“I suppose I thought we could eventually win them over. We had public opinion on our side.”
It was true that the PCU had breached behavioural codes of conduct in the course of their duty, but it had always got the job done, and there had been very few complaints from the public registered with the IPCC. For most of its life the unit had operated perhaps not in secrecy, but in an absence of information that had granted it an extraordinary amount of freedom. When civilians finally became aware of the unit they had wholeheartedly endorsed it, but the publicity had brought condemnation from naturally secretive government officials. A new generation of number-crunchers had come forward to insist on regulations being followed to the letter. For them the concept of an agency run on principles of instinct and experience seemed anathematic.
“I know how much professional jealousy you’ve had to put up with over the years. I saw the files, John. The pair of you managed to upset just about everyone.”
“We resolved most of the major cases we handled. Okay, a few got away from us, but our success rate was higher than anyone else’s in the force. We’re not being judged by our success, but by our failure to conform. Well, you know Arthur – what chance did I have of ever changing his ways? Now Raymond Land can’t even get his calls answered.”
“He’s the wrong person to change their minds. Only you would be able to do that. They like you, John; they’ll hear what you have to say. They won’t listen to Uncle Arthur because they think he’s completely loopy.”
“April, we have no equipment, no money, no offices, no status, no technical backup, nothing. How the hell are we supposed to proceed?”
She twisted out of the breeze, pushing back her bangs of ash hair. The sharp methylene blue of her eyes always came as a surprise to him. “Why don’t you suggest we continue operating from rented accommodation? You can’t give up now. Half the staff have relatives who worked in the unit before them. It’s a family business.”
May appeared not to hear. “The Home Office knew it would be better to weaken the unit step by step. I’ve been to see Raymond four times since the day we were thrown out of our offices, but he can’t get an appointment with anyone. Leslie Faraday keeps making the most pathetic excuses not to see him. Any day now our temporary leave will end and our resignations will be officially accepted. There’s nothing that anyone can do.”
As part of the closure deal, the staff of the PCU had resigned en masse in order to prevent the blemish of prosecution from appearing on their employment records. The unit was in a limbo created by process and paperwork; neither officially disbanded nor reinstated, but suspended in a state of non-operation. In this fashion, the Home Office could disarm its critics by denying that they had entirely abandoned one of London’s most prestigious departments. The official line was that the staff was on temporary hiatus pending investigation, but everyone knew that Faraday and his security supervisor Oskar Kasavian had no intention of allowing them back into the field. Faraday and Kasavian could afford to bide their time and wait while the ties of friendship and loyalty within the team loosened and staff members drifted apart, driven by the need to earn a living wage.
“Why did you bring me here, John?” asked April. “We already had a farewell drink at the pub. If you’re not going to fight for us, what more is there to say? I know we’ll always be family but right now I’m still angry, not about the way you’ve been treated, but by the fact that you’re not going to do anything about it.”
“I think growing older affects you in one of two ways,” said May. “Either you sink into a state of perpetual fury, or you cease to get angry about anyone or anything. You make your peace with the world, and I want some peace. We came here so I could show you this.” He pointed to an empty office unit tucked behind the redbrick arches, all neon panels and lowered ceilings. “This may become my new home. I’ve been offered the opportunity of setting up a small private detective agency. Apparently they’re really starting to take off again in London. A couple of old colleagues from the Met have bought the lease on the ground floor. It’s a wealthy area. There are a lot of divorce cases to be had, lawsuits involving private businesses, civil actions worth a lot of money.”
“I don’t think Uncle Arthur would approve of that very much.”
“I’m afraid the offer doesn’t extend to him,” May admitted uncomfortably. “The other partners – well, they don’t think he’d be insurable.”
“You couldn’t possibly go on alone,” said April, shocked. “Not after all the two of you have been through together.”
“I didn’t say I’d definitely take the job, April. I said I’d think about it. The work would be easier. And the change of pace would do me good.”
May’s recent cancer scare had caused him to reconsider how he might live the remainder of his life. His emergence from the gloom of University College Hospital into the dazzling daylight of the city streets had wrought a fundamental change in him. Watching commuters, shop assistants, bus drivers and newspaper vendors going about their business without a thought to the battles raging in the great white hospital that towered above them had made him realise how precious each passing day had become. He had been granted a new lease on life. The world was brighter and more colourful than he could ever remember seeing it. The operation had left him sore and scarred, but more alive than he had felt in years, and he needed to make the most of every passing minute.
April was adamant. “Going private would be a betrayal of everything you both believe.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Would it? I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Arthur since the unit was disbanded,” May replied hotly. “He’s gone to ground. He refuses to speak to anyone. He won’t even come to the phone. What am I supposed to do?”
“At least go and talk to him; you owe him that much.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. He’s a stubborn old mumpsimus.”
“You’re the only person he really listens to. You can get through to him.”
“Look, I want to see him – he just doesn’t want to see me. I can’t wait around forever.” May felt sure that Arthur would not return to his old position now, even if by some miracle he was offered a chance to do so. The pair had barely spoken since being forced to move out of the building. May had left several messages for his partner, but uncharacteristically, they had not been returned. Such behaviour usually signified Bryant’s descent into Black Dog days, and when he was in a foul mood he was impossible to talk to.
“So that’s it; we all just walk away from each other.” She tried to control her rising anger. With the stress of the unit’s closure her moodiness was starting to return, and she had reluctantly resorted to taking medication. “We agreed to hand in our resignations for Uncle Arthur, to show him our support. You always said we were a team.”
“For God’s sake, April, be realistic. How can we remain a team when we have no support and no work? It’s over. We have to move on.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what you do when there’s nothing else left.”
“If Arthur stops now, he’ll die. You know that. If he stops using his brain he’ll age overnight and simply go to sleep, like a tortoise. Except he won’t be hibernating, he’ll never wake up, and it will be your fault.”
“You can’t lay the blame for this on me, April. That’s not fair. Believe me, if I could think of a way of getting us back together, I would. I’m sure the others are out there looking for jobs. They’re all talented. Something will come along, and if it doesn’t I’ll help them find employment, okay? I swear it. I’ll take care of you, too. Then I’ll go into private practice for myself. You think I want to handle divorce cases and office lawsuits after wading through the sewers with Arthur in search of a murderer?”
“I don’t understand how you can just give up. I know you’ve been ill and probably feel different about things now, but you came through it. You survived. You’ve been given another chance.”
“That’s right. I have to be prepared to make a new life for myself, form new friendships. Without police work taking up my time, I can start planning a future. I’d like to travel. I’ve hardly seen anything of the world.”
The truth dawned on April. “You’ve met someone,” she said.
“As it happens, I have. Her name is Brigitte. She’s French and completely impossible, and I can’t imagine that we would ever be good for each other, but I want to spend some time with her, just to see if it’s possible for me to let go. Work imprisons us, April; we only do it because we have to. I see that now. I have some savings, enough to enjoy a little time off. I want to travel home with Brigitte to Nice. I’m fed up with always doing the right thing and being broke.”
“And I don’t suppose the fact that she’s a sexy French divorcee has clouded your judgement in any way.”
“How did you know she’s a divorcee?”
“Oh, come on, they always are. When it comes to women, you reveal a painful flair for the obvious. Most men
