anything before.
“Jerry, how can I say this?” He smiled awkwardly at her.
“The Savoy suits you. It’s not my style. There’s too much of a gap between us.”
“No, there isn’t,” she said, wanting to add,
“You’re not alone. Leave the investigation to the police. You could have been killed the other night.”
“Why won’t you help me any more?” she asked him again, standing at the open front door.
“Because,” he said, embracing her, “now you have a reason to help yourself.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, then stepped out into the falling rain. “I’ll call you.”
“You won’t,” she called back. “People always say that but they never do.”
He raised his hand in salute, waving without turning back.
? Seventy-Seven Clocks ?
32
Ensemble
The frost that had begun to fern the windows of the Mornington Crescent PCU that evening was felt inside the building as well as out; the workmen had still not managed to fix the central heating.
In the streets below, gangs of home-going secretaries sang drunken Christmas carols, undeterred by strikes and threatened blackouts. The traffic dissipated as commuters returned home to be with their families. But within the unit there would be no Christmas. All leave had been canceled. A few miserable paper chains had been strung across the operations room. Bryant’s desk displayed two Christmas cards. May had dozens, but had not found time to open them.
The detectives returned from another uneasy Met briefing to find Raymond Land seated in their office with a mortified look on his slack, tired face. One glance told them that his patience, and their deadline, had both come to an end.
“Sit down, you two,” he said, waiting impatiently while Bryant extricated himself from a new Christmas scarf, a gift from his landlady that appeared more suited to Hallowe’en than yuletide.
“What can we do for you?” asked May casually. Bryant took the cue from his partner and offered his acting superior a careful smile.
“I’d like to know why you contradicted my report to Faraday.”
Bryant raised a tentative hand. “We didn’t think you’d contact the arts minister before discussing the matter with us. As it happens, we disagree with the inferences you seem to have drawn from the forensic reports.”
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what conclusions you think I’ve reached?”
“All right,” said Bryant, steadily eyeing his partner. “You told Faraday that this man Denjhi is responsible for the death of William Whitstable, whom you presume was killed in some squabble over the painting. You know there’s no forensic proof connecting Denjhi to any other member of the family besides Peggy Harmsworth.”
“But it’s only a matter of time. We’re tearing that man’s house apart, and until – ”
“You’ve ordered that?” asked May angrily. “You had no right.” Denjhi’s widow had been through enough without having the indelicate hands of the Special Branch ripping her sofa cushions open.
“Until you can present me with some solid evidence, I have every right to supersede your orders,” said Land with a faint air of desperation. “You may have ruled the roost at Bow Street and West End Central. Here you take orders from me until I’m replaced by a permanent officer.” He rubbed bitten fingers across a sallow brow. “You have to understand the kind of pressure that’s being exerted on us. These are calculated assassinations, for God’s sake. Front page of the
“You know it’s impossible to reconstruct the events surrounding the girl’s abduction without being allowed to talk to her,” said Bryant. “She was kept in a disused railway arch, but we’ve found nothing except a few silk fibres on her clothes. We can’t give her mother theories that we cannot prove.”
“This morning our legal department received a letter detailing outlined lawsuits from several other members of the Whitstable family,” Land went on.
“Charging us with what?”
“Failing to protect and uphold the law, among other things.”
“Can they do that?” wondered Bryant.
“I’ve been asked to close the PCU down. But I’m determined to avoid that course of action. Know why? I can see that you’re holding out on me. After all, I’m not an idiot.” Land filled the contradictory silence that followed by trying to appear stern. “There’s no chance of wrapping this thing up today, but I know you have something. Do you understand that you’re about to lose everything you’ve ever worked for? The only possible way you can stay on is by giving me total access to your information. Even then, I’m not sure I can keep this within our jurisdiction any longer.”
“Oh, Raymondo, old chum, the only reason we’re holding out on you is because you’d find it impossible to believe what we’re uncovering.”
“Try me,” said Land. “I’m pretty gullible.”
Bryant shot his partner a look, then proceeded to explain their findings. After he had watched the incredulous expression spread across Land’s face, he sat back in his chair and waited for a reaction.
“You’re saying some kind of century-old satanic ring is killing off the family?”
“Your terminology’s a little contentious, but – ”
“Don’t get smart with me, Bryant.”
“Then I’ll tell you something else,” offered Bryant. “I think Denjhi kidnapped Daisy Whitstable and couldn’t bring himself to murder her. He disobeyed his orders.”
“This is madness. A satanic circle, and the Whitstables all know about it?”
“I never said satanic. But somebody must know, certainly.”
Land slapped his hands on to the desk. “How can I tell the H.O. about any of this?”
“Now you understand our predicament,” said May. “We need you to keep the pressure off for just a little longer. That means retaining all the case files here in the building. Nothing more to go to the Met.”
“But what about the Whitstables?” asked Land, chewing a nail.
“You can leave them to us,” replied Bryant with a reassuring smile.
¦
When they heard the detectives’ demands, the Whitstables’ reaction was predictable – total, steaming outrage.
It was May who had thought of moving them all into William Whitstable’s house. The property was enormous and standing empty. It would be easy to secure from both outside and within. Also, considering the elaborate security operation that was currently in force, it would stop resources being stretched over the yuletide season and save the taxpayers a considerable amount of money.
Twenty-four members of the family had remained in England for Christmas, despite the threat of power strikes. Of those, two were in nursing homes and one was bedridden. That left twenty-one Whitstables to be rehoused and settled without fuss or publicity. The detectives informed the family that anyone wishing to opt out of the arrangement was perfectly free to do so, but they would find police protection no longer afforded to them at any residence other than the Hampstead house.
Four of the younger family members – Christian and Deborah Whitstable and their children Justin and Flora – chose to remain at their home in Chiswick. The rest reluctantly accepted the deal, but not without letting their annoyance be heard and noted by anyone who came within earshot.
