On the Loose(10)

‘Hullo, Dan, what are you doing here?’ Detective Sergeant Janice Longbright made a magnificent entrance through a shimmering curtain of rose-coloured beads. She had pinned back her newly auburn hair with tortoiseshell barrettes and was wearing a curvaceous Dorothy Lamour sarong, one of the shop’s best sellers and a masterpiece of intelligent engineering. Her maquillage was a theatrical mask of exaggerated sensuality. Her lipstick was bright enough to warn ships away from rocks.

‘Blimey,’ said Dan.

Thick, sweet incense smouldered in the air. The crimson-draped counters were stacked with pink garter belts, patent-leather stilettos and forgotten cosmetics. Longbright gave her old colleague a kiss that marked his cheek like a cattle brand.

‘I thought you were going away on holiday,’ she said, releasing him.

‘We were until I lost my job,’ Banbury explained, wiping his face and looking around. ‘I decided we couldn’t afford it. My nipper was well put out. How are you doing?’

‘All right, I suppose. I’m helping an old friend, just to tide me over.’

‘You enjoying it?’

‘Yeah, I’m on commission. The money’s better than I was getting at the unit. Want to pick up something for your wife?’

‘You’re joking. This stuff’s a bit too risqué for her; she’s more the jeans and t-shirt type.’

‘We can soon change that. We run pole-dancing courses every Wednesday and Friday.’

‘I’m not having my missus sliding her gusset down a length of cold steel when she should be defrosting my dinner, thank you. I just wondered if you’d spoken to anyone.’

‘I’ve talked to John a few times. I left a message for Mr Bryant on the old work number but he hasn’t called back.’

As Banbury was surrounded by pointy-busted mannequins sporting wired cutaway brassieres, he elected to stare down at his shoes. ‘So, no news from anyone. About the unit, I mean.’

‘Not a sausage. I had a spot of lunch with Meera the other day. She says Colin’s drinking too much. He’s been making booty calls at two in the morning, begging to come round. But she hasn’t heard anything about the unit. According to John, the Home Office isn’t prepared to discuss the matter with us, so I wouldn’t keep your hopes up. I’m beginning to think that too much time has passed now.’

‘Oh.’ Banbury was never the most voluble of men, but he seemed even more tongue-tied than usual. ‘I just thought—you know the Met has frozen us out as well.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought there was a chance that we might get our old jobs back, so I made a few calls. None of them want to know.’

‘You can’t be surprised about that, Dan. They barely tolerated us at the best of times. The only one who’s likely to be offered his old job is Jack Renfield, and that’s because he’d only just joined the PCU when it was closed down. They’ll probably feel sorry for him, and he was on their soccer team.’

‘Even so … I keep thinking if I just wait for a while, Mr Bryant will somehow persuade them to re-form the unit.’

‘I did too at first. I think when something gets this badly broken, it’s pretty tough to fix. We went down upsetting a hell of a lot of people.’

‘We got letters of support.’

‘Yeah, but more of them were glad to be rid of us. I was sent a black wreath from some joker at Albany Street nick.’

‘I thought the old man had some well-placed government pals. I was hoping he’d pull in a few favours. That’s what he’s done in the past.’

‘I don’t suppose Arthur’s in the right frame of mind to whip up fresh support in Whitehall.’

‘You’ve known Bryant and May longer than anyone, Janice. Why did they never accept promotion?’

‘Because they knew most investigations would go to DCs, TDCs and PCs. They didn’t want desk jobs, and they didn’t want to end up in something specialist like working with Tactical Support Groups.’ Riot police needed their senior ranks to be involved on the ground, but it was a general rule of thumb that the higher you went in the police force, the less chance you had of regaining the excitement of your early days.

‘Hang on, why did you call Bryant’s old work number?’

‘Because he’s not answering his mobile, and there’s something wrong with his house line. I’m worried about him. I went round there and knocked the other day but there was no answer. The only other way of getting in touch is through Alma’s church.’

‘The thing is, I’ve got an interview with a software development company in Manchester and they seem pretty keen to get me in. The work’s not very interesting but the pay’s good, and it could tide me over until something better comes along. I just feel so bloody disloyal.’