by Jane Goodall
Briony felt sick. It had been that easy to get into Macready’s house — easier after the security locks had been installed than it was the first time, when they had to use the little bathroom window.
Steve took over. ‘So you’ve got transport?’
The smile was broader now. Kaiser John was starting to enjoy this. ‘There’s plenty of second-hand car dealers. You get their keys, you can have a lend of any car you want.’
‘So you’re the driver.’
Kaiser nodded.
Suddenly changing his posture and his tone, Steve came in aggressively. ‘What you’re describing is a highly organised operation. Nobody would engage in something like that without a purpose. Any idea what that would be?’
Kaiser turned his head away and looked at the wall, but there was no mistaking the flush of anger that rose through his neck and up the side of his face.
‘No idea then, Kaiser John?’ Steve was taunting him. ‘No idea what it’s all for?’
‘You think I got no idea? I know.’ He was standing now, drumming at his own chest with his index finger, and the voice that surged out of him was at a pitch Briony had never heard before. ‘I know.’
46
There was no choice but to terminate the interview. Kaiser was making noise, not words, and the effect at close range was intolerable. Since it was now after six, they got him put away for the night and headed for the canteen, where the queue was longer than usual even for a Friday night. The place was filled with animated talk.
‘Something’s afoot,’ said Steve.
Briony was looking round. ‘A lot of these aren’t regular staff. Looks like they’ve been drafted in, doesn’t it? Chalmers must have been moving fast since you talked to him. I’m impressed.’
By the expression on his face, it was clear Steve took that as a compliment to himself rather than the DAC, but maybe he’d earned it anyway.
Something was indeed afoot. Chalmers and Fletcher had called a major briefing to address the CID team and the three dozen plainclothes officers drafted in for a series of operations tomorrow. The only person missing was Aidan, who had been debriefed by Fletcher after the rehearsal and was now ensconced at Gunter Grove with a small squad of protection officers. Fletcher’s opening summary indicated that something had turned his thinking around and had brought him up to speed very smartly. Kaiser’s run-in with the DCS couldn’t have been better timed. It had served to shift the focus where it should have been all along — with the Suddens.
But there was now crucial evidence from Pavan. The socos had found human blood in the earth under the Thompson mausoleum at Highgate, where the Sudden Deff fire show had taken place last Tuesday.
‘It’s recent,’ said Pavan, ‘and in quantities that would suggest fatal blood loss in the victim. The splatter pattern against the walls is suggestive of arterial spurting. But the situation is confused by the presence on the scene of stage blood.’ He held up a brown glass bottle. ‘Van Helsing’s capsules.’ There was muted laughter from some parts of the room. ‘Far from a joke, I’m afraid. There is absolutely no doubt that a murder was committed on this site, and we have the weapon: a steel bicycle spoke, of the type used on Commander Macready. The indications are that the body was subsequently incinerated, leaving fragments of charred bone in the same area as the blood.’
Fletcher took over again. ‘Which brings us to the question of the likely victim. Aidan’s guess is that it may be a journalist, a Mr Logan Royce, who works for a New York music magazine called Beaten Tracks. Aidan was aware that Royce was making a few pertinent enquiries of his own into the activities of this cult, and we’ve ascertained that he hasn’t been at his place of residence — the Cloisters in Sloane Avenue — since last Monday.’ He smiled. ‘I know some of you have had a very busy afternoon, but you’ll be glad to see that this is coming together.’
Congratulations, said a sarcastic voice in Briony’s head.
The busy afternoon, he explained, had been a run-up to a succession of coordinated operations to be set in train overnight, ready for the next public appearance by the Suddens at two o’clock tomorrow in Highgate. The most disturbing information from Aidan was that there was talk at the rehearsal of a ‘live deff act’.
‘That is a very sinister expression, in the light of what we’ve found out in the last twenty-four hours. Now. We’ve considered the options.’ Fletcher exchanged glances with Chalmers. ‘A preventive strategy would be the standard approach in a situation where there would be high risk to the public or to an individual, but if we can’t locate the victim before the event, we have to be prepared to intercept the intended action.’
There were murmurings around the room and some hands were raised, but Fletcher pressed on. Aidan says there’s gossip about the use of underground access routes by this group, and he’s sure that’s how they made their entrances for the last Highgate concert. The Thompson mausoloeum, which they used as a stage, has an inside staircase leading to the catacombs under the western end of the cemetery. We know our suspects have been using an underground route, and the tunnels would be an obvious place to hold someone in captivity, so that’s where we’re concentrating our attention, with the assistance of the Highgate police. It’s not an easy job because cave-ins can create cells blocked off from the rest of the passageways.’
A flurry of questions ensued, most of them going back over points Briony was already familiar with. But there was one, from someone in the group she’d identified as the C1 contingent, that raised a concern she’d been wrestling with.
‘Sir. If our undercover officer has been sprung by one of this group, how can we assume that the other members aren’t also in the know?’
‘Short answer is we don’t assume anything,’ said Chalmers. ‘But I’ll ask Steve Latham to explain our thinking on that one.’
Steve reported on some background he’d got from Aidan about the jealousy between the key players in the Suddens and Kaiser’s position as the one who could get pushed out or worse. ‘So Kaiser had his own motives for tracking Aidan and it is possible the others are not aware of the undercover operation. However, if the rest of the group do know about it, they might have chosen Aidan for their next victim — they may be trying to lure him into a trap. What they don’t know is that Kaiser’s blown the gaff, Aidan’s on full alert and he’s got a backup team primed for whatever might happen.’
No, no, no, Briony thought. This doesn’t add up. But she couldn’t see her way around all the twists in it right now, in this hot crowded room. Kaiser’s crooning act had started a headache that was getting worse by the minute.
Chalmers took over from Fletcher for the next stage of the briefing. The Highgate operation, he said, would be executed with two others: full searches at 93 Lots Road and of the Mullighans’ flat in the World’s End estate, as the residences of people known to be associated with the group. The searches were timed to coincide with the concert while the suspects were absent, so as to avoid putting them on the alert.
*
‘You know how they got hold of this?’ Briony pushed Kaiser’s duplicate key across the desk to Pavan.
Pavan responded with raised eyebrows, and she turned wearily to Steve. ‘You tell him.’
The three of them were in her office taking stock of the new developments. As Steve dropped the little bombshell about Ken Keagan, Briony was trying to get her aching head around some of the immediate implications. But Pavan did it for her.
‘This means all the locks to which the socos had keys are worthless. More than that, they’re convenient access points. You two will have to move hotels tonight.’
‘I’m not doing that,’ Briony burst out. ‘I’m just not bloody doing it.’ Aside from the chore of packing up her things again and moving to another little room with equally useless locks and keys, the Fyfield Hotel was the place Gareth would try to contact her once he got her letter. Another stuff-up in that direction was all she needed.
‘I’m not moving either,’ S
teve said. ‘Since they’ve turned on the tap from the C1 staffing pool, they can send someone over to sit on the stairs overnight. I’ve had it with this protection game. Every single advance that’s been made in this case has been our work or Aidan’s.’ He shot a glance at Briony. ‘And every step we’ve taken has involved some ridiculous square dance with the restrictions that have been placed on us.’
There was a brisk tap on the door and Fletcher poked his head around.
‘Here we go again,’ muttered Steve.
‘Arrangements for tomorrow,’ said Fletcher. ‘We don’t want you two traipsing around the jungle up there in Highgate. Far too risky. You’ll be needed here in any case, for the searches. I’ll go through the details with you tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock in my office.’ The door shut again, as Steve made throat grasping signs with his hands.
Pavan stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I feel I must take responsibility for this situation. I’ll talk to Chalmers about the security arrangements for tonight.’
‘This isn’t your fault, Pavan,’ said Briony. ‘Ken wouldn’t be the only person in CID who’s careless with his keys and no doubt someone will be tearing a strip off him for it soon enough. There’s just a problem with the whole way we operate in the Met — ’
‘Is that all?’ The ironic half-smile was restored to Pavan’s face.
‘It’s why Macready was unique,’ Briony carried on. ‘He managed to make the system work for him, not the other way around. You know, if things go on this way I could see us losing that battle altogether in another five years. We’ll just be cogs in the machine.’
*
Sharon knew exactly where she was. They’d taken her down into the basement, through Sol’s workshop and down again into the passage under the street. Then she’d heard the lift coming up from below and the heavy clanking as it stopped. She was pushed inside, the lift was set in motion again and she felt herself going deep down. She’d ripped off the blindfold, but what could she see? Shouts brought the echo of her own voice back to her.
47
It was a bad night. The headache raged, and in the small hours Briony had to make her way past two security officers to go and vomit in the little bathroom at the other end of the landing. After that she slept for a while, but sleep was the worst of it because the Walker’s face found its way into her dreams. At one point she jolted awake with a distinct sense that there was someone in the room with her, watching and breathing.
She lay watching the light grow till she could just about call it day, then dressed and announced to the men outside her door that she was going for a walk if they would care to join her. They did, at a not too discreet distance, so she felt hemmed in and self-conscious, unable to take any pleasure in the early morning. Since the only benefit was routine exercise, she stepped up the pace, at least getting some amusement from the heavy-footed echo as she took unexpected corners.
At seven she steered her way back towards the hotel, thinking that it was eight in Paris and wondering what time the mail was delivered in Gareth’s apartment building. She pictured the place, with its spiral staircase and the set of polished wooden mailboxes by the entrance. Maybe he would get up late, so she would have to go to work before she heard from him. Maybe she wouldn’t hear from him. He could have found someone else already — someone who perhaps had been in the background all along. Was that why he let her go so easily? Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be, because it would never fit in with her calling.
At ten to eight she gave up staring at the phone in her room, grabbed her handbag and knocked on Leonie’s door. Leonie had the heavy-eyed look of someone who’d slept in.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise what time it was. Zonked out.’ She ran a hand through disorderly hair. ‘Guess I’d better get myself into gear. You look ready to go. Did you sleep okay?’
‘Yup,’ said Briony.
‘You didn’t, did you?’
‘Nope.’
Neither of them wanted to pursue that conversation any further in the presence of the two security officers, who tailed them as they walked to Lucan Place.
Briony’s meeting with Fletcher was mercifully short, since he was preparing to leave for Highgate and had many things on his mind. His main concern was timing.
‘We’ve got extra socos drafted in, but not enough for two separate teams down this way. So Lots Road and the flat in the estate will have to be done consecutively. In any case Pavan thinks we’re better off with the same team on both. If the shenanigans up in Highgate are due to start at 2.00 pm, we can assume the participants will have left this area by 1.30. Let’s say the earliest you can go into the Mullighan flat is 1.45. Our priority is finding the weapon used on Macready, but obviously we’re after any evidence that links these crazies to his murder.’
Thanks for that advice, she thought. Just how basic could you get, at an advanced stage of a difficult case? She returned to her office and shut the door, feeling desperately in need of some time to herself. More than half her mind was still on Gareth. If only she could talk to him. Looking at her watch, she reassured herself that it was Saturday morning, after all, when most people got up a bit later. He probably hadn’t collected his mail yet, and when he did he’d surely try her at work if the people at the hotel told him she’d left.
She got out her notes and tried to concentrate. Something from the briefing yesterday was nagging at her. Something that had struck a wrong note with her — but she couldn’t remember what. She reached mechanically for the unopened mail, thinking that if she went through a few routine documents, the sheer boredom of it might provoke her mind into a re-engagement with the tangle of issues that had come up. As she pulled a buff envelope towards her, the phone rang.
‘Briony? Just wanting to be sure you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine. Really. Thanks, Leonie.’ She wondered if her pulse could be heard on the other end of the line, but managed to carry through a brief conversation about Leonie’s role in the day’s arrangements.
The moment she hung up, it rang again.
‘Briony?’ Gareth. ‘I got the letter. Just now.’
‘Oh,’ she said stupidly. ‘Well ... I was wondering why — ’
‘Look, we need to talk.’ There was a pause. ‘Briony?’
Say something, Briony told herself, but the words were sabotaged by all the excess heartbeat.
‘I only got back last night,’ said Gareth. ‘I stayed in Wales for the rest of the week, trying to ... trying to ... Well anyway, I went to Dolgellau and came back down along the coast. Yesterday I actually got to walk on a sunny beach.’
‘Sounds nice,’ she said flatly.
‘It was bloody miserable. I realised — well, let’s not go into that now. How are you? Are you all right, Bry?’
‘Not really.’ Her lip was trembling uncontrollably now. ‘A lot’s happened.’
‘Listen. I’m coming over. I’ll get on a plane and I’ll be there by tonight. Don’t make a dinner date with anybody else, will you? I’ll come to your hotel at seven.’
After he’d disconnected she stayed there for a minute, listening to the dial tone, then the beeps, letting the tears flow freely but feeling an extraordinary lightness come over her at the same time. She went to the bathroom to splash her face and smiled absurdly at herself in the mirror. The world had changed and everything was going to be all right.
Back at her desk she tore open the buff envelope, her mind taken up with a mental replay of every word Gareth had said, complete with the telling pauses, the gentle intonations.
Dear Detective Inspector Williams. The hand-printed words on the note she was holding stared back at her as if they were written in another language. Before her mind was able to process them, she had registered that the page was torn from the message pad at the front desk, and that the other contents of the envelope were most definitely not a report.
She called Denis in and handed him the note. ‘What do you make of that?’
He seated
himself and took his time considering it, while Briony stared at the first of the drawings. It was like looking through a window into someone’s dream. The picture was small enough to fit on the page of an A4 sketchpad, but it captured a large-scale scene. Swirling lines of black, white and grey created a landscape dominated by two towers rising out of a building that looked like a cathedral, with elaborately shaped windows set high above the ground. But the ground was only a thin layer, covering another world beneath, where there were passages and caves belching fire.
Down in the dark satanic mills ran the caption underneath. She glanced at Denis, who was going along the edge of the note with his thumb, as if he were checking a shopping list.
‘So this happened yesterday,’ he said.
‘Yesterday?’
‘Well that’s the date they’ve put on here. Funny sort of story, isn’t it — what did they think she was doing? Pinching their artworks?’ As he read out the key points in the note, Briony registered them quite clearly. He turned the sheet over. ‘There’s an address here. Sharon Smith, 143a Imperial Road. Want me to go down there?’
‘Yes. If you find her, bring her in straightaway. Try to keep on the right side of her. Take Leonie with you — she’s good at being nice to people.’
When he’d gone she returned to the drawings with new concentration, comparing them with the page of sketches she’d taken from Sherringham’s studio. They were definitely in the same style, and it was no wonder even someone at the Tate could have mistaken them for Blake originals. She laid them out in rows on the desk, then began shuffling them around. There was a sequence to these.
The towering building with its subterranean passages featured in the first three, but there was a progression. Figures were added in the second and third: human bodies rising and falling between the levels, with pieces of chain attached to their wrists and ankles, and tongues of flame leaping around them. Down in the dark satanic mills. Of course. Of course. ‘Satanic mills’ was what William Blake called the factories. The towers were chimneys. And this was a factory, not a church — it was Lots Road power station.