Wolf Iron

Chapter 16 / The Wrong Signals

"Hello. My name is PSCO Claire and this is PSCO Fletcher and we work with the MET police of Almskirk." Claire said to the old man at the cell site gate, while flashing her identification. "We heard you had a disturbance here and we've come to see what's the matter." 

"Oye, yes. O' course." The old man opened the padlocked gate. 

Claire and Nick stepped inside the cell site, which still had loose gravel rock between the seams of freshly laid concrete. 

"Right. And you are?" Claire nodded to Nick and he pulled out a notebook and pen. 

"Oh. I'm the caretaker of the site. Alfred Walsh." His hands trembled and Claire could see that he was very old indeed. "But most folks just soon 'n' call me Alfie."

"How long have you been working the site, Alfie?" Nick asked after a series of scribbling on paper. 

"Oye. Well, I 'spose it's been nearly 2 years or so since Mr. Kent hired me." Alfie motioned to the cell equipment behind. "O' course, I'm just the night watch. I don't know none o' the technical matters."

Nick nodded and Claire peeked at the cell equipment. 

"Is it just you then, Alfie? No one else works it with you? No one else who could have been on watch?"

"No, m'fraid 'tis just me. Mr. Kent prefers it that way. The equipment is highly sensitive and all that and 'mfraid he's gonna give the security detail to someone else if 'tis keeps up." Alfie took his Irish tweed flat cap off and wrung it nervously. "I'm not as spry as I used to be."

Claire smiled sympathetically for the old pensioner and felt just a tad bit sorry for him.

"You know, Mr. Walsh, I live very close by, and I've driven by here many times before and I remember seeing a young man working here. What happened to him?" 

"Oye, that was me son. Sometimes he would work the shift for me when me feet's ached. Good lad, him." The old man coughed. "Pardon me. The boy's gone off to the big city. Did 'imself well, found a pretty lass and all that. Grand life." 

"Right." Nick scribbled some more. 

"So, Mr. Walsh," Claire said. "Why don't you show us this vandalism?" 

"Oye, right." 

Alfie lead them around to the back of the compound, which was fenced in by barbed wire fence, and then redid again with more barbed wire. There was a singular green tarp that ran along the enclosure, blocking the view from the lot from every which angle except for the front gate. 

"I noticed the sign on the gate door, Alfie. Danger, corrosive liquids or something. What's that all about?" Nick asked zipping up his windbreaker. "It's getting a bit nippy, innit?" 

"Oye." Alfie nodded. "That's the warning what which tells you to wear protective equipment. It's because o' the batteries, they're toxic when you handle 'em. So you need one o' them gold suits and all that."

"Do you mean a hazmat suit?" Claire asked, as they neared the backend of the compound. 

"That's the one, oye. Well, here 'tis." He pointed to a locker-shaped box on the bottom of a cell tower. "They slashed the battery an' let it drain." 

Claire bent down to examine the lockerbox, inspecting the busted lock. "Fletch. Could you give me your mobile?" 

People are sick of this company here, Claire thought. But even for the bored people here... This is bit much. 

She snapped a couple of pictures and then looked to the most direct path leading from the lockerbox to the fence, really only a couple meters away. 

"Mr. Walsh, this happened last night, correct?"

"Aye. It was around 3 a.m. sun's down when it happened. I didn't hear nothin' and the wind was very heavy as well. You can see at the fence where they cut in." He coughed again. "The bloody kids." 

Nick and Claire walked over the fence and noticed the gash that ran along the middle to the bottom. The chainlink pattern had been completely slit in a long vertical line. 

"Would you look at that... Chain-cutters I reckon." 

Claire inspected the breakage with a trained eye. 

"No, it couldn't be chain-cutters. It's not a clean cut. The cut bits are all... serrated. And usually with chain-cutters, the user has to do a fair bit of twisting and turning in order to get the job done. No such thing here. The fence is almost like someone just carved right through. Like margarine."

Claire traced the path of the vandals from their intrusion, to the slashed lockbox, looking for any kicked disturbed bedrock along the way. 

"Do you have any CCTV here, Alfie?" Nick asked. 

"No. Nothin' of the sort. Mr. Kent is very particular."

"He is a quite a business man, isn't he? Mr. Kent." Nick stretched his hands up and yawned. "I swear on me mum, I've heard so much about the bloke, but I've never seen his face, not once. It's strange how that happens-

"Fletcher! Fletcher, come here. Look at this! It looks like blood." 

Nick ran to Claire who kneeling in front a downed antennae that had crashed to the floor. Beside it, was a dark red, almost brown streak of blood, splattered across the wall.

"What in the hell..."

"Mr. Walsh, could you come here please?" Claire yelled. "Fletcher, get SOCO out here immediately. We're going to need bloodwork and fingerprints. Our night just got a lot longer."