By the time he had been promoted within the Home Office to handling matters of national security, he knew how to step on time-serving ministers like Leslie Faraday and gently squash them until they carried out his instructions without ever realising they had lost control of their own departments. The middle managers of Whitehall lived in fear of him, and even his superiors felt a sense of relief when he left the room. Only Arthur Bryant had managed to bloody his nose over the investigation of the prankster-murderer newspapers had nicknamed the Highwayman. Kasavian’s relationship with a married tabloid editor had been exposed, and the PCU had blackmailed him into dropping his assault on unit funding in return for their continued silence about his affair.
Now, he felt, it was time to take revenge.
Her Royal Highness Princess Beatrice of Connaught, who performed no public duties and was known to the press as ‘Princess Poison,’ was the Baroness Katarina-Marchmaine von Treppitz, Viennese daughter of Baron von Treppitz and the Countess Alexandria Spenten-Berger, and was usually in the headlines for the wrong reasons. She had supposedly told a group of Chinese diners in a Chelsea restaurant to ‘go back to Chinky Land’ and had been accused of everything from expressing pro-Nazi sympathies to living in a Regent’s Park apartment subsidised by the Queen. Her office also had occasion to correspond with Oskar Kasavian, and she had been persuaded, in the interest of public relations, to make a rare royal visit to a government law enforcement unit representing experimental policing techniques, namely the Peculiar Crimes Unit.
Kasavian’s plan in arranging the trip was ostensibly connected with the Princess’s desire to take more of an interest in government funding initiatives. She had a reputation for being outspoken and litigious, something journalists rarely forgave, but had seemed perfectly charming on the few times Kasavian had dealt with her. He reasoned that, as his hands were still tied in the matter of closing down the PCU, which he considered a ridiculous squandering of resources, he would get someone else to do it for him. When Princess Beatrice saw the chaotic shambles that existed above Mornington Crescent tube station, he felt sure that her acerbic comments would bring the harsh spotlight of attention onto the PCU and provide him with the ammunition he needed to shut its doors once and for all. Then he would be able to reallocate funding to a new unit under his personal supervision.
When the Princess’s office confirmed that the conductor of the Vienna Boys’ Choir had slipped and broken his baton wrist outside a Salzburg McDonald’s, the sudden cancellation of his royal performance allowed her to schedule a brief visit to the unit in its place, which meant that she would be stepping daintily from her limousine onto the mean streets of Mornington Crescent this Thursday afternoon at five. Kasavian quickly informed Leslie Faraday, who sent a protocol package to Raymond Land, who was in the middle of opening it and reading the contents with a dropping jaw just as Janice Longbright walked into his room.
‘He can’t do this,’ Land murmured. ‘He can’t send a royal visitor around at such short notice, not here, not now—not her.’ He had always known that the unit’s victory over Kasavian would be temporary, and that he would come back fighting, but this was more underhand than he had imagined. ‘They’re heading here for an inspection in less than two days’ time. Our computer system is down, there are cables and equipment boxes and God knows what all over the floor and our two chief detectives are away on some kind of bizarre winter holiday.’ Well, the last part was perhaps a blessing, as Mr Bryant could not be trusted to avoid controversial topics, and had expressed his cynicism about certain members of the royal family a number of times in the past. ‘Hullo, Janice, what do you want?’ Land eyed the strangely garbed sergeant with suspicion. Why is she sporting that outlandish hairstyle and wearing a pencil skirt? he wondered. Would it kill her to dress normally?
‘Sorry to be the bearer of more bad news, Raymond. Oswald Finch has been found dead in the Bayham Street Morgue, a heart attack brought on by blows to the neck and the chest, and our lads think it looks like murder.’
‘In our own pathology centre?’ Land all but squeaked.
‘I’m afraid it’s worse, because it looks like an inside job. On that basis, we’re conducting an internal murder investigation with our own staff as suspects.’
‘Good God, woman, does anyone else know about this?’
‘No, sir. Not yet, at least. Thought I’d better tell you.’
‘Then for heaven’s sake don’t tell anyone else. If word of this gets out, it will kill us. You’d better get Bryant and May back here at once. They’ll know what to do.’
Longbright chose to ignore the snub. ‘I can’t, sir. They’re stuck in a snowdrift on the edge of Dartmoor on their way to a spiritualists’ convention. I haven’t told them what’s happened yet. Do you want me to call them?’
Having to make spot decisions without the advice of a superior was the kind of situation Land dreaded. He worried a nail between his teeth, trying to think. If he turned down Faraday, the minister would be instantly suspicious, and would probably send Kasavian around to the unit to sniff out trouble.
‘We daren’t tell them what’s happened,’ he said finally. ‘The Home Office is sending Princess Beatrice of Connaught here for a full demonstration of the facilities. Kasavian’s doing it to embarrass and discredit us, but he doesn’t know the half of it. He thinks Arthur will be here to make a mess of things. Imagine how thrilled he’ll be when he discovers the truth. They’re expecting to be shown a crime lab, not a crime scene. We can’t turn them down; it would be admitting defeat. There’s only one thing for it: Oswald’s investigation must be concluded before the Princess arrives. There must be no sign of anything untoward having happened.’
‘I’m afraid it’s going to be a little more difficult than that, sir,’ Longbright informed him. ‘Access to the morgue was strictly limited to those of us inside the unit, and you know what Finch was like, he pretty much upset everyone in the course of the last week, so our own staff members will have to be kept here under house arrest.’
‘Suffering Jesus, if Kasavian finds out we can’t even solve a murder taking place on our own property, involving our own staff, he’ll make damned sure we’ll get shut down instantly, so that he can reallocate his funding elsewhere. To think of the things I’ve survived here, from Bryant blowing up the building to carpenters falling through the floor—you have to sort out this mess.’
‘I’ve already grounded everyone at the unit until we have a clearer picture of what happened,’ she informed him.
‘Good.’ He rose to leave. ‘Well, I suppose that’s a start. You can fill me in on the rest in the morning.’
‘I’m afraid that means you as well, sir. You also had access to the morgue keys.’
Land’s eyebrows rose to where his hairline would have been had he still owned hair. ‘That’s outrageous! Oswald and I were old friends. Our wives went crown green bowling together.’
‘You refused to take back his resignation. Did he threaten you in any way? Place you in a difficult position?’
‘I will not be interrogated by my own staff sergeant!’ Land roared, clearly mortified. ‘And you have no right to keep me here.’
‘I’m afraid I do, sir. I’ve been appointed acting head in Mr Bryant’s absence—he inserted the clause in my contract when you renegotiated it—so you’d better make yourself comfortable, because I think it’s going to be a long night.’
Longbright left the sputtering department head and returned to her office to call the detectives. May answered on the second ring. ‘Things are pretty bad here, Janice,’ he said before she could speak. ‘I don’t know how long it’s going to be before we can get free.’ There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. ‘You’re holding something back from us. What’s happened?’ He knew instinctively that something was wrong.
‘It’s Oswald,’ she told him, explaining the circumstances of the pathologist’s death. ‘This is starting to look like an internecine problem. I think I know what
to do, but I need your advice on how to go about it.’
‘You’d better tell us everything Giles and Dan have found since the body was discovered,’ said May. ‘Poor old Oswald. I’ll see what we can do to help. After all, it’s not as if we’re going anywhere.’
Just then, Banbury stuck his head around the door.
‘Call him back,’ he told Longbright. ‘I need to talk to you right now. I think we have a lead.’
22
CONFRONTATION
‘Poor, poor Oswald,’ said Bryant, shunting down into his overcoat and ruminatively sucking the last of the Humbugs. ‘What a terrible thing to happen.’
‘You two spent decades being vile to each other. Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart.’
‘No, of course not; he was perfectly disgusting and managed to upset everyone he ever met, but that doesn’t mean I’d wish him dead. They can rule out suicide. Oswald had last-minute regrets about his retirement, but he’d paid off his mortgage and was about to buy a new car. I know, because I lent him the deposit. That’s not the action of a man about to kill himself.’
‘Come on, Arthur, you know that room. If the windows are sealed, there’s no other way in or out except by the main door.’
‘Then someone borrowed a key and copied it, which makes his death a premeditated act. The corridor outside is secured at the main entrance by a code panel, but you’d only have to watch from the road to see someone key in the numbers and memorise them. Or you simply go in as someone else is entering and wait in the toilets until the coast is clear. Kids do it all the time. Oswald used to complain about them leaving lager cans in the hall. No, access to the building isn’t the issue; it’s motive.’
‘You said he upset everyone.’
‘Yes, but you don’t plan someone’s death just because they were a bit grumpy with you. I’m talking about a real motive, and I can think of at least three. One, he might have been attacked by somebody trying to get back at the unit. Two, he could have surprised someone in the act of stealing drugs. Three, there’s the possibility that his death was the result of action taken by a disgruntled member of the public.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘What did Oswald do for a living? Pronounce upon the dead. Anyone who sets themselves up as a public judge will always have enemies. We should try the more obvious routes first. Tell Dan to run an inventory and check to see if anything is missing from the room. It would have to be something worth killing for. Of course, there’s another explanation…’ He clattered the boiled sweet around his false teeth, shrinking ever further into his coat. May waited patiently for him to resume.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you wouldn’t like it,’ said Bryant annoyingly. ‘I was thinking of Edgar Allan Poe. Let Janice and the others go through the obvious routes of investigation first. It’ll do them good to try and sort this out without our help.’
‘Our help?’ May repeated. ‘Should I remind you that we are marooned in the middle of nowhere? We’re not placed to offer anyone our help.’
‘Rubbish,’ countered Bryant. ‘We have mobiles, satellites, cameras and the Internet, don’t we? All those technological marvels you’re forever banging on about. Now’s the time to put your money where your mouth is, matey. Let’s see how wonderful they really are.’ Bryant folded his arms with a smug smile. ‘You’ve got your PDSA on you, whatever it’s called, your Raspberry; let’s see you use it.’
‘You mean my PDA. The PDSA is the People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals. And it’s a BlackBerry.’
‘You can start by giving them a tip,’ said Bryant. ‘Tell Janice there’s an old lady who lives opposite the entrance to the Bayham Street Morgue, number thirty-five I think, first floor. She’s in a wheelchair and hardly ever goes out. She’ll probably be able to provide a list of visitors for the entire day. Then you can give me the keys to the back door of the van. Given the circumstances, I think we might open the hamper and make a start on the veal-and-egg pies.’
Johann pushed forward through the drift in the direction of the marooned Toyota. In the few metres he had progressed, the snow had burned his cheeks and silted against the front of his blue nylon windcheater. His actions became automatic, the raising and lowering of each leg in turn, pushing against an icy force field of wind, his sense of survival bypassing reason.
He could no longer recall his purpose in confronting Madeline. The part of him that wanted to reassure her of his devotion was fast giving way to something more primal. Although he longed to believe that she would understand what he had been through—what he was still going through—and would somehow forgive him, he suspected she was going to react as women always reacted, by shutting him out and regarding him with fear and hatred. He knew, at that point, he would have to surrender her. It seemed his life was destined to be nothing more than a series of dashed hopes and false starts.
He looked behind him, and saw that his footprint trail had already been obliterated. The sight was a confirmation of his invisibility. He longed to be seen by those who sat in judgement of him. Madeline had trusted him because he encouraged her to do so, but sooner or later everyone was faced with a test, when meaning well was no longer enough, and now it was his time to be tried again. He wanted the corridor to open to the sky once more, but the snow-laden clouds blocked the stars from sight.
At first when he knocked on the snow-crusted window, there was no response. Then a gloved mitten wiped an arc through the ice ferns, and he saw her frightened face. She started and immediately grappled with the door lock, but he was too fast for her, wrenching open the rear door. Sliding himself in beside the dozing boy in the red blanket.
‘I just want to talk,’ he said quickly. ‘I need to tell you about myself, about how I survive.’ He put his arm around the boy, knowing that she would not dare to leave without him. It was cruel, but the only way to make her pay attention.
‘I know what you are,’ she replied, turning to move his hand from Ryan. ‘Get away from my son. What are you doing here?’
‘You don’t understand, Madeline, I meant everything I said. There are things—’
‘Why are you doing this to us?’ She tried to stare him down through the car’s aquarium light, shaming him. ‘Everything you told me was a lie; you’re not who you said; you wanted me to trust you and I did. I don’t know what you are, you’re worse than all the others because you’re—’ She stopped short, knowing that Ryan lay between them. The car’s interior was icy; the engine had died. She could see her son’s breath, and the sight made her fear for him. ‘I want you to get out and leave us alone. I won’t go to the police, I won’t say anything, but you can’t be near my son.’
‘I had to follow you, but I am not crazy, Madeline, I just need this one chance to put things right, I need you to believe in me.’ His breath came with difficulty; since childhood he had been prone to fits of panic. He fought to keep his emotions under control. ‘Please, Madeline, we’re stuck here, there’s nowhere else to go. You’re the only one who can help.’
‘What do you expect from me, Johann—I don’t even know what to call you, because that’s not your real name. You think we’re going to be together after what I know about you? You think I can save you from yourself?’
‘Yes,’ he said, softly and sincerely. ‘I do believe that. We both live beneath God’s watchful eyes but you are as alone as me. We can help each other.’
During the conversation she slowly reached across the seat, closing her hand over the envelope that contained the proof of his guilt. So long as she had this weapon against him, she could feel safe. ‘Ryan, it’s okay, honey, just come over into the front,’ she instructed.
The waking boy looked at her in confusion. Johann remained motionless, but finally moved away as Ryan scrambled over into the passenger seat. ‘You have to get out now,’ she told Johann.
‘Mum. You’re frightening me,’ said Ryan. ‘Stop it.’
‘You ran from me in France, Made
line, but I needed to talk.’
‘I ran from you because you’d broken into that house in the hills, just like you’d stolen the car. Nothing you told me was the truth, Johann. I left an old man dying on the floor above, I don’t know what you did to him, but I—’
‘I didn’t do anything, Madeline. God took him away, so I could use the house.’
‘Just like all the other people in the passports you’ve stolen?’ she asked, knowing the answer. ‘I saw all the photographs you kept, the women’s bodies, their battered faces.’
He seemed dumbfounded by this, and she knew at last that he had run out of lies. Ryan was drawing closer, almost by her side. She kept her eyes on Johann’s face, sure that if she glanced away now he would guess her intentions. She had learned how to deceive violent men in the course of her marriage. So many conversations with her husband and his brother had turned into cat-and-mouse games of guilt and fabrication.
It was growing dark inside the car as the night and the blizzard cocooned it. She tried to recall which way the door lock opened. ‘What do you want with me, Johann?’ she asked. ‘When do you reach the point where your love for me switches over to hatred, and all you want to do is smash my head in?’
‘Mum, no, please—’
For a moment the snow clouds scudded apart, creating a pale pathway to the fading light. The interior of the car grew brighter.
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