Bryant & May 09; The Memory of Blood

barely begun. This one is different.”

“In what way?”

“Oh, the murderer is keeping pace with us. It’s not an investigation now. It’s a race.”

? The Memory of Blood ?

29

Automata

Alma Sorrowbridge always baked industrial quantities of cake and bread before heading to her church on Haverstock Hill, and the smell of hot ginger and corn bread lured Bryant from his bedroom. He drifted into the kitchen in his patched, tasselled dressing gown and seated himself half asleep at the table like an impoverished Edwardian lord waiting to be fed.

“Oh, so you are still here,” said Alma, carrying in a tea tray of spiced pancakes and eggs. “I was beginning to think you’d moved out without telling me.”

“Why would I do that?” asked Bryant. “You feed me.”

“Not for much longer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In case the packing crates in the hall have escaped your attention, we’re moving out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve hardly been here five minutes. I’m still cataloguing my police manuals; I’m only up to 1928.”

“We lost the court hearing. They’re tearing this place down and building an apartment complex. I keep telling you but you don’t listen. No one wants an eyesore like this in their nice upmarket neighbourhood.”

“Well, can’t they rehouse us temporarily and move us into one of the new apartments?”

“The starting price of the new flats will be ?1.5 million each. Have you got that kind of money knocking around? No, I thought not. I blame Jude Law and Gwyneth Paltrow. When they moved in around the corner, the house prices shot up. But if you have got any savings tucked away in your mattress, now would be the time to get them out.”

“I’m not sure I care for this new sarcastic side of you,” Bryant said. “Can’t we talk about it another time? I’m in the middle of a case.”

“You’re always in the middle of a case. I’ve been telling you about the court proceedings for months, but I knew you had your hearing aid turned off. I tried to get you along to the hearings, remember? It’s too late to do anything now – we have to go. The Compulsory Purchase Order was approved.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous. I can’t be expected to stop everything and move house when there’s a murderer on the loose.” He had a sudden thought. “Hang on, I haven’t anywhere to go.”

“No. That’s because you haven’t got any friends.”

“I did have some, but most of them died or went mad. Well, what are we going to do?”

Alma folded her arms across her generous bust. “We? What makes you think I want to move with you?”

“Don’t be absurd, you’d never live with your conscience if you abandoned me now. You’ve seen what I’m like without you. I nearly burned the house down drying my socks on the gas stove. When I’m left by myself, things have a tendency to explode.”

“Just as well I’ve made us some arrangements, then. You won’t like it, but I don’t see that we have any choice. I’ve found us a place.”

“Where?”

“Number seven, Albion House, Harrison Street, Bloomsbury.”

“The Gray’s Inn Road end of Bloomsbury? But that’s wonderful! Home of Dickens and Virginia Woolf and Brasenose College.”

“It’s a council flat.”

Bryant thumped the side of his head theatrically. “I’m sorry, for a moment I thought you said it was a council flat.”

“I did and it is.”

“But I’m a professional. I have a salary. I can’t throw myself on the mercy of the state – ”

“And you can’t afford to live around here any more. Neither can I. Think of the advantages. You’ll be able to walk to work. And the manager assures me that it’s a nice quiet block. There’s even a small garden. I put our names down when I first heard about the purchase order.”

Bryant looked around in alarm. “Will there be room for all my books?”

“Most of them. There’s a spare room. Some will have to go. You could keep your reference manuals at the Unit.”

“But – ”

“We have no choice, Mr Bryant. You weren’t interested in attending the meetings, and I couldn’t fight to keep this place without you.”

“I’m so sorry, Alma. I’ve failed you.”

“It’s all right, I’m used to it. The first thirty years were the hardest. Go on, have some corn bread.”

Bryant munched and thought for a minute. “You know, it might be a good thing. We’ll meet new people. Common people with ordinary lives, the ones who watch talent shows on television and take their children to football matches. I can get to know them, find out about their habits. Make a proper clinical study of them.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. They may not like being studied,” said Alma. “Let’s see what the neighbours are like first.”

“When does all this happen?”

“The removal van is arriving on Monday. Don’t worry, everything will be taken care of. The flat has just been painted for us. I’ll write down the address for you and give you a set of keys.”

“What would I do without you, Alma?”

“You’d be thinner, for a start. It’s a bit late to get sentimental. You do your work and I’ll do mine.” She began pouring fresh tea.

“What is your work?”

“Why, looking after you, of course.” She gave a shrug. “It’s a disgusting job but somebody has to do it.”

¦

London experiences most of its foggy mornings in May and October, but on Friday morning John May stepped out onto his balcony on the fourth floor of the converted warehouse at Shad Thames to find a cool grey mist eddying over the still green surface of the river. Near the shore, a police patrol boat nosed a corridor through the vapour like an icebreaker. Seagulls dropped and wheeled from the milky sky, reminding those below that they lived on an island in a cold grey sea.

He missed Brigitte. She was hardly bothering to return his emails and phone calls. He knew that her job at the Paris Tourist Board required her to attend a great number of social events, and felt sure that she was meeting younger, more eligible men who possessed the added benefit of being born Parisians. Here he was on the wrong side of the Channel, fooling himself into thinking that a glamorous French divorcee still preferred to be with him. Men are worse than women when it comes to worrying

about their own attractiveness, he thought glumly. I’m old, it’s as simple as that, and I’m going to be alone. Other people learn to manage. I’ve always put my career before my relationships. Perhaps I’m like Robert Kramer in that respect. And I’d better learn to deal with it, because it won’t get any easier.

He ground fresh coffee beans – a breakfast ritual he had developed after seeing Michael Caine do it in The Ipcress File – then chose a new white shirt and a ribbed grey silk tie, because looking smart at least made him feel younger. He envied Arthur, because his partner had obviously not looked in a mirror since the year of the Coronation and seemed entirely happy in his own rumpled skin. Vanity is a form of self-harm, he decided, slipping into his black suit jacket. It’s time to concentrate on something more important.

Lucy Clementine’s testimony against her old boss bothered him. She had clearly meant it as a condemnation, but why? What had she to gain now, when she no longer worked for him? Ms Clementine had turned up too