unappreciated indication of who we are, and a sign of all we’ve lost and remember fondly, in which bracket I would include nurses’ hats, single railway carriage compartments, quality umbrellas, the concept of public embarrassment, correct pronunciation and the ability to tell a child off in the street without risking a stab-wound.”
“Pubs are just shops that sell booze, Arthur. What’s more, they’re dying at a rate of sixty-five a year in London because of property developers. You’re over-egging the pudding as usual.”
“Not at all,” said Masters, jumping in eagerly. “Walk the streets of London, and the only time you’ll speak to strangers is when you apologise for stepping in their path. Public houses act, as their name implies, as homes for the general populace where opposites can meet and confront each other without prejudice, on neutral territory. This is why the landlord is referred to as the host, and why rooms in pubs were always used to hold local inquests, so that the deceased could be sure of a fair and impartial verdict on his death.”
“I think you’ll find that the desire for alcohol also plays a part in their popularity,” said May.
“Obviously, but there’s something more fundamental at the root of it. Walking into a pub alone is for many young people their first act of real independence. Such places have had a profound effect on our society throughout history, acting as every kind of salon and meeting place, from coffeehouse pamphleteers to the cruelties of the gin palace. And of course, they reinvent themselves endlessly. Once, where political and philosophical meetings were held, there are now karaoke and Jenga evenings, book readings and sexual-fantasy nights. And they come with an amazingly complex set of social codes, of course.”
“True, I suppose,” May admitted. “There’s nothing more embarrassing than finding that your pint-to-toilet cycle has become synchronised with that of a total stranger.”
“Why, public houses have even influenced our language. Drinkers used to share the same mug, in which the level of ale was marked with a wooden peg, hence the expression ‘to take someone down a peg.’ The masons who built our churches were housed at inns, hence the Masonic connections of certain pubs, and of course, the Knights Templar had their own inns at Clerkenwell. When the polluted waters of London proved unpotable, everyone drank at alehouses. Pub names provide markers for all the historical events of England. Red Lion, White Hart, Crown and Anchor, Royal Oak, Coach and Horses, each has its own convoluted meaning. We even find our way around by the location of public houses like the Green Man and the Sun in the Sands.”
“Think about it, John,” said Bryant. “A couple of weeks ago, you and I had a drink at The Anchor, where others had sat drinking before us for half a millennium, seeing the same view.”
“Do you realise that in the late Victorian era there was a pub for every hundred people in the country?” asked the academic. “We talk about the inner-city schools where pupils speak dozens of languages, but what about the melting pots that exist on almost every street corner?”
“And the history they hold, true or false as the case may be,” mused Bryant, drifting off the point, as he was wont to do. “The Sherlock Holmes in Northumberland Avenue, presented as if Holmes was a real detective, and The Old Bank of England, a bar on Fleet Street, touted by guides as the site of Sweeney Todd’s shop, if you please. What complete and utter nonsense.”
“Whereas the pub in which I am usually to be found most evenings, in Smithfield, was once called the Path of Hope, because it stood on the route of condemned prisoners, like the Old King Lud at Ludgate Circus,” said Masters. “Although it was always associated with St Bartholemew’s Fair, the pub sign depicts a pair of stranded sailors. In Victorian times one often finds the idea of hope attached to the sea, hope of finding land or another ship. A popular maritime motto was ‘We anchor in hope,’ but by depicting sailors the sign-maker has misunderstood the meaning of the pub’s name. You see? By decoding the tangled symbols of the past, we get close to the truths that history books miss.”
“What we’re trying to say is that perhaps these places,” Bryant gestured around the bar, “are as germane to the solution of a case like this as the identity of the victims. What if these unfortunate women met their deaths not just because of who they were, but
“That’s ridiculous,” said May hotly. “It would mean they were selected from the population at random, and we have too many correlating factors to believe that.”
“Then imagine a man who, for reasons we cannot yet fathom, strikes only in public houses, and does so because of what they represent. By killing these women he is unstringing the very fabric of England.”
“It’s true,” exclaimed Masters. “If you wished to undermine everything we stand for as a people, you could do no better than damage the institution of the pub. You’d be striking at the heart of the city.”
? The Victoria Vanishes ?
17
Asleep in the Trees
Sergeant Renfield was looming behind her, trying to read over her shoulder.
“Anything I can help you with, Jack?” asked Longbright pointedly.
“All a bit mundane, isn’t it?” said Renfield with a disdaining sniff. “People die in or outside pubs all the time, it just never gets reported. A little beneath you, this sort of thing. I thought the PCU was about tracking down lunatics in highwayman outfits and solving murders committed in ridiculous places.”
“When deaths occur outside pubs, the victims are never middle-aged career women who’ve been drinking alone,” Longbright replied. “They’re teenaged and in groups, drunk or stoned, and have been in fights with their peers over girls and loyalty and the mysteriously coded world of respect and humiliation. Come on, Jack, you know that.”
“I ask because I’m trying to understand how this place works. You’ve got that girl April, who has no qualifications, trawling through cold cases looking for links to these dead women, and that’s not logical. Procedure requires – ”
“This unit doesn’t operate according to the laws of logic,” said Longbright. “Colin and Meera are searching for witnesses and conducting interviews as procedure requires, leaving us free to detect larger trends.”
“You mean there’s no proper system at work here. It’s like you’ve forgotten that you’re working against the clock. Lives are at stake. Don’t your bosses understand that others will die if they don’t stop fannying around?”
“The system doesn’t work within the normal structure of criminal investigation departments.”
“So what happens when a case comes in?”
“Raymond Land has to approve our involvement, but he gets overruled by Mr Bryant, who chooses the cases he thinks we’re best suited to. John usually backs him up. Then Land has to go cap in hand to the Home Office.”
“So what interests Bryant?”
“He’s concerned with deaths that occur in circumstances too troubling for the Met to deal with. The detectives write up their notes – more themes and ideas, really. Then we spend the next few days hiding what we’ve discovered from anyone who might stop us.” Longbright was enjoying the look of creeping unease on Renfield’s face.
“And where is everybody else this morning? I ask because I have to keep notes on you lot.”
“John and Mr Bryant are in a pub somewhere in Holborn consulting an expert in London mythology. April is calling the surviving relatives of Joanne Kellerman, and after work I’m getting my roots touched up before attending a society for conspiracy theorists. Raymond Land is probably in the Nun and Broken Compass playing darts with former officers from Bow Street station and slagging you off something rotten. Giles Kershaw will be running more tests on Jocelyn Roquesby, and Dan Banbury is probably going over the crime scenes of the earlier victims. Happy?”
“And out of this farrago you expect to find a murderer?” Renfield was staggered. He had expected an element of disorganisation, but nothing on this scale. It would have been easier to predict the movement of cats.
“I don’t know about that,” Longbright told him. “Things have to get stranger first, or else Mr Bryant will lose interest.”
“And when do you suppose that might happen?” asked Renfield, fighting to keep his natural temperament under control.
“Oh, right around now,” replied Longbright with a malignant smile. “Come on, Jack, lighten up on us a bit. Our clearance rate is more than double that of any other specialist unit. Find something positive to say.”
Renfield eyed her thoughtfully. “You’ve got some lovely legs on you, Janice,” he said at last.
