Read Online The Innsmouth Syndrome by Philip Hemplow - Free Book Online
Authors: Philip Hemplow
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enough data to write the report. I mean, you booked me into the hotel here for two weeks. I’ve not even been here two days yet.”
“Did we? Well, things change Carla. I’m short-staffed at the best of times, I need you back here. So, if you can’t find anything that puts this town, whatever it’s called, on the big map, then shunt it back to EPA. I want you back here by the end of the weekend, I want these cases written up and forgotten about by Wednesday next week. We good?”
“So, I’ve got two more days?”
“Stay for the weekend if you really want to, but be back in the office Monday morning. OK? Look, Carla, I’ve got to shoot, going round to John Cowley’s for dinner, want to update him on Florence. I’ll see you Monday.”
“OK. Bye T-“
“Take it easy.” And he was gone.
Carla blew out her cheeks and dropped the phone back into her bag. Typical. Half a week ago, when his obsession had been demonstrating inter-agency cooperation, getting an investigator down to Innsmouth had been a matter of top priority. Maybe he’d forgiven her for applying for that promotion, but more likely he’d just forgotten he was punishing her.
The other diners had all vanished and she was alone in the restaurant. Feeling petulant, Carla ordered a half bottle of champagne. If they felt no compunction about jerking her around all over the country, they could damn well pay for a few luxuries along the way.
She stood by the window, flinching slightly at the chill radiating through the glass. At least the rain had stopped, the wet tarmac glinting orange beneath the town’s few working streetlights. Carla wondered if Gary Taub was back out on the wet streets already, mourning his friends. She had two days to finish her investigation or find a good enough reason to prolong it, unless she wanted to work through the weekend and go straight into the office on Monday. Two days. And the EOD, with their “special poisons from the sea”, were still the nearest thing she had to a lead.
*****
The next day dawned grey and blustery, but dry. A thick quilt of cloud stretched to the horizon and it was so dark that some of the streetlights were still on when Carla left the hotel at half past nine.
She had discovered that there was a Hertz office just off the I495, and she made driving inland the first order of business. Exchanging the vandalised Honda for an identical, intact one, she was back in Innsmouth shortly after eleven. Taking a few minutes to grab a cup of coffee, she decided to leave the EOD until the afternoon and check up on Gary Taub first. The boy seemed willing to talk to her, if she could only get him away from his parents for a while.
She rang Khalil to find out where the family lived. He sounded worried about the idea of her going alone, even offering to accompany her if she would wait. Eventually he relented and gave her the address. Washington Street. Far side of the river.
The Taub residence was a small, two-storey hovel that backed onto a disused railway line. A large, covered porch deck ran almost the full length of the frontage, but was entirely clogged with junk. The garage had collapsed completely. The rest of the house looked about ready to follow suit, its white paint flayed away by the coarse Atlantic wind.
Carla took a moment to steel herself for another encounter with Mrs Taub, then forced herself to step out of the car. She was tempted to leave the engine running in case she needed a quick getaway.
The long, unkempt grass growing around the house stirred ceaselessly in the dense air, but nothing else moved as she approached. Carefully avoiding a broken step, she climbed up to the porch and knocked hesitantly on the front door. Nothing. She knocked again. Still no-one came.
She could hear television coming from somewhere inside.
“Did we? Well, things change Carla. I’m short-staffed at the best of times, I need you back here. So, if you can’t find anything that puts this town, whatever it’s called, on the big map, then shunt it back to EPA. I want you back here by the end of the weekend, I want these cases written up and forgotten about by Wednesday next week. We good?”
“So, I’ve got two more days?”
“Stay for the weekend if you really want to, but be back in the office Monday morning. OK? Look, Carla, I’ve got to shoot, going round to John Cowley’s for dinner, want to update him on Florence. I’ll see you Monday.”
“OK. Bye T-“
“Take it easy.” And he was gone.
Carla blew out her cheeks and dropped the phone back into her bag. Typical. Half a week ago, when his obsession had been demonstrating inter-agency cooperation, getting an investigator down to Innsmouth had been a matter of top priority. Maybe he’d forgiven her for applying for that promotion, but more likely he’d just forgotten he was punishing her.
The other diners had all vanished and she was alone in the restaurant. Feeling petulant, Carla ordered a half bottle of champagne. If they felt no compunction about jerking her around all over the country, they could damn well pay for a few luxuries along the way.
She stood by the window, flinching slightly at the chill radiating through the glass. At least the rain had stopped, the wet tarmac glinting orange beneath the town’s few working streetlights. Carla wondered if Gary Taub was back out on the wet streets already, mourning his friends. She had two days to finish her investigation or find a good enough reason to prolong it, unless she wanted to work through the weekend and go straight into the office on Monday. Two days. And the EOD, with their “special poisons from the sea”, were still the nearest thing she had to a lead.
*****
The next day dawned grey and blustery, but dry. A thick quilt of cloud stretched to the horizon and it was so dark that some of the streetlights were still on when Carla left the hotel at half past nine.
She had discovered that there was a Hertz office just off the I495, and she made driving inland the first order of business. Exchanging the vandalised Honda for an identical, intact one, she was back in Innsmouth shortly after eleven. Taking a few minutes to grab a cup of coffee, she decided to leave the EOD until the afternoon and check up on Gary Taub first. The boy seemed willing to talk to her, if she could only get him away from his parents for a while.
She rang Khalil to find out where the family lived. He sounded worried about the idea of her going alone, even offering to accompany her if she would wait. Eventually he relented and gave her the address. Washington Street. Far side of the river.
The Taub residence was a small, two-storey hovel that backed onto a disused railway line. A large, covered porch deck ran almost the full length of the frontage, but was entirely clogged with junk. The garage had collapsed completely. The rest of the house looked about ready to follow suit, its white paint flayed away by the coarse Atlantic wind.
Carla took a moment to steel herself for another encounter with Mrs Taub, then forced herself to step out of the car. She was tempted to leave the engine running in case she needed a quick getaway.
The long, unkempt grass growing around the house stirred ceaselessly in the dense air, but nothing else moved as she approached. Carefully avoiding a broken step, she climbed up to the porch and knocked hesitantly on the front door. Nothing. She knocked again. Still no-one came.
She could hear television coming from somewhere inside.
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