The Jack Hansard Series: Season One

Episode 13: Parasite

"I guess I'll put the stiff back in the car by myself, will I?" I muttered under my breath. He was heavier than I remembered. I threw a rag over his face once I'd forced it into the boot. Couldn't stand the thought of the thing staring at me over my shoulder.

"All right, settle in," I said, turning the key in the ignition.

Jo had the notebook out again. "Okay, Hansard. Tell me why you stopped to put the dead guy in your car."

"I suppose I thought he might be needed," I said. "Maybe we'll have to do an autopsy or something to figure out how to help Ang."

"That makes sense. I'd like to know what that slug did to him."

She became engrossed in her scribbling, though I got the impression she was putting on a show. There was a slight giddiness to her voice; I wondered if she was still dizzy.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Jo seem strangely pale. I had a momentary impression of a black cloud hanging over her head, but I blinked it away. The exhaustion was drumming on my skull.

"How long's the journey?" she asked.

"About forty minutes, I think."

"You're not going to take us over any more bridges, are you?"

"No. Normal roads from now on." I refrained from pointing out that it was her own intervention that had forced me off normal roads in the first place.

"Okay. No speeding."

"I've learned my lesson."

I eased us onto the main road, heading for the nearest village. A quick stop to refuel and we'd be breezing on up North.

I kept an ear out for sirens and eye for flashing blue lights, but neither materialised. The roads remained calm, despite the churning in my gut, and we wound our way deep into the rolling hills of the Lake District with no more excitement than a stray sheep crossing the road.

We rolled onto the witch's estate while the sun was still high in the sky. The goats, thankfully, looked rather more lively in their paddock than when I'd last visited.

Mark opened the door before I even knocked. He didn't look surprised to see us, which bothered me at once. I know I'd be extremely troubled if I opened the door to a disgruntled police officer with a corpse slung over one shoulder, and a scruffy man in a long coat holding a small blanketed bundle which emitted strange whimpering sounds.

The witch regarded us coolly.

"What's wrong with your friend?" he asked.

I took a step forwards, holding out the bundle. "Long story. But there's this slug inside her and–"

"Not the coblyn. Her." He pointed a slender finger at Jo. She stepped back warily, eyeing the accusatory digit as though it might explode.

"What do you mean?" I said, perplexed.

"She's not all there."

"I'm fine," said Jo, though there was a tremor to her voice I hadn't heard before.

Mark leaned in closer, peering at Jo's face with interest.

"Aren't you that copper who was kidnapped?" he said.

"I wouldn't say kidnapped–" I began. "Wait. How on earth do you know about that?"

"Your face has been all over the local papers," he told Jo. "Weird circumstances. The reporters seem quite confused on the story. Some had it that you'd died in a car crash, others that you'd drowned in the river, and another that you'd simply disappeared off the face of the earth. That's the kind of story I pay attention to."