‘You mean there’s no proper system in place here. It’s like you’ve forgotten that you’re working against the clock. Lives are at stake. Don’t your bosses understand that others will die if they don’t stop fannying around?’
‘The system doesn’t work within the normal structure of criminal investigation departments.’
‘So what happens when a case comes in?’
‘Raymond Land has to approve our involvement, but he gets overruled by Mr Bryant, who chooses the cases to which he thinks we’re best suited. John usually backs him up. Then Land has to go cap in hand to the Home Office.’
‘So what interests Bryant?’
‘He’s concerned with deaths that occur in circumstances too troubling for the Met to deal with. The detectives write up their notes – more themes and ideas, really. Then we spend the next few days hiding what we’ve discovered from anyone who might stop us.’ Longbright was enjoying the look of creeping unease on Renfield’s face.
‘And where is everybody else this morning? I ask because I have to keep notes on you lot.’
‘John and Mr Bryant are in a pub somewhere in Holborn consulting an expert in London mythology. April is calling the surviving relatives of Joanne Kellerman, and after work I’m getting my roots touched up before attending a society for conspiracy theorists. Raymond Land is probably in the Nun and Broken Compass playing darts with former officers from Bow Street station and slagging you off something rotten. Giles Kershaw will be running more tests on Jocelyn Roquesby, and Dan Banbury is probably going over the crime scenes of the earlier victims. Happy?’
‘And out of this farrago you honestly hope to find a murderer?’ Renfield was staggered. He had expected an element of disorganization, but nothing on this scale. It would have been easier to predict the movement of cats.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Longbright told him. ‘Things have to get stranger first, or else Mr Bryant will lose interest.’
‘And when do you suppose that might happen?’ asked Renfield, fighting to keep his natural temperament under control.
‘Oh, right around about now,’ said Longbright with a sly smile. ‘Come on, Jack, lighten up on us a bit. Our strike rate is more than double that of any other specialist unit. Find something positive to say.’
Renfield eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You’ve got lovely legs on you, Janice,’ he said at last.
Jasmina Sherwin checked her watch again. She had been waiting for her so-called boyfriend to turn up for nearly half an hour, but his mobile was turned off. She pulled her sheepskin coat more tightly around her, and looked out at the empty road. It was already starting to get dark. The trunks of the plane trees opposite were lost in shadows. Their uppermost branches stood out black against the dying sky. Nobody else was sitting on the benches in the front garden of the Albion, but she hated overheated rooms, and the saloon bar was unbearably warm.
The Barnsbury pub appeared to have been dropped down in the heart of the English countryside. Graceful Edwardian houses filled the backstreets between two busy thoroughfares. It was hard to imagine that the chaos of King’s Cross was just a fifteen-minute walk from this spot.
A pair of crows sniped in the trees above her. A breeze rose, the shiver rippling along the street in a wave that caused the tops of the branches to gossip.
She knew she should never have agreed to meet him again, not after he had let her down the week before. What, she wondered, was the attraction of careless men? A car drifted past almost in silence, the driver insolently staring at her.
She looked over her shoulder, through the window of the pub. The barman had gone somewhere. The bar appeared to be deserted now, except for a small group of noisy fat men playing darts in the rear saloon, but she was sure someone had been standing close by her when she ordered her orange juice. She had seen him from the corner of her eye, just a dark shape really, but she’d had the sense of a heavy overcoat, a pale eye turned in her direction. Normally she was entirely at ease in pubs, but this one didn’t feel as if it was even in the city.
Shiny dark birds cawing in the trees, the evening so quiet you could hear the breeze. Something was not right. Something . . .
He made her start, moving in to sit beside her without disturbing the air, so that she was sure he had not been there the moment before. She was strong, but he had the element of surprise. His grip was practised and complete. She felt the hot lance of the needle enter her neck, and knew at once that the time for escape had already passed. The freezing numbness flooded her body, like dental anaesthetic but much faster, more totally invasive, and she felt herself falling down into his waiting arms.