Chapter 3

"This is Chief Inspector Robin Shoebury-Thomas. Alongside Detective Inspector Drake he traced Arthur Layton after he'd spent two and a half years on the run. From the rooftop confrontation during which all parties were threatened with a firearm he has a unique insight into the mental condition of Mister Layton and he's going to talk to you a little about the man we're trying to trace. Robin?"

Robin gulped. When he was told that they needed the dogs to track an escaped Layton he'd thought that was as bad as things could get. Now suddenly he was giving a team of detectives and police a psychological insight into his mental state? This hadn't been part of the plan when he got up that morning.

He stood and stared at the crowd of expectant faces, intermixed with a few dogs. They were looking at him fairly expectantly too. He wished Cassandra was amongst them. It was never the same without her there.

"Arthur Layton," he was surprised by how much his voice shook as he spoke, "is a very twisted and disturbed man. He is suffering from an enormous guilt complex which he tried to cover up by seeking bribes from those who he'd helped in a criminal sense in the past. His failed drug empire led to him becoming extremely bitter. In recent years he found himself in extreme financial despair which caused him to seek funds through the bribes and he had managed to get away with this until he started trying to extort money from Evan White."

A hum of boos and jeers rose from the crowd, while one or two began shaving spontaneously as a mark of disapproval at Evan and his conduct.

"Evan is Alex Drake's godfather and took her in after the death of her parents. A death that Arthur Layton had more than a hand in." He closed his eyes as he remembered that terrible rooftop confrontation and the truths that came out. His heart ached for Alex. Her history was tragic, that was for certain. "Caroline Price, Alex's –" he paused, "DI Drake's mother, and Evan had an affair. Tim Price, her father, found out about this and asked Layton to rig up a bomb to kill him, his wife and Alex. Layton has spent many years carrying around the guilt attached to what he did. His bribes were not just an attempt to gain money but also to convince those who had hired his services to admit blame so that he could shed the responsibility."

He paused and tried to take a moment to compose himself. This wasn't a topic he even wanted to think about, let alone talk about.

"Arthur Layton has no regard for his actions, despite his guilt complex. He is quite willing to add further lives to his total body count. He shot two men that Nick Nailer sent after him, and also attempted to shoot me. He – missed," he choked on that lie. 'Missed'? His aim was spot on. "But that bullet still found flesh and Layton didn't care." He found himself shuffling a little on the spot. "Layton may be weakened physically by his accident but his mental state is rabid and volatile. He's been abusing narcotics for years. Decades, perhaps. This coupled with his desperation and his sense of guilt and injustice make him a very dangerous target indeed."

He stepped back to signal his speech was over. It didn't do to think about Layton for too long. The man who'd introduced him stepped back to the front and nodded.

"Thank you, Chief Inspector," he said, then turned to the crowd. "You've been assigned your areas," he said, "let's find this man before he can add to his guilt complex, hmm?"

Robin exhaled as he watched the crowd disperse. He hadn't enjoyed that in the slightest.

"Bloody hell, what did I have to do that for?" he muttered to himself.

The ma turned to him and reached out to shake his hand.

"Thanks for that, very valuable" he said.

Robin wasn't sure how valuable his insights had been. It wasn't like the others didn't already know how desperate and depraved Layton was. He shook the man's hand and said,

"That's OK."

"You are coming to the hospital with the canine team, right?" the man asked.

It wasn't exactly Robin's location of choice but he didn't see he had any choice in the matter He knew where he was needed.

"I'm heading over now," he said.

As he reached for his car keys he couldn't quite comprehend what was going on. How had this happened? How had someone like Layton been able to cause such chaos and overpower two guards and a doctor? In a weak and crumbling body like that it seemed completely ridiculous. Something didn't sit right with Robin. Not right at all.

~xXx~

As he pulled up outside of the familiar building Keats felt a wild shudder travel down his spine. It was a building where he'd spent so many years of his life – and so many months of his death. He'd been lodging in the empty flat that his comatose younger self lived in for so long, but seeing it in the real world again, in its dilapidated and almost forgotten state made him feel strange and almost nostalgic

"I'm home," he whispered.

He opened the car door and slipped out as fast as possible. He knew he didn't have long. He wished he'd stolen the tubby man's watch as well as his jumper and trousers. At least then he might be able to time himself and make sure he wasn't there for long.

He quickly made his way to the back of the building. Ahh, there it was, the old fire escape. Same old, same old. He knew there would be a door open somewhere. There always was. It was just a matter of finding it, and this time he found it on the first floor. He rushed inside and soon found his way up another set of stairs and to the doorway he'd passed through so many times.

There was a loose board covering the entrance to the flat. It shocked him to see. At least it looked like it would be easy to remove, he thought, but the whole concept of it being in the place of his door made him shudder. As he stepped forward and placed his hands around its sides to test its strength a strange flash came into his mind. He could see, all at once, the memories of someone else who had passed through that doorway, long after his death.

"Mister Layton, I see you've already visited my humble abode in my absence," he hissed a little venomously. He was starting to dislike sharing a body with the thoughts and drives of Arthur Layton. It wouldn't be so bad if it was at least aesthetically acceptable but the state of it made him want to wretch.

Even with Layton's weak limbs it took only a moment to wrench the board from the doorway and to slip inside. The fact that the power was still on surprised him, but not as much as the state of the place. The stench of the little yellow messages that boozy folk had decided to leave for the twisted bastard, the trashed lounge where people had taken away their 'souvenirs' of the evil one, the half-eaten, rotting sandwich that Layton had left there weeks previously – they were all signs to Keats that his passing had left some ripples through the land of the living.

He walked slowly through to the bedroom. What would he find? Would there be anything left? He was surprised to find that the room was in much better condition than the lounge. It seemed the friendly neighbourhood pissers didn't venture that far. His papers were certainly in a smaller stack than he remembered. He supposed many had been taken away by whatever unfortunate twat had to do the job of investigating him after he died. He was half right – many had.

His eyes were drawn to a floorboard that had been pulled up and left to one side and immediately his heart began to race. He dropped to his knees and felt around under the floor. To his horror the bribe list and all the other details were gone.

"Fuck!" He cried, "The fucking gits!"

That was going to be his key – that was going to be part of his plan! Layton's bribe list plus Layton's body equalled perfect way to scare a lot of people shitless. There was no use in having the body without the list to go with it!

As his hand scrambled around below the boards his fingers brushed something unusual and he managed to get a firm enough grasp over it to pull it into the daylight. To his huge surprise it was a shoe.

"So who took my papers?" he mumbled, "Cinderella?"

He cast the shoe aside and walked to the closet where he found most of his clothes had been removed some time ago. He swore and cursed. Nothing was going right, nothing. He began to feel the pressure truly for the first time. There were so many aspects at work here. It wasn't just being on the run but it was the physical issue too. He realised for the first time just how weakened this wreckage truly was. His anger and desperation had given him the adrenaline he needed to push on but now he found himself in a slight lull the comedown was bringing a weak feeling to his bones and a full feeling to his bladder.

Everything else could wait for a few minutes, he decided. He needed a piss. He walked to the bathroom and flicked on the light which blinked once or twice and then popped on. Suddenly he found a mirror before him. Aside from a brief glance in a tiny mirror the day before it was the first time he'd had the chance to truly take a look at the body he'd inherited and the full impact of what he saw brought a violent sense of nausea to his throat.

The face… that face so gaunt, so tattered, scarred and twisted. The hair that lay lankly around his neck. The eyes… the sunken, haunted eyes. He swallowed as he stared. It was an uncomfortable sight, but he needed to see the whole thing, head to toe. He had to confront it to be able to understand what he was dealing with so he pulled the jumper over his head and finally managed to rid himself of the hospital smock. In the mirror he saw rough, pale flesh hanging around the bone. He remembered Layton from years before and he'd been skinny enough at the time. Now he was positively skeletal. Did Layton ever eat? It wasn't for want of hunger, Keats was fairly sure of that, a deep gnawing of hunger ravaging his stomach as he stared. There was a hunger of another kind in this body too; a deep dark and desperate desire for a hit that Layton would need so often that he could barely function without it. That was strange and different. Keats was many things but he was no drug addict. Being in a body ruled by those impulses was starting to grind on him.

There was still one more thing to see, he realised, as his full bladder reminded him why he'd arrived in the bathroom in the first place. With a sigh and a slight shudder he unfastened the belt and allowed the large trousers to slide to the floor. He took a deep breath and glanced downwards. He gulped.

"So you're not gifted in… any area then, Mister Layton," he cringed. That was the biggest knock of all for Keats. As though the withering body and crusty face weren't bad enough now he had a shrivelled little micro-willy too. Great. If he was honest, that was one of the body parts he wanted to try to put to good use while he was back in the real world. That was yet another hunger he was eager to satisfy.

He approached the toilet bowl and relieved himself, hardly standing to touch what seemed to be Layton's least used appendage and quickly pulled the trousers back up. He knew that his short time here was running out and he would need to move on.

He walked back into the bedroom and stood, surveying the scene. There had to be something he could salvage. Anything at all? There was his coat, lying over a chair as though someone had been trying it on in his absence so he snatched that up and rummaged through a drawer for a notebook that he was relieved to find still there. He tucked it in his pocket and then hesitated. There was one other thing he needed. Something he couldn't leave without, no matter how strange it seemed from the outside. Even Keats had his weaknesses.

He walked towards the side of the room and found his personal, past papers. It looked as though someone had been fiddling with those as well, but they didn't seem to have touched his photographs. He didn't have very many – the whole idea was too sentimental and pointless, but there was one that he couldn't walk away without.

It didn't take him long to find it, the photograph from four decades ago; a man and a woman standing side by side, not looking particularly happy yet both as young and fresh as the springtime. That man and woman had each provided half of his genes. It was the only photograph he had of the two of them together. He knew very little of his father and what he did know made him certain he didn't want to know any more but that photograph was the one thing he had always kept with him. He wasn't going to leave it behind.

Quickly he folded it in half and slipped it into his pocket before he took one last look around. This had been his home for so long and through so much but he knew he wouldn't be safe there now. He knew Layton had been there. If Layton was associated with the place, it wouldn't be long before flashing blue lights were heading in his direction.

He tore down the fire escape and out to the car. He would have to dump that soon, too. He took the notebook out of his pocket and opened it quickly. It was the only thing he had left connected to Layton's bribe list since someone had seen fit to pinch the rest of the papers. He turned to the final page that had been filled. It contained the details from the last meeting he'd had with Layton before he disappeared after making a big mistake and letting his eagerness to fire his gun get the better of him.

In fact…

As Keats stared at the page the truth just about dawned on him. He hadn't linked it up before but he knew now who Layton had been aiming his gun at on the fateful day he fired the trigger. There in the book before him were a few encoded details about a man who owed Layton a large amount of money in exchange for silence. And Keats knew the connection…. An unexpected connection between Layton and his own life.

Suddenly he had a destination. Someone was going to receive a very unexpected guest.