The Memory of Blood(70)

‘You think it will happen again if we don’t stop it.’

‘I know it will.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘Our murderer is winning. Nobody has been arrested. He’s getting exactly what he wants.’

‘But we don’t know what he wants.’

‘I have a shrewd idea now. I just don’t know which one of them it is.’

‘Still going to play your cards close to your chest, then.’

‘I have to. If I’m wrong, I can’t afford to drop us both in the merde. It would be better if I took the fall.’

‘So what happens next?’

‘We need to keep a close watch on everyone who was at that party.’

‘You know we can’t do that. We don’t have enough staff.’

‘If we don’t, somebody may die.’

‘Then we have to decide who to prioritise. I’m assuming Judith Kramer is high risk.’

‘You mean because she collapsed after the death of her son, she can’t possibly be guilty.’

‘Someone set out to hurt her by killing her child.’

‘But she wasn’t hurt by Gregory Baine’s death.’

‘Giles says he can’t entirely rule out suicide. There’s still the idea that Baine might have killed himself over his debts. If I had to choose the person most at risk right now, it would be someone involved in the love triangle. Marcus Sigler or Kramer himself.’

‘Really? Interesting. That’s not who I would have picked.’

‘Then who do you think is the most exposed?’

‘Ray Pryce, the writer, because he’s as nervous as a cat and knows more than he’s letting on. I think he saw something at the party. What did he witness that he’s not telling us?’

‘Okay, anyone else?’

‘Yes, that obnoxious critic, Alex Lansdale.’

‘The critic?’

‘Of course. We’re looking for a very unusual killer. Someone who’s a careful planner, but also capable of murderous rages. Remember what Janice said about Mrs Kramer? That she always felt stranded on the outside. Nearly everyone else there was directly connected with the play, but one man was a traitor and did his best to close it down—Lansdale. That puts him on the wrong side.’

May drank up and set his pint down. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I think we should protect the women first. Everyone who attended that party is technically a suspect.’

‘Not true, John. The timings have ruled at least three of them out.’

‘Nevertheless, we need to keep them all close by. What do you think?’

‘I think I’ll have another pint,’ said Bryant, peering through the bottom of his empty glass.





DS Janice Longbright returned to Bermondsey late, because she wanted to catch the Hagan family by surprise. She was required to make the visit in the company of another officer, and took Jack Renfield with her.

The lights were on in the corner house behind Jamaica Road. ‘Who’s in there?’ Jack asked as they approached.

‘Five teens, three girls, two boys. One of the girls is fifteen and has a new baby. Their father lives there with his girlfriend. I think the original mother took off some years ago. And there are the grandparents—his, I think. None of them have ever held down legal jobs, the father and the grandfather have both served time for armed robbery, the oldest daughter has a soliciting record, the youngest son was admitted to a methadone programme at the age of fourteen. Anna’s mother reckons her daughter’s first mobile was taken by the middle boy. She saw him running away. The police searched the place and found nothing. The family know their rights.’

‘They always do,’ said Renfield. ‘It’s usually their one area of expertise. Let’s get this over with.’ He rang the doorbell, stepped back and looked at his watch, counting down.

‘What are you doing?’ Longbright asked.

‘There’s going to be a thirty-second gap while somebody checks us out from upstairs. That’s the trouble with families like the Hagans. The sheer bloody predictability of their behaviour.’

Sure enough, half a minute later the door opened and they found themselves faced with the kind of man who was physically incapable of looking innocent. A shaved head, a bulldog face, a thick tattooed neck, the body pitched forward slightly on the balls of the feet, the arms barely restrained at his sides.

‘What do you want?’

Renfield mentally checked Longbright’s list. This was obviously Joseph Hagan, the father, middle generation, an eight-year jail sentence behind him. ‘Joe, we need to talk to your boys for a minute. Are they around?’

‘You ain’t coming in.’