Chapter Text
"So, Andy, what's this about mermaids, then?"
Andy Davidson closed his eyes and counted to ten before turning to face his boss. Chief Inspector Theodore Keightley had reached his position by kissing as much official arse as he had needed to and marrying old Cardiff money. He was a big, jowly man in his mid-fifties, and his midsection was starting to show evidence of his indulgence in bacon butties and scones with clotted cream.
Keightley like to prove his camaraderie with the troops by making heavy-handed jokes at their expense. Andy, because of his Torchwood connections, got all the "spooky-do" cracks. In the last couple of months there had been a spate of reports of soaking wet naked women being seen walking out of the Taff, but since most of them had been made by blokes so pissed that they couldn't find their own eyes without medical aid, nobody had paid much attention. Nobody except Keightley, who seemed to find great pleasure in twitting Andy about it.
"I have no idea, Mr. Keightley. There are no mermaids in Wales."
"No? And what about those women living under the river people are always going on about?"
"The Gwragedd Annwn aren't mermaids, Mr. Keightley. They're elf dames, and they have no interest in drowning sailors. Or Cardiff drunks, for that matter."
Knightley chuckled. "Let's keep it that way. The South Wales constabulary has no use for the supernatural."
As if summoned by Andy's guardian angel, Lily Myles, the constable holding down the night desk, stuck her head into the room. "Andy, they're asking for assistance at that new club in Mermaid Quay. Driftwood? Some bloke dropped dead on the dance floor."
"They don't need an inspector for that!" blustered Keightley, who seemed to dread being told it was his job.
"It's likely a simple matter, sir," said Andy. "You go ahead and get home. I can handle it."
Keightley beat a hasty exit. Lily marched on Andy, hands on hips.
"Why do you let him push off all his work on you, Andy?"
"Lily, I've got nothing waiting for me but an empty flat. Besides" he gave her what he considered to be his best Jack Harkness grin. "The last time we let him investigate anything he cocked it up so much we ended up dredging the river for a guy who was living with a wife and two kids in Aberaeron."
He left her giggling and made his way down to the car park, where a young constable waited at the wheel of an official car. Andy hated to be driven, but he had learned not to argue with custom.
It was a short drive to Mermaid Quay. The glitzy bayside complex had undergone several transformations since its first opening. Currently it was back to being the in place for doing all the fun weekend things, like pulling total strangers and getting blind drunk. The most in of in places in Mermaid Quay was Driftwood, a three-story members-only club floating on the bay on its own pier. Someone dropping dead on the dance floor constituted a major social faux-pas.
The club's exterior was meant to discourage the working classes from gawking at their betters. Discreet lighting illuminated the simulated gangplank leading to the pier, but left the surrounding area in shadow. Two oversized young men with no sense of humor made sure guests were safe from pick pockets and autograph hunters alike.
When Andy entered the building he found two constables trying to keep back a mob of some of the best names in Cardiff, all of whom had found pressing reasons for being elsewhere. His appearance merely redirected it. He waited until the first explosion of noise subsided.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm inspector Andrew Davidson. Let's get ourselves sorted out and you can be on your way." He pointed to one of the constables. "That's constable Allen. If you weren't on the dance floor, please give him your name and address and we will contact you later if we need you. If you were on the dance floor, please wait with constable Lee over there and I will be with you as soon as I can."
As he disengaged himself, a tall red-head approached him. She was the kind of woman the word stunning had been invented to describe. Mile-high legs in skyscraper heels, a body with more curves than a mountain road in a forest green slip that managed to remain legal by heroic effort, shoulder-length curls framing a face of huge green eyes and pouty red lips. Andy was long past the drooling, tongue-tied teenage stage, but he still had to swallow a little spit.
"Inspector Davidson, I'm Marie Kelly, the owner."
She had a soft Irish brogue that went perfectly with the pouty lips.
"Miss Kelly."
"You're a trusting man, inspector. Do you know how many people in this crowd would rather not be associated with a police case?"
"We Welsh are basically orderly and law-abiding, Miss Kelly. I'll bet my next pay-packet that most of the people that were on that dance floor will honestly say so."
"Most. And the rest?"
"For those we have the tapes off your security cameras."
She laughed. "Points to you, Inspector. This way."
She led him past an area furnished as the most expensive kind of parlor, then up a flight of stairs to the main bar. Andy could see other, smaller platforms arranged for eating or conversation. Another, longer flight of stairs led down to a wide, semicircular dance floor with wide windows to the bay on one side and a gigantic water tank on the other.
"Whoa," Andy said. "I read about it in the papers but I wasn't sure I believed it."
The tank held a full-size reef. Sea plants grew in abundance and provided habitat for brightly colored fish and crustaceans. At strategic places were platforms where acrobats and dancers would perform throughout the evening.
"Like my mermaid tank, inspector?"
"Spectacular."
"A conceit, but it makes us unique. Come back some evening after this is all over. I think you would enjoy the show."
"Thank you. I might take you up on that." His attention was already shifting to the small group clustered around the sheet-covered body on the dance floor. "Do you know who the poor gentleman was?"
"His name was Ieuan Jones. Very well known in certain circles as an extremely trustworthy business manager. He was a regular customer. Every Friday as 9:30 or so, like clockwork. I was surprised when he showed up so early tonight."
"Did you notice anything different?"
"He looked a bit pale and shaky, as if he were coming down with a bad case of influenza. Trina showed him to his favorite table" she pointed to one of the alcoves set into the wall around the dance floor "and I came down to say hello. He didn't seem to know who I was. A man I've had dinner with! Am I forgettable, inspector?"
"You are eminently not forgettable, Miss Kelly."
"And yet he certainly did not remember me." She shrugged. "He ordered dinner, but didn't eat much of it. I had the feeling he didn't even know what he had ordered. About half-way through the meal, he got up and started across the dance floor to the gents. Suddenly he seemed to go into convulsions and collapsed. He was clearly dead by the time I reached him. I called the police."
Andy looked down at Ieuan Jones. Dinah McClarry, the forensic specialist, nodded to him then pulled the sheet off the body. Andy swallowed hard. The man on the floor was ancient. He looked older than Andy's great-grandfather, who had died at one hundred and five, wispy white hair, liverish skin, toothless gums, and all. He looked at Marie Kelly incredulously.
"This man came clubbing every Friday?"
"You don't understand, inspector" she said. "Mr. Jones was forty-three years old."
Buggering hell, Andy thought disconsolately. He had told Keightley that this was going to be a simple matter.