‘Property,’ he said, pointing at the deserted arcades housing empty shop fronts. ‘It’s all about who owns the land. I read that London has become the most expensive city in the world. Apparently, even during the economic downturn an apartment in Knightsbridge has still managed to sell for ninety million pounds. Dear God, Knightsbridge, the most dreadful place in the entire city. All those ersatz English houses filled with dodgy millionaires pretending they’re in some kind of Edwardian time bubble, assuaging their guilt with bling and bad restaurants. And it’s not even near town!’
‘You sound just like Uncle Arthur sometimes, you know.’
Whether it was criticism or a compliment, May ignored the remark. ‘I suppose the land was simply too valuable to be left in our hands any longer.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, John.’
‘Oh, it was. We extended the lease on Mornington Crescent until 2017 but I didn’t check that all the documents had been properly notarised.’
‘That was just a technicality. You were tricked by the Home Office. I went through the paperwork myself. The mistake was a small one, little more than a tick in a box and a date stamp. They wanted you out.’
The Peculiar Crimes Unit had been made homeless. The detectives who ran it were the leaseholders of the maroon-tiled building that rose above Mornington Crescent tube station, but their agreement with the owners, the Crown Estate, had been declared void. Despite pleas and threats the Home Office stood firm, and the unthinkable had begun to happen: The staff had started to disperse to other forms of employment.
‘You knew the HO would put the unit on ice the moment they moved it under their jurisdiction,’ said April. ‘You embarrassed them. You showed them up at every turn, instead of making them look good. Every case you solved was another slap in the face.’
‘I suppose I thought we could eventually win them over. We had public opinion on our side.’
It was true that the PCU had breached behavioural codes of conduct in the course of their duty, but it had always got the job done, and there had been very few complaints from the public registered with the IPCC. For most of its life the unit had operated perhaps not in secrecy, but in an absence of information that had granted it an extraordinary amount of freedom. When civilians finally became aware of the unit they had wholeheartedly endorsed it, but the publicity had brought condemnation from naturally secretive government officials. A new generation of number-crunchers had come forward to insist on regulations being followed to the letter. For them the concept of an agency run on principles of instinct and experience seemed anathematic.
‘I know how much professional jealousy you’ve had to put up with over the years. I saw the files, John. The pair of you managed to upset just about everyone.’
‘We resolved most of the major cases we handled. Okay, a few got away from us, but our success rate was higher than anyone else’s in the force. We’re not being judged by our success, but by our failure to conform. Well, you know Arthur—what chance did I have of ever changing his ways? Now Raymond Land can’t even get his calls answered.’
‘He’s the wrong person to change their minds. Only you would be able to do that. They like you, John; they’ll hear what you have to say. They won’t listen to Uncle Arthur because they think he’s completely loopy.’
‘April, we have no equipment, no money, no offices, no status, no technical backup, nothing. How the hell are we supposed to proceed?’
She twisted out of the breeze, pushing back her bangs of ash hair. The sharp methylene blue of her eyes always came as a surprise to him. ‘Why don’t you suggest we continue operating from rented accommodation? You can’t give up now. Half the staff have relatives who worked in the unit before them. It’s a family business.’
May appeared not to hear. ‘The Home Office knew it would be better to weaken the unit step by step. I’ve been to see Raymond four times since the day we were thrown out of our offices, but he can’t get an appointment with anyone. Leslie Faraday keeps making the most pathetic excuses not to see him. Any day now our temporary leave will end and our resignations will be officially accepted. There’s nothing that anyone can do.’
As part of the closure deal, the staff of the PCU had resigned en masse in order to prevent the blemish of prosecution from appearing on their employment records. The unit was in a limbo created by process and paperwork; neither officially disbanded nor reinstated, but suspended in a state of non-operation. In this fashion, the Home Office could disarm its critics by denying that they had entirely abandoned one of London’s most prestigious departments. The official line was that the staff was on temporary hiatus pending investigation, but everyone knew that Faraday and his security supervisor Oskar Kasavian had no intention of allowing them back into the field. Faraday and Kasavian could afford to bide their time and wait while the ties of friendship and loyalty within the team loosened and staff members drifted apart, driven by the need to earn a living wage.