Lucie's neck was itchy. Wasn't it bleedin' typical? You could go all day without feeling itchy, but the minute you can't scratch yourself, bits of you start feeling like they're crawling with ants. Then, of course, there were her arms and hands, which were terribly uncomfortable, due to them being handcuffed and squished between her back and the cheap leather upholstery of the patrol car.

"Don't suppose you could let me out of these things to scratch an itch," she said, hopefully.

The two officers up front just ignored her, the only noise being the chatter that played over the radio.

"Didn't think so," she muttered.

She looked at The Doctor, who looked calm, as he usually did. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he devising an escape plan? Was he thinking about the dead man, solving his murder without the need to investigate further? Or was this all just an amusing little side-step for him that scarcely warranted a thought or care from the Time Lord's superior brain.

He leaned forward, right up to the mesh that separated them from the officers, the seatbelt stretching to its limit. The leather creaked softly as he moved.

"Sir, sit back in your seat," said the officer in the passenger seat, looking over his shoulder. He was young and African-American – he couldn't have been on the force for very long.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to attempt any aggressive action. I was just wondering what will happen to my TARDIS?"

The officer raised an eyebrow, "Your what?"

"That big, blue box that you found me with. It's very important to me and I want to make sure that nothing happens to it."

The young officer looked at his partner, an older, Caucasian man with silver and grey hair. His disinterested eyes remained on the road, but he was obviously aware that the question was being passed on to him. "It'll be taken to an impound yard," he said as they stopped at a red light.

"Right," said The Doctor, "and where might that be?"

The older officer looked at them in the rear-view mirror and said, "If you're cleared, you'll get your box back in due time. Don't worry about it. Now, please, sit back in your seat." The light turned green and the officer's eyes were on the road once again as they started off with the rest of the traffic.

The Doctor leaned back and fidgeted for a moment, trying to get comfortable.

"You two are British, right?" asked the younger officer, looking over his shoulder once more.

The Doctor and Lucie looked at each other.

"More or less," said The Doctor.

"What does that mean?" Asked the officer, confused.

"I'm more, he's less," said Lucie.

The officer didn't know what to make of that, so he just moved on. "Must be kind of weird for you, driving on the right-hand side."

"Oh yeah," said Lucie, "out of everything that's gone on this morning, your road laws are what's really got me flummoxed."

The officer frowned and turned back to the windscreen. You try to be friendly...

"Either of you been in a cop car before?" asked the older officer.

"Oh yes," said The Doctor, "my companion and I spend a great deal of time travelling around in a police vehicle. Though, ours is a bit more spacious."

Both the officers looked back at them and Lucie gave an awkward smile, before muttering, "Not helping, Doctor."


"So, what, you're saying that our killer used some sort of ray gun or something?" Jo was joking, but honestly, she wasn't entirely sure that she was wrong. Henry had spun some pretty weird theories in the time that she'd known him, but they'd always turned out to be true.

Henry was crouched down, examining a sliver of half-melted metal. He'd deduced that it had come from a trash can that had once stood where the scorch mark now resided.

"Well, I don't know about that, but what is clear is that this garbage can was melted by extreme heat – over 2, 500 degrees Fahrenheit, given that that's the melting point of steel."

"The Crime Scene guys said the same thing," said Jo, "they took some samples for analysis. But if the trash can and the victim were both hit by the same thing, shouldn't our vic be a puddle on the ground?"

Henry rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Not necessarily. If the innards were indeed liquefied, then the heat source may have been fired in some sort of concentrated beam that can be focused on the internal organs, leaving only a superficial burn on the flesh."

Jo shook her head, "So we are talking about ray guns here. Great." She turned around and started walking back towards the body. Henry quickly fell in to step beside her. "OK, the first step is for you to get the autopsy underway. Let me know what you find out."

"And what will you be doing in the meantime?" asked Henry.

"I've got a couple of suspects to interview. You'd like them; they're a couple of your countrymen – a man and a girl. The guy reminds me of you: British, eccentric dress sense, kind of odd."

Henry looked at Jo out of the corner of his eye, "Believe me, Jo, there is no other man like me."


"Let us outta here, already!" Bellowed Lucie Miller through the interview room door, "It's been over an hour! Don't we get a phone call or somethin'?" Still no answer from the other side.

"Who exactly would you call?" asked The Doctor. He was sitting down, calmly resting his cuffed hands on the table, with his coat hanging neatly over the back of his chair.

"That's not the point," said Lucie. "It's a matter of principle, isn't it? We've got rights, we deserve to be treated like Human Beings. No offence," she added quickly.

"None taken."

"Besides, these cuffs are shaffin' me wrists somethin' severe."

She stepped away from the door and awkwardly ran her shackled hands through her hair. Her brown jacket was hanging over the vacant chair next to The Doctor, leaving her wearing a white singlet-top and black trousers.

"They could at least turn the heat down!" she said, yelling the last part towards the door.

"I believe it's a subtle technique, used to make us uncomfortable and easier to interrogate," said The Doctor. "Still, you have to admit, as far as imprisonment and interrogation goes, this is all a rather nice change of pace for us, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, how do you reckon that?" she asked as she finally relented and sat down next to The Doctor.

"Well, it's all relatively civil here, isn't it? I mean, we got fingerprinted – can you believe it? I've never been fingerprinted before. Usually my captors prefer to strap me down to a table and stick electrodes to my head. Look, they even gave us refreshments." He indicated the Styrofoam cups of water and plate of stale donuts on the table. "Terrible for our pancreas', but still a rather lovely gesture."

Suddenly, the door opened for the first time in over an hour. This time, however, it wasn't a grumpy, middle-aged uniformed officer who entered, but an attractive detective in her thirties. In her hand she carried a manila envelope – some sort of case file, no doubt.

"Well, it's about bleedin' time!" said Lucie.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting. I'm Detective Jo Martinez, is there anything I can get you? More water? Coffee?"

"I don't suppose a nice, hot cup of tea would be too much to ask for?" said The Doctor.

"Sorry," said Jo, giving a tight-lipped smile, "kitchen's all out of tea."

"Ah, pity," said The Doctor, "but I suspected as much. Well, I suppose that the only thing you could really offer my companion and I would be our freedom."

"Ah, sorry," said Jo, "but you were found standing over the body of a recently murdered man – that raises some questions."

"Technically, we were crouching," said Lucie. "Kinda throws into suspicion, your competence as a police force when you're getting facts wrong right out the gate."

Jo just gave another tight smile and set the file on the table, still closed. "I hear you've waved your rights to attorneys?"

"That's correct," said The Doctor. "The only person I trust to talk on my behalf is myself."

"Same here," said Lucie.

"Well," said Jo, "Let's start with the basics then. Your names."

"Ah yes, how rude of me. I'm The Doctor and this is my friend, Lucie Miller."

"You see, that's the thing," said Jo. "Miss Miller, your driver's license seems to confirm your identity, only it expired six years ago."

"Yeah, I'm pretty forgetful with that kinda stuff," said Lucie, trying not to sound nervous, "bit of a ditz really. I swear to God, though, hand to heart, I haven't driven a day since that thing expired, so there's no need to worry 'bout that."

"It also lists your birthday as the 31st of July, 1988," said Jo. "You look quite young for a twenty-nine year old, Miss Miller."

"Yeah, well, I'm one of the lucky ones," said Lucie. "I look after me skin; moisturise, that sorta thing."

Jo was looking at Lucie intently, trying to read her. She was certainly hiding something.

"We ran your prints too," said Jo. "No match, so you're not in our system. But, I made a few calls overseas – got in touch with my colleagues in London. It turns out that eighteen year old Lucie Miller vanished without a trace in 2006, after moving from Blackpool to London to start a new job." Jo opened the file, revealing a missing persons report with a picture of Lucie in the top, left corner. The case was marked as being open.

Lucie looked a little shocked by this news. "Well, surely not 'without a trace', I mean she must have gone back home eventually – I mean, I must have gone back home – did! I mean, I did go back home." She lowered her head a little and gave The Doctor a sidelong glance.

Lucie had always thought that eventually, when she was tired of travelling with The Doctor, she'd go back home. She'd get all of the adventure out of her system and then settle down and live a normal life. She knew she wasn't that cluey when it came to this time-travel business, but if this was her future, then shouldn't that mean there'd be a record of her returning home? Unless she didn't. She tried not to think about it – she had enough problems to deal with in her present, without borrowing any from her future.

"Well, not according to this, she didn't," Jo said, tapping the file with a finger. Lucie didn't respond.

"And you, Doctor..." she let the word hang, clearly fishing for a name.

"Smith," said The Doctor, "John Smith. If you'd like."

Jo nodded, "Yes, I heard that's what you told the Sergeant. Cute. We ran your prints too."

"And?"

"We found nothing," said Jo. "We searched you and found no I.D – just a bunch of junk: string, paper-clips, confectionary...and this." She placed a sealed zip-lock bag on the table, inside of which there was a long, cylindrical, metal device with a red ring on top.

"My screwdriver," gasped The Doctor, "yes, I was rather upset when your officers took that from me. I assured them that it wasn't dangerous, but they didn't seem to believe me."

"Yeah, that is strange," said Jo. She leaned forward, her tone becoming serious. "Now, I've talked a lot about what I don't know, well, here's what I do know. A man was murdered early this morning, in a manner which has left my people completely baffled. The evidence seems to point towards some sort of advanced or experimental weapon. An officer found you two – foreign citizens with no credible identification – crouching over the body, with an unknown device, possibly a weapon, in your pocket." She leaned back in her chair. "Care to explain?"

Now it was time for The Doctor's tone to change. He too leaned forward, but he remained calm and never seemed threatening.

"Detective Martinez, do you mind if I call you Jo? I once had very dear friend named Jo whom I was rather fond of."

"Detective Martinez will do," she said.

"Fair enough. Detective Martinez, I can tell that you're a rather intelligent woman, as well as a very righteous one. You're more than just another disgruntled civil servant looking to clear a pile of cases on your desk, aren't you? You actually care about the truth; about justice."

Jo was good at masking herself – you had to be in her line of work. But even so, The Doctor saw something shift in her eyes that lead him to believe that he was on the right path.

"You're right, Detective, that man was killed by something the likes of which you've never seen. Now, I'm not certain of whom or what you should be looking for, but I do have some theories; suspects, if you will. We didn't murder that man, but let us help you and I promise that we'll find the thing that did."

Jo sat in silence for a few moments, processing what he had just said. He was good, she'd give him that. She'd almost bought his act. Almost.

She stood up, taking the file with her, "Interview suspended. You may want to rethink hiring a lawyer." She reached for the door handle...

"The insides were liquefied, weren't they?"

Jo stopped and looked back over her shoulder. The Doctor was looking at her with an intensity that she couldn't quite explain. It wasn't that he was angry or erratic or anything like that, it was just as if there was something behind his eyes that gave him a strength and power unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

She walked back to the table and crossed her arms, looking back at The Doctor.

"You're not doing a very good job of convincing me that you're innocent."

The Doctor stood to meet her eye to eye. She was sure not to show it, but she readied herself for a defensive manoeuvre, should the situation escalate.

"Let me see the body," he said, disregarding her last sentence.

Jo shifted her wait and readjusted her arms, "Excuse me?"

"I imagine that your medical examiner will be conducting an autopsy soon, correct? Allow me to assist him, under your supervision, of course."

"You really think that I'm going to let a murder suspect sit in on the autopsy of his alleged victim?"

"If you need somebody to vouch for me, then call Dr. Grace Halloway, she's an old friend. If memory serves, she should be the Surgeon General by now."

Jo couldn't decide whether this guy was trying to be funny or whether he was actually crazy. "I'm not calling the Surgeon General to vouch for you."

"No, no, you're right," muttered The Doctor, "I'm pretty sure that she's at a conference in Cancun right now – might not be able to reach her in time. Wait, I've got a better idea!" He spun around and raced for his coat, which was still hanging over his chair.

Jo whipped out her gun and yelled, "Freeze!"

Lucie cringed back in her seat with her hands over her head, while The Doctor looked at Jo innocently, with his shackled hands held up. "Please, Detective, trust me."

Jo kept her gun trained on him as he fished out a small leather card holder with some sort of I.D badge. She didn't understand how her officers could have missed it when they searched him. He showed it to Jo and said, "Contact the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce – they'll vouch for me."

Jo took the I.D and scrutinised it. It was for a man named Dr. John Smith – Scientific Adviser to some sort of military organisation called U.N.I.T. It seemed legitimate, but it clearly didn't belong to her suspect. The man in the picture was much older, with a large nose and white hair. Still, there was something about this guy...

"OK, fine," said Jo. "I'll make one call, but that's it."

"And then you'll let me see the body?"

Jo turned around and reached for the door, "Don't press your luck." This time the door closed behind her.

"Well," said Lucie dryly, "she seemed nice. I'll tell you what; it's true what they say about Americans and guns, eh?"

The Doctor didn't respond. He just sat there, thinking.