by Jane Goodall
‘I spose you’re right, in a way. It’s a sort of pre-show. Flak’s almost turned the rest of the Suddens into a supporting act. Which probably explains why Kaiser’s got his dander up.’
‘Kaiser’s the singer?’
‘Yeah. Wears SS regalia and has a swastika tattooed into the side of his scalp, but there’s a few signs he’s bustin at the seams. I’ve only got this second-hand, mind. I’ve been lookin for an opportunity to talk to him myself — see if I can collect some of the spill — but I haven’t seen him around. And there’s somebody else I haven’t seen.’ Aidan frowned, studying his hands. ‘Somebody who might have asked too many questions for his own good. I should be updating Doc Latham on that — besides which, I have to make sure they know to send the soco team up there to the cemetery before the wildlife eats all the evidence. I need my reporting arrangements sorted out. Seriously, man.’
‘You want me to have a word with the DCS?’
‘Fletcher?’ He shrugged dismissively.
Jimmy winked. ‘I could feed in the suggestion that a chat between you and DI Williams might be a good idea at this point.’
32
It was after eleven when Briony was dropped back at the hotel. Her limbs felt heavy as she climbed the stairs and she had a moment of dizziness when she reached the top. She stared at the door of room 25, which had been fitted with a new steel double lock of disproportionate size. The gleaming metal looked ridiculously conspicuous against the aged wood of the door, which was badly in need of a coat of paint. What was the point, she thought, as she inserted the key she’d been issued with and heard the sharp chock when the bolt was released. What was the point of all that, seeing one good kick would probably take the whole door off its hinges?
But as she closed it behind her, she saw new hinges had indeed been fitted. The window was bolted too, so it could be opened no more than four inches, and a telephone had been installed on the little table by the wall. She dropped onto the narrow bed and waited for her thumping heartbeat to let up. ‘It’s only a few stairs,’ she told herself. Surely that’s not too much to ask of your system when you’d barely passed your thirty-third birthday? It was probably just that her period was due. That did funny things to her circulation sometimes. But maybe there was something else the matter with her heart, making it feel tight and heavy. Isn’t that where it’s supposed to get you when you bust up with the only person in the world you wanted to spend your life with? Would Gareth be feeling like this? She thought of the look on his face as they’d parted ... and he’d let her go without even coming to the station to say goodbye properly. So why did he ring last night? A change of heart? What did that mean? Briony found she was crying, the tears coursing steadily down her cheeks and dropping onto her hands.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. It didn’t have to be like this. It was only a stupid misunderstanding. What happened last night was a joke that only needed an explanation. It would be 12.20 am in Paris now, and Gareth would almost certainly have gone to bed, but surely that was all the more reason to try a call now. The little grey telephone they’d put on the desk would be tapped, but too bad. She dialled the number and waited, trying to calm the thudding in her chest, but there was no reply.
She slept badly and woke several times before calling it quits at six in the morning and drawing the curtain to let in the early light. All through the night she’d been talking to Gareth in her head, then writing him letters. She looked through her handbag and found she still had an unused aerogram.
The words poured out, along with the tears. She said she was so sorry that she broke up the holiday but that she had no choice. She told him about Macready, and explained why Steve had been at her flat on Monday night, just editing the truth a little bit to emphasise that it was Steve who was in danger, and playing down the reasons for her move to the hotel. She pleaded with him to ring her, and gave him the new phone number and the address. She signed the letter with kisses, sealed it up, dropped it in her bag and went out to post it, feeling a whole lot better.
Briony loved the London streets at this time, in the first stirrings of the day when the light was new and the breeze ran free down the streets, where cars travelled singly with discrete intervals between them. The birds acted as if they were in control of the world, reminding you that a new day was a new start — a feeling it was important to catch when you were on a case that stayed with you day and night. Something had invaded her life, railroaded everything she depended on and was now depriving her of the freedom of the streets. Well, there was no one here to stop her going for a morning run, was there?
She deposited the letter in a postbox at the end of the street, noting that it would make the first collection time of the day, in just ten minutes, then sprinted back to the hotel and up the stairs, breathing evenly as she counted the flights. But again she came over dizzy as she reached the top. She had a quick shower in the funny little alcove with a sliding door at the end of the landing and slipped back into her room as the phone was ringing.
DCS Fletcher.
‘Just wanting to make sure you’re all right,’ he said. ‘The appointment at Brixton is confirmed for eleven-thirty. You’ll be collected from Lucan Place at eleven. How are you going to get to work?’
‘I can walk, sir. It’s only ten minutes from here.’
‘I’d prefer you didn’t. Leonie will fetch you in half an hour.’ Briony put the phone down and stared at it. This was starting to get on her wick.
Lured by the smell of frying bacon, she found her way to the basement dining room and ordered breakfast, her thoughts working rapidly as she waited for it to be served. There was so much to catch up on from the time she’d been away and it occurred to her that she’d heard almost nothing of Aidan’s activities. Obviously the best way of getting up to date was to talk to him herself, but she couldn’t do that now without Fletcher’s authority and going through all the blather of protocols and security arrangements.
All the same — a smile crept over Briony’s face — there was nothing to stop her having a talk with Jimmy Chapman, was there? Knowing Jimmy, chances were he’d picked up a fair bit about what was going on with Aidan. Jimmy had been involved in the Walker case too, as photographer on the soco team, and although there was no reason to think he’d be at risk himself, it was probably a good idea to tell him some of the background to the attack on Macready.
She got Leonie to drop her at Jimmy’s shop and had to go through the absurdity of making another arrangement to be collected, though the place was only a short walk along the main road from the police station. Leonie said she’d wait in the car.
Briony hadn’t seen Jimmy for a couple of years, and although he was instantly recognisable when he came to the door, she felt she was being greeted by a different person from the one she’d known. The Jimmy who always looked like an out-of-place teenager darting about the corridors of the Vine Street station, who used to joke about his own risk of slipping through the cracks in the floorboards, was slipping instead towards middle-aged solidity.
‘Briony Williams!’ He beamed at her with obvious pleasure. ‘Or do I have to call you ma’am these days? I suppose you been shinning up the career ladder at a rate of knots. You got my message then?’
‘What message?’
‘I rang Chelsea station this morning and asked to speak to you, but they said you hadn’t arrived yet.’
Briony tapped her forehead. ‘Must be ESP. I haven’t been to the station yet. You know what they say about great minds — better see how alike we’ve been thinking, hadn’t we?’
He showed her into the office at the back of the shop and they sat at his work table.
‘Aidan was round here last night,’ he said, ‘delivering some photos. I got the impression he’s not too chipper.’
‘You think he doesn’t like the assignment?’
‘No, actually. I’d say he’s deeply involved in the assignment. He says he’s frustrated with his reporting arrangements.’
‘Steve!’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Yeah, well. Aidan said he wants to talk to you.’
‘So we are thinking alike.’
‘Hang on, Briony. I haven’t finished. I said I’d mention it to Fletcher, which I did. I rang him a little while ago and got the “leave it with me” routine. So I don’t know if it’s worth giving him a gentle push from your end.’
‘All this manoeuvring, just to talk to someone who was part of my regular team only a couple of weeks ago! I can understand why you left the Met, Jimmy. You said Aidan brought some photos. What’s in them?’
‘I’m not strictly supposed to — ’ Jimmy smiled broadly.
Standing up, Briony smiled back. ‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’
The darkroom was a converted laundry behind the house, obviously far too small for the demands of the business. The infrared light revealed a crowded arrangement of tubs and work benches, with scores of prints hanging from lines across the ceiling. They had to duck under these to get to the bench where Jimmy had laid out the contact sheets from Aidan’s rolls of film. He set up the magnifier so Briony could take a look.
The top two rows on the first sheet seemed to be all groups of punks, photographed in some kind of heavily wooded area. In the next row, she could make out that it was a cemetery. There were gravestones in some of the shots, and the last row showed a mausoleum with a man standing on the roof and, above it, people sitting on an overhanging tree branch.
It was the second sheet that started to get interesting. Briony peered at the increasingly bizarre sequence of images: a girl winding chains and bandages around the man, the mummy-like figure hoisted into the air, then lowered and apparently set alight. Briony picked some shots for immediate attention. Jimmy put the first one in the enlarger and adjusted the timer while she waited for the image to be projected onto an easel. Briony had been with Jimmy a few times when he’d done this, and it was always a strange moment. Although she understood how it worked in principle, there was something mysterious about the way the patches of dark and the light grew on the easel, gradually forming recognisable shapes, bringing that fixed moment of past time into the here and now.
‘Looks like an execution,’ Jimmy said. ‘Except the victim’s a bit too calm and cooperative.’
‘More than that — he’s anticipating. See? He’s turning towards the girl here like he’s giving orders. Then before the rope comes, he’s looking up — and he’s looking down ready for the drop into the box. But what’s wrong with this one? The face has gone out of focus.’
‘No.’ Jimmy reset the enlarger for that area of the photograph. ‘It’s a mask. Aidan mentioned they use different sorts of masks in the act.’
‘Did he now? Macready said his attacker wore a mask.’ Briony leant in further towards the easel.
‘It’ll be clearer if you lean back,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ll see if I can isolate that section.’
The minutes ticked away. Briony took another look at the contact sheets, and Jimmy swore intermittently as he tinkered with the negative.
‘Bingo!’ He had projected the grotesque rubber face so it filled the easel. ‘Halloween mask.’
‘It’s more sophisticated than that. Look at the way the features are moulded — all that detail around the eyes and mouth. You know what’s bothering me, Jimmy? There’s some connection between this clowning act and the attack on Macready. There’s got to be.’
Both of them were silent for a moment, concentrating. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked. ‘You got a description of this mask Macready saw?’
Briony hedged. ‘Not exactly.’ Macready had confused her. For most of their talk he’d been as precise as ever, but when he described the mask, it was as if he was hallucinating. ‘I want him to see the photo. Soon as you’ve got a print I’ll get him to look at it. But I’m worried Aidan still hasn’t been properly briefed. I was worried all along. See, there’ve been arson attacks on Macready’s place, and on Steve’s just recently, so what happened to Macready was like the culmination of some plan.’
‘Macready and Steve? Why’s that then?’
She bit her lip. ‘You ought to be told the whole story. It’s to do with the Walker case, which is why you should know.’
‘That animal?’ Jimmy’s face darkened.
‘Don’t insult animals. Look, I can’t tell you any more before I’ve cleared it with the chief super — or better still with Macready, soon as he’s ready to have visitors again. He got you involved in the first place, didn’t he?’
‘I should say so. Personal call from the commander’s office, seven-thirty in the morning when my youngest was running round the place with no nappy on, watering the fitted carpet upstairs. And it’s not the first time I’ve done him a favour of this sort.’
‘I’ll bet it isn’t. Jimmy, I need prints of these to show to Macready. When can I get them?’
‘Not before eleven, I’ll tell you that much.’
‘Stuff it, Jimmy. I’m not going all the way round the mulberry bush on this. Aidan has to be warned, because these guys doing the fire show may be very dangerous, and they may be specifically dangerous to him if they find that out he’s CID. Now. Where have you got him billeted?’
It was only as she was leaving that Briony remembered Leonie was still waiting in the car. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, diving into the passenger seat. ‘I didn’t expect that to take so long. Gunter Grove we want. And better step on it — I have to be back at the station by eleven.’
As they drew up outside the house, Briony took note of the vehicles parked nearby. There was no sign of the Vespa Jimmy had mentioned, so Aidan probably wasn’t there. Whose was the natty green Renault? She managed a discreet glance through its side window as she passed, and registered one of those grotesque little troll figures dangling from the driving mirror.
‘Cute little car,’ Leonie commented, standing beside her. ‘Somehow it doesn’t look as if it belongs in this street.’
‘Exactly what I was thinking. Keep an eye on the comings and goings, would you? I won’t be long in there.’
‘But I’m supposed to be with you at all times. Those were my instructions, direct from the top. I know Jimmy Chapman’s was a safe enough port of call, but what’s this place?’
‘I said I won’t be long. Maybe only a few minutes.’
Jimmy had given her the front door key, but as soon as she entered she could tell there was somebody in there.
‘Nick?’ she called from the foot of the stairs.
A door opened and Ken Keagan appeared.
‘Is Aidan here?’ she asked.
‘Afraid not. Haven’t seen him. I just came to collect his souvenirs. I didn’t realise you were his supervising officer.’
And what business is it of yours, she thought. Determined at least to take a quick look at Aidan’s set-up now she was here, she went past him up the stairs. The door was wide open but she examined the lock on it, which seemed to be an exact replica of the one installed on her hotel room.
‘We decided to concentrate the security on the room rather than the house,’ said Ken, watching her from the top of the stairs. ‘One of those things on the front door wouldn’t exactly blend in.’
‘You’re right there.’ She laughed. Scanning the room, she noticed that Aidan’s few items of clothing were slung over the back of a chair and the wardrobe door was open. There were some bulging plastic bags on the table. ‘These the goodies?’ she asked. ‘Bit bulky for forensic samples, aren’t they? Any idea where they’re from?’
‘Highgate cemetery, apparently.’
She turned one over. ‘He hasn’t labelled them. Looks like he needs a bit of coaching on this part of the job. All right. I’ll leave you to it.’
Leonie remained tight-lipped as they drove back to Lucan Place. That suited Briony — she had to prepare herself for the coming encounter in Brixton prison.
33
The interview with Maxwell Tremlay was set up in a room on the ground
floor of the cell block with two officers posted outside and a senior warder seated at the hack, ready to monitor the proceedings. As Briony had anticipated, it was a dismal atmosphere in there. Fluorescent glare from the tube embedded in the ceiling bounced off the painted concrete walls, highlighting the scratches on the metal table that was bolted to the floor. It was all sufficiently intimidating to ensure that no one spoke during the few long minutes’ wait for the prisoner. Steve, leafing through some notes with a stern expression on his face, looked as if he had a certain familiarity with the conditions, but Briony was quite unnerved.
The Walker’s arrival was heralded by a succession of clangs in the echoing corridor outside and at this point the warder smiled and spoke to Briony.
‘I hope you’ll feel it’s worth the effort,’ he said. ‘We haven’t had a word out of him in months.’
The door was thrown open and a young officer entered carrying a small metal-framed chair, which he placed several feet from the table. Then the prisoner was brought in. Briony registered the trace of a limp in the shuffling feet, the shackled hands, the well-worn prison overalls and the roughly shaved head of a man who might have been any of the anonymous social rejects harboured in a place like this.
He took his time getting seated, as if he were unfamiliar with the apparatus of a chair, and waited till the two guards had withdrawn before raising his head.
For a second Briony had the illusion of a face floating in the space in front of her, its contours chiselled by the harsh light from above, the mouth set, the eyes looking out from somewhere far back in the skull. Was he looking at her or through her? His presence made her feel so exposed that the distinction was meaningless.
‘Thank you for coming to talk to us, Max.’ Steve’s tone was practised and even. ‘This needn’t take long. I’d like you to look at something.’ He extracted a copy of Yeller from among his papers and got up to hand it over, but was swiftly intercepted by the warder, who took it from him and held it out to Tremlay. There was no response. It was as if the person in front of them neither heard nor saw the manoeuvre.