The Memory of Blood(89)

‘Then why don’t we just park ourselves in the foyer of his building?’

‘John doesn’t want us to show our hand.’

‘I can’t see why not. If you ask me, I don’t think our bosses know what they’re doing. We’ve turned up nothing. Why is that? Maybe Kramer chucked his own kid out the window and frightened the old dear, and his banker just saw how things were going and took his own life.’

‘Why do you always think they’re not on the ball?’ Colin asked. ‘You’re always having a go at them—too old, too slow, don’t know what they’re doing. We’ve still got a higher success rate than the Met.’

‘Everyone’s got a higher success rate than the Met. My old mum could solve crimes quicker than them. It’s the way they operate, keeping us in the dark, going off without explaining, it makes me so angry—’

Colin laid a calming hand on Meera’s arm. ‘Meera, everything makes you angry. Have you not noticed what an angry person you are?’

‘I’m under stress, my parents hate me being in this job, my sister’s a walking disaster and I can’t get a bloody date because I’m always at work.’

‘Look, it’s raining, it’s miserable, come here and give me a cuddle, just a friendly hug.’

‘No, Colin, that’s not a good idea.’

‘Why not, we’re mates, aren’t we? What would it take to get a hug from you?’

Meera thought for a second. ‘Well, you know how we’re all technically in line for the throne? Like, if fifty-four million people died, you’d be Queen?’

‘Y-e-es,’ said Bimsley uncertainly.

‘It would be like that.’

Colin looked down at his rain-splashed boots. ‘Are you telling me that you’d only give me a hug if every other eligible man in the country was dead? That’s really, really hurtful.’

‘Why do you always have to show your feelings? People don’t want to see them all the time. Why can’t you be a bit more like me?’

‘I can’t help it, Meera.’ Colin looked crestfallen. ‘I can’t change, even for you. I don’t have any other face but this one.’

She looked at the rain dripping through his spiked fair hair and her heart started to melt. He looked like a Disney dog someone had decided to drown instead of rewarding. She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder.

‘Colin—’

Suddenly the ground floor door of the building opposite opened, and Robert Kramer came out. Colin checked his watch. It was 11:42 P.M. ‘He’s leaving, look.’

‘Where does he keep his car?’

‘He has a space in the NCP at the next corner.’

‘Back to my bike.’

They ran across the road, heading to Meera’s Kawasaki just as Kramer disappeared beneath the yellow neon of the car park entrance. A minute later Kramer’s black 500 Series Mercedes pulled up at the barrier and he fed it a ticket. Meera moved out behind him with Colin riding pillion. She stayed two cars back, hoping that the night and the rain would reduce their noticeability.

The Mercedes dropped to Victoria Embankment and headed along Upper Thames Street to the City of London. It clipped the lights on the one-way system at Tower Bridge, leaving Meera stranded.

‘He’s over there in the far left lane,’ shouted Colin. ‘Get closer or we’ll lose him.’ Meera accelerated and skirted around the shining wall of oncoming traffic, catching him up.

She tailed Kramer over the bridge and left toward Rotherhithe Tunnel. The Mercedes picked up speed. ‘I think he’s spotted us,’ she called back, roaring ahead. Behind them, a police car siren sounded, and lights flashed in Meera’s wing mirror. An officer was waving the Kawasaki off the road.

Meera had no choice but to slow down and park while the Mercedes sped off. The officer behind them strolled over. ‘Turn the bike off. You’re in a bit of a rush, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, and you’ve just ruined our night’s work.’ She sullenly threw open her badge and waved it at the cop. The patrol officer peered at it but did not seem convinced. ‘Peculiar Crimes Unit? Is that a made-up name? Off the bike, both of you.’

‘It’s a specialist investigation unit,’ said Colin.

‘Oi,’ the patrolman called back to his co-driver, ‘ever heard of the Peculiar Crimes Unit?’

‘Yeah,’ called his mate, ‘they’re the bunch that put the mockers on one of our cases this week, the girl in Hadley Street. They screwed us over.’

The patrolman returned the badge. ‘In that case, I’m glad to return the favour,’ he said with a grin, swaggering back to his patrol car.