sandwich and two cups of coffee, he had another officer with him. This one, called McMahon, asked the Doctor more or less the same questions as his colleague. And the Doctor gave the same replies.

Eventually McMahon got tired, too.

'You realise that we've got enough on you to put you away for ten years?' he asked yet again.

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'As I've already told you, several times, I don't care about that. I'll take whatever punishment you think is fitting. I would just like to talk to Mr Denman.'

'And suppose Mr Denman was here,' said a voice from the door behind the Doctor. 'What would you tell him?'

'I'd tell him that Kenneth Shanks is laughing at him.'

Denman walked past the Doctor to the other side of the desk, McMahon and Hill standing to allow him to pa.s.s. He sat down, facing the Doctor.

'Three sixteen a.m., Chief Constable Denman joins the questioning,' he said, for the benefit of the audio tape whirring away by the Doctor. 'So, you're Smith.'

'The Doctor. You probably don't remember me.'

'Should I?'

'I helped you put the chain back on your Raleigh Chopper in 1971,' said the Doctor.

'I was seven in 1971,' said Denman.

'I know,' said the Doctor. 'And you lived at Riverboat Cottage in Hexen Bridge with your father, Harold, and your mother, Lily. You also had a younger sister, whose name escapes me for the moment, but she died in infancy.'

Denman stood up. 'You're wasting my time,' he said and headed for the door.