Bryant & May 08; Off the Rails

“The bar. We have the Karma Bar in common. It’s a good place to meet girls and just hang out. There are a few pubs nearby but they get too crowded with suits in the evening, and they all have TVs tuned to sports channels. None of us is very interested in football.”

“So – what? Miss Field gave each of you a sticker? Or did one of you hand them out to the others?”

“I don’t remember, but I can tell you why we put them on our stuff. Nearly everyone who goes in there is carrying a laptop bag. They get piled in a heap by the bar, and many of them look the same, so one evening we coloured the stickers, so that we’d be able to find our gear when we were leaving.”

“And the girl? Does she come with you?”

“Sure. She’s Matt’s girlfriend. He’s one of the housemates, too. I don’t really know Ruby well; she kind of keeps to herself. I think it may have been her idea to colour the stickers.” Nicolau settled his glasses further back on the bridge of his nose. He was sweating heavily. “Can I ask why you’re so interested?”

“This one was found on a dead body.” May waited for the idea to sink in. “In an investigation of this kind, you check anything that’s unusual, or even just a little bit different.”

“If I can give you a suggestion? People often chuck their coats on top of the bags – maybe it got transferred?”

“You’re probably right.” There didn’t seem to be anything more May could glean that might be of use. “Well, it was a point worth covering. Thanks for your time.” He rose to leave. “Tell you what, though. In case I need to check any further I don’t want to disturb you. Perhaps you’d give me contact details for this girl – Ruby?”

“Sure.” Nicolau seemed relieved. He scribbled something on a scrap of paper. “Ruby Cates. Here’s her email address.”

May left, but somewhere an alarm had been triggered. The harder he tried to focus on what was wrong, the less sure he became. Leave the thought, he told himself, it will surface when it’s ready. The uneasy feeling stayed with him all the way back to the Unit.

Then he remembered. It was something Cassie Field had said. Too intense. Nicolau had been trying hard to convince. The look of relief on his face when May had switched his attention to the girl had been palpable.

? Off the Rails ?

20

Falling Idol

Panic was setting in now. What if it was too late? But there was no point in thinking about what might already have happened, and anyway, here was Matt in his crazy old rainbow-striped coat and brown woolly hat, raising a hand in greeting from the other side of the bar.

“I’m really sorry I’m so late; I don’t know where the time went.”

“That’s okay.”

“I bumped into an old pal from Nottingham, and we had some catching up to do. Hit a few bars together – I’d forgotten how much he could drink. Then I spent ages on the phone, and you know how that goes, right? It’s like I can’t do anything to please her. I’m like, ‘If you don’t want to come out with me, just say so’, right? Can I get you a drink?”

“No, let me get you one.” The smile must have looked painfully forced. The barman was summoned and a drink was poured. “Did you have a lecture this afternoon?”

“Yeah, the architect from Bartlett, the one with the stoop. The lecture was meant to be about traffic restructuring in the late 1960^s, but it was so data-driven that he lost most of us about halfway through. And I still have a hangover from last night. Then I got the nagging phone call and wasn’t allowed off the hook until she’d described everything that’s wrong with me in huge detail.”

“Did you tell her you were coming to meet me?” The obviousness of the question caused an inward cringe.

“No, you know I didn’t; you told me not to. Anyway, if she thought I was meeting up with you she’d accuse us of conspiring against her. A toast to my good fortune.”

“To winners.”

“Damn right. We’ve got the skills that pay the bills. Just in time, because I’m seriously broke. Here’s to money, the root of all evil.” Matt downed his vodka cocktail in one. He was drinking something that was a spin on a Smith & Wesson, vodka and coffee liqueur with a dash of soda. His version added an oily Sambuca to the mix. Matt looked even messier than usual. His tumbleweed hair needed a wash and there were violet crescents beneath his eyes. Everybody knew he was on his way to becoming a serious alcoholic, but tonight it was important that Matt drank at least another two or three doubles, otherwise the plan wouldn’t work.

“You’re always good with advice. I don’t know what I’m going to do about her. I just think I’m a little too wild for her. Right? She always wants to do the kind of things her parents do, go to Suffolk and see the rest of her family, go hiking, stuff like that. I don’t know what she’s going to do with a degree in urban planning. I don’t think she knows, either. She says she wants to become a member of the Royal Town Planning Institute like her old man, but she’s doing it for his sake.”

“You have to stop worrying about it so much, Matt. Take things as they come.”

“I can’t this week, you know that. There’s too much at stake now. Look at me, I’m shaking.”

“Let me get you another cocktail.”

They drank until the bar became too noisy and crowded. When Matt slithered down from his stool to weave his way toward the restroom, it was obvious that he was trashed. The rising temperature and the accelerating beats had conspired to increase the pace of their drinking.

Okay, while Matt’s gone you’ve got less than a minute to dig into his backpack and see what’s there. Evidence, evidence – phone, laptop, what else has he got? Now put everything back before he reappears. Done it – did he notice anything? No, he looks out of it.

“It’s getting late, let’s get out of here.” Matt jammed his hat back on his head.

The cold air outside was a sobering shock. It was important to get Matt into the warmth of the station before he sharpened up. They tumbled down the steps into Liverpool Street tube and made their way to the District & Circle Line.

There were no empty seats, so they sat on the platform floor to wait for the train.

Matt tried to focus. “I’ve got to stop drinking Smith & Wessons, nobody knows how to mix them properly. They’re supposed to taste like a liquidised Cuban cigar.”

“Yes, you told me that before.”

Matt massaged his forehead. “My brain’s banging against the sides of my skull. If I still feel like this in the morning I’m going to cut my first lecture.”

“It’s your call, I suppose, but you seem to be missing an awful lot of them lately.”

The train arrived and they lurched to their feet. Inside, unable to sit, they stood jammed against the curving doors of the carriage. Racing through the uphill tunnels toward the King’s Cross interchange it was necessary to keep a surreptitious eye on Matt. The thought came unbidden. Why did you ever put up with him? The amazing thing was that everyone seemed to idolise the guy. He was a walking disaster, yet the scruffier he looked and the more chaotic his life became, the more they hung on his every word. Especially other girls, the ones from outside the group, they couldn’t get enough –

—A buzz emanated from Matt’s backpack.

“Damn, that’s my phone.” Matt swung the bag from his shoulder and started rooting about inside it.

“You’ve got a signal down here?”

“God, where have you been for the last two years? There’s phone reception everywhere west and south of here now. Hampstead and – ” a long pause while he tried to frame the thought “ – Old Street, still a problem because of the tunnel depth or something. I dunno. Where the hell – ” The contents of his bag were tumbling over people’s feet, a dirty ball of stained T-shirts, some books with loose pages, half a dozen plastic pens, his phone –

“Here, let me give you a hand.” Together they started shovelling everything back into the bag. Matt helplessly attempted to pick up the fluttering pages. Then the train was slowing and they were arriving at King’s Cross.