‘Can I help you?’ asked a sallow-faced man with deep-set eyes and tentacles of oily hair plastered across his bald head.
‘I’m here for the Conspirators’ Club,’ said Longbright.
‘Well of course, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You could have read that on our website. Anyone could have read that, found out the address and just come in here off the street, and we’d have no way of knowing if they’re friend or foe. Do you know the password?’
‘Oh, give over, Stanley, how can she know the password when you keep changing it?’ asked a pleasant-faced woman in her mid-forties. ‘Last week it was Inkerman, this week it’s Bisto, how are we supposed to keep track? Just let the lady come in, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Entrance fee is still two pounds – the money goes towards our fighting fund,’ said Stanley, tapping a relabelled Kleenex box.
‘It goes towards his beer money. He’s a nuisance but he keeps out undesirables. I’m Lulu,’ said Lulu. ‘Come on in.’
‘Do you get many nutters here?’ Longbright could not resist asking.
‘Mainly on anniversaries of assassinations, although our last meeting on St Valentine’s night was tricky. A group of war-game strategists turned up and attempted to provide new theories about the fall of the Maginot Line using beer bottles and baguettes. Our members tend to be intense and easily persuaded, especially the single ones. Have you been before?’
‘No, but a friend of mine has. Jocelyn Roquesby, perhaps you know her?’
‘My goodness, you poor love, you’re in the right place because we’ve been proposing theories about her. It’s not the sort of thing we usually talk about. Mostly it’s stuff like this.’
She indicated the books and brochures on the table. Several titles caught Longbright’s eye: Jim Morrison Lives On in Indian Spirit; The Bavarian Illuminati; Lockerbie and the CIA; Christ’s Blood and the Crown of Thorns; The UK Biochemical Cover-Up; The Search for Princess Diana; 1968 Moon Landing Props Found in Vegas; Floridagate; Death in the Persian Gulf; Where Anna Nicole Smith Is Now.
‘They’re not all as barking as they may at first look,’ said Lulu. ‘People think it’s all about coming up with outlandish reasons for the Kennedy assassination – America invented all the juiciest conspiracy theories, after all – but these days most of our debates concern the limitations of world media and the way in which information is controlled. Many of these books expound surprisingly even-handed ideas, although I wouldn’t believe the one about Kurt Cobain being reincarnated as the king of the lizard aliens. Would you like a drink?’
‘Thanks,’ said Longbright, immediately breaking Bryant’s rule. ‘I’ll have a gin and French. You know, with Vermouth.’
‘Good choice,’ said Lulu. ‘Perhaps we can introduce you to some interesting people tonight. I’ll try to keep you away from the cryptozoologists. Get them on to Loch Ness and you’ll be stuck here until closing time.’
‘What usually happens at these meetings?’ asked Longbright.
‘Sometimes there’s a book launch, or a talk or a debate. It’s a lot more rational than you’d expect. We discuss theories about recent news stories and share ideas. It’s an alternative to only getting your data from the mainstream media, which is partisan, conservative, and mainly concerned with scaring the living daylights out of Middle England.’
‘I think I know that woman.’ Longbright pointed to an elegant redhead in her early forties, dressed in a black sweater and jeans.
‘She’s a new recruit. Came here by mistake, thinking it was an art appreciation class, but enjoyed herself so much that she ended up coming back. Let me introduce you.’
‘Hi,’ said the redhead, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Monica Greenwood. You’re a policewoman, aren’t you?’
Longbright was taken aback. ‘Is it my feet?’ she asked. ‘They’ve always been big. I shouldn’t draw attention to them.’ Admittedly, she was wearing Joe Tan crimson peep-toed pumps with ankle-bows.
‘No.’ Monica smiled. ‘I’ve met you before with John May. I’m afraid I’m the one with whom he was having the affair. Paul Greenwood’s wife.’
‘Sorry, I knew I’d seen you before.’ Longbright was taken aback by her forthrightness. She recalled the scandal of the academic’s wife who had become involved with her superior during the investigation of a murder.
‘I’m the one who should be sorry. I made things pretty tricky for your boss, didn’t I?’