The Water Room (8 page)

‘You didn’t touch my computer?’ May asked hesitantly.

‘It may surprise you to know that there are other methods of accessing information apart from the Internet. I talked to a couple of their past victims.’ Bryant dropped back into his chair. Despite the scorching air from the fan heater blasting his legs, he had layered his clothes more heavily than ever.
Shirt, sweater, two coats and the disgusting scarf he refuses to throw away,
May marvelled.
Alma knitted it for him, and he can’t bear to part with it.
The poor landlady was distraught about her dismissal, but he hadn’t yet summoned the nerve to raise the subject with Arthur.

‘Of course, London’s always been full of that type,’ Bryant continued. ‘It’s a very selfish city. For centuries, ships bearing treasures from all over the world sailed into the Thames, but two-thirds of their cargoes never made it any further than the docks. For all of our much-vaunted honesty, we’re a nation of blasted thieves. I remember hearing stories of factory owners who delayed sending their staff down to the shelters during the Blitz in order to maintain productivity levels. They refused to sound their sirens until the last possible moment, said they were concerned for the city’s economic survival, if you please.’

‘Your naivety is touching, Arthur. Garrett and Moss are required to be opportunists by the nature of their employment. You can’t paint everyone with the same brush.’ Although the detectives were in public service, May’s sensibilities veered toward industry, while Bryant’s favoured the artist. It was a mark of their respect for each other that the division actually improved their relationship. ‘Look at your Mr Singh, he kept his promise and sold to the young lady, didn’t he? Didn’t you say he’s even going to let her move in prior to completion?’

‘He feels sorry for her having to sleep on a couch. Benjamin is a gentleman of the old school. He acted against my advice, but he knows a hawk from a handsaw. He recognizes honesty when he sees it, and it’s lucky for her that he does. These days, the innocent are routinely victimized by the rapacious.’

‘She succeeded in getting the property where Garrett and Moss failed,’ remarked May. ‘Perhaps the girl isn’t as innocent as she makes out.’

‘Well, there are no tidy moral lines any more,’ Bryant grumped. ‘Everything is so tainted now. The best you can do is follow a personal code of practice.’

‘I will never understand how someone as open-minded as you can be such a closet Victorian, Arthur. If it was left to you, the police would still be walking about in their Number Ones.’ Metropolitan police officers had been required to keep a Number One uniform for ceremonial duties, consisting of a high-necked tunic, heavy belt and cape. The Victorian outfit had only been phased out in 1971.

‘Not at all. Victorians were ghastly hypocrites, but there was an appealing sense of order.’

‘Remember you’re from working-class stock. You’d have been a boot-black.’

‘God, it’s freezing in here. I’ve got two T-shirts on,’ Bryant complained. ‘Look.’ He unbuttoned his coat and cardigan to reveal a logo that read
TRUST NO ONE UNDER SEVENTY.
‘I’ve always had thin blood. Where do I have to go for a smoke?’

‘I keep telling you, out on the fire escape. But I wouldn’t—it’s pouring.’

‘I need to think. The verdict on Ruth Singh is bothering me.’

Since the investigation of Mrs Singh had ended with the pathologist’s open verdict on her death, there was no just cause for further analysis, and the file had been discreetly closed. Leaving the final arrangements of the property transfer in the hands of his lawyer, Benjamin Singh was preparing to head for Brisbane in order to be with his daughter’s family.

‘You’ll have to let it go some time. You heard what Kershaw said.’ The young forensic scientist had come up with an ingenious solution to the water found in Mrs Singh’s mouth. He had speculated on the possibility that she might have inhaled dust containing dried residue from the river, reconstituted into a thin fluid by the mucus in her lungs brought about by a coughing fit. It seemed no less likely than any of their other scenarios, except that the solution had been found in quantity, and lacked the necessary viscosity.

‘Well, it’s bloody odd that I’ve never come across anything like it in fifty years. I knew about London getting blasts of Sahara sand under certain weather conditions, and I had a boring conversation with Banbury about the creation of dust patterns in urban environments, but I’ve never heard of anyone accidentally inhaling a river bed.’

‘You can’t make a mystery out of everything, Arthur. Death by natural causes can be strange. Sometimes the heart just stops beating for no apparent reason. Look at SDS.’ No one had yet discovered what caused Sudden Death Syndrome, or why it so often affected young males in perfect health.

‘So you’re saying I should just accept some things as inexplicable.’

‘Nothing’s cut and dried these days, you said so yourself.’

‘Fine.’ Bryant returned to his case-files, only to look over the tops of his reading glasses at May. ‘So I should let it go.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ May looked up in annoyance. ‘According to Janice, nobody saw anything, nobody came or went, nobody visited the house the night before, she was in there alone. It’s all in the notes, and you know exactly who’s been there since the body was discovered, because I showed you the Scene Log, OK?’

‘Then you clearly don’t know that a man called at her front door on Sunday night,’ said Bryant triumphantly. ‘Medium height, dressed in some kind of peculiar old-fashioned coat. He was seen speaking to Ruth Singh on her step.’

‘Who told you this? Have you done something you’re not supposed to?’

‘I merely sent Colin Bimsley back to pick up the remaining interviews. I’m entitled to do that. Besides, we need to occupy the staff in order to keep them out of the Met’s claws. This so-called “Camden Bin-bag Murderer” is operating a little too close to Westminster. Why else would Scotland Yard be giving television briefings every five minutes? Land will be under pressure to rent us out, and you know how easily he gives in. We fought long and hard to hire staff, and once we lose them, we won’t be able to get them back. Remember, we don’t answer to the Met any more, so if you and I can keep the unit on late shifts and full time-sheets, they won’t be able to poach us.’

‘What else did Bimsley find out?’

‘That’s pretty much all. One of his interviewees was a television producer called Avery. He spotted the pair of them talking in the doorway of number 5 as he was coming back from a takeaway outlet in the high street.’

‘Perhaps it was just another neighbour.’

‘Possibly—Avery couldn’t tell. He had no reason to be looking in the first place.’

‘God, Arthur, it’s not much to go on, is it? An anonymous visitor with rotten dress sense. Why did he recall the coat?’

‘He remembered thinking it didn’t fit properly. The weather broke on Sunday evening,’ Bryant reminded him. ‘It rained solidly for several hours. Avery was on the other side of the road and didn’t get a good look—you know how it’s difficult to concentrate when you’re carrying a box of fried chicken—but he can at least place the time close to Ruth Singh’s death.’

‘So the verdict’s been settled, and
now
you have a possible suspect. You do realize that we can’t go any further beyond this point.’

‘Understood,’ Bryant agreed. ‘Absolutely against the rules, not worth the risk, we’re publicly accountable, God knows what would happen if Raymond Land found out.’ He patted various pockets for his pipe, his shredded winter-mixture and his matches. ‘Don’t worry, I fully appreciate that the case is now “officially” off limits.’

May heard the parenthesis in his partner’s voice and bridled. ‘Arthur, wait! You come back here!’ But Bryant’s selective deafness had muffled everything except a song from the first act of
The Gondoliers,
which he hummed as he set off for the freedom of the fire escape.

May walked to the window and wiped a clear arc through the condensation, looking down into the glistening street. He needed to think of another way to keep the unit fully occupied until the Met’s senior officers stopped eyeing up his bright new team. Luckily, it didn’t take him long to think of a solution.

8

RISING VAPOURS

‘Oh God, this is
so
disgusting.’

Meera Mangeshkar found herself holding a pair of paisley-pattern Y-fronts as large as a shopping bag. ‘What kind of man chucks his pants in the dustbin? Is this the best job May could find to keep us out of circulation?’ Rooting carefully within the bin, she pulled out the remains of a Marks & Spencer family fruit pie, some haddock heads, a broken pink dental plate and a brassiere, the cups of which were filled with sponge cake. ‘I haven’t been given rubbish duty for years.’

She and Bimsley were on their knees in the back garden of a house in Belsize Park, sifting through half a dozen binliners. Under normal circumstances, the bags would have been removed and examined at a secure site because of the danger from contaminated sharp waste, but Banbury’s steel micromesh gloves were proving a success, even though they were cold to wear. It was nearly one a.m., and the hours they spent here would be added to the next shift’s time-sheet, protecting them further from requisition.

‘Pass me your torch—mine’s fading.’ Bimsley held up an empty jar and sniffed it. ‘Foie gras—goose, not duck. There was a magnum of Veuve Cliquot earlier. He’s been living well.’

Meera narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You know Arthur Bryant only made you finish the doorstepping in Balaklava Street because the victim’s brother is a mate of his. He’s granting preferential treatment to his pals.’

‘Let it go, Meera. I don’t know what you’re so angry about. There was no one else around to do them, and besides, I don’t mind if it reduces duty like this. I got interviews with all three remaining residents, and one of them told me Ruth Singh had received a visitor that night. So it was worth going back. Information that could lead to an arrest, as they say.’

‘Yeah, right, that’ll happen.’

‘Well done, Meera, a triple positive to make an emphatic negative—nice use of English.’

‘What are you, my grammar coach? Nobody likes a smart-arse.’ Meera sat back on her haunches and raised the white polystyrene mask from her mouth. She made a sour moue as she tipped the last of the bag’s reeking contents on to the grass. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I made the wrong decision in transferring.’

‘Bryant thinks this sort of work is character-building,’ Bimsley assured her. ‘When he gets his teeth into something, he won’t let go. Even when the cases are cold and closed, he’ll go back in and find something new. They say he and May never officially accepted senior titles because they didn’t want to become separated from groundwork.’

‘Well I’m used to a proper hierarchy, teams and briefings, method stuff without too many nasty surprises. Instead, I’m on my knees searching through garbage. I’m not even sure what we’re meant to be looking for.’

‘You heard Mr May. One of his academic colleagues from the Museum of London has come into dodgy money. He must have reasons for thinking there’s something illegal going on. Academics are usually broke, so how come he’s dining on foie gras?’

‘So the bloke’s doing a bit of untaxed freelance. Workers in the grey economy don’t keep documentation. What does May think we’re going to find? Receipts?’

Bimsley rocked on his heels and looked at her. ‘You came up from Greenwich, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah, I’ve done Greenwich, New Cross, Deptford, Peckham, all over south London. Great catchment areas if you like arguing with drug squads and dealing with complicated social structures involving “respect” in all its gruesome manifestations, but not if you’re interested in anything more sophisticated than gunshot and knife wounds.’

‘What made you come in for the PCU position?’

‘I wanted to work on crimes with causes, not club stabbings where the motive is always “He gave me a funny look.” I heard some of the local lads talking about this unit, slagging it off. Thought it sounded interesting.’

‘Bryant and May know a lot of people. They’ve made plenty of enemies, and some loyal friends. John’s great, but Arthur can be dangerous.’

‘In what way?’

Bimsley thought for a moment. ‘They spent twenty years looking for some lunatic who called himself the Leicester Square Vampire. Bryant pushed the case too hard. The story goes that he persuaded John to use his own daughter as a decoy. Something went wrong, and the daughter died.’

‘Christ. How come they don’t hate each other?’

‘I don’t know. Nobody seems to know the full story. Longbright must, but she’s not talking.’ Bimsley slapped his mitts together. ‘Come on, it looks like it’s going to rain again, let’s wrap this up.’

They worked in silence as the night deepened and a diaphanous mist began to dampen their hair and clothes, settling on the grass like threads of silk.

‘Your interview result isn’t enough to keep the Ruth Singh file open after its verdict, is it?’ asked Meera. ‘No conclusive forensic evidence, no real suspects, all friends, relatives and neighbours accounted for on the night in question.’

‘Yeah. Bryant must be disappointed.’

‘Why?’

Bimsley dug deeper, shining his torch into the bottom of the last bag. ‘Oh, he wants the answers to life’s mysteries. Why people die, what makes them evil, how corruption takes root. It’s a hiding to nothing, because you never truly find out, do you? You don’t get to the source. May doesn’t look for meanings all the time, he just accepts what he sees and deals with it.’

‘And which do you think is best?’ asked Meera.

Bimsley shrugged. ‘We’re the law, aren’t we? You’ve got to accept it all on face value or it’ll drive you bleeding mad.’

‘Nietzsche said, “There are no facts, only interpretations.” If you believe that justice can be meted via a simple binary system, you’re cleared from any moral responsibility.’ Meera’s sharp brown eyes were steady and unforgiving.

‘Look, I know what’s right and wrong, but I’m not going to go around with a chip on my shoulder about it, pissed off at never getting closure.’