‘I have no formal training, but the Scarman Centre at Leicester University advocated the hiring of non-professionals in specialist criminology units, and Mr May asked me to join the PCU.’
‘You mean your grandfather invited you in. Jobs for all the family, eh?’
‘Give her a break, Renfield,’ said Longbright. ‘The girl is bloody good. She collates information and assembles it together with forensic evidence, witness reports, time-lines, data analysis and profiling strategies, and she does it instinctively. Could you do that?’
It was obvious to Renfield that the rest of the unit was prepared to defend May’s grandchild. It was now common knowledge that her mother had been killed in the line of duty, and that April suffered intermittent bouts of agoraphobia as a result. She was thin and ethereally pale; she looked as if a strong wind might blow her away. Was this fragile woman really the kind of person a specialist crime unit should be employing?
‘Let’s move on to Mr Kershaw,’ Land suggested hopefully.
‘I suppose I’m the odd man out,’ Kershaw began, thoughtfully tucking a lock of lank blond hair behind his right ear. ‘Giles Kershaw, twenty-eight, single, can’t imagine why, ha ha. I went to Eton, which left my parents as impoverished as church mice but granted them a sense of genetic superiority over the sturdy farming stock in their parish. The police force is no place for the well educated, let me tell you. I was studying to be a biochemist when I became fascinated with the morphology of death, which pretty much put my sex life on hold. I’ve been under the tutelage of Mr Bryant and Mr May for long enough to appreciate the uniqueness of this unit, and the utter foolishness of attempts by the Home Office to close us down. Oh, and I’m your new pathologist.’
‘Mr Banbury?’
Dan Banbury had passed his formative years in an East End bedroom sprawled across a candlewick bedspread, angrily punching a laptop connected to several thousand pounds’ worth of computer equipment. From this unprepossessing, cable-festooned site he penetrated enough security loopholes to bring himself to the attention of a forensic team specializing in hi-tech fraud. However, he escaped prosecution after citing the case of Onel de Guzman, the twenty-four-year-old Filipino student at AMA computer college who evaded prison despite having released the world’s most destructive computer virus. The police were so impressed with his defence that they asked him to check their own security system, and Banbury found himself studying on the right side of the law. It was hard to imagine that anyone so bright could have so few communication skills.
‘Dan Banbury, the unit’s IT guy and crime-scene manager,’ he said simply, stepping forward. ‘I trained in technology forensics and photography, I’ve operated in major incident agencies sorting data recordings, and I’ve done a lot of on-site work. People think only planes have black boxes, but anything with a microprocessor will leave a data print, and these days that includes everything from trains to washing machines. But sometimes you just want to go to a murder scene and work out who knocked over a chair.’
‘And of course you know . . .’ Land waved his hand vaguely in the direction of Longbright.
‘Detective Sergeant Janice Longbright. Mr Renfield knows me, sir. There’s really nothing more to say.’
‘Come, come, Janice. I’m sure there’s a lot we can learn from each other.’
‘You’re right, sir. From studying Renfield’s behaviour I learned how to cause a colleague’s death through incompetence.’
A cold intake of breath passed through the room.
‘I think that’s a bit ad hominem, Janice, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ said John May. ‘We’ve already been over this, and I know that Renfield feels very badly about the matter. He admitted acting wrongfully and is trying to put the events of last week behind him.’ It seemed that the sergeant’s failure to involve the hospital services after he discovered a body on the street would stay to haunt him.
‘I’d like to suggest that coming here, to work among Oswald Finch’s oldest friends, wasn’t the smartest move he could have made.’
‘I know how strongly you feel, Janice, but this unit will not survive if it is divided, so it’s our duty—’
‘I don’t think you need to lecture me on duty, John,’ said Longbright angrily.
‘She’s right,’ said Kershaw. ‘Everyone knows Renfield’s appointment is a trade-off for my promotion, and I’d rather step down than cause divisions within the unit.’
‘You’re causing a division just by offering,’ Mangeshkar pointed out.
‘This is exactly the kind of thing I expected to find here,’ said Renfield. ‘I heard you lot couldn’t organize a tug-of-war in a rope factory.’
Land could sense control sliding away from him, and raised his hands. ‘There’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other later,’ he told them. ‘So, Jack—’
‘Nobody told me there was a meeting,’ said Bryant, wandering in from the corridor billowing a bonfire-trail of acrid smoke from his pipe. ‘What’s going on? Did I miss a punch-up? Are there any doughnuts left?’
‘You can’t bring that filthy thing in here!’ Land protested. ‘I sent you an email about smoking this morning.’
‘Well, there’s your problem, old sausage, I never read them. Hello, Renfield. How are you getting on with your new team-mates? You can’t expect an easy ride, you know. Not after what happened.’
‘Where have you been?’ asked May. ‘You were supposed to be here an hour ago.’
‘British Museum. Christ’s blood,’ said Bryant. ‘I’d like to say their Earl Grey exceeded expectations, but I’d be lying.’ He turned to address the group. ‘Now look, we all know Renfield here is a humourless pain in the derrière who wouldn’t notice an ironic remark if you tied it to a stick and poked him in the eye with it, but I think that’s one of his strengths. You might also know that his father was Sergeant Leonard Renfield, an old enemy of mine at the Met, and like his father, Jack has been denied promotion several times, for which he seems to blame my reports. But he has no axe to grind with any of you, and nor should you with him. It’s early days, so let’s start by drawing a line under the past and at least withholding judgement until a later date when we can all gang up on him properly. Most of the trouble between us is because the sergeant doesn’t understand what we do, so now’s our chance to show him.’
‘You didn’t have to say that,’ said Renfield sulkily as the meeting broke up around them. ‘I’m capable of speaking for myself.’
‘I know you are,’ smiled Bryant, ‘but least said soonest mended on this occasion, I think.’
‘Well,’ May marvelled as his partner ambled past in a cloud of Sweet Briar smoke. ‘I see you’ve added diplomacy to your repertoire of talents. You know we need all the allies we can get, and that Renfield has a lot of friends in the Met. You think if we get him on our side, he’ll eventually spread the word and give us more power against the Home Office. You sly old dog.’
‘Perhaps this is one dog you can teach new tricks,’ said Bryant, daintily pirouetting the tip of his walking stick as he danced from the room.
9
* * *
RANDOM ACTS OF SLAUGHTER
‘Whose bright idea was it to bring Jack Renfield in here anyway?’ asked Dan Banbury.
Giles Kershaw was packing the last of his belongings into a plastic crate, preparing for his move to the Bayham Street morgue, where he would take over Oswald Finch’s old post. ‘Land’s, apparently,’ he answered. ‘Part of the trade-off for allowing me to take over as pathologist. They’re playing politics upstairs, trying to set you against me and undermine the working structure of the unit at the same time. The most confounding thing you can do is make the new man welcome. If you express dissatisfaction, you’ll be playing directly into their hands.’
‘But what will happen to Janice? There’s only room for one sergeant in this outfit, and she’s got years of experience over him.’
‘There’s a difference. She’s a DS. She’ll work it ou
t,’ said Kershaw, tamping down the crate lid impatiently. ‘As will you. He’s going to be sitting right here, at my old desk. OK, I’m out of here. See you later, old sprout.’ He threw Banbury a salute as he hoisted the final box on to his hip and backed awkwardly out of the door.
Banbury had once thought that he and Kershaw would become a team in the Bryant-and-May mould, their respective talents complementing each other, but now it was obvious that his former partner could not wait to take up his new position. Kershaw was coolly ambitious and openly contemptuous of those who stayed behind. With a sigh of regret Banbury woke his monitor to examine the Dead Diary, Kershaw’s nickname for the daily files listing those who had died in unusual or suspicious circumstances in the central London area.
It was Dan’s job to pass on any new cases which he felt required the attention of his seniors. Today, the very first one on the list caught his eye. Bryant always asked for print-outs, claiming that the computer screen hurt his eyes, so Banbury made a hard copy, collected the document and headed across the hall. As he did so, he collided with Bryant, who was carrying a full bowl of porridge.
‘God, I’m sorry, sir.’ Banbury brushed milk and oat flakes from his paperwork. ‘I thought you’d want to see this.’
‘Come into my office.’ Bryant set down the bowl, took the papers from him and dug out his reading glasses, waving Banbury to the cankerous crimson-leather armchair he kept for visitors. ‘Sit down before you do any more damage. What am I looking at? Don’t answer, it’s a rhetorical question. The Dead Diary for Monday 26th, a forty-six-year-old deceased woman named Carol Wynley, found at the corner of Whidbourne Street, Bloomsbury, died some time before midnight. And this is of interest because . . . ?’
‘It’s just that John told me you cut across Bloomsbury on the way home, and I wondered if you’d—’
‘Added random acts of slaughter to my already controversial repertoire of activities?’ Bryant completed. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Banbury, but no. Around thirteen thousand outbursts of violence occur outside pubs and clubs in the UK every week.’ He threw the papers back. ‘Wait, show me that again.’ He snatched back the printed photograph and re-examined it. ‘Talk to Renfield. He’ll know where they’ve taken her. If she’s gone to Bayham Street, Kershaw will be about to get his first case.’
‘It probably won’t come into our jurisdiction,’ warned Banbury. ‘Not unless there’s something especially unusual about her death.’
‘It rather depends on what you regard as unusual,’ said Bryant. ‘It’s certainly a coincidence. I think I saw this woman just minutes before she was found dead. Sexual assault?’
‘No mention of that in the report.’
‘If it’s the same person, she was drunk when I spotted her. Let me have a word with our leader.’ He turned and swung into Raymond Land’s office without knocking. Land was cleaning pencil shavings out of the back of his desk drawer when Bryant made him jump, causing him to empty the drawer’s contents over his trousers.
‘I do wish you’d learn to knock,’ he muttered irritably, brushing down his seams.
‘Look here, Raymondo, why on earth are we stranding Kershaw over at the morgue? There’s no point in having him hovering about in Oswald’s old room with no one to talk to. He’s far more useful to the unit here.’
‘There’s no room here,’ Land snapped. ‘Look how much space you take up – boxes of musty old books you never read—’
‘They’re for reference.’
‘Smelly old suitcases full of outmoded laboratory instruments, endless unlabelled bottles of chemicals for which I only have your word that they’re safe—’
‘I think you’ll find I never promised that.’
‘Half the stuff in the evidence room isn’t ours, and I’ve no idea where you got it from—’
‘I can’t remember why I borrowed safe-cracking equipment, if that’s what you mean, or what I used it on, but I promise to return it when I do. There’s plenty of room for us all here. So that’s settled.’ Bryant gave what he hoped was a pleasing grin, revealing his patently false teeth to an alarming degree, then left the room.
Land dug in his drawer for one of the miniature bottles of Glenfiddich he kept there and was about to down it when the door flew open again. ‘Forgot to mention we’ve a suspicious death coming in, woman in her forties found in Bloomsbury last night. I say it’s our case – what I mean is I want us to handle it because I saw her alive. We’ve nothing urgent pending at the moment, have we?’
‘You can’t just decide to take the case any more, Bryant, you need to talk to Renfield about it. What do you mean, you saw her alive?’
‘Haven’t bumped into Renfield yet – running late on his first day, not a very impressive start, is it? John and I will get off to the morgue, then. You can tell him for us, can’t you? And if you’re going to start drinking that stuff first thing in the morning, I reserve the right to continue smoking my Old Sailor’s Full-Strength Rough-Cut Navy Shag in the office, just so you know. Pip pip.’
The slam of the door was Land’s cue to snap off the cap of his miniature and down it neat.
‘Well, well.’ Detective Sergeant Jack Renfield leaned against the door-jamb, studying his opposite number. ‘I never thought we’d end up working together, did you?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ said Janice Longbright. ‘The decision has been made elsewhere and I have to make the best of it.’
‘I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that I’m not too happy about the situation, either? I enjoyed being at Albany Street nick. All my mates are there. Blokes I grew up with, some I even went to school with. I’ve never pretended to be an intellectual. The only college I ever attended was the police college in Hendon. I know you think I’m common. I sound common, I drop my aitches, I haven’t got the further education that you lot have got. And yet I’ve been brought in here on an equal footing with you, so what am I doing right?’
‘You were useful to the boys upstairs, that’s all.’
‘I’m a copper, not a politician or an academic. I’ve spent most of my working life dragging nonces off the street and locking them up until someone smarter tells me to let them go. But I know what the law stands for, where it begins and where it ends, and I make sure nobody on my shift oversteps the line. Raymond Land is like me, he came up the hard way. I’m not going to report to him behind your back, Longbright. I’m not out to grass anyone up, OK?’
‘Then what are you here for?’
‘I’m just planning to do my job and obey the rules, and make sure everyone else does the same. If you or your bosses step out of line, that places you on the outside, with the criminals. You can think what you like about me, love, it isn’t going to make any difference.’
He pushed himself away from the door and headed out into the corridor. Longbright continued clearing her desk, but found herself shaking with anger. Renfield knew how to get under her skin.
‘Hi, Janice. You look like you lost a shilling and found sixpence. What’s the matter?’
Longbright looked up and found May in the doorway. She was always pleased to see him. ‘Oh, nothing, John, I’m fine.’
‘If you say so, but I heard what Renfield said.’ May buttoned his jacket. ‘Don’t let the new boy get you down. If Land asks where I’ve gone, let him know that I’m checking out a possible murder victim, and no, I didn’t get permission from Renfield first.’
‘He’s already given me a warning about proper behaviour.’
‘He’s not a bad sort, just a bit abrasive. He stopped me from getting beaten up by a street gang not so long ago. He’s a good man to have on the ground.’
‘It’s not just Renfield, it’s – ’ She stopped and thought for a moment. ‘Maybe I’ve been here too long. I have no life, John. I don’t know who I am any more. Perhaps I have to stop dressing like this, looking like this.’ DS Longbright certainly had a style of her own, mostly modelled on movie stars of the past. She was a fulsomely sexy wom
an and the look suited her, although it was somewhat inappropriate for her job. ‘You know, my make-up never gets any older, but underneath it I do. Sometimes I take it off at night, and have to stop and ask myself if there’s still somebody there. All I ever do is work. I don’t exist outside the office. Does anyone even notice me?’
May tapped the door-frame with his ring finger. ‘Can we talk about this later, Janice? I’ve just realized the time. Arthur’s already on his way to the Bayham Street morgue.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And check out something for me, will you? Carol Wynley had a mobile, but it wasn’t on her body or in her effects. See if you can track it down.’
10
* * *
THE VICTORIA VANISHES
‘That’s her.’
Arthur Bryant peered more closely at the waxen face in the gun-grey zip bag before him. He could only recall the woman on the examination table of the Bayham Street morgue because he had made such a deliberate effort to observe her. There was nothing remotely memorable about her appearance. If asked to sum her up in a single word, he would have said, damningly, that she appeared ‘respectable’.
‘Are you absolutely sure?’ asked May. ‘It’s just that it seems rather an odd coincidence, you being there.’
‘Not really. I bumped into my butcher at the Royal Albert Hall last month,’ said Bryant. ‘I always see people I know, even when they’re trying to avoid me. This is definitely the woman I passed. What happened to her?’
‘At first glance I’d say she slipped off the kerb and bashed her head,’ said Giles Kershaw. ‘There’s a contusion at the base of the skull consistent with her falling on to her back, although I’ve not found any bruising at the base of her spine. Mind you, she was wearing a thick grey woollen skirt and a thick coat which would probably have protected her.’
‘Just a little cut, hardly seems anything.’
‘The contusion is small, but the surrounding area is soft to the touch, and if we push in you can just see that the dura is ruptured. I removed a small bone fragment, little more than a splinter. The fracture was enough to expose her brain, causing clotting. The pupil of her right eye is unusually enlarged, which suggests a clot on that side. Any impact can ripple through the entire head, right down to the spinal cord, causing traumatic damage. The impact point showed up like a tiny black star on the X-ray, and I could see some swelling in the rear right cranial hemisphere. I also found a few drops of cerebrospinal fluid leaked from her right ear, which suggests some form of basal skull fracture. There are so many things that can go wrong at the base of the skull. If she’d had immediate neurosurgical intervention I imagine she would have lived. There are more than a billion neurons in the human brain and we damage them all the time, but once the tissue starts swelling the damage rate rises exponentially unless intervention can halt it. She had quite a lot of alcohol in her blood, which exacerbated the effect of the injury. No recent food in her stomach.’
Bryant & May 06 - The Victoria Vanishes Page 6
