After the funeral, Warren tried to visit Jock’s wife and kids a few times, but the atmosphere quickly turned cold. He knew there was no way they could blame him for Jock’s death – he’d had no idea that his friend was planning to act so soon – but they were furious that he hadn’t done the right thing and died alongside his partner. Ever since that day, Warren had worked alone and on far less important cases. Gone were the days of apprehending mobsters. Now he spent much of his time chasing down petty crooks and conmen. If it wasn’t for the ‘all hands on deck’ requirement of this investigation, he had no doubt he’d currently be doing the coffee run for his fellow agents.

By the time he reached the sixth floor it had started raining. A couple of the forensic guys were just about finishing up, packing away their equipment. They shared an amused glance at the sight of Warren’s flushed face.

‘Hey, Skeet! You OK, man? You don’t look so good.’

‘I’m fine,’ Warren barked back. ‘You guys finished playing with your make-up brushes yet?’

With barely disguised sneers, the lab guys disappeared, leaving Warren alone. He took a few minutes to allow his ragged breathing to ease, then made for the window supposedly used by the gunman. The whole area was still covered in fingerprint powder so, taking care not to touch anything important, he stepped up to the window and angled himself to get the best view of the plaza below. Jeez, that was a long way off. This guy must have been some shot to—

‘Hey, ol’ buddy!’

Warren spun round, expecting to find another of the crime-scene guys ready to ridicule him, but he was alone. One of them must have left their police radio up here or something. He turned back to the window – and found Jock staring back at him.

No – it wasn’t Jock. It was just the pattern of raindrops on the window pane – but it looked like Jock. Exactly like Jock. And it was moving!

‘What’s the matter, pal?’ said the watery face. ‘Nothin’ to say to your partner?’

Warren’s breath caught in his throat. ‘Jock?’ he croaked.

‘The one and only, big guy!’ replied the raindrops. ‘I would ask how you’ve been keepin’, but I can pretty much see that for myself.’

Again Warren looked round – half-expecting to see his own rapidly cooling dead body lying at the top of the stairs. But the jackhammer pounding away in his chest told him he was still very much alive. Then it had to be down to one of the other agents. ‘OK, very funny guys!’ he yelled. ‘Whoever’s doing this – you’re a sick bastard!’

‘No one’s doin’ anything, buddy!’ said Jock. ‘Least of all you.’

Warren turned back to his dead partner. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Where was my back-up, ol’ chum? Where were you when the bullets started to fly?’

‘I was running to help you!’ Warren cried.

‘Runnin’ my eye!’ laughed Jock wickedly. ‘The only thing I’ve ever seen you run is a bar tab. You left me out in the cold, Skeet. You left me to die!’

Warren reached out, pressing the flat of his hand against the inside of the window pane. To hell with the fingerprints. ‘You can’t blame me for that,’ he said. ‘I … I wasn’t ready. You acted alone!’

‘You abandoned me!’ roared Jock. The glass in the window began to bulge inwards and Warren leapt back, pulling his hand away as though it had been burned. ‘You were supposed to have my back, and you abandoned me!’

‘No, no … It wasn’t like that!’ Warren started to back away, but the face kept on coming, stretching into the building until it resembled a fully formed head.

‘And I know exactly why you left me to take the hit,’ bellowed Jock. ‘All that time you spent at my place with Cathy and the kids – you wanted it for yourself. You had to get me out of the picture so that you could move in on my family!’

Warren could feel tears stinging his eyes. ‘How can you say that?’ he yelled. ‘I would never do that to you. You were my partner! You were my friend!’

The glass face twisted, its raindrop features running together to form a sneer. ‘And you were the reason I died!’

‘No!’ Warren snatched up a box of books and hurled it at the face. The box smashed through the window, landing a heavy thump on the ground six storeys below.

Immediately, Warren’s radio crackled into life. ‘Agent Skeet! Do you require assistance? I repeat, do you require assistance?’

Warren looked out of the shattered window pane at the younger agents staring up at him from below and he unclipped his own radio from his belt. ‘Negative,’ he replied. ‘No assistance required. I, er … I tripped and knocked into a stack of boxes.’ He pulled a coin from his pocket and was about to flip it when he stopped, stared at it for a second, then slipped it back into his pocket with a sigh. ‘Let’s just say it came up tails,’ he said to himself. ‘I’m going for a long, wet lunch.’

Chapter 4

‘Next!’

Mae lifted the wet cloth from the burn mark on her arm just long enough to peek underneath and grimace, then she followed the sound of the voice and entered the doctor’s office.

The figure sitting at the desk wasn’t exactly what she had expected. His coat was purple, rather than white, for one thing – although he did have a stethoscope draped around his neck. And when he spoke, he sounded British.

‘Hello!’ he said cheerily. ‘I’m the Doctor. And I’m a doctor today as well. Quite exciting! This is my friend, Nurse Clara.’ He gestured to a girl leaning against the wall at the back of the room, who waved pleasantly. She wasn’t dressed as a nurse at all.

‘I’ve, er … scalded my arm,’ said Mae. ‘The woman in the emergency room sent me down here, but I’m not sure I’ve come to the right place.’

‘Of course you’re in the right place,’ beamed the Doctor. ‘I’m clearly a doctor, and you’ve got a boo-hoo.’ He paused to look over at Clara. ‘Would you say “boo-hoo” was the correct word to use in a case like this, nurse?’

‘Too early to tell,’ Clara replied, ‘at least until we’ve examined the patient. It could just as easily be an “ouchie”.’

‘Very good point – go straight to the top of the class!’ The Doctor spun round in a circle on his chair, stopping to face Mae once more. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Mae. Mae Callon.’

The Doctor’s angular face split into a wide smile. ‘Now then, Mae Callon. What say we take a look at this burn of yours …’

Carefully, Mae removed the wet cloth to reveal the angry red mark on her left forearm. Clara drew in a sharp breath at the sight of it.

‘Now that,’ said the Doctor, leaning in to get a better look, ‘is most definitely an “ouchie”. And have you noticed, Mae, that the shape of the burn looks a little bit like a face?’

The effect was instant. Mae collapsed to the floor, sobbing heavily. The Doctor sat back, eyes wide in alarm as Clara hurried over to wrap her arms around the crying girl.

‘You might have a stethoscope,’ she hissed, helping Mae up into a chair, ‘but your bedside manner sucks!’

The Doctor looked horrified. ‘What did I say?’ he mouthed.

‘I don’t know,’ said Clara. ‘But you’ve had two of us in tears today already. Three if you include the TARDIS.’

‘It’s OK,’ sniffed Mae, wiping her eyes with her good hand. ‘You didn’t say anything to upset me. It’s just that the face looks exactly like my Grandma Betty.’

The Doctor wheeled his chair noisily over to sit in front of Mae. ‘Grandma Betty, eh? And would I be right in thinking that Grandma Betty has passed away?’ He braced himself for another bout of tears, but none came. Mae simply nodded.

‘How did you know that?’ asked Clara.

‘Call it a lucky guess,’ replied the Doctor. He pulled out a strange-looking piece of medical equipment and took hold of Mae’s left wrist. ‘May I?’

Mae nodded again. The Doctor pressed a button on whatever it was he was holding, causing the instrument to emit a high-pitched whine and shine a bright green light. As the light swept over the raised skin, the face made by the burn began to move. The eyes snapped wide open, and the mouth puckered into a sour sneer.