The Missing Heads

When headless bodies start turning up in a small town, a police Inspector is charged with the difficult task of finding out who or what is responsible.

Detective Sergeant Abigail Whitlow ran out of the door and was promptly sick into a litter bin. She had never had a strong stomach. Certainly she had seen plenty of dead bodies before, but not quite like this. Once her stomach had calmed down and she had told her laughing colleagues standing around the police van where to get off, she went back inside.

“Are you all right, Abby?” asked Detective Inspector Ted Grier.

“Fine, Ted.” said Abby. “Just a bit of a shock.”

“I wonder what they did with the head.” said Ted.

“It’s not here?”

“Nope.”

“Buried in the garden, maybe?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” said Ted. “I hope we’re not dealing with some kind of maniac.”

“Don’t worry.” said Abby. “I’m sure some perfectly normal person decided to steal someone’s head.”

“Very funny.” said Ted.

Outside the air was frosty, and Steve, the driver of the van, was punching one gloved hand into the other in an effort to keep his circulation going. His breath was condensing into mist.

“What do you make of it, then, Inspector?” he said.

“Just another part of the rich tapestry of modern British life, I suppose.” said Ted.

“You know there’s a history of this type of thing round here?” said Steve.

“A history?” said Ted. “What history? Why don’t I know about this?”

“I live just up the street.” said Steve. “Yeah it’s been pets up till now. Always found with their heads missing.”

“They always start with animals, these psychos.” said Abby. “I’ve always said, anyone who’d murder a dog would murder a person.”

“So do you think we’ve got a serial on our hands, Sergeant?” asked Steve.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet.” said Abby.

The house lay on the edge of a field full of frosted grass, still wreathed in early-morning mist. It was the last house in the street, and next to it was a fence, over which the field was visible. Ted ambled over to the fence and stared morosely at the trees visible at the far end of the field.

“I’d lay odds the killer came out of the forest.” he said. “These psychos hate street lights.”

“We’re on it, Inspector.” said Steve. “Think you might be right. Forensics found bits of grass next to the body.”

Ted shivered involuntarily. His face was pale and his lips pressed together in a thin straight line.

“Drive me back to the station, will you?” he asked Abby. “If your stomach’s settled.”

“Headache again?” said Abby.

She knew Ted loved to drive. The only way he would ask for a lift was if he felt too ill to do it.

“Bloody things are getting worse.” said Ted.

As she was driving along the soulless ring road that was the fastest way to get to the police station since the council had rearranged the roads into an elaborate network of one-way streets and pedestrianised areas, she asked him, “Can’t the doctors do anything?”.

“Painkillers.” said Ted, his hand pressed against the side of his head.

His face looked positively greyish, she noticed.

“But I can’t really take anything much stronger than aspirin while I’m on the job.” he added. “Anyway I don’t want to get addicted. Better if I try to take my mind off it. Let’s talk about something else.”

“You ever seen anything like this before?” said Abby.

“Actually, I have.” said Ted. “You know before I joined the police I was thinking of going into anthropology? I did a degree in criminology, but then for a while I had the idea of doing a PhD in anthropology.”

“What made you change your mind?” asked Abby.

“Therein lies a tale.” said Ted. “After I graduated, a bunch of us went to Colombia to make contact with a remote rainforest tribe. We wanted to find out how they deal with crime. After all, every society has laws, even if they don’t write them down and even if different societies have somewhat different ideas on the matter. The difference between right and wrong is deeply ingrained in the human psyche. Murder, for instance, is considered wrong in every society. At the very least you can’t kill a member of your own tribe without just cause. Every society punishes that.”

“Did you manage to find them?”

“We did. We lived with them for three months.”

“Sounds amazing.” said Abby.

“Oh, it was amazing all right.” said Ted. “Also a bit hair-raising.”

He clutched his forehead between his fingers, trying to decide whether applying pressure to his temples made his headache any better.

“This was this one guy, probably only a teenager, who was a bit of a wild lad. He was constantly up to no good, stealing things and being disrespectful.”

“I thought those hunter-gatherer tribes shared everything?” said Abby.

“Oh, they do,” said Ted. “but there’s rules. If some guy spends the day making arrows for hunting, you can’t disrespect him by using them for firewood. He’s going to get angry and the elders are probably going to intervene and decide on a suitable punishment, if the guy doesn’t just give the culprit a beating.

“Anyway, one day the chief’s main woman was found dead and they got the idea this lad had used magic to murder her. Whether he really had anything to do with it or not, I don’t know, but they thought he did.”

“What did they do?” asked Abby.

“They cut his head off and stuck it on a pike.” said Ted. “That was when we decided to leave.”

“Crikey.” said Abby.

“Yeah.” said Ted.

“Are you saying this murder could be some kind of punishment?”

“No.” said Ted, inhaling shakily. “I’m just saying, it’s not the first time I’ve seen a headless corpse. The main difference is, last time we at least knew where the head was. Look I think I’m going to have to take the rest of the day off. I’ve got a jackhammer pounding on my frontal lobes.”

“I’ll drive you to your house.” said Abby.

“Tell you something, though.” said Ted, as they drew up to his house. “The fellow those tribal people cut the head off — he struggled like hell. I didn’t see any sign of a struggle at the house. No sign of a break-in either. It’s like the killer turned up at the door and the victim amicably agreed to have his head removed.”

He opened the car door and staggered towards the garden gate of his house, groaning and holding his head.

When a second victim was found missing her head, it became apparent that the police did indeed have a serial killer on their hands. The second victim was a woman who lived only three doors down from the first victim.

“This is an absolute disaster.” said Ted, pacing about his office.

“Half the people on the street have already evacuated themselves.” said Abby. “They’re demanding compensation from the government.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Would you stay there with some lunatic running about cutting off heads? I wouldn’t.”

“A lot of people are saying he’s using them for Satanic rituals in the forest.”

Ted gave a short hollow laugh.

“Satanic rituals. Well, it’s as good a theory as any at the moment. Any news from forensics?”

“Nothing new.” said Abby. “They think the killer probably did pass through the forest on his way to the houses.”

“We need to have someone make regular patrols of the car parks and photograph the cars.” said Ted. “Have a word with Richard about it, will you?”

“Consider it done. So what do you think? What kind of a person would do this?”

Ted pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Someone with a very, very sick mind.” he said. “And probably someone who knew the victims, since neither of them tried to fight him off.”

“If someone tried to cut off my head I’d struggle even if I did know them.” said Abby.

Ted shook his head wonderingly.

“It’s a weird business all right.” he said.

The third victim was killed half a mile from the first two. A young man was decapitated in an alleyway. Again, his head was missing. The entire town of Rillford was in absolute uproar. At night, when all three murders had occurred, the town was eerily deserted, except for a heavy police presence.

Ted was pondering a large map pinned to the wall of his office when Abby knocked.

“Come!” he shouted.

“The coroner found something interesting.” she said. “He has a weird mark on his neck. What was left of his neck, I mean.”

“Needle mark?” asked Ted.

“He says not.” said Abby. “It’s half a millimetre wide and the top layer of skin is slightly damaged.”

“Well that could be anything.” said Ted.

“That’s what I said. The coroner thinks it could have been caused by some kind of needleless injection device. Something a bit experimental.”

“Roger and his theories.” said Ted. “We’re going to need more to go on than that.”

“Might be worth double-checking if the other two have the same mark.” said Abby.

Ted sighed.

“One of them’s been cremated and the other one’s been buried.” he said.

“Autopsy photos?” said Abby.

At that moment Ted’s phone rang.

He picked it up and said “Grier.”

Abby listened with growing curiosity to the one side of the conversation that she could hear.

“Oh you have? We were just talking about it. Really? Do you really think it’s significant? Oh, right. I’ll come over. Be with you in twenty. Bye. What? Yes, twenty minutes. OK, bye. What? Tell me when I get there.”

He put the phone down.

“Can never get that guy off the phone.” said Ted. “He’s already checked the photos. They’ve all got the same mark on them. I’m going over there.”

Then he pressed his palm to his forehead and groaned.

“Actually on second thoughts can you go and see him?”

“Sure thing.” said Abby. “No progress with the doctors?”

“They’re doing some new tests.” said Ted. “Probably be a waste of time like the last lot.”

Dr. Cranthorpe circled the air above a dot on the photo with the tip of a pen.

“You see?” he said. “Same mark on all three.”

“Just a tiny mark.” said Abby.

“There’s a device that can inject up to a millilitre of liquid into the subcutaneous tissue without breaking the skin. I read a study on it.”

“If they were injected with something, why didn’t anything show up on the tox reports?”

“Maybe they weren’t,” said Cranthorpe, “but the alternative would seem to be that they lay down peacefully and let someone cut off their heads.”

Roger Cranthorpe was wearing a green surgical smock that had flecks of dried blood on it. Abby had always wondered how a man could spend his days dissecting murder victims and still appear as chirpy as Cranthorpe. She strongly suspected him of being a psychopath.

“So, what … you’re saying they were injected with a poison unknown to science?” she asked.

“Doesn’t even have to be unknown to science if it’s obscure enough.” he said. “My guess is they were injected with something that paralysed them by binding to cells in the brain stem, although I haven’t been able to prove it. Brain stems looked normal to me. I can’t find anything underneath the mark on the last victim’s neck either, I’ve taken a sample from the area and Toxicology will keep working on it.”

“Where can I find the study on the device?” Abby asked.

“I’ve printed off a copy for you.” he said. “The lead author on it works at the university in town, actually. A chap by the name of Fairchild. I’ll wager your murderer is familiar with that study and has some expertise in building medical devices.”

“Intriguing hypothesis.” said Abby dubiously. “How do you know they weren’t gassed?

“The third victim was attacked outdoors. Would have been hard to administer enough noxious material through the lungs without the murderer accidentally gassing himself. Plus, the lungs showed no sign of anything.”

When Abby returned to the station, she found Ted had perked up a bit.

“This is the most promising lead we’ve had so far.” he said. “We’d better go and talk to this Fairchild fellow, see what he has to say. See if you can make an appointment.”

“I’ve already called him.” she replied. “He said we can go round whenever we like. He spends most of the day at a lab near the university.”

“Let’s go and hear it from the horse’s mouth then. You’d better drive. Had to take a bunch of painkillers.”

Professor Arnold Fairchild was a warm, friendly man in his sixties, enormously tall. When they arrived at the lab he strode out to meet them, extending his hand, towering over them.

He took them through to the lab, where his team were working on exactly the device he had described in his study.

“Professor, is it possible that someone could have stolen a prototype from your lab?” asked Abby.

“Oh no.” said Arnold. “We would have noticed. If our device was used in these dreadful murders, someone must have read our study and built their own. Do you have any suspects?”

“What about your colleagues?” said Ted. “I realise this is awkward, but could one of them have borrowed a device?”

“None of my colleagues would involve themselves in such a horrid business.” said Arnold. “And no, we work around the clock here, and any missing prototype would be noticed immediately.”

“You’re sure?” said Ted. “Not even for an hour or so?”

Fairchild rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“We’d notice the device had been used.” he said. “You have to understand, we don’t have dozens of these things just lying about. We’ve only got two field prototypes and they are in constant use.”

“What’s your security like here?” said Abby.

“You can’t get in without a keycard.” said Arnold.

“Hrrmph.” said Ted. “Well tell me this, how many people in the country do you think would have the necessary skills to build one of these things?”

“Oh, lots.” said Arnold. “In theory a complete amateur could acquire the necessary skills in a year or two. You’d need quite a bit of equipment, of course, but all stuff you could order off the Internet.”

“How much do you think such equipment would cost?” said Ted.

“Few thousand, I should think.” said Arnold. “Maybe ten thousand if you buy everything new.”

“We’ll have to take statements from all your staff.” said Ted.

“Of course.” said Arnold. “I completely understand. Whatever you need from us, just let me know. You can always find me here if I can be of any assistance at all.”

As they were driving away, Ted said, “What a lovely bloke. Some of these academic types can be a bit lacking in patience.”

“Yeah, he was very helpful.” said Abby dryly.

“Well, wasn’t he?” said Ted, surprised by her tone.

“There was something a bit off about him.” said Abby.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe he was too ready to help.”

“Too ready to help?” said Ted.

“Like he was covering for something.”

“Surely you don’t think he’s our murderer? The man’s a respectable academic.”

Abby stared at the road.

“Well, anyway, we’d better have someone go over his movements.” said Ted. “Find out where he was at the time of the murders.”

A week later, another headless corpse appeared, this time in the forest. The body belonged to a man who had been out bird watching.

In his office, Ted jabbed at the map he had put up on the wall.

“If the murderer travelled to the forest by car, he would have had to park in one of these three car parks.” he said. “Either the northern carpark, or one of these two in the south. We’ve been monitoring all of them with hidden cameras. Trouble is, more than a thousand people have used these car parks just in the last week.”

“What if he came across the lake to the west?” said Abby.

“He could have done, I suppose.” said Ted. “Then he would have had to row across it in full view of everyone. That’d be a highly conspicuous way to visit the forest.”

“How’s the profile coming on?”

“They reckon it’s middle-aged man with an academic background. Probably someone who’s studied medical engineering and biochemistry, or chemistry. If Cranthorpe’s theory is correct, whoever it was would have to be capable of knocking up a powerful obscure poison and fabricating one of Fairchild’s devices. They reckon we’d be looking for someone with a very disturbed childhood and probably a history of mental illness.”

“No stunning insights there, then.” said Abby.

“You still think Fairchild’s fishy?” said Ted.

“He claims he was working alone in the lab at the time of all four murders. Key entry records and security camera footage back him up.”

“Can’t be him, then.”

Abby didn’t reply.

“What?” said Ted. “Come on, out with it.”

“He could have faked the key entry records, and the security footage.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“Yeah.” said Abby.

The killer struck next at another house near the forest, not far from the north car park.

At the crime scene, Ted and Abby surveyed the scene with great interest. “How’s your stomach?” asked Ted.

“It’s OK this time.” said Abby. “How’s your head?”

“Not so bad today.” said Ted. “Much better than yesterday.”

They lapsed into silence as they gazed at the scene that lay before them.

A man from the forensics department was busy photographing the bodies and taking swabs from the bodies and their surroundings.

“Put up a struggle this time, then.” said Abby eventually.

“Yep.” said Ted.

“Looks like he smashed the window in the door and unlocked it, then attacked them.” said Abby.

“They were probably asleep upstairs when they heard the noise.” said Ted. “The killer came in, found them here in the living room, and the man went for him with that lamp.”

Abby switched her gaze to the broken lamp that lay on the floor near her feet.

“Maybe he swung at the killer but the killer dodged it and got his neck with the injection device.” she said.

Ted nodded. “No sign of blood on the lamp.” he said. “Then the woman backed away but the killer got her and she fell on the sofa.”

“You know,” said Abby thoughtfully, “if I wanted to remove someone’s head, and they were lying half on a sofa, I’d probably take them off the sofa first.”

“Yeah, it’d be easier to remove the head if she was on the floor.” said Ted. “Unless the killer has a bad back.”

“Well even then. I mean he must have had to bend over the sofa to get the head off.”

“My back hurts just thinking about it.” said Ted. “Doesn’t look like there are any marks on the sofa either. Forensics needs to have a good look at it. You’d expect some scuff marks or something. I’m assuming a rotary saw was used.”

“Not likely.” said the forensics man, who was still busy taking swabs. “There’d be splatter on the walls.”

“Then how was the head removed?” said Abby.

“Same as the others.” said the man. “A very, very clean cut. Must have been an extremely sharp blade and he must know his anatomy.”

“Then why aren’t there blade marks on the sofa?” said Abby.

The man stood up and straightened his back.

“There, you’ve got me.” he said. “Must have slid something under the neck before he did it. Can’t see any smearing though. Weird as hell.”

“You know what we should do, Sergeant Whitlow?” said Ted.

“What should we do, Detective Inspector Grier?” said Abbey.

“Pull the tapes from the cameras at Fairchild’s lab. Before he has a chance to doctor them.”

“I thought you believe he’s innocent?” said Abbey.

“Better explore all possibilities.” said Ted.

“If it was me I would have doctored the tapes during the night.” said Abby. “Anyway no-one uses tapes now. He’d probably hack into some computer or other to do it.”

The following day, they sat in Ted’s office to watch the security footage together.

“Wilson’s been through the whole lot.” said Ted. “Nothing unusual.”

“No devices missing from the lab either.” said Abby. “Either he made his own device just for murdering people or else he got the thing back pretty quickly and fixed up the recordings.”

“Or it’s just nothing to do with anyone from that lab,” said Ted. “and this is a wild goose chase.”

“Shame we can’t search his house.”

“Not nearly enough evidence for that.”

“Can we go back to the bit two hours before the crime occurred?” said Abbey.

Ted clicked the video player app and they sat watching the deserted entrance of the laboratory.

“Maybe he went in through a window.” said Abby.

Ted didn’t reply. When she turned to look at him, he had a startled expression on his face.

“What?” she said.

“There was a hard frost the night of the murder.” said Ted. “Look at this footage. No ice.”

Abby peered at the computer screen.

“Heat from the building probably keeps it away.” she said.

“No.” said Ted. “Remember last time we went there? It was like a bloody skating rink.”

“Crikey.” said Abby.

“Exactly.” said Ted. “This footage has been doctored. Could be anyone at the lab though.”

“It’s him.” said Abby. “He gives me the creeps. All that smiling. There’s something false about it. He’s like a snake.”

“That’s not going to stand up in court.” said Ted. “Your Honour, the prosecution respectfully submits that the defendant is similar to a snake. It’s not enough for a search warrant on his house either.”

“He’d have to put the heads somewhere.” said Abby. “I bet he keeps them in a freezer, or stuffs them or something.”

Ted pressed his hand against his head.

“Let’s have Wilson follow him about for a bit.” he said.

Over the next few days, Constable Wilson kept a close eye on the comings and goings to and from the lab, and saw nothing unremarkable. Then, after five days, Abby received a call from him.

“It’s Fairchild, Sergeant.” he said. “I followed him into the forest, then he disappeared.”

“Disappeared? What do you mean, disappeared?” she said, baffled.

“I had eyes on him. He was looking at a rock. Then he walked around it and he vanished. No sign of him, Sergeant.”

“Is there a cave or something?”

“No, Sergeant. I mean, not that I can see.”

“Send me your coordinates. I’m coming over there.”

“Will do, Sarge.”

Abby stopped by Ted’s office.

“Fairchild’s disappeared in the forest.” she said.

“He’s gone missing?” said Ted.

“No, it’s just that Wilson was following him and he vanished.”

Ted sighed. He looked pale.

“Wilson would lose his head if it wasn’t attached.” he said.

“I’m going over there to have a gander. Do you want to come?”

“Anything to get out of this office.” said Ted.

They drove down to the north car park and used a GPS to find Wilson. He was sitting on a rock.

“Where was he when you last saw him?” said Abby.

“Right there.” said Wilson, pointing. “Then he walked to here and he disappeared. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Like the Earth swallowed him up.”

“How did he get here?” Ted asked.

“Walked.” said Wilson. “From the lab.”

“That’s a long walk.” said Abby.

“No law against walking.” said Ted. “Not yet anyway. You sure you didn’t just lose sight of him? He probably wandered off into those trees over there.”

“I don’t see how he could have managed it.” said Wilson. “I ran over here soon as he vanished.”

Ted began to rap the rocks with his knuckles, pressing and pushing on them.

“What are you looking for?” said Abby.

“Some kind of cave entrance.” he said. “Help me look.”

After ten minutes of fruitless searching, Ted said, “This is a ridiculous waste of time. You must just have just lost sight of him, Wilson.”

He sat down on a rock, massaging his scalp with his hands. Abby noticed his hands were shaking.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Inspector?” she said. “We can finish up here.”

“Waste of time looking any further.” he said.

Suddenly there was a grating noise and the sound of hydraulic machinery. An entire section of rock tilted into the air on telescopic poles and Fairchild appeared in the opening. Behind him was a long passage leading downwards, illuminated with rows of tiny white lights.

He saw the assembled group of police and stopped, staring at them. Then he turned and bolted back into the passage.

“Quick, follow him!” shouted Ted.

They ran into the passage. Fairchild had got a head start on them but they could see him up ahead, looking nervously over his shoulder as he ran.

The passage seemed to go on and on endlessly, leading slowly downwards. Whenever they thought they were gaining on Fairchild, he’d put on a surprising turn of speed and widen the gap again. Wilson was leading the way and he was relatively fit, but even he couldn’t catch up with Fairchild.

Eventually Fairchild disappeared around a corner. When they got there, they found themselves in a dimly-lit metal room with no discernible exit.

“Where did he go?” said Abby.

“Must be a hidden door.” said Ted. “Check the walls.” and he began feeling and knocking all around the metal sides of the chamber.

Without any warning, a door slid down, blocking off the passage by which they had arrived.

“What the hell’s going on here?” shouted Ted.

Then the lights blinked out, and they found themselves in complete darkness.

“It’s trap.” said Abby. “He’s led us into a trap.”

“What’s that sound?” said Wilson.

The sound of hissing gas was the last thing they heard.

When they awoke they were strapped into a row of hard plastic chairs against one wall of a room. Abby sat in the corner, her wrists and ankles bound to the chair. Next to her was Wilson, similarly bound, and then Ted. Next to Ted were four unoccupied chairs.

Abby awoke to find Fairchild slapping her face and shouting at her.

“Come on, wakey wakey!” he said.

When her eyes opened he moved onto Wilson and Ted.

“What is this?” said Ted groggily.

“I owe you an explanation.” said Fairchild. “You see, none of this was my idea.”

He was interrupted by Wilson attaining full consciousness and shouting in terror.

“It’s all right.” said Abby. “You’re OK.”

“Where are we?” said Wilson wildly.

“Yes, I was coming to that.” said Fairchild, smiling broadly. “You’re in a chamber underneath the lake.”

“You can’t keep us here.” said Ted. “Untie me.”

“Oh I’m afraid I can’t do that.” said Fairchild. “You were getting all too close for comfort.”

“What do you want with us?” said Abby.

“For myself, nothing.” Fairchild replied. “It’s a question of raw materials. Oh, I didn’t want to be involved with it at first. Not at all.” He shook his head. “They performed an amazing little operation on my brain. After that I had no choice.”

“Who-who’s they?” said Wilson.

“They did give me the designs for the injector in return.” Fairchild continued. “Sort of … carrot and stick approach. But mostly carrot, really. Can’t say I blame them. It wasn’t their choice to be here. You must understand that. They aren’t a threat to the people of Earth.”

“He’s a ruddy lunatic.” said Ted loudly.

“Their ship crashed in the lake.” said Fairchild. “It was … somewhat damaged in the crash. It’s fortunate that they are amphibious. They need human brain tissue to repair their computers. Once they have enough, they’ll leave.”

Fairchild was pacing up and down, almost as if talking to himself. Suddenly he turned and gazed at them imploringly.

“I only need to harvest another twenty or thirty heads, then they’ll be on their way.” he said. “You do understand?”

“There’s no aliens, Fairchild.” said Abby. “You’re sick in the brain. None of this makes any sense at all. Let us go, and you’ll get the treatment you need. You’ve obviously got severe issues.”

“It’s really impressive what you’ve built here.” said Ted. “But it’s all over now.”

“They won’t send you to prison.” said Abby. “You’re ill, Professor. Anyone can get ill.”

At that moment part of the metal wall of the room slid upwards and a hideous creature stumbled through it. It was slightly taller than Fairchild and appeared to have stubby tentacles instead of legs. It was covered in a green slime that bubbled as though it was breathing through its skin. Its head, inasmuch as it could be said to have a head, sported a row of four blank green staring eyes and a hooked yellowish beak.

Wilson began to scream.

“Ssh, ssh, dear fellow.” said Fairchild. “There’s no need for alarm. The harvesting procedure is quite painless.”

One of the creatures made a hideous trumpeting sound that devolved into a series of bubbling noises.

“Yes, all right!” said Fairchild angrily to the creature. “These are members of the constabulary. I owe them an explanation. Don’t you understand, we have an inspector and a sergeant here? They’re not just random nobodies like the others.”

The creature trumpeted again, more softly.

Wilson’s screaming quietened into a terrified whimpering.

“I’ll put this one out of his misery.” said Fairchild. “He’s not so important.”

Fairchild picked up a small device from a shelf and approached Wilson.

“You can start the integration unit.” he said to the creatures over his shoulder, and they shuffled off, the door closing behind them.

“The problem is, the brain tissue is never fresh enough by the time I get it here.” he said. “I keep telling them we need fresh brain tissue. And human. Not cats or dogs.”

He extended the device towards Wilson’s neck.

“Please!” shouted Wilson, then he fell silent.

Fairchild plucked Wilson’s severed head from his neck by the hair, then dropped it into a chute by the door.

“Oh dear God!” exclaimed Ted.

“He’s not dead.” said Fairchild. “Not in a traditional sense. His brain matter will be incorporated with the rest of the harvested material. I’m not sure whether any sense of individuality will be maintained, but I’m sure he will enjoy his new line of work just as much as I have come to do.”

The door opened again, sliding upwards.

“Be back in a few mins.” said Fairchild. “They need my help to work the integrator. The gravity here doesn’t agree with them at all.”

“What are we going to do?” said Abby desperately when the door shut, gazing in horror at the bleeding stump where Wilson’s head used to be.

Ted inhaled unevenly.

“We’ll have to reason with him.” he said.

“Reason with him?” said Abby. “How are we going to reason with him? He’s off his head, Ted!”

“What about if we tell him we called for backup before we came in here?”

“He’s not going to fall for that. Even if we had called for backup, they wouldn’t find us here.”

“No.” said Ted. “No, you’re right. Think! There’s got to be something we can do. Some combination of words that’ll stop him.”

“I don’t want to be part of their machine!” said Abby.

“Neither do I.” said Ted. “Sounds worse than spending Christmas with the in-laws.”

“If only I’d brought a taser.” said Abby.

“Wait, I’ve got an idea.” said Ted. “Just go with whatever I say. Leave it to me.”

Seconds later the door opened and Fairchild reappeared.

“Ready for the next one!” he said jovially. “It’s all go today. I haven’t even had time for a cup of tea.”

“Listen, Professor.” said Ted. “Sergeant Whitlow and I have been thinking. You say you need another twenty or thirty heads?”

“Approximately.” said Fairchild.

“They’re going to catch you well before you get to twenty. We were on the verge of bringing you in for questioning ourselves. Imagine how useful it would be to you, with your important work, if you had contacts inside the police.”

“Are you making a proposition, Inspector?” said Fairchild.

“That’s right.” said Ted. “We understand the problem here. Your aliens need twenty or thirty heads to get home. We get it. It’s to everyone’s advantage if you let us go, and we help facilitate your plan. Make sure no-one looks at you too closely.”

“Interesting idea.” said Fairchild. “Let me think for a moment.”

Suddenly he lashed out at Ted’s neck with the little device.

“Nope, wouldn’t work.” he said. “I can’t trust you.”

With that, he took Ted’s head in his hands, carried it to the chute and threw it down into the darkness.

“Ted!” screamed Abby.

“Be back soon.” said Fairchild. “Soon be over.”

“You psychopath!” Abby shouted. “You evil, twisted piece of —”

But the door had already shut.

“Oh God, help me.” said Abby, crying softly. “Please help me. Please help me.”

The door opened again, and there stood Fairchild once more, rubbing his hands together.

“Last one for the day, I think.” he said. “What’s the matter, my dear? You see it’s quite painless. There’s no need for tears. You’ll be perfectly happy once you’re integrated.”

He extended the device towards her neck, and suddenly the lights in the room turned to red and an alarm began to sound.

“What’s this?” said Fairchild.

He turned around to look at the arrays of lights blinking incomprehensible warnings on the wall. The door opened and an alien staggered in, its skin on fire. The room began to fill with smoke and another creature ran in, shrieking as though in pain.

Fairchild dropped to his knees clutching his head.

“Something’s wrong.” he said. “Something’s gone badly wrong.”

Then he raised his face to look at Abby.

“What have I done?” he said, and he rushed over to her and began to unfasten the straps that held her to the chair.

“What’s happening?” said Abby.

“Something must have gone wrong with the brain computer.” said Fairchild. “The signal’s completely dropped. I can’t hear them anymore. They’ve lost their ability to control me.”

Another alien slid through the door opening and carried on sliding, landing in the far corner, where it remain, apparently dead.

“We have to get out of here.” said Fairchild, and he began to bang at the controls on the opposite side of the room from the door that led to the integrator.

A second door slid open and he beckoned to Abby.

“Run!” he said.

They had made it halfway along the upward-sloping passage when Fairchild stopped, supporting himself against the wall.

“Hurry up!” said Abby.

“It’s too late for me.” he said, and little trickles of blood emerged from the corners of his eyes. “They messed up my brain.” He fell to the floor.

She checked the pulse in his neck. He was dead.

Further down the passage an enormous trumpeting signalled the presence of two or three aliens, progressing towards her. All she could see through the smoky air were their faint outlines.

The entrance to the tunnel was mercifully open, presumably opened by Fairchild. She stumbled out of it coughing from the smoke. Behind her was the gargling and trumpeting of the approaching aliens. She began to run, and just as she did so, there was a vast muffled underground boom and a powerful roaring jet of flame emerged from the mouth of the tunnel and shot into the air, singeing the icy trees.

Reflecting on the matter afterwards, when she was safely back at home, Abby arrived at the conclusion that Ted’s brain, via a powerful effort of will, had sabotaged the aliens’ ship, directing the effort of the brain computer’s towards destruction.

It was only at Ted’s funeral some week’s later that his widow inadvertently offered an alternative explanation. At the insistence of MI5, she had only been told that Ted had died in an underground explosion, pursuing drug traffickers.

“The doctors finally found out what was wrong with him.” she said, dabbing her eyes and sniffing in the cold air. “Isn’t it ironic? Absolutely useless. They say he had a virulent tropical parasite in his brain. He must have picked it up when he was young, in the rainforests.”

The parasite had corrupted the aliens’ technology.

The two explanations weren’t incompatible, Abby thought. Perhaps Ted had been able to take control of a parasite-corrupted system.

Ted’s headaches, in the end, had been the very thing that had enabled him to save her, and thirty other people who were now peacefully going about their business, blissfully unaware that they had narrowly avoided being incorporated into an alien superbrain.