The Fourth Bear

“Ninety-seven minutes ago,” replied Copperfield. “Killed two male nurses and his doctor with his bare hands. The other three orderlies who accompanied him are critical in the hospital.”

“Critical?”

“Yes. Don’t like the food, beds uncomfortable, waiting lists too long—usual crap. Other than that they’re fine.”

This was big. Bigger than anything Jack had handled. The last time the Gingerbreadman was at large, Jack was partnered with Friedland Chymes. But ex-DCI Chymes was now gone—retired under accusations of cowardice. This was up to Jack and Jack alone. Or so he thought. He took a deep breath.

“I’m going to need more manpower,” he began, counting off the items on his fingers, “more than we’ve ever had on an NCD inquiry. Plus forensic resources, overtime and…”

His voice trailed off as he saw Briggs stare at the ground. He knew then why they hadn’t called him.

“Jack,” said Briggs slowly, “this won’t be your investigation.”

Jack looked at Briggs, then at Copperfield, who looked away, faintly embarrassed.

“I don’t understand.”

“Which part of ‘not your investigation’ don’t you understand?” asked Briggs with well-practiced acerbic wit. He was learning it at night school.

“The ‘not your investigation’ part. I’m Nursery Crime Division. This is the Gingerbreadman. My jurisdiction. The NCD has much experience in these matters.”

“Unarguably,” replied Briggs uncompromisingly, “which is why I want you to give Copperfield all the help you can.”

“David is leading this?” asked Jack, the incredulity in his voice making the remark a question about ability. Copperfield was a nice guy and a good officer, but he couldn’t hack this sort of investigation, and Jack knew it. David gave a wan smile. He didn’t want to play the political game and liked Jack personally, so wasn’t going to make an issue of the lack of confidence. Secretly, he probably agreed with him, but he’d never run a murder investigation before and liked the sound of it—especially the vague possibility of promotion if he was successful.

“If I’ve anything to ask after I’ve seen the Gingerbreadman’s original arrest report,” said Copperfield with a certain degree of vagueness, “I’ll be sure to get in touch.”

“Perhaps,” said Jack pointedly, “you should be asking yourself why the Gingerbreadman was being driven around unsecured in a minivan rather than prison transport.”

Copperfield stared at Jack for a moment. Fully aware of his intellectual shortcomings, David compensated by doing everything by the book. Even reading the book he did by the book. Everything was orderly and logical and procedure based in his world. He understood intuition and wild improbable hunches that turned out to be right, but he never used them—they were the tools he always left in the box during an investigation. Conversely, they were the ones that Jack used most. In the hazily preordained world of the NCD, it was almost obligatory. Even so, Copperfield made a mental note of what Jack said. He was right: The Gingerbreadman was a category A+++ patient and he hadn’t even been handcuffed.

Jack rubbed his brow. Copperfield as the investigating officer was madness even by NCD standards, which were by definition pretty broad.

“He’s dangerously insane,” said Jack, “but there are vague patterns to his behavior. He usually violently ingratiates himself into someone’s house or flat and stays there for as long as he thinks he can. His ‘hosts’ generally don’t survive the visitation, although he always makes a point of paying for any food he eats, does the laundry and then wallpapers the front room.”

“Pattern or plain?”

“Pattern—and lined, too. You might like to stake out DIY stores.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“He kills because that’s what he does best,” said Jack. “Don’t take any chances.”

“We don’t plan to. The SAS are on stand-by and armed to the teeth. They’ll be called in the moment he’s spotted.”

“The use of unnecessary and wholly unreasonable force,” added Briggs, “has been approved. We’re not planning for capture or containment.”

There was a pause and Jack stared at Briggs and Copperfield in turn, then at the crime scene, which was, he had to admit, far worse than anything he had seen either inside the NCD or out. Mr. Wolff’s scalding to death hadn’t been pretty, and Wee Willie Winkie’s evisceration wasn’t exactly Sunday lunch conversation. But three at one go was something quite new even by Gingerbreadman standards. He had an annoying habit of raising the ante every time he drew breath. But Jack still wasn’t satisfied.

“Sir—”

Briggs shook his head, took him by the arm and steered him toward a quiet spot.

“It’s no use, Jack,” he said once out of earshot. “Copperfield is running the hunt. And it’s not just me. The Chief Constable has been on the phone already. With Friedland out of the picture and you busy getting citizens eaten, we need somebody to put Reading back on the detecting map.”

“But the Humpty case—!”