commodity. I don’t suppose the Museum of London pays very much. You can’t begrudge him earning a little freelance.’
‘My dear chap, I don’t begrudge him anything. Far from it,’ said May, as Longbright cleared a space on the desk and set down two mugs of strong Indian tea. ‘The city wouldn’t survive without its grey economy. I don’t even like him. He’s an arrogant bore. I just want to know what he’s up to.’
‘Even someone as stupid as Raymond Land will notice that a lecturer coming into a chunk of money hardly warrants sending two new recruits to sift through his rubbish bins. He could have won a bet on a horse, or have taken on a second job as a minicab driver.’
‘Raymond’s in the building,’ warned Longbright. ‘His golf’s been cancelled because of the rain. Don’t let him hear you call him stupid again.’
May waited until the sergeant had returned to her office. ‘You don’t understand, Arthur.’
‘Then explain it to me.’
‘I’ve known Gareth Greenwood for years. I’m surprised you haven’t run across him, because he does guided walks too-the Late Victorians on alternate Friday evenings, Port of London first Sunday morning of the month. Surely you must cross over each other.’
‘There are hundreds of guides, half of them unofficial,’ said Bryant testily. ‘I don’t know them all. Do go on.’
‘Greenwood is a brilliant academic with a Master’s degree in early modern history. It’s his wife who’s worried about him. Monica called me a few days ago to tell me he’d taken an assignment through someone he met at the museum. He’s being paid a considerable amount of money to perform some kind of illegal task, half up-front, half when it’s completed. It’s dangerous, too; he made out a will last week.’
‘How does she know all this?’
‘He’s an archetypical academic, vague and rather remote-you could fire a gun while he’s reading and he wouldn’t notice. She dropped him off at the Barbican last Friday and realized he’d left some papers in the car, so she went after him. He was being met by some dodgy-looking character who was handing him wads of used notes and giving him instructions about what he had to do. Gareth’s been in trouble before, you see. It wasn’t his fault the first time, he was just a little naive. A friend of one of the museum’s patrons offered him a rare piece of London sculpture. Greenwood didn’t check its provenance or he would have known it was stolen. Outdoor statuary was never registered very strictly. It’s only in recent times that the collectors’ black market for large items has opened. The statue was one of a pair of Graces that had stood on Haverstock Hill for over a century. Greenwood had walked past it every day on his way to the Tube, but didn’t recognize it when it was offered to the museum. His colleagues were sympathetic, and did what they could. Well-meaning academics have a history of unwitting involvement with fraud, blackmail and robbery. Whatever one might think of him as a person, Greenwood’s one of the finest experts we have in this city-I’d hate him to make another mistake. He refuses point-blank to discuss this new business with his wife, and she’s very worried.’
‘So you asked Meera and Colin to go through his bins. Really, John, you’re giving Raymond Land ammunition to take back to the Home Office. Couldn’t you just have had a quiet word with him?’
‘No, that wouldn’t be possible,’ said May uncomfortably. ‘We were sort of rivals, and he’s still a bit, you know, angry with me.’
‘No, I don’t know. What sort of rivals?’
‘Well-the lady he married. I sort of met her first, and meant to break it off when she met Gareth, but neither of us got around to telling him, and then it sort of came out at a bad time.’
‘Wait a minute, all this is about a woman?’ Bryant fought hard to stop himself from laughing. ‘What is it with you and married women? How long ago was this?’
‘June 1978.’
He tried to prevent it, but the laugh escaped. ‘That’s over twenty-five years ago. You’re not telling me he still bears a grudge.’
‘Academics are capable of bearing grudges until the day they die. Obsession is in their nature. Anyway, we’re not exactly being worked off our feet here, Arthur. I want to keep Mangeshkar and Bimsley busy. You know that if no work gets sent our way, the Met will end up using us on their cases by default, and when that happens the unit will be closed down for good.’
‘They wouldn’t do that. They approved the rebuilding programme in record time.’
‘It would have happened anyway, because this site is valuable police property. Have you heard talk about a new style of police shop for the Camden area?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s one of the Home Office’s pet ideas, a drop-in community centre staffed by casually dressed officers who liaise with local community leaders. And it’ll sell products licensed to the Metropolitan Police, to interest the kiddies. That’s what they’re saying this place is going to become, some kind of Disney police store, just as soon as they’ve got us out.’
‘Raymond wasn’t happy about my involvement with Ruth Singh,’ reminded Bryant, ‘so we can hardly afford to have your lecturer-’
‘It took them just a few minutes, Arthur. Meera found something. Look.’ He flattened out the crumpled receipts. ‘Greenwood just spent several hundred pounds on climbing equipment- high-tech stuff.’
‘Perhaps he’s taken up mountaineering.’
‘Don’t be daft, he’s in his sixties and has a bronchial condition.’
‘Well, I don’t know. Is it really any business of yours?’
‘He has some specialist classified knowledge. The kind of knowledge that could be open to abuse.’
‘I thought he taught history.’
‘I was thinking of his particular field of interest. Rivers. Specifically, the underground rivers of London.’
Bryant’s interest was aroused. ‘That’s different. The culverts still run through very sensitive areas. Under Buckingham Palace, for example, and virtually under the Houses of Parliament.’
‘Really? I thought they had all dried up long ago.’
‘Not at all. The entire subject is open to misinterpretation, of course. It’s a murky area of London interest; not only are the size, geography and number of the city’s rivers up for dispute, but there is very little left to see, and no accurate way of comparing the present with the past. Consequently, one ends up tracking filthy dribbles of water between drains and across patches of waste ground.’
‘Then why bother studying them at all?’
‘Because just as the old hedgerows shaped our roads, so did the river beds. They created the form of London itself. They are the arteries from which its flesh grew.’
‘Since when were you an expert?’ asked May, surprised.
‘I was going to do an overground guide tour tracing the route of Counter’s Creek. That one’s followed by a mainline railway line all the way from Kensal Green to Olympia, Earl’s Court and the Thames. We studied quite a few, but abandoned the idea because of the difficulty of getting groups around the obstructions. The Westbourne river still surfaces as the Serpentine, you know. Many of the original river beds are mixed in with the Victorian sewer system now. There’s something undeniably magical about the unseen parts of the city, don’t you think? The roofs and sewers and sealed public buildings, the idea that a different map might emerge to chart previously unimagined landscapes.’
‘I agree up to a point. But if there’s nothing left of these rogue rivers, I don’t see why someone would pay my old rival for information about them.’
‘I didn’t say there was nothing left. Most of them were bricked in. The best-known missing river is the Fleet, which starts on Hampstead Heath, going down through Kentish Town, diverting past us to St Pancras, then to Clerkenwell and Holborn, and out to the Thames just past Bridewell. It was also known as the Holebourne, or the stream in the hollow. They used to say it was a river that turned into a brook, a ditch and finally a drain. The Smithfield butchers chucked cow carcasses into it, and it was used as a toilet and communal rubbish dump for centuries, so it kept silting up and becoming a public health hazard. I think it was finally bricked over in the mid 1800s, but that’s the point-most of the rivers ducked underground at various locations and were provided with brick tunnels, but that doesn’t mean they dried up. Look at the Tach Brook, for example. It’s still there, running underneath car parks and public buildings in Westminster. When I was a nipper, I used to climb down the viaduct and muck about beside the water that flowed out into the Thames from Millbank. Underground engineers still have
