‘The legal secretary from the Swedenborg Society,’ April prompted. The old man really seemed to be losing it. ‘The Seven Stars.’
‘Ah yes. This time the face on the bar-room floor belonged to a respectable middle-aged lady named Naomi Curtis, the daughter of a clergyman. What had she been doing by herself in a pub?’ Bryant popped the empty pipe into his mouth. ‘Most people don’t stray far from their natural habitat, and according to her father, Miss Curtis was a creature of habit. She liked a tipple, and had been drinking more heavily in the last couple of years, but rarely went to a pub without arranging to meet someone. Suddenly she turns up dead one night in a Holborn boozer. I kept notes on her, too.’
The others looked at him blankly.
‘Don’t you see? When something’s out of whack, when people don’t match their locations, a little bell goes off inside my head. There was something else. One of the punters remembered Curtis checking her mobile at the bar, but by the time the ambulance arrived she had no phone on her. Land wouldn’t allow me to investigate at the time, but he will now. Two women, two public houses, and an investigation involving drink, drugs, death and Swedish philosophy.’
‘I assume this means you want to handle the case,’ said May drily.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I will whether I’m allowed to or not. I’m far too old to start obeying the rules now.’ Bryant made a hideous draining noise through his pipe stem. ‘If anyone needs me, I shall be in the pub, conducting a little research.’
13
* * *
FORGETTING
‘We can’t take it on,’ said Raymond Land. ‘A case doesn’t come under PCU jurisdiction just because you two have a funny feeling about it.’
‘Giles and Dan agree with us,’ said May. ‘They think there’s enough circumstantial evidence to link the two cases. The Naomi Curtis death was given an open verdict, although the coroner told relatives that she probably suffered heart failure following heat-stroke.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Land, wiggling a finger in his ear and examining it. ‘All you’ve got is the fact that they both worked for the same organization as legal secretaries.’
‘Which meant that they probably knew each other. And they also died in a similar manner, in or near public houses,’ May added.
‘But they didn’t, did they?’ Land pointed out. ‘This Wynley woman wasn’t in a pub, unless Bryant somehow managed to cause a rift in the bloody space-time continuum and plunge himself back to Victorian England. He’s gone to Bloomsbury for another look, hasn’t he? It’s not like him to miss coming in here and having a go at me.’
‘He doesn’t believe he could have made such a mistake.’
‘Look, it was late, he was a bit plastered, the road was dark and, knowing Bryant, he was probably thinking about the history of the area. He’d read about the pub or seen a picture of it in one of his weird old books, and superimposed it over the scene. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s been wrong. He’s not infallible, you know.’
May had an image of the retirement letter in Land’s pocket. He would have transferred it to his desk by now, perhaps even left it at home. He suddenly saw a way to protect his partner. If they were given the case, Bryant would be presented with an opportunity to come up with a solution. It was the type of investigation at which he excelled. His confidence would be restored, the letter would be withdrawn and Land would be satisfied that his senior detectives were still on the ball. ‘There’s also the issue of undermining safety in public areas,’ he added.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘If we imagine for a moment that there really is someone out there who has struck at two innocent women in crowded public places without anyone else even noticing their deaths, we have a real problem on our hands.’ May knew that one of the less frequently invoked remits of the PCU was to ‘ensure the maintenance of public comfort and confidence in the free and open areas of the city’. In other words, if someone dangerous was running loose in any building or public space to which the residents of London enjoyed open access, it could undermine their faith in the police, and ultimately the state, creating scenes of public disorder. It had happened many times before.
‘You think the Home Office would come down on us?’ asked Land, suddenly uncomfortable.
‘Like a ton of bricks,’ confirmed May. ‘Leslie Faraday and his sinister boss Kasavian are still angry about us leaping their last hurdle.’ The HO had booked a royal visit to the unit, hoping that the detectives would make fools of themselves by incurring the disapproval of a member of the monarchy. Instead, the detectives had seen off their common enemy and resoundingly silenced their critics.