The Victoria Vanishes (19 page)

'Trying to learn how you can make a pub disappear. What about you?'

'Oh, the usual, listening to a bunch of rambling old lecturers and writers talk utter rot. I have to get out occasionally, Arthur, otherwise I'd go insane. Besides, I've always had a soft spot for academics.'

'Their endless curiosity about the world does seem to keep them young,' Bryant admitted.

'And I can't stay indoors making chutney every day, you know. I refuse to watch the toxi
c drivel that passes for televi
sion these days. I thought that by coming to these sorts of events I might get a clearer understanding of the world. I won-der what it is that drives the old to such questioning.'

'These days the young accept the status quo to an alarming degree, but I find I'm getting more rebellious as I age,' agreed Bryant.

'So many of life's good intentions seem to go wrong, and I feel I'd like to know why. Have we merely been disappointed with our lives, do you suppose?'

'When I was young I fantasised about the future.' Bryant flicked a droplet of splashed beer from Jackie's sleeve. 'Now that I'm living in it, I find it all a bit tatty. I was expecting us to be on other planets by now. I wanted genetic transformations and orbiting cities instead of
Internet porn and small improve
ments in personal stereos.'

'I know what you mean,' Jackie agreed. 'Take this lot. They have plenty of ideas but no application. At least you might find them useful. Stanhope Beaufort sounds like your best bet, over there. He's an architect.'

'Yes, I know,' said Bryant.
'Do you mind if I go and talk with him?'

'No, but before you go, per
haps I can hold you to the prom
ise of dinner. I'm not trying to lure you, Arthur. I'd make a rather unprepossessing siren. I just enjoy your company.' She seemed hesitant about continuing. 'And I'd appreciate your opinion about a private matter. On a professional basis, you understand.'

'On that basis, I'll do my best t
o oblige,' Bryant relented, ris
ing.
'I'm free on Saturday.'

Mrs Quinten looked disappointed. 'That's the one day I can't do. I'm meeting one of my gentleman academics.'

'Oh, what an enormous pity. Another time then.'

'Perhaps after I finished—'

'Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude and spoil your evening.'

He was aware of Jackie Quinten's eyes on his back as he moved across the room.
I'll admit she's a not unattractive woman,
he caught himself thinking.
I rather admire a firm maternal bust, but I'm damned if I'm eating her kidney casserole.

23

VANDALISM

S

tanhope Beaufort drained his pint and wiped his white beard. He had put on an enormous amount of weight since Bryant last saw him. Squeezed into a shirt clearly pur-chased before this gain, he looked like a sheep in a corset. 'What the hell are you doing here, Arthur?' he asked with characteristic brusqueness.
'You only track me down when you want something, so what is it?'

'Actually I happen to be a semi-regular among this crowd,' Bryant pointed out.
'But seeing as you're here too, tell me, how long would it take a man to build a Victorian pub from scratch and then dismantle it again? Could he do it in a single night?' Bryant explained his predicament. Beaufort's initial look of
surprise transmuted into concen
tration as he applied himself to the puzzle. 'It would be easier to go the other way around,' he said. 'Hide the pub behind a shop, because the Victorians built things to last. They used stronger mortar, thicker tiles, denser metals. But you could get a shop front up in an hour just by whacking a few sheets of coloured Perspex over th
e brickwork and holding them in
place with a handful of screws. Cover the windows with posters, strip the interior furniture, hide the bar behind racks of magazines, hire some old guy to sit at a counter and fob you off with some story about how he'd been there for years. Pubs usually have the capacity to be brightly lit, because the lights are traditionally turned up after time has been called, so they wouldn't have to replace the lighting. I can see how that might just work.'

'I don't know,' Bryant admitted.
'It sounds loopy even to me.'

'I didn't say it was a sane idea, just that it's possible. There's one way to find out,' said Beaufort.
'I've got a crowbar in my car.'

Are you suggesting we try to take the front of the store off?' said Bryant.

'You're a police officer, aren't you? You can do whatever you like.'

'Sadly we can't,' said Bryant,
'I have a tendency to get caught.' But he was already rebuttoning his coat.

They found a parking space for Victor, Bryant's decrepit Mini Cooper, in the next street over, and Beaufort slid the crowbar inside his coat as they walked to the corner of Whidbourne Street. The Pric
ecutter supermarket was in dark
ness. After checking that the coast was clear, Beaufort slid the steel stave from his coat and applied it to the oblong of orange plastic that covered the base of the store. He levered the crow-bar back until there was a loud
crack, and a two-foot-long tri
angle shattered, clattering to the pavement. Beaufort dropped to his knees and examined the brickwork underneath.

'The fascia is screwed directly into the stonework,' he pointed out.
'With the right tools it could be removed in a few minutes, all of it, but the ba
d news is that the stonework un
derneath dates from the 1970s. Nothing is left of the pub that used to be on this site.'

Are you sure?' said Bryant.
'Couldn't we get one of the upper panels off?'

'This amounts to vandalism, Arthur.' 'It's a murder investigation.'

'All right.' Beaufort hoisted his bulk up on the low window ledge and wedged his crowbar under the shop's nameplate. It came away in an explosion of brickdust and plastic.
'The same cement finish,' he tutted.
'Hopeless rendering, very disappointing. Still, the original structure of the building is intact. If you could get all this off, I suppose you'd be able to build a false front over the top of it, but you'd need several strong lads and plenty of specialist equipment. Help me down before I fall.'

'That's no good,' said Bryant, holding out a hand.
'I'm look
ing for a lone murderer, thin, slight build, late twenties or early thirties, not someone travelling around with a team of
builders. Besides, even assuming that the
killer arranged to meet his vic
tim here, with all the real pubs in London to choose from, why would he feel the need to re-create one from the past? Damn, there's someone coming. We'd better get out of here.'

'I thought you'd be officially sanctioned to commit wanton acts of destruction,' said Beaufort.

'Er, no, not exactly,' Bryant admitted, looking around.
'Time to scram.'

Feeling like a pair of teenag
ed vandals, they shoved the bro
ken plastic back in place and scooted across the pavement with Bryant using the crowbar as an impromptu walking stick. Dropping into the Mini Cooper, they struggled to regain their breath.

'Well, I'm stumped,' said Bryant, thumping his wheezing chest. 'I most definitely saw the victim in that street. The St Pancras clock tower was directly behind her like a full moon. Can I give you a lift anywhere? I'm driving back to the PCU.'

'You're not going to carry on working tonight, surely?'

'Just a few notes. I've asked everyone to come back. We need to create a more accurate profile for this gentleman.'

'And how are you intending to catch him?'

'That's the tricky part. He appears to have come up with one of the simplest killing methods ever devised, which makes him either very smart or incredibly stupid.'

'And which do you think he is?' asked Beaufort.

'Both,' said Bryant.

24

HANGOVERS

Y
ou've all been drinking,' said May, shocked. 'Look at the state of you, you're half smashed.'

He glanced around the briefing room. Raymond Land was nodding off, Renfield looked sloshed, Banbury was poking about in a packet of Cheese 'N' Onion crisps and Meera was wearing a suede fringed jacket with
the king lives
written across it in red, white and blue sequins.

'Only in the cause of research, sir,' said Banbury, crunching crisps.

'Has anyone seen Bimsley?' asked May.

'Outside, sir. On the street.'

'What's he doing out there, for heaven's sake?'

'Snogging a girl, sir. Tongues and everything. Pretty hot stuff.' Banbury wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and looked about the room. Meera attempted to kill him with a well-aimed stare.

'He gave me his notes,' said April, unfurling a ball of paper and smoothing it out. 'Well, at least you've all bee
n able to turn some in. I think
the evening has given us a chance to reflect on the events of the past few days. I know how these women came to meet their deaths. I want the why.'

'With all due respect, old chap, we're not going to be able to crack that nut overnight,' said Kershaw. 'We don't have any clear suspects.'

'We now have witness descriptions,' said April, looking up from the collated notes she had laid neatly across the desk. 'Naomi Curtis and Jazmina Sherwin were both approached by a man in his early thirties, attractive despite the fact that he has a large wine-coloured birthmark covering the left side of his face. We think he mig
ht be a former North London bar
man who was fired from his job. It shouldn't be so hard to get a name.'

'That depends on whether he was using his own,' said Bryant. 'Bar staff sometimes pay substitutes cash in hand to take their shifts.'

'Then we have to hope this one was legally employed,' said May, glaring at his partner.

'There's something else,' said April. 'Three of the victims knew each other.' She held up a photograph that clearly showed Naomi Curtis, Jocelyn Roquesby and Joanne Kellerman standing together in a bar holding glasses of red wine.

'Where on earth did you get that?' asked Bryant, amazed.

April pointed across the room to Renfield. 'Jack found it among the photographs of drinkers pinned behind the bar in the Old Bell, although it doesn't look like it was taken there. The decor is different,' she told the group. 'Dan, perhaps you could examine the shot and get some clue to the location.'

'The barmaid thinks it's a recent addition, because she doesn't remember it being there when she started working be-hind the bar last month,' said Renfield.

'Then it's conceivable that
the killer was drinking or work
ing in a pub on the night they met there, and singled them out.' Kershaw tapped the photograph with a manicured nail. 'When it came to meeting up with them separately, he clearly had a way of posing as one of the other two, using Kellerman's cell phone. I'm guessing via text messages. Could they have all been members of the same pub club?'

'They met in a public house because it was secure,' said Bryant.

'What do you mean?'

'It's what Masters said, a pub is neutral territory. Why, the very word
public
suggests openness. They wanted somewhere safe and busy to meet, so that they could discuss something where they wouldn't be bugged, watched or monitored, some-thing common to all of them.'

'Or someone,' said Longbright.
'Jazmina was stalked.'

'The fundamental problem remains,' said Bryant. 'He's changed his MO and didn't take Sherwin's phone this time, so how do we predict whether he will strike again?'

'Start narrowing the search,' said Renfield.
'We put out a description to every pub in North and Central London. He's not going to leave his hunting ground. You said yourself that he feels comfortable there, Bryant. He's local to the area. We could have him locked away by this time tomorrow.'

'That would require ext
ra manpower, which means involv
ing the Met,' Bryant pointed out.

'What, you have a problem with that?' Renfield wanted to know.

'We don't but they do. They won't help us, or you, despite the fact that your mates are still there.'

'Bryant's right.' Land seemed suddenly alert. 'We'll have to do it ourselves. Let's start making the calls and getting people out of bed. Nobody goes home tonight.' A collective groan rose in the room. The staff clambered from their perches and started to disperse.

'It still doesn't feel right,' said Bryant, shaking his head as the office emptied.
'We're looking at
the victims instead of the vic
timiser.'