Title: As Dreams are Made On (3/4)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Andy Davidson, Toshiko Sato, others

Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it!

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: Andy Davidson’s first Torchwood case…

Author’s Note: Accelerando is the title of a book by the British writer Charles Stross. http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/s/charles-stross/ . Science fiction as it should be done, folks!

            Accelerando Books was across the street from the Tesco Express, in a nineteenth century building that had once been a pub. The owner had hit upon the brilliant idea of keeping the licence and serving beer and wine in the evenings.  Comfortable low sofas and chairs were arranged among the shelves on the ground floor, allowing for conversation, games, and drinking, mostly all three. Upstairs there were cozy reading nooks and an actual fireplace.

            The owner, Harlan Potter  – yeah, I’ve heard it before and it wasn’t funny the first time –  was a ginger mountain with a lovely smile and a look in his eye that told even the most obtuse of customers that he was quite capable of keeping the peace if it became necessary. When he shook my hand I just barely managed not to rub my crushed fingers.

            “Aren’t you a little young for Torchwood?”

            “Rules are a little different for us. I’d like to talk to you about Eugene Jones.”

            The man heaved a sigh. “I’m going to miss him. Eugene was a favorite around here. Knew everything there was to know about technofiction and didn’t mind spending an hour or two with a customer.”

            “Your other customers didn’t mind waiting?”

            “Nah. The regulars, they know where to find stuff if they’re in a hurry. Sometimes they would get into the conversation and it would turn into a debating society meeting.” He grinned genially. “And usually everyone would walk out with a bag full.”

            “That’s quite a talent he had, then.”

            “Oh, yeah.  When he first started here I often asked him why he didn’t move on to one of the bigger places. He could have made a fortune on commissions.” He shook his head. “He told me he liked it here, where he knew the people and the neighbourhood. Besides, he would say, someday I’m going to find my treasure and I’ll buy in as your partner, Mr. P. A dreamer, he was.”

            “You liked him.”

            “Yeah.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “That bloody copper who came here said they thought he might have killed himself. Ignorant sod, and so I told him. Just because Eugene was a Pagan it didn’t mean he was careless of his life. Besides, he was not depressed or sick or anything. Eugene lived in the certainty that he was going to find his treasure some day.”

            I examined the display of John Smith books next to the counter. “Did he ever talk to anyone about his treasure hunting?”

            “Sure. There’s a little club of them, from all over Cardiff.  Magic hunters, they call themselves. They traded stuff.” He frowned. “Wait a minute. That’s strange.”

            “What?”

            “Mrs. Glynn. She was a particular mate of Eugene’s. I heard somewhere she had died a couple of weeks ago. Hold on.” He walked to the stairwell and bellowed. “Josh! Down here a minute!”

            The guy who sprinted down the stairs was one of those overly nervous types who talk with their hands flapping all over the place like a full clothesline in a high wind. He had greasy blond hair in a pony tail and a dirty neck.

            “Josh, didn’t you tell me Mrs. Glynn had some sort of accident?”

            Josh giggled nervously. “Well, that’s what the family’s giving out, but people say she killed herself.”

            I traded a look with Mr. Potter. “Why?”

            Josh looked at me with a befuddled expression. “Why what?”

            “Why are people saying she killed herself?”

            “Just what they’re saying. She was out on her boat in a storm. My Mam says no way she would do that. Mrs. Glynn was too good a sailor.”

            Mr. Potter nodded. “I’d think the same myself. Mairwen Glynn was no fool and she had been sailing since she was a little girl. She wouldn’t take risks like that.”

             “Did you see Mrs. Glynn talking to Eugene recently?”

            “Yeah.” Josh said. “She was here right before she died. The day before or maybe the day before that. I was back there,” he pointed, “unpacking a new shipment, so I heard them.”

            “Do you know what it was about?”

            “She brought him a package to keep for her. I heard her tell him to keep it in a safe place until she came back. Said if she wasn’t back in a few days to take it to the Bishop.” He made a funny little excited noise. “Maybe that’s why she was killed. She had found something important!”

            “Maybe. Josh, do you know any other mates of Eugene’s?”

            “Linda and Gary. Linda works at the Tesco,” he pointed over his shoulder, “and Gary, well, he says he’s a student. Linda spent a lot of time with Eugene. Saturday I saw them at the concert on the Plas. Gotta go. We had a tour bus here this morning and they’ve left the place a mess.”

            I watched him until he was half-way up the stairs. “Josh!”

            He looked down at me. “Yeah?”

            “Is it fun playing stupid?”

            He laughed. “Yeah.”

            Mr. Potter chuckled. “I wonder if you would catch that.”

            “Hard to miss.”

            “Most people do, actually. So you have two people dead in supposed accidents that people think could be suicide. Coincidence?”

            “No such thing in Torchwood,” I answered him. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter.”

            “Mairwen Glynn lived in the red brick flats on James Street. The ones with the archways.” He tapped a few keys on the keyboard in front of him and read the address off the screen. “With a daughter-in-law, I think.”

            “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

            “Maybe I don’t like losing good customers and good workers,” he growled. “Or maybe I resent the fact that some lout is running around killing harmless daydreamers. Or just maybe I know how it feels to find something wonderful and have it change your life.” He looked around. “I was spending my life writing trusts and wills for boring, annoying rich people and reading technofiction on the side. One day I walked past this place. It was shuttered, filthy, falling apart. And I saw a bookstore. And here I am. Eugene should have had the same chance.”

            I nodded. “I think so too.”

            I left the bookstore and headed for the Tesco. Linda Martin, Eugene’s mate, was the manager’s assistant, which in that place translated into someone working as an accountant for a secretary’s wage. She was a pretty girl with a permanent sour look etched on her face, but she did get a soft look in her eyes when I mentioned Eugene. She pointed at the manager’s office door.

            “He’ll be a pain in the arse until you leave. Wait outside. I go on my break in fifteen minutes.”

            I loitered by the front door until she came out. We wandered into one of the many cafes in the Quay and ordered tea and biscuits.

            “He was a good guy, Eugene,” she told me. “Head always in the clouds, but a good guy. When I told him I had this dream to visit Australia he found me some guidebooks and DVD’s and things and told me to make my plans, because someday he would give me the money. I laughed at him, but there was something about him that made you trust him, you know?” At my nod, she kept on. “I miss him.”

            “Mr. Potter says the same. Linda, did he ever say anything about getting his hands on something? Something valuable?”

            “Eugene? No, never… Wait. There was something. About a week ago. We were having tea and he said that he had come into a small inheritance. He didn’t know how much it was worth, but he was hoping it was enough.”

            “Did he say what it was?”

            “No. I figured somebody had died and left him a few quid. You know, an uncle or something.” She looked at her watch. “I got to go back. If I’m late even a minute the bastard will dock me ten.”

            I walked her back. “One last thing, Linda. When was the last time you saw Eugene?”

            “I’ve been away to my tad’s for two weeks. He’s not been well and needed some help. It must have been about then.”

            I nodded and watched her go. If Josh had been right – and I had the feeling he missed damn little – Eugene and Linda had been together at a concert two days before. Just an innocent outing with a good friend. So why did Linda feel the need to lie?