“I don’t think you need to lecture me on duty, John,” said Longbright angrily.
“She’s right,” said Kershaw. “Everyone knows Renfield’s appointment is a trade-off for my promotion, and I’d rather step down than cause divisions within the unit.”
“You’re causing a division just by offering,” Mangeshkar pointed out.
“This is exactly the kind of thing I expected to find here,” said Renfield. “I heard you lot couldn’t organise a tug-of-war in a rope factory.”
Land could sense control sliding away from him, and raised his hands. “There’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other later,” he told them. “So, Jack – ”
“Nobody told me there was a meeting,” said Bryant, wandering in from the corridor billowing a bonfire-trail of acrid smoke from his pipe. “What’s going on? Did I miss a punchup? Are there any doughnuts left?”
“You can’t bring that filthy thing in here!” Land protested. “I sent you an e-mail about smoking this morning.”
“Well, there’s your problem, old sausage, I never read them. Hullo, Renfield, how are you getting on with your new teammates? You can’t expect an easy ride, you know. Not after what happened.”
“Where have you been?” asked May. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”
“British Museum. Christ’s blood,” said Bryant, explaining without enlightening. “I’d like to say their Earl Grey exceeded expectations but I’d be lying.” He turned to address the group. “Now, look, we all know Renfield here is a humourless pain in the derriere who wouldn’t notice an ironic remark if you tied it to a stick and poked him in the eye with it, but I think that’s one of his strengths. You might also know that his father was Sergeant Leonard Renfield, an old enemy of mine at the Met, and like his father, Jack has been denied promotion several times, for which he seems to blame my reports. But he has no axe to grind with any of you, and nor should you with him. It’s early days, so let’s start by drawing a line under the past and at least withholding judgement until a later date when we can all gang up on him properly. Most of the trouble between us is because the sergeant doesn’t understand what we do, so now’s our chance to show him.”
“You didn’t have to say that,” said Renfield sulkily as the meeting broke up around them. “I’m capable of speaking for myself.”
“I know you are.” Bryant smiled. “But least said soonest mended on this occasion, I think.”
“Well.” May marvelled as his partner ambled past in a cloud of sweetbrier smoke. “I see you’ve added diplomacy to your repertoire of talents, Arthur. You know we need all the allies we can get, and that Renfield has a lot of friends in the Met. You think if we get him on our side, he’ll eventually spread the word and give us more power against the Home Office. You sly old dog.”
“Perhaps this is one dog you can teach new tricks,” said Bryant, daintily pirouetting the tip of his walking stick as he danced from the room.
? The Victoria Vanishes ?
9
Random Acts of Slaughter
“Whose bright idea was it to bring Jack Renfield in here anyway?” asked Dan Banbury.
Giles Kershaw was packing the last of his belongings into a plastic crate, preparing for his move to the Bayham Street Morgue, where he would be stationed at Oswald Finch’s old post. “Land’s, apparently,” he answered. “Part of the trade-off for allowing me to take over as pathologist. They’re playing politics upstairs, trying to set you against me and undermine the working structure of the unit at the same time. The most confounding thing you can do is make the new man welcome. If you express dissatisfaction, you’ll be playing directly into their hands.”
“But what will happen to Janice? There’s only room for one sergeant in this outfit, and she’s got years of experience over him.”
“She’ll have to work it out,” said Kershaw, tamping down the crate lid with impatience. “As will you. Renfield’s going to be sitting right here, at my old desk. Okay, I’m out of here. See you later, old sprout.” He threw Banbury a salute as he hoisted the final box onto his hip and backed awkwardly out of the door.
Banbury had once thought that he and Kershaw would become a team in the Bryant and May mould, their respective talents complementing each other, but now it was obvious that his former partner could not wait to take up his new position. Kershaw was coolly ambitious and openly contemptuous of those who stayed behind. With a sigh of regret, Banbury woke his monitor to examine the Dead Diary, Kershaw’s nickname for the daily files listing those who died in unusual or suspicious circumstances in the Central London area.
It was Dan’s job to pass on any new cases which he felt required the attention of his seniors. Today, the very first one on the list caught his eye. Bryant always asked for printouts, claiming that the computer screen hurt his eyes, so Banbury made a hard copy, collected the document and headed across the hall. As he did so, he collided with Bryant, who was carrying a full bowl of porridge.
“God, I’m sorry, sir.” Banbury brushed milk and oat flakes from his paperwork. “I thought you’d want to see this.”
“Come into my office.” Bryant set down the bowl, took the papers from him and dug out his reading glasses, waving Banbury to the cankerous crimson leather armchair he kept for visitors. “Sit down before you do any more damage. What am I looking at? Don’t answer, it’s a rhetorical question. The Dead Diary for Monday the twenty- sixth, a forty-six-year-old deceased woman named Carol Wynley, found at the corner of Whidbourne Street, Bloomsbury, died some time before midnight. And this is of interest because…?”
“It’s just that John told me you cut across Bloomsbury on the way home, and I wondered if you’d – ”
“ – Added random acts of slaughter to my already controversial repertoire of activities?” Bryant completed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Banbury, but no. Around thirteen thousand outbursts of violence occur outside pubs and clubs in the UK every week.” He threw the papers back. “Wait, show me that again.” He snatched the printed photograph and re-examined it. “Talk to Renfield. He’ll know where they’ve taken her. If she’s gone to Bayham Street, Kershaw will be about to get his first case.”
“It probably won’t come into our jurisdiction,” warned Banbury. “Not unless there’s something especially unusual about her death.”
“It rather depends on what you regard as unusual,” said Bryant. “It’s certainly a coincidence. I think I saw this woman just minutes before she was found dead. Sexual assault?”
“No mention of that in the report.”
“If it’s the same person, she was drunk when I spotted her. Let me have a word with our leader.” He turned and swung into Raymond Land’s office without knocking. Land was cleaning pencil shavings out of the back of his desk drawer when Bryant made him jump, causing him to empty the drawer’s contents over his trousers.
“I do wish you’d learn to knock,” he muttered irritably, brushing down his seams.
“Look here, Raymondo, why on earth are we stranding Kershaw over at the morgue? There’s no point in having him hovering about in Oswald’s old room with no-one to talk to. He’s far more useful to the unit here.”
“There’s no room here,” Land snapped. “Look how much space you take up, boxes of musty old books you never read – ”
“They’re for reference.”
“Smelly old suitcases full of outmoded laboratory instruments, endless unlabelled bottles of chemicals and I only have your word that they’re safe – ”
“I think you’ll find I never promised that.”
“Half the stuff in the evidence room isn’t ours, and I’ve no idea where you got it from – ”
“I can’t remember why I borrowed safecracking equipment, if that’s what you mean, or what I used it on, but I promise to return it when I do. There’s plenty of room for us all here. So that’s settled.” Bryant gave what he hoped was a pleasing grin, revealing his patently false teeth to an alarming degree, then exited.
Land dug in his drawer for the miniature bottles of Glenfiddich he kept there and was about to down one when the door flew open again. “Forgot to mention we’ve a suspicious death coming in, woman in her forties found in Bloomsbury last night. I say it’s
