turned up some darker connections; Jukes formerly belonged to a Druid sect – his family says it was a hobby – but had lately drifted into Satanist circles. The police refuse to believe there’s a connection between his injuries and his interest in black magic, but we’re wondering if he became an embarrassment to his employers. Jukes was chief scientist for chemical and biological defence at the MOD’s Porton Down laboratory, part of which has recently been privatised by a company now under investigation.”
April’s interest was piqued. Denied access to her cigarettes, her hands fluttered at her sides in weak agitation. “The government doesn’t kill staff members for pursuing unusual hobbies, surely.”
“I’d like to think not, but he operated under the Official Secrets Act, after all. Somehow, I doubt we’ll ever get to the truth on this one, mainly because the Defence Secretary is reluctant to acknowledge that there’s a case at all. There are also a couple of outstanding cold cases which act as strikes against the unit. We’re no nearer to finding out the truth about the Leicester Square Vampire, and a recent trail belonging to someone the press are calling the Deptford Demon has also gone cold.” May checked his thoughts for a moment. “You know you’ll come up against some extreme morbidity in this job, April.”
“It doesn’t worry me,” said his granddaughter, offering a tentative smile. “So long as the two of you are nearby to protect me.”
May smiled back reassuringly. But he knew that their tenure here at the PCU was every bit as unsteady as April’s return to the outside world.
“Uncle Arthur says that ancient evils are always waiting to resurface in London,” said April suddenly. “Do you believe that?”
“Yes, I do,” replied May. “None of us ever knows when we are likely to be tested. All we can be sure of is that it will be when we lower our guard the most.”
Looking back, he should have added that evil would take the most unlikely of forms.
? Ten Second Staircase ?
4
The Usefulness of Memory
After weeks of rain, the city spent one glorious week marooned in the stale sargasso of a warm late summer. The streets became sticky and overheated, the residents made bad-tempered by their return from clean beaches to London dirt. A belated silly season hit the newspapers, whose editors could barely be bothered to outrage their readers with amorous sporting scandals and tales of government waste, and had opted instead for food scares and travel indignations. The great engine of the city slowed. Offices were becalmed. It was as though everyone was waiting for something to happen. London residents were seeking someone new to idolise, someone new to hate.
In the final week of October, they got their wish.
On Monday morning, the clear skies occluded, and cataracts of cloud brought soft autumnal drizzle dampening the dusted pavements, misting the arched windows of the offices above Mornington Crescent tube station to give it the appearance of a disreputable sauna. The light level across London dropped until the city appeared to be lit by forty-watt bulbs.
“Well, I thought my lecture last week went rather well,” said Bryant, poking down the sides of his armchair for his pipe stem.
“Are you mad? They were ready to hang you.” Longbright was appalled. “You were pelted with plastic cups. Several of the parents are still threatening to lodge formal complaints.”
May shook his silver-trimmed mane in wonder. “I’ve never understood your ability to enrage total strangers.”
“It was a pretty spirited debate, I must say,” Bryant told his partner enthusiastically. “The head teacher was quite overcome with emotion.”
“Those pupils thought you were having a go at them,” the detective sergeant reminded him. “I warned you teenagers are sensitive.”
“I can’t imagine why. I never was. I didn’t have time to be touchy. Kids don’t understand that age and guile will always triumph over youth and enthusiasm. These days the former attributes belong to corporations, the latter to individuals, so of course any attempt at independence is suppressed. And we wonder why children write on walls.”
“Your cynicism is getting worse.” May agreed with Longbright. “You should never begin a sentence with the words ‘these days.’”
“That’s it, I’m making tea.” Sometimes the glamorous sergeant stopped behaving like a fifties starlet and became a fifties housewife, making tea whenever she was upset, great steaming brown china pots of it. Now, as she went to check on the kettle, she became annoyed about Bryant’s humiliation at the hands of teenagers who were understandably wary of being patronised. He had mentioned the occasion a dozen times in the past week, so the event was clearly preying on his mind. Any intelligent man could appear a fool without clear communication.
“You might as well say it; I know you’re dying to.” Bryant followed her into the kitchen, ready for an argument. “I’m out of touch with the general public. They think I’m a has-been.”
Longbright chose her words with care. “It’s not that exactly, but you have to admit that John’s right; you’ve stopped updating your mental software. You know what he always says – ‘Adapt or perish.’”
“And you think I’ve perished.” Bryant tightened his ratty green scarf around his neck. “I’m fully aware of the gap between myself and them. It’s not just age. I grew up in Whitechapel and Bethnal Green – they were raised in Edwardian villas beside the Thames, or in houses overlooking Hampstead Vale. My mother cleaned cinemas and was bombed out of her home. They’re the progeny of professionals. I can’t imagine their lives, Janice. I’ve never had children of my own. To reach them, I’d have to understand them, and I’m afraid that’s utterly beyond me. They’re a mystery race, some new form of protoplasmic alkaloid that looks vaguely human but isn’t. I see them standing in a group and assume they operate with a single sentience, like Midwich Cuckoos.” Bryant rooted in the cupboard for some ground ginger and added it to his tea mug. “Actually, I think I’m a little scared of them. Their references are as alien as map coordinates for another solar system. I mean, what is it like to be young these days?”
“Perhaps you need a refresher course,” offered Longbright, carrying the teas back to the detectives’ office. “This sort of thing doesn’t help.” She indicated the hardback books on his cluttered desk; crack-spined copies of
“Janice is right,” May concurred. “You need to watch
Bryant was disgusted by the idea. “I would hate to think of myself as normal. What’s the point of working your whole life if you end up having to do what other people do?”
“You don’t have to do what they do, Arthur, just try to understand them a bit more. If a television show gets a bigger audience vote than the General Election, you should know about it. It’s simply a matter of reconnecting yourself.”
“What if I don’t want to connect myself to things I consider to be puerile rubbish? I want to be more knowledgeable at my age, not less. I plan to go to my grave with a head full of information.” His diluted blue eyes looked up at the pair of them in a bid for sympathy. “I’m not going to buy a television, if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s never too late to change your habits,” said May patiently. “Come with me to one of the Met’s ‘Meet the Public’ sessions. You don’t have to get into any arguments, just listen to what some of the street officers and their clients have to say.”
“Please don’t refer to victims of crime as
