The Doctor sat stunned, trying to absorb what Jack had told him. Make some sense of it. The Atterian was dead and he was somehow implicated, it made no sense. He opened his mouth to speak, but words wouldn't come. Not because he had nothing to say but he had so much to say, it was all stuck, with him not knowing where to start. He stared at nothing as he tried to sort it out, get a handle on a knot of words and ideas which were so mixed up, that as soon as he thought he had hold of one coherent idea, another one pushed it out of the way before he could utter it.
He reached for his orange juice pretending to be getting the last little bit of fluid from the bottom of the glass as he composed himself. "How… How did she die?" was the question that finally came out after he put the glass down.
Jack looked down at the table briefly before meeting the Doctor's gaze. "I sorry, I can't discuss the details with you," he said as he stood up. "We need to get going."
"Where?" asked the Doctor as he pushed away from the table.
"First, next door, MI5 wants to talk to you at the crime scene. Hopefully Torchwood after that. Oh and Doctor, I need your sonic screwdriver."
"What? Why?" The Doctor felt oddly panicked. He was already without his TARDIS, he didn't want to give up his sonic. What next his coat? His suit?
"Sorry, MI5 considers you dangerous if you have it on you. You are going to have to surrender it either to me or them. With me at least you'll get it back. I promise."
"And if I choose not to?" snapped the Doctor.
"I won't take it from you by force, but MI5 will and they will then take you into their custody. Look, they are itching for an excuse to get their hands on you. I'm not sure why, but I can't imagine it's for your benefit."
The Doctor stared at Jack with narrowed eyes and a frown on his face. He made no move to produce the sonic but waited for Jack to continue.
Jack sighed. "I don't like it any more than you do, but I have to play along for now. The Atterian dying within twenty four hours of being picked up by us isn't playing well. Right now I am having a hard time convincing the powers that be that I can control you. And if they think I can't, you will be turned over to MI5."
"Why would…?" A quick knock at the door interrupted the Doctor's response. It opened and the Doctor saw the hallway was crowded with UNIT soldiers and a few men wearing suits. Ianto quickly closed it behind him as he entered the room.
"Sir, Mr. Fisher is getting impatient. He is threatening to call Whitehall again," the Welshman reported.
"Tell Frank he can call Whitehall all he wants. The Doctor is an alien, therefore he's our jurisdiction," answered Jack.
"Yes sir," Ianto responded and left the room.
Jack looked at the Doctor. "So, you going to help me out or not?"
Reluctantly the Doctor reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. "Take care good care of it, will you?" he asked as he handed it over to Jack.
"Don't worry, I will," Jack assured him as he put the sonic into his own pocket. "Now remember, you aren't in charge. So don't start trying to take over the investigation. I'm not sure why MI5 wants their little melodrama of you at the crime scene, but right now it's their show and it could be to your advantage to see it." Jack stood with his hand on the door handle. "You ready?"
"Of course, I've handled worse than MI5," replied the Doctor with false cheerfulness as he put his hands in his pockets.
Jack screwed up his face, uneasy with the picture he saw in front of him. "Uh… Doctor, you need to keep you hands visible at all times."
"Oh, right, right. Quite right, sorry. Forgot myself for a bit there. Well, shall we go?"
Jack opened the door and led the way into the crowded corridor. A tall blond man in a well tailored single breasted dark grey suit, and a white shirt broke away from talking to two UNIT soldiers as soon as he noticed the Doctor.
"So, is he healthy enough for questioning now?" the man asked sarcastically his blue eyes staring at the Doctor in disdain.
"Give it a rest, Frank. You saw him this morning. He was practically comatose," replied Jack in annoyance.
The Doctor looked sharply at Jack, but said nothing, trusting him to handle the situation, content for the moment to try and figure out why this man had so much animosity towards him.
"Still, it seems awfully convenient. For all I know you told him to play possum. Suspicious, you leaving a murder scene to go tuck in your friend here," insinuated Frank.
"UNIT was right behind me when I got here. They secured the area and the crime scene. Not my fault you were slow of foot as usual." Frank's expression soured at the implied insult. Jack ignored it and continued. "Besides, Ianto was here to supervise, not that they needed it. I had to make sure the Doctor was okay."
"What about the ambassador? He was in shock. His health wasn't important?"
"Torchwood doesn't currently have any medical personnel, UNIT does," countered Jack. "They were able to handle the ambassador's 'shock' much better than we could have. If you are going to stand there and argue procedure with me I'll take him back to Torchwood now."
"You can't do that," said Frank with a hint of threat in his voice.
"I can and I will. He's an alien and therefore our jurisdiction…"
"Or UNIT's," Frank corrected.
"That's moot, UNIT has already agreed to let Torchwood have custody of the Doctor. I'm not sure why you're here at all. The Doctor is alien, the victim is alien."
"But the ambassador isn't. He's a government official and that makes it our jurisdiction."
"I still say that makes the ambassador your jurisdiction, not the crime itself. Unless you're willing to admit he is the guilty party."
Frank was quiet for a second or two while he considered his options. Suddenly he acted. "You come on, I want you to take a look at your handiwork," said Frank as he grabbed the Doctor by the upper arm and roughly pulled him forward.
The Doctor was about to jerk his arm away, when he felt the grip on his arm loosen. He looked down in surprise to see that Ianto applying a nerve hold to Frank's elbow. "You have no authority to touch the Doctor while he is in our custody," Ianto explained calmly as he release his hold on the MI5 agent.
Jack grinned briefly when the Doctor glanced over at him, then composed himself to a more professional demeanor before speaking up. "Frank, there's no need to manhandle him. He's here voluntarily. He's even surrendered his sonic screwdriver as you requested." Jack reached into his pocket producing the Doctor's favorite device. "See? Satisfied?"
"Good," said Frank holding out his hand, a sly look on his face." Let's have it."
"Oh no," replied Jack, smiling at him as he put the device back in his inside coat pocket. "This is definitely alien technology and clearly our area."
"Can we just get on with this?" asked the Doctor, tiring of the bureaucratic interchange. He started walking towards the suite door, only to be stopped by Frank's hand on his shoulder.
"Frank, what's the problem?" Jack asked.
"I don't believe he is really under your control, I want him in handcuffs, leg irons would be even better," said Frank, keeping a grip on the Doctor's shoulder.
"Don't be ridiculous, he's cooperating fully and showing more restraint than I would if I were him. There is no need for handcuffs. If he was a citizen he wouldn't even be under arrest. Just get on with it, and get your hand off him before I ask Ianto to demonstrate what other pressure points he knows."
Frank sized up Ianto, who rewarded him with a stony stare, before removing his hand from the Doctor's shoulder. "Alright, I'll let it go this time, but you," Frank jerked his head at the Doctor. "You don't go anywhere until you are told to."
Jack had come up alongside the Doctor while Frank was exerting his authority. The Doctor slid his eyes over to him. Silently asking if he could please speak his mind on just how ridiculous this all was getting to be. A short shake of Jack's head was his answer. Frustrated the Doctor worked to keep control of his temper. Having to play along with this idiot Frank was irritating, but he owed Jack, so he complied.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Get in there," said Frank indicating the open doorway to the suite next to the Doctor's. With an exasperated roll of his eyes the Doctor strode forward and entered the living area of the suite. The room was brightly lit and at first glance appeared filled with UNIT soldiers, but a quick count revealed only four and two men in plain clothes, who he assumed were from MI5.
The center of attention was the ambassador, who was sitting on the couch in white and blue stripped pajamas, a hotel white terry cloth dressing gown draped over his shoulders. His cuffed hands fell between his knees as he stared blankly at the floor. Frail and shaken, he looked nothing like the imposing authoritative figure the Doctor had seen the night before in the reception. Blood was splattered on the man's clothes. Fresh blood.
"This way Doctor," ordered Frank, indicating the open bedroom door. The Doctor was about to enter the room when a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"You, you," rasped the ambassador. "Why did you do it? She did nothing to you. She wouldn't even tell me what frightened her. She kept your secret."
The Doctor turned to the ambassador and saw the man's distraught face, skin pale, almost colorless, cheeks sunken, eyes red rimmed and watery. It was the face of a man broken and tormented.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," said the Doctor.
"You killed her… It… it… was terrible… I couldn't stop it…" The ambassador's words came out in gasps, the horror in his eyes growing. He looked down at his fettered hands and the blood splattered sleeve. "My body wasn't my own… my hand kept… it kept… stabbing her… again and again. I couldn't stop it. But worse was the laughter… in my head… so cruel…" he sobbed. The UNIT medic started preparing a syringe as the ambassador stared up at the Doctor, his neck taut, the tendons showing under the skin, his tears running freely down his face as he continued.
"Then I was laughing… Heaven help me… the last thing she heard was my laughter as she died." At these words the ambassador broke down, face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably, shaking so hard the dressing gown fell from his shoulders. The Doctor started to step forward, wanting to comfort the man, assure him he was not responsible for the horrific events that had happened, that he would work to discover who was responsible, make sure they were brought to justice, only to be stopped by Jack.
"Later," said Jack as the medic administered the shot to the devastated man, "they'll take care of him for now. Though I don't agree with their reasons, I do feel you need to see the crime scene. You'll see things I'm sure MI5 has missed."
The room smelled of sex and sweat but strongest of all was the wet iron and copper smell of blood that hit the Doctor's senses as he entered the room. His eyes were drawn to the source of the odor, the blood soaked bed in the center of the room. The Atterian lay there in a pale pink nightgown, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Her shape shifting talent apparently too slow, requiring too much concentration for her to use it to defend herself. There were numerous wounds in her torso, the most prominent one a slash across her throat, the source of the largest pool of blood on the bed.
He forced himself to look at the scene objectively, try to find clues as to what had happened. Her defensive wounds were minimal. She had most likely died quickly, but still horribly, her flesh torn as blood and life had drained out of her. Her nightgown was relatively undisturbed, not neat as if someone had arranged it after she had died, but covering enough to indicate the assault had not been sexual in nature. Anything along those lines must have occurred before the attack.
He touched her bare arm with the back of his hand. The body was still warm, the blood on the bed was still damp, the murder was recent. "Do you know when this happened?"
Jack looked at his watch. "About an hour ago. We heard it as soon as it started, this room is heavily monitored. We got here as quickly as we could, but too late for her."
"No, no, no, no," thought the Doctor. He should have woken up, heard her cries. There was only a single wall between this room and his. Not enough to block out the sound. If he hadn't been passed out like some burnt out addict he might have been able to stop it, save her life.
The packet of drugs he had been so happy to rely on earlier, now burned in his pocket like the poison it was. He had to get rid of them. Get rid of them now. He carelessly let his hand brush one of the pools of blood. "Oh," he said holding his hand up to for Frank to see. "Do you mind if I clean this off?"
Frank frowned as he considered the question. "No, go ahead," he finally responded. "Just make sure you leave the door open."
The Doctor entered the ensuite and turned on the tap in the sink. He quickly washed off the blood and took out the packet of pills, shielding his action from anyone who might be peering in. A sharp stabbing pain in the front of his head made him gasp and clutch the edge of the sink to steady himself. For an instant he considered taking just one last one to get rid of the pain, then realized that was a very bad sign. Quickly, and with a pang of regret, he dumped the pills into the sink. Relief washed over him as they swirled down the drain. Gone, out of reach, where they belonged. He had thought he could handle them. Now someone was dead. He wondered if there was any end to his stupidity.
He splashed water on his face and toweled it off before turning around. He was startled to find Jack standing there in the doorway. Whether the captain was watching the Doctor or providing extra cover, he couldn't tell. He thought most likely it was both.
"Are you alright?" asked Jack.
"I'm perfectly fine. Didn't want to get any blood on my coat, that's all," replied the Doctor, more cheerily than he felt as his head began to throb. He pushed past Jack and back into the room.
Reentering the room, he noticed the murder weapon on the floor next to the bed, almost concealed beneath it, a numbered piece of tape marking its location. Squatting down, careful not to disturb it, he examined it carefully. It was a small knife, its blood smeared blade had a serrated edge. Its tip had been broken off, possibly from hitting a bone. "What's a knife doing in a bedroom? Did he bring it with him?" asked the Doctor.
"No, room service had delivered a wine and cheese tray last night. The knife was part of the tray," Jack explained.
"You sure? It looks more like a knife one would use on steak or meat than on cheese," the Doctor observed.
"We are checking up on that, but I doubt it will come to much. Most likely just lazy staff in the kitchen," said Jack.
The Doctor shook his head as he stood up. "So not premeditated then."
"No, we don't think so. You heard him, he thinks something took over his body, made him kill her. I think it was a crime of passion and he's convinced himself of that so he doesn't have to live with the guilt."
"And I believe him," Frank interrupted. "Time Lords have a history of mind control. She was terrified of the Doctor, not the ambassador. The night clerk saw it. The ambassador had no reason to kill her."
"And what possible motive would the Doctor have?" countered Jack.
"I don't know, but the Atterian was scared of something, something about him."
"Look, for him to connect with someone he has to physically touch them. He didn't have any physical contact with the ambassador. There is no way he could have done what the ambassador is saying," Jack reasoned. "The ambassador most likely went into a rage when he found out the Atterian was leaving him. The Doctor is no more guilty than the member of kitchen staff who put the knife on the tray."
The Doctor decided to examine the room further, letting the conversation fade into the background of his consciousness. Everything was neat and orderly. The violence had been contained to the bed, not even the night stand had been disturbed. He was studying blood splatter on the headboard when he had a sudden flash, like a memory in his mind, only it wasn't his memory. It was filled with blood and violence. It was a memory of the murder. Had Celeste in desperation tried to reach out to him mentally? Had her feeble telepathic power, unable to rouse him, somehow managed to leave an imprint of the crime in his mind?
No, no, that wasn't it. With increasing dismay he realized he was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. He could see the thick fat drops of blood hit the headboard in the exact pattern of the drying splatter. He turned and left the room, ignoring Frank's call to stay where he was. The ambassador, tranquil now from the drugs he had been given, looked at him blankly as he entered the room. The Doctor stared at the man's hand. The one that had held the knife, a gold signet ring was on one of the fingers. A ring he hadn't noticed before, but now recognized as the one he saw in his mind.
He studied the pattern of the blood on the ambassador's sleeve. In his mind he saw that splatter occur, felt the knife in his hand as it penetrated her flesh, saw the individual drops hitting the fabric. The signet ring slipping against the handle of the weapon when the blade would go no further.
He was seeing the murder, but not from the victim's point of view as he had first thought, but from the murderer's. He felt dizzy and weak, unaware he was leaning back against the door jam for support, as a sound rose in his mind, a maniacal sadist laugher. A laugher he was now sure, was the same as what the ambassador had heard.