The Memory of Blood(2)

‘But they’re careful to keep up the illusion of appearing unconcerned. An interesting phenomenon, isn’t it?’

‘That’s the English for you,’ said May, studying the gathered guests. ‘We’re great pretenders.’

‘Yes, an odd mixture of exaggerated politeness and thoughtless cruelty. The true mark of English conversation is not being able to tell when you’ve been insulted. I think the more sophisticated society becomes, the more it hides behind the masks it manufactures.’

‘Do we have to discuss this now, Arthur? We’re on a bit of a deadline here.’

Bryant ignored his partner. ‘It’s just that we seem to be so good at hypocrisy. I always think when an Englishman says “We really must get together soon,” he’s telling you to piss off. We bury ourselves so deeply inside complex personas that it’s amazing we remember who we really are. Which makes this room, for example, very hard to read. You know me, I don’t play those games. I prefer honesty.’

‘Yes, but you’re downright rude to people,’ retorted May. ‘And I do know you. It’s a class thing. This lot make you feel uncomfortable. You’re from a working-class background. Your mother cleaned cinemas for a living. You hate the idea that one of the guests might get the better of you tonight.’

‘No,’ said Bryant firmly. ‘I hate the idea that one of them thinks they can get away with murder.’

‘Well, our legal priority over the investigation ends in exactly’—here May checked his classic Timex—‘fifty-five minutes. You’re cutting it a tad fine.’

‘I know. We have to watch for the smallest signs, an odd look, any betrayal of emotion that might cause one of them to give the game away.’

‘Arthur, an odd look isn’t going to secure a conviction. We need concrete evidence before the clock strikes twelve.’

‘Well, whose idea of a shindig was this?’ said a tipsy blond woman in a tight black Lycra dress that had made her tanned breasts rise like golden loaves. She turned her attention to May while ignoring his partner. It was her habit to only address men she found useful or attractive, a trait that made her thoroughly unlikeable.

‘How did you get in?’ asked Bryant. ‘This is a private party. No riffraff allowed.’

Rudeness had no effect on Janet Ramsey. As the editor of Hard News, the capital’s gossip daily, she was used to having the door metaphorically slammed in her face. ‘Actually, Uncle Fester, I’m here as a guest,’ she rejoined airily. ‘And you’re up to something. I can smell it. I can see it on that old tortoise face of yours.’

‘I’m surprised you can see anything through that face-lift,’ Bryant harrumphed. ‘If you print a single word about this, I’ll send so many uniforms around to your office it’ll look like you’re staging The Pirates of Penzance.’

Ramsey gave him a blank look.

‘There are a lot of policemen in The Pirates of Penzance,’ May explained to her.

‘I don’t know why you hang around with Rip Van Winkle here,’ said Ramsey, walking frosted fingernails up May’s lapel. ‘He’s holding you back, John. He always has. Tell me the truth. Give an old newspaper gal a break. What’s this party all about? Why are the guests locked in? Why does everyone look so anxious? What exactly are you two up to?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Janet.’

‘I recognise some of the people in this room.’ She narrowed her false eyelashes at the assembly. ‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with the murders your Unit has been investigating, would it?’

‘You can’t print conjecture,’ May warned.

‘I see the time has come to let you in on our little secret,’ said Bryant, trying not to grimace as he took Ramsey’s arm. ‘Come with me and I promise all will be revealed.’

Ramsey knew she couldn’t trust Bryant, but her curiosity got the better of her. She stumbled after him, into the chill shadows of the cobwebbed chamber. There was a short silence followed by a yelp and a clang of metal, and Bryant came back alone.

‘What did you do?’ asked May. ‘Where’s Janet?’

‘I think I managed to spike her story,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I shut her in the Iron Maiden.’

‘That thing’s just a stage prop,’ said May with a hint of regret. ‘There are no sharpened nails on the inside of it.’

‘Really?’ Bryant’s eyes widened in innocence. ‘I had no idea. What a pity. I’ll let her out after midnight.’