When she couldn’t take it any longer, she headed for the bar and ordered herself a large gin and tonic.
‘You’re not supposed to drink before midnight,’ said Renfield, leaning next to her.
‘Jack, I’m watching my career collapse here, and so are you.’ Ignoring his protestations, she ordered him a beer. She raised her glass to his. ‘This should be a relief, but I just feel terrible. I can’t believe we failed. In the past we always managed to come up with something at the last minute.’
‘Hey.’ He stooped and lightly kissed her bruised cheek. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for ages. Slap my face if you want, I don’t care. We won’t be working together anymore after this. I just tendered my resignation.’
‘Hey, did you just see that?’ said Colin Bimsley. ‘Renfield just got a snog in with Janice. What’s going on?’
‘It’s four minutes to midnight,’ said Meera. ‘We’re under orders to open the doors at twelve. The old man’s given up and gone outside with his pipe. And you were convinced he was going to crack it. I should have put money on this.’
‘Don’t gloat, Meera, it’s really bloody ugly, okay?’ He turned away from her, genuinely upset.
‘I’m sorry, but I saw this coming. We should never have been given the case. It was a family problem, the husband and wife could no longer stomach the sight of each other, both having affairs, other people meddling, the husband kills the baby in a rage, kills the producer for nicking his funds, muzzles the old bag to shut her up—’
‘Then stabs himself to death with a pitchfork, thrown from the other end of a barn. In front of a life-sized dummy of his wife.’
‘No, I saw the dummy—it didn’t look like his wife.’
‘Then who did it look like?’
‘His first wife.’ Meera shrugged. “I found some photos of her online—very frumpy. Same Marks and Spencer skirt.”
‘Did you tell the old man this?’
‘No, it didn’t seem very relevant.’
‘I think you should. He specifically asked us if we’d come across anything odd.’
‘Well, it’s too late now. Almost midnight.’
‘There’s still—three minutes left.’
‘Right. Tell you what, if the old man pulls something out of the hat now—’
‘You’ll what? You’ll go out on a date with me?’
‘No, stupid. Just—’
‘No, come on, Meera, put your money where your mouth is, he’s got the time it takes to smoke a cigarette left. If he still manages to nail someone before midnight, you’ll go on a date with me.’
‘All right,’ agreed Meera, safe in the knowledge that she had already won, ‘you’re on.’
Bryant pulled on his pipe and watched the embers turn crimson. ‘That stuff will kill you,’ said Ella Maltby, joining him in the courtyard.
‘Doesn’t matter, I’m ninety-five percent dead anyway,’ Bryant replied. ‘Our brains start atrophying when we turn eighteen. Can I ask you something?’
‘Fire away.’
‘How did the dummy get to the barn? I mean, it’s a bulky object, not heavy but awkward. Did you take it there?’
Maltby held his eyes for a long moment. ‘I guess we must have done. At least, our delivery firm would have. It was bulky because it was one of our pregnant models.’
‘Pregnant?’
‘That’s right. The order came through from the theatre.’
‘Whose name was on it?’
‘The producer’s. Gregory Baine had to sign off on everything we bought. It’s the producer’s job to balance the budget.’
‘The clothes as well?’
‘Everything.’
‘Interesting. You don’t suppose the dummy killed him, do you? Like Mr Punch killed the baby?’
‘Now you’re making fun of me,’ said Maltby. ‘I’m a craftsperson, not a witch.’
‘Fair enough,’ Bryant replied. ‘You can’t blame me for asking.’
‘Sorry, can I borrow a light?’ Ray Pryce stepped between them. Bryant lit his cigarette for him. ‘I guess the evening didn’t go as planned. It’s midnight.’
‘Yes, I’m a bit disappointed about that,’ said Bryant.
‘Just a bit?’ Ray held the cigarette between them, its smoke wafting across their faces. ‘I should think you’re devastated. What a terrible way to end a career.’
‘Nobody said it was the end of my career.’
‘Your boss has been telling everyone that the Unit is finished. He seems quite pleased about it.’