Chapter 9: The Graveyard Shift

Missy shoved her key into the lock and burst through the glass door, panting. She pushed past the steel kitchen door and into the console room of the Tardis. She set her heavy box down with a thunk onto the wooden work desk by the railing. She was sure she had not been followed, but she was grateful for the hidden sanctuary of the Tardis. She threw off her disguise with disdain. It had been so hot and stuffy inside.

"Clara!" she called. Her voice echoed down the corridors. "Clara, wake up!"

After a few moments, Clara groggily appeared in the entryway. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and squinted in the light. "What is it, Missy?" she grumbled, mild annoyance lacing her voice.

"Kiss me." Missy grinned cheekily.

"What?" Clara asked, suddenly wide awake. Had she heard her right?

Missy patted the cardboard box and did a little dance. Her heels tapped happily against the metal floors. Her purple dress fanned out around her with a flourish. "You're gonna wanna kiss me after you see what I've brought home," she giggled.

Intrigued, Clara padded up the steps and to the desk. Her eyebrows shot up when she realized that Missy wasn't lying. "Missy, how did you–"

"Nevermind that!" she exclaimed, ever hyper. "Put on some coffee, we have work to do!"

They made their way to the Tardis laboratory. Luckily, it had not been deleted. Clara thanked the Old Girl for her foresight. Machines of all kinds lined the walls, ready for analysis. Some were as big as a refrigerator, some as small as a printer. They blinked and beeped as if in anticipation. They looked complex but really were quite simple. Simply place the test subject into the slot and type into the computer what you wanted it to look for. Within moments, a detailed report would be printed out.

Missy broke the red tape seal and opened the box. Rummaging through some items in baggies, she ignored the chair and sat criss-cross on the polished tile floor. She wanted space to lay everything out. With gloved hands, she carefully picked up the first piece of evidence. The clear bag seemed to contain the Doctor's jacket, soaked with dark green alien blood. It reeked of copper.

Clara took a seat on the corner of a blackstone lab table and retrieved one of the manila case folders. Photos of the crime scene scattered onto the ground in every direction. The notes were arranged carelessly, as if whoever had written them had done so in a hurry. She picked up the photos and thumbed through them.

The scene was graphic. She winced at the sight of the old alien woman riddled with gaping holes. A broom lay clutched loosely in her hands. Her robes were drenched in blood. A large sharp piece of Kapponite laid on the ground in a pool of blood. It was easy to tell what had happened.

Clara set the photos down, pushing them away to the far side of the table. She couldn't bear to look at them any longer than she had to. With deft fingers, she selected a baggie containing clipped claws from the box. She eyed it carefully, noting the strange greasy substance under the nails. She turned to Missy, making eye contact. "Let's test all of this stuff. There's got to be something they missed."

Retrieving gloves from a box in the corner, Clara carefully pulled out the claws. She took a scalpel from the table and carefully scraped the substance onto a glass slide. She had not worked in a lab since college, and that was only Biology 101, but the Doctor had once showed her how the machines worked. She inserted the slide into the slot of a giant machine. The Doctor had described it as a mass spectrometer crossed with an automated PCR-gel electrophoresis machine. It could identify any substance and run DNA at the same time.

She pressed the "analyze" button and waited. The machine sucked in the slide and started whirring. It dissolved the substance into some kind of reagent in a test tube and centrifuged it. The machine vibrated loudly with the rotations. Clara stepped back, afraid that it might fly apart.

After a few minutes, the centrifuge wound to a stop. A robotic arm gripped the test tube and pipetted its contents onto a glass platform. A red laser shot out, evaporating the substance. By the rate at which each particle burned up, the machine could read its elemental makeup.

The other part of the machine took in a separate piece of the sample. The PCR processor groaned as it separated the DNA from the rest of the substance and copied it. Once finished, it pipetted the slimy strands of DNA into the hollow wells of a slab of gelatinous agar. The was then slab submerged into some kind of blue liquid. Electricity flowed through the gel, causing the liquid to bubble furiously. The negatively-charged DNA within the wells slowly traveled to the positively charged end of the agar. Heavier pieces of DNA traveled less than the smaller pieces. This created bands like a barcode. The code of life.

Clara and Missy watched in silent fascination. It was like magic. A whole day's worth of testing reduced to just ten minutes.

Finally, the machine stopped whirring. A green light blinked on the dashboard. Across the room, a wireless printer spat out its report. Clara snatched the papers from the printer before they had even cooled.

"Mass spectrometer analysis," she read aloud, "substance: skin cells and oils."

"DNA analysis: Gallifreyan male– the Doctor, Kapponian female– unknown."

Clara laid the paper onto the black lab table next to her. She furrowed her eyebrows. "Well, his skin cells were under her nails– claws, whatever," she corrected herself. "But that doesn't prove anything other than she touched him."

Missy nodded. "Right, but look at this." She held up the bloody clothes. "How do you explain blood on his jacket?"

Clara frowned. She took the garment from her and laid it onto the table. With the scalpel, she cut small samples from multiple parts of the fabric. She inserted the samples into the machine. Once again, they revealed a mixture of his DNA and that of the murdered woman. It wasn't looking good for him.

One by one, they tested every piece of evidence in the box. A bag of fibers collected from the woman's dead body matched the fibers from his jacket. A scanning machine revealed that the murder weapon had only his fingerprints on it. The night wore away into early morning. Sleepiness ate at their minds, but they pressed on. Relentlessly, they worked the graveyard shift, running machines, reading reports, and scouring the endless stacks of case files. Pictures and papers laid spread out on the floor. The coffee pot had already been refilled twice.

Clara slammed the pile of reports down onto the table in frustration. "Missy, there has to be something here that proves him innocent!"

She chewed her lip. "Maybe he's not innocent."

Clara spun around to her, locking eyes. "What did you say?"

"Face it, Clara." Missy crossed her arms. "All their evidence checks out and it's pretty damning."

"But it doesn't tell the whole story!" her voice cracked. "We need statements, witnesses, we need–"

"Clara, there were no witnesses."

Clara smacked the table with her hand, sending papers fluttering to the floor. "Look, Missy, I know he's innocent! He would never do such a thing."

Missy shrugged. "I don't know Clara, I've seen him on the verge of committing genocide before. I've seen him kill enemies, what's one person?"

Clara refused to dignify that statement with a response. Of course Missy wouldn't think that killing one person was a big deal. Outside the Tardis, the twin suns rose high in the sky. Clara's internal clock told her that it was almost time to open up the diner. She neatened the stack of reports on the table and turned towards the door. "I have to go, it's almost breakfast time. There's got to be more to this story, Missy. I refuse to believe that he is a cold-blooded killer."

"Was." Missy muttered solemnly. "He's dead anyway, why does it matter?"

"It matters to me!" Clara pointed to her chest. She was beginning to get fed up with the Time Lady's aloof attitude. "I will find out the truth with or without your help, Missy," she seethed.

"Whoa, cowgirl." Missy's expression darkened. "Remember who brought you this stuff."

Clara huffed and stomped down the hallways to get dressed for her shift. She was still in her panda bear pajamas. Today, she was going to double her efforts to get people to talk to her. Somebody had to know something. If it was such a cut-and-dry case, why were they being so tight-lipped about it?

Now dressed in her royal blue uniform, Clara stepped out onto the checkered tiles of the diner. She attempted to put her hair up, fumbling with the elastic tie. Her hands were shaking. It couldn't be true. The Doctor had killed before in self-defense or the defense of others, sure, but would he really murder someone in cold blood? She knew him better than anyone in the world. Missy was wrong about him. As much as she wanted him to be, he was not like her– a ruthless killer.

No. There had to be more to this. There simply was no other explanation. She gave up on her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She slumped into a cushioned vinyl booth. A full mug of steaming hot coffee appeared in front of her. She quirked her lip in amusement. The Tardis's encouragement was endearing. Without hesitation, she picked up the mug, taking small sips.

A rapping on the glass door startled her. She flinched, looking in the direction of the sound. The blinds were drawn so she could not see outside. "We're not open yet!" she called out. "Come back in fifteen minutes!"

The knocking resumed. She scoffed. Somebody was being very impatient. Irritated, she reluctantly stood up and walked to the door. She drew up the blinds and peered out through the glass.

The mug shattered into a million pieces on the tiled floor. Hot coffee splashed everywhere. Some of it landed on Clara's legs but she had no reaction. Her face flushed pale like she'd seen a ghost. She found herself frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but put her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God!"

If you like the story, please leave a review! 3