Страница 73 из 79
They all grumbled but sat obediently in a small group on the grass while the decontamination unit cordoned them off and fetched some supplies from the ambulance for Baker, who seemed to be improving.
The fire brigade, ambulance and medical teams arrived within an hour, and the whole process began in earnest. It was a miserable end to an otherwise good day. As Jack waited his turn to be scrubbed down in the portable showers, he suddenly had a disturbing thought about something Lola had said. By the time he was dry, issued a set of blue overalls and finally allowed to go, the disturbing thought had transformed into doubt. A doubt that said everything was still not quite as it seemed.
43. Loose Ends
PUMPKIN TRANSMUTATION DEVICE TESTED
Scientists at QuangTech were said to be “overjoyed” at the latest testing of their new pumpkin transmutation device, it was reported in the Berkshire Radio News this month. The Reading-based technology company had been experimenting on pumpkins for some years, but until now with little success. The highly technical article outlines for the first time the extraordinary advances made in the world of pumpkin transmogrification. “It is possible,” said a QuangTech spokesman yesterday, “to change pumpkins into almost anything one wishes by bombarding them with twin beams of particle-shifting gamma radiation, then moving the charged particles to within a magnetic-contained matrix of the new shape. The successful transmutation of a pumpkin into a coach was undertaken last week and was entirely successful—for a while. At present we have no way of permanently fixing the new shape, and the coach reverted to a pumpkin around about midnight.”
Aside from the absence of the Sacred Gonga and the fact that it wasn’t held in the visitors’ center, the Jellyman’s Sacred Gonga Visitors’ Center dedication went extremely well. Everyone present commented on how it was conducted with the utmost tact, solemnity and reverence. After the dedication ceremony, the Jellyman went on a procession route through the town, stopping off at various places of interest on the way.
The police estimate for the turnout was nearly three hundred thousand, despite the poor weather and the faint possibility of contracting verrucas. Of that it was estimated that 10 percent actually got a good look, 30 percent saw a man in a white suit waving, a further 30 percent saw only a distant white blob, 10 percent thought they saw something but actually didn’t, and the remainder saw nothing at all.
Madeleine, Stevie, Ben, Pandora, Megan and Jerome had been in the unlucky last category. They had left too late and got stuck in the throng, battling with the crowds and dodging street traders who were selling everything from Jellyman key rings to bedside lamps to DVDs of his speeches to dolls that made suitably sagacious pronouncements when you pulled a string at the back of their neck. Pandora and Ben gripped Jerome and Megan’s hands lest they get swept away in the crowd. They got to the Civic Center just as the Jellyman had gone in. When he came out two hours later, a police van pulled up and blocked their view, so all they saw was the back of his white Daimler limousine as he drove off to visit St. Septyck’s new ward for terminal sarcastics. Madeleine thought of waiting for his return in three hours’ time, but the children were tired and it had begun to drizzle. They made their way back home in a subdued mood. It was a bit like visiting the beach one day in the year to find it shut.
“Congratulations, Jack!”
Briggs shook him warmly by the hand, but Jack didn’t smile. The decontamination process has that effect on people.
“They got away, sir. It’s not much of a result.”
“You’re wrong,” Briggs said, handing Jack and Mary champagne glasses. “It’s a very good result. Without you more than ten thousand people would be infected with Dr. Carbuncle’s unbelievably infectious superverruca by now—with potentially millions in the coming months. Swimming pools, beaches and sports halls would have become no-go zones and shoe shops places of dread and suspicion. Spongg’s would be charging what they want, and we’d all be none the wiser. No, it’s a very good result indeed.”
Jack took a sip of the champagne to find that it was, in fact, fizzy apple juice.
“We’re still on duty,” said Briggs in response to Jack’s quizzical look. “Cheers!”
“Cheers, sir.”
Briggs sat at his desk. It was early evening, and the day’s security precautions were being slowly wound down. The Jellyman was at his last official engagement, a banquet over at the sprawling QuangTech facility to celebrate the technological, industrial and artistic achievements of Reading. Jack and Mary had been called up to Briggs’s office quite unexpectedly and were surprised to find Brown-Horrocks there, still dressed in the blue overalls, which were too short and showed at least seven inches of white ankle.
“The Biohazard Response Team went to Dr. Carbuncle’s house and are going to encase it in concrete rather than risk even moving the verruca,” said Briggs. “The Foot Museum is being soaked in disinfectant and won’t be reopened for six months. I’ve had a word with the head of the Center of Communicable Diseases. They’d like to shake your hand without latex gloves on—that’s quite an honor from those chaps.”
“Yes, but what about Lola and Spongg, sir?”
Briggs shook his head. “They won’t find anywhere they can hide in Europe. The deliberate spreading of infectious diseases is serious stuff; the police forces of the Continent will definitely be on the lookout.”
Jack was less than happy. Spongg and Lola’s progress had been charted by a series of sightings in the South of England. It seemed they had commenced their Cha
“Have you seen the late editions?” asked Briggs. He showed Jack a copy of The Toad. It carried glowing reports of the extraordinary drama played out in Reading that day and heaped almost as much praise on Jack today as the bile they had dumped on him yesterday. “It’s all going frightfully well. The press want you to issue a statement. Perhaps you could make up a catchphrase for yourself—something like… ‘This inquiry is shut’ — or something.”
“I’d be lying, sir.”
“I’m sorry?”
Brown-Horrocks looked up from where he was transcribing his notes, which had faded badly in the autoclave.
“Something’s not right,” said Jack despondently. “Spongg pla
“Why do you say that?”
“Lola said that she would inherit Humpty’s thirty-eight percent after her ‘husband’s untimely death in the Zephyr.’ If she was in on the whole scam from the begi
“That’s it?” said Briggs with a laugh. “That’s the sole reason for your doubts?”
“Pretty much. Someone else killed Humpty.”
“Who?”
“A hit man working for Solomon Grundy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! We’ve gone down that avenue already. Grundy said he knew that his wife fooled around and didn’t care. I need proof, Jack, proof!”
“He only said he didn’t care, sir. Grundy turned down an offer of ten million for Humpty’s thirty-eight percent the night of the charity benefit. Charles Pewter told me the price was a snip and he should have jumped at the chance—but he didn’t. He knew there was no point, as Humpty had less than three hours to live. He knew that because he had paid a gunman to kill him. All the ‘understanding husband’ act was a sham—Grundy took his wife’s affair very badly indeed.”