The Memory of Blood(86)

‘What did you find out?’

For the first time, Bryant hesitated. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ he said slowly.

‘How much of this did you put in your notes to Anna?’

‘I’m not sure. I never include the boring bits. I probably edited it a little. Oh.’

‘What?’

‘I gave her the file of background material, just for fact-checking. I meant to go through it, to make sure there wasn’t anything sensitive. But then we got involved with the Highwayman case and I didn’t get around to it.’

‘How would an outsider find out what she’d read?’

‘John explained it to me. If she’d grown curious enough to run searches online they would have been flagged up in the Cyber-Defence Security Department of the MoD. They could have traced the requests right back to her.’

‘You think they would do that?’

‘Of course. Defence of the Realm. Oh, what have I done?’

‘All right, you are rising back to the surface now as I count down to zero, and you will remember everything we discussed. When I reach zero you will be awake.’ She brought Bryant back to full alertness.

‘Don’t you see?’ said Bryant, attempting to pull himself up from the couch, scrabbling for his hat and coat. ‘It means they knew where she kept her files. They knew she had a stomach ulcer. They knew how to get to her, and to her mother. They planted the girl in the house to look after Mrs Marquand. But they still haven’t found what they need. I wish I hadn’t come to you, Maggie. You’ve made me realise something terrible.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I killed her. It’s my fault Anna Marquand is dead. Defence of the Realm.’

And with that, he was gone.





The hunt for Gail Strong was in full swing. Renfield and Longbright were working as a team, dividing the search into quadrants. ‘Every home of everyone who was at the party,’ Jack told the others, handing out their assignments. ‘Every garage, vehicle, lock-up and attic. Every private place they don’t want us to know about.’

‘How are we going to get them to tell us things like that?’ asked Mangeshkar.

‘You’ll just have to use your charm, won’t you?’ Renfield snapped. ‘Any sensible questions?’

‘It might be worth trying offices, anyplace they’ve got keys to,’ said Bimsley.

‘Good thinking. Where’s Dan?’

‘He’s over at Gail Strong’s apartment.’

‘Okay, Janice is going to cover the theatre. Meera, you’re always complaining about getting the crap jobs. I’m taking you off the property searches and putting you on something trickier. Go through Gail Strong’s social network sites, Twitter, Facebook, anything else she’s on, and talk to her closest friends. She might not be very likeable but she’s a smart girl; she might try to leave us a clue as to her whereabouts. See if there’s anything she’s particularly associated with apart from shopping and partying. Nicknames, passwords, emergency contacts, anything we should be watching out for.’

‘But she’s got millions of online friends,’ Meera complained. ‘It’ll take forever.’

‘That’s okay,’ Renfield replied, ‘nobody’s going home until it’s done. We may be able to save her life.’

‘It’s better than house searches,’ Colin suggested cheerfully. Meera shot him a poisoned glance.

May left the briefing session and went back to the office he shared with his partner. ‘Why aren’t you sitting in on this?’ he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

Bryant was slumped at his desk surrounded by his beloved books. ‘I can’t—not while there’s this mess with Anna Marquand to sort out.’

‘There’s nothing you can do right now,’ said May. ‘I sent a beat constable from Bermondsey to keep watch on Mrs Marquand.’

‘I must find that disc.’

‘You don’t know where it is, and besides, even if you did, you still wouldn’t know exactly who was behind her death. MoD outsourcing transfers a multitude of sins away from its centre of operations, you know that. Whoever it was will have covered their tracks by now.’

‘Not if I can find the disc and let them know I have it,’ said Bryant doggedly.

‘I honestly don’t know how you’re going to do that, Arthur, but if I think of anything I’ll tell you. I’m going back to help them look for Gail Strong. She could still be alive. Anna’s gone. We have to prioritise.’

Gail Strong’s father hit the stratosphere when the PCU was forced to inform him that his daughter was missing, presumed kidnapped. Raymond Land locked himself in his office to field the endless unhelpful calls from various officials. Gail Strong’s father had appointed various senior officers with the Met and the City of London to take immediate action and do something, anything, but nobody could tell them exactly how they might help. Whitehall was able to dam up press interest, but nobody knew how long that would last. Once the paparazzi regulars who stalked her street realised that she had disappeared, it would only be a matter of minutes before the story hit the Internet.