brought her knee up between his legs but he closed his thighs, blocking her.
Then he punched her in the side of the head.
The disc jumped out of her hand and rolled across the wet grass. She felt herself blacking out. Without even climbing from her he was able to reach back and seize the disc. As he concentrated on slipping it into his zipped pocket, she brought up her elbow and smashed his nose.
Turning his attention back to her, he punched her hard in the solar plexus. Longbright vomited into the lawn, the pain burning across her ribcage. He was astride her now, studying her. Wiping his bloody nose, he raised a fist over her face and brought it down.
She shut her eyes hard, readying herself for the blow, knowing he would shatter bone.
But nothing happened.
There was a dull thud, and she felt his weight suddenly ease from her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Mrs Marquand standing beside them with a brightly painted concrete gnome in her hands. There was blood dripping from its pink hat.
Longbright’s attacker was out cold. Blood oozed thickly from a cut on the back of his head. She shoved him aside with difficulty and dug her hand into his padded black nylon jacket.
“That’s not one of the Hagans.” Mrs Marquand set down the gnome. “I don’t know who he is.”
Longbright found the CD, but nothing more. He was carrying no wallet, no personal belongings of any kind. She tried his outer pockets and his trousers, her fingers closing around a slender slip of paper in his back pocket. As she rose with it, the garden swam before her. The side of her head was already starting to swell and there was a searing pain in her stomach. Mrs Marquand held out her arm and helped Longbright inside. Longbright knew she had to make a call to ensure that the intruder was taken into custody, but she needed to sit down for a moment – just thirty seconds, to get her wind back.
Helped to the lounge sofa, she fell into soft cushions and closed her eyes. She awoke nearly ten minutes later. Mrs Marquand had locked the back door and was standing by it.
“What’s the matter?” asked Longbright, puzzled.
“He just got up,” she whispered, peering out. “I thought I’d killed him.”
Longbright looked through the lounge window and saw the empty patch of grass where her attacker had lain. The garden gate hung open. She unlocked the door and ran outside, but the alley beyond the garden was already empty.
Remembering the slip of paper she had taken from him, she pulled it from her jeans and read it. Her heart sank.
Most modern offices in Whitehall operated on electronic swipe cards which had to be returned after you had visited the building, but a few of the older departments still used visitor slips. You signed yourself in, adding the time, date and the name of the person you were visiting, and were meant to return the slip as you left, but most people forgot to do so.
The white slip had a government crest on it. Underneath was a name: Mr T. Maddox, timed in at 7.45 p.m. a week ago, at the Department of Internal Security, Home Office, 50 Queen Anne’s Gate, London SW1.
Next to the box that read ‘Person Visiting’, the receptionist had written
? The Memory of Blood ?
45
Genesis
“You cannot throw a cocktail party for a bunch of murder suspects and charge it to the Unit!” Raymond Land shouted, outraged. “In all my time serving at this lunatic asylum, this is the stupidest idea I’ve come across, even worse than that suspect line-up you held on the Somerset House ice-skating rink.”
“I was thinking we’d serve Bloody Marys,” said Bryant, not listening. “And little sausages on sticks. Mini- burgers are always popular.”
“Could we have some decent Indian snacks?” asked Meera.
“And chicken wings with barbecue sauce,” Bimsley added.
Land shut his eyes and held up his hands for silence. “For the last time. We are not. Having. A. Party!”
“There’s a little more to it than that,” said May. “We’re going to tell the invited guests we’ve made an arrest. They’ll think the pressure is off and they’ll drop their guard.”
“Who are you going to palm off as the arrestee?”
“An outsider. An unfamiliar name. We’re going to make the killer think we’ve been misled. Arthur has the whole thing planned.”
“I know it sounds completely crazy, but just listen to him,” Banbury suggested.
“Nobody’s going to know we’re behind this,” said Bryant. “If you agree, Ray Pryce will help us rig the whole thing up, script the event with exits and entrances. Nobody would dare stay away. The show closes without Robert’s company funding it and it’s the last time they’ll all be together. After this, they’ll be going their separate ways. It’s traditional to end a run with a farewell party. The timing’s perfect.”
“How are you going to arrange it?”
“Tomorrow night there was going to be a charity performance of the play to raise money for the Variety Club of Great Britain. The idea is to now go ahead with the performance. The crime scene has been cleared, so the obligation can be honoured. There’ll be a dedication to Robert Kramer at the end; it’s an old theatre tradition. Marcus Sigler will say a few words, and so will Judith Kramer. Ray will send a text to everyone hinting that there’s going to be some kind of revelation during the course of the after-show party. We’ll reveal that we’ve arrested someone as a potential suspect. John and I will have some carefully worded questions prepared, and we’ll be watching everyone. And we want the facts of the investigation to be subject to full disclosure – no withheld information.”
“You absolutely can’t do that.” Land was outraged. “It’s unethical and contravenes just about every rule in the book. Besides, what if still nothing happens?”
“Then we’ll be no worse off than we are now.”
“We’ll just be messing with a few people’s heads,” said Meera. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” With a shock, Bryant realized that, for the very first time, the entire team was behind him.
“All right,” said Land finally. It was worth giving in just to stop them all staring at him. “But we’d better have someone stationed there in case this goes wrong.”
“I’ll put Fraternity DuCaine on standby,” said Longbright.
¦
An hour later, Ray Pryce came by to sort out the invitation wording with May. “How’s this?” he asked. “I’ll personalize all the texts. I’ll tell them that you and your partner wanted to thank the company and pay your last respects to Robert. I’ll mention that you’re going to be on hand to explain that you’re now ready to press charges.”
“And you think everyone will accept?” asked May.
“How can they not? They all have to be here tomorrow in order to complete their contracts. We’ve even had an email from Gail Strong asking if she could come back for the final show. A bloody cheek, after walking out like that.”
“What time does everyone finish work?”
“The play ends at nine forty-five, so I guess the last one will be out of the theatre by ten-thirty.”
“Then we start the party at eleven. My partner has come up with the perfect venue.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Ray. “I could take notes about this to use in my next play, except that nobody would believe me.”
“I know what you mean,” said May, indicating his partner. “Welcome to my world.”
¦
The weather worsened steadily through the day. Longbright had applied anti-inflammatory cream to her blue-black bruise, but the side of her face was still painful. She listened to the sound of tapping buckets as she sat in her office and ran through the contents of Bryant’s disc.
