Whispers Under Ground

from a kid’s cartoons. ‘At least I hope not. What kind of stuff do you get down in the tunnels?’
    ‘Lots of ghost reports,’ said Kumar and started digging through the catering boxes. ‘Not as many as we get from overground tracks.’
    I thought of Abigail’s deceased tagger.
    ‘Anything else like the guy with the machine gun?’ I asked.
    ‘There are always rumours that there’s people living in the Underground,’ he said.
    ‘Think it’s likely?’ I asked.
    Kumar gave a happy grunt and emerged from the box with a multipack of cheese and onion crisps.
    ‘I wouldn’t have said so,’ he said. ‘The sewers are toxic, it’s not just the risk of infection or disease—’
    ‘Or drowning,’ I said.
    ‘Or drowning,’ said Kumar. ‘You get gas build-ups, methane mostly but other stuff as well. Not very conducive to human habitation.’
    I thought of the big eyes set in a pale face. Too pale perhaps?
    ‘What if he wasn’t entirely human?’ I said.
    Kumar gave me a disgusted look. ‘I thought I was used to investigating weird shit,’ he said. ‘I really had no idea, did I?’
    ‘No idea about what?’ asked Reynolds from the doorway. ‘Shower’s all yours by the way.’
    We showered and then stripped, which is how you do it when you’re covered in sewage. I had a row of spectacular bruises across my chest that I knew were going to come up good and purple in the next twenty-four hours. Kumar showed me how to wring out coveralls and then we put all our, still damp, kit back on – including the Metvest. Especially the Metvest.
    Me and Kumar agreed that I’d talk to the sisters while he checked in with his boss, my boss, my other boss, Seawoll, and, finally, Lesley. This is why nobody likes joint operations.
    Smelling only moderately bad, we went into the storeroom to discover that Reynolds had gone exploring. We found her back in the club talking to Olympia and Chelsea. As we walked over she handed back to Olympia a chunky black mobile phone, the kind favoured by people who might have to spend a certain amount of time underwater. Reynolds had obviously taken advantage of our shower to make contact with the surface world. I wondered who she’d called. Somebody at the embassy or perhaps the senator? Was it possible she’d lied about not having any backup?
    I checked my watch and found it was six thirty in the morning. No wonder I was feeling so knackered. The club looked like it was winding down, drifts of teenagers were piled up around the chairs and sofas at the end of the tunnel and those who were still dancing had that frantic quality you get when you are absolutely determined to wring the last bit of excitement from the night. I also noticed that the DJ had stopped talking over the tracks, and any DJ tired of the sound of his own voice is tired indeed.
    I caught Olympia’s eye and beckoned the sisters over. They didn’t even try to look reluctant. Our FBI agent had piqued their interest and they wanted to know what the gossip was.
    ‘Your rivers …’ I said.
    Chelsea gave me a dangerous look. ‘What about our rivers?’ she asked.
    ‘They run … mostly underground,’ I said. ‘Right?’
    ‘We can’t all go frolicking through the suburbs,’ said Chelsea. ‘Some of us have to work for a living.’
    ‘Though Ty’s got plans,’ said Olympia.
    ‘Ty’s always got plans,’ said Chelsea.
    ‘You’d know if there were people living in the sewers?’ I asked.
    ‘Not away from our courses,’ said Olympia. ‘It’s not like we spend that much time in the dirty bits.’
    Chelsea nodded. ‘Would you?’
    Olympia waved her hands vaguely about. ‘Sometimes I get a kind of itchy feeling, you know like when there’s a thought in your head and you’re not sure it’s one of yours,’ she said.
    ‘I think it’s more like when your leg twitches,’ said Chelsea.
    ‘Your leg twitches?’ asked Olympia. ‘Since when?’
    ‘I’m not saying it twitches all the time,’ said Chelsea. ‘I’m saying that sense of involuntary movement.’
    ‘Have you seen a guy called James Gallagher down here?’ I asked. ‘American, white, early twenties, art student.’
    Olympia nodded at Reynolds. ‘Is that what she’s here for?’
    ‘Is he important?’ asked Chelsea.
    ‘Murder victim,’ I said.
    ‘Not the guy they found at Baker Street?’ asked Olympia.
    I told them it was the very same, which was when I glanced over and saw Zachary Palmer tending bar.
    ‘How long has he been