anyone. Come on, it’s time for curtain up.”
? Full Dark House ?
44
LOOKING OUTSIDE
“They’ve put together an e-fit of your culprit.” Liberty DuCaine waited for the printer to finish running off a hard copy of the monochrome JPEG, then passed it over to May and Longbright. The annexe of Kentish Town station was experiencing an eerie lull in the battle-stations activity that had been surging around them all day. Officers sat making quiet phone calls, wearily nursing plastic cups of coffee.
“What’s it based on?” asked Longbright, examining the face on the desk.
“A couple of bouncers from the Camden Palace were walking past Mornington Crescent tube station, heading for their car. They saw this geezer come out of the door to the unit just before the bomb went off.”
“These things are about as much use as old Identikit posters,” May complained. “He looks like a character from a video game. How can you identify someone from that?”
He studied the picture more carefully. It was the blurred face of an old man with staring alien eyes and abnormally large teeth. This wasn’t Bryant’s murderer. May was sure that the man seen loitering outside his flat had also stolen his partner’s dental records. The infuriating part of it was, May knew his identity. But they had met only once, and had not seen each other in over sixty years. You could study the face of an old man and find no vestiges of his youth. DuCaine’s e-fit bore no resemblance to that wartime killer. Time wrought great changes. How would he ever recognize such a person now?
“These two guys couldn’t even agree on how he was dressed,” warned DuCaine. “They’d been smoking a bit, and when I say a bit, I mean a lot.”
“This looks more like Arthur than our mad bomber. So much for technology. Did nobody see him turn up at the unit?”
“If they did, they haven’t come forward.”
“What about the CCTV cameras?” asked Longbright.
“Nothing on that side of the road. We’ve got a shot from a supermarket camera further along the pavement, someone standing outside the entrance. Trouble is, the time lapse on the footage lets him simply disappear. All we’ve got is a distant figure in a grey coat.”
“You couldn’t tell if he was carrying anything?”
“Not from the back. Nothing identifiable at all. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” sighed May, running his hands through his white hair. “We weren’t expecting a breakthrough. I’m told they want to use you here for a few days.”
“Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. I mean, the unit’s got nowhere to work from, and they’ve got all this shit going on. Kids running around, taking each other out with activated replicas.” DuCaine felt guilty, but he was too valuable a resource to waste. His restless energy needed to be applied, and May wasn’t about to hold him back.
“Someone around here is bringing Ingram Model Ten sub-machine guns in from the U.S. and converting them into working firearms. It’s the accessory of choice for would-be gangsta rappers. I’ve got some contacts, I can help – ”
“There’s no need to explain,” interrupted May. “Do what you have to do. Longbright and I will figure this out.”
¦
“Well, what do we do now?” asked Longbright as they walked towards the tube station.
“Something I should have done earlier,” May replied. “I have to start thinking like Arthur. If he could do it, track down someone after six long decades, why can’t I?”
“How do you propose to do that?” How much weight he’s lost, she thought. This could be the last thing he ever does.
May thought for a minute. “When I first met Arthur, he’d already suffered a tragedy. I didn’t know it at the time, of course. It was your mother who told me what had happened. Later I realized it was what made him look beyond rational explanations. It drove him to solicit the advice of outsiders. In a way, it was what made him the man he became. It locked him out of the normal world.”
“You make it sound almost like a good thing,” said Longbright, stopping.
“Sometimes it almost was.” May gave a rueful smile. “It could also be disastrous. That’s why he needed me. To balance him.” He gave the detective sergeant a gentle pat on the elbow. “I’ve been too sensible for too many years. It’s time I learned the lesson he was always trying to teach me. Come on.”
? Full Dark House ?
45
IN THE DEVIL’S COMPANY
The audience was resplendent in evening dress, but most members were carrying gas- mask boxes. They were as Helena Parole had predicted, culturally more diverse, livelier and younger than the lethargic Home Counties brigade who usually attended operettas – perhaps reflecting that this was not in any sense a classical production. Eurydice’s opening striptease and virtually naked seduction by an outrageously priapic Aristaeus saw to that.
The single intermission occurred between the second and third tableaux, and listening to the exhilarated hubbub in the building’s bars, Bryant judged the production to be a hit – more, a sensation. The crowd made him feel claustrophobic. He descended the grand staircase and wandered out into the lobby. The bow tie he had donned for the occasion was strangling him. Few playgoers had ventured down here because the night was so cold. He nodded to PCs Atherton and Crowhurst, who were meant to be acting as security on the entrance but found themselves holding back a ragged line of irate demonstrators. Rain was falling hard from dark, low clouds, and that meant a cloak of safety for the theatre.
“We’re going to need more men if this goes on every night, sir,” warned Crowhurst.
“They’ve got their own security people coming in on Monday.” Bryant studied the placards pinned to the steel barriers. BAN THIS PAGAN SHOW NOW. THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GOD BUT ME. And more peculiarly, LESS LUST THROUGH LESS MEAT AND SITTING. This makeshift placard was displayed by a soaked young man in a corduroy cap who looked as though he would rather be somewhere else, preferably in a pub.
A mobile anti-aircraft gun had been placed on the opposite corner for the last two days, but now this reminder of danger from the skies had been moved away to higher ground. The theatre had been banned from spotlighting its exterior, and was forced to content itself with displaying a large OPENING TONIGHT! banner.
“They’re all out this evening,” sighed Bryant. “I’m surprised we haven’t got any Band of Hope ladies.” Temperance women were known to turn up at any public event to extol the evils of alcoholism.
“There were a couple chucking eggs here earlier, sir,” said Atherton. “One lady punched Mr Woolf on the nose and called him a dirty darkie. None of ‘em has gone in to the show, they just heard that saucy bit about it on the wireless. You’d think they’d have something better to do with their time.”
Bryant strolled over to the box office, where Elspeth was closing up for the night.
“Have you heard from Miss Petrovic yet?” she asked anxiously, hauling a bagful of leeks from behind her counter. She had permed her hair into an unflattering helmet of Medusan curls for the occasion.
“Not a word.”
“I do hope she’s all right. There’s been talk about sea mines being dropped by parachute down the Old Kent Road. Sea mines! Apparently they blow up sideways and take out all the houses. I feel sorry for anyone over there tonight.”
“It seems quiet in town,” said Bryant, “what with the rain.”
“I’m worried they’ll shut the production down. The Archbishop of Canterbury says we’re all going to go to Hell, and that the only practical solution is to pray.”
