Part 1 (1/2)
THE VICTORIA VANISHES.
CHRISTOPHER FOWLER.
A PECULIAR CRIMES UNIT MYSTERY.
”It is most absurdly said, in popular language, of any man, that he is disguised in liquor; for, on the contrary, most men are disguised by sobriety.”
a”Thomas de Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium-Eater.
THE VICTORIA VANISHES.
PECULIAR CRIMES UNIT.
1b Camden Rd London NW1 0JP DUTY ROSTER FOR MONDAY 26th FEBRUARY Raymond Land, Acting Unit Chief Arthur Bryant, Senior Detective John May, Senior Detective Janice Longbright, Detective Sergeant Dan Banbury, Crime Scene Manager/ Information Technology Giles Kershaw, Forensics / Pathology Meera Mangeshkar, Detective Constable Colin Bimsley, Detective Constable April May, Office Manager / Liaison PLEASE NOTE THAT THE OFFICE WILL BE CLOSING AT 4:00 P.M. TODAY, IN ORDER TO ALLOW STAFF TO ATTEND THE FUNERAL OF OUR PATHOLOGIST, OSWALD ELIAS FINCH.
A NON-DENOMINATIONAL SERVICE WILL BE CONDUCTED AT ST PANCRAS OLD CHURCH AT 4:30 P.M.
DRINKS WILL BE SERVED UPSTAIRS AT THE DEVEREUX PUB, OFF ESs.e.x STREET, THE STRAND, FROM 6:00 P.M.
IN ACCORDANCE WITH MR FINCH'S WISHES, PLEASE DO NOT SEND FLOWERS TO THE CHURCH. INSTEAD, YOU CAN MAKE CONTRIBUTIONS.
C/O:.
NHS Trust Ward ES Psychiatric Unit Broadhampton Hospital Lavender Hill London SE5 8AZ.
STAFF BULLETINS.
WE ARE IN THE PROCESS OF CLEARING OUT THE BAYHAM STREET MORGUE AND REFITTING IT AS A GRADE 4 'SECURE HYGIENE' AREA, SO PERSONAL ITEMS MAY NO LONGER BE KEPT HERE. THIS NOTICE ESPECIALLY APPLIES TO THE PERSON WHO LEFT A BOX OF MAYNARD'S 'OLDE TYME' WINE GUMS AND A JAR OF BRANSTON PICKLE IN ONE OF THE CADAVER DRAWERS.
NEXT MONDAY THE PCU FILM CLUB WILL BE SHOWING 'IT ALWAYS RAINS ON SUNDAY' WITH GOOGIE WITHERS. THIS WAS SERGEANT LONGBRIGHT'S CHOICE, SO ALL THOSE WHO WERE EXPECTING A SCREENING OF THE NEW MARTIN SCORSESE FILM SHOULD ADDRESS THEIR COMPLAINTS TO HER.
PLEASE READ THE NEW RECOMMENDED GUIDELINES ON SUSPECT SEARCHES AND CONFISCATION OF PROPERTY. SUSPECTS HAVE RIGHTS, APPARENTLY, EVEN IF YOU THINK THEY MIGHT HAVE CUT OFF SOMEONE'S HEAD AND LEFT IT IN THEIR FRIDGE. DON'T BLAME ME, I DON'T MAKE THE RULES.
THIS THURSDAY'S EVENING CLa.s.s, TO BE GIVEN BY RAYMOND LAND ON 'POLICEWORK AND THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING,' HAS BEEN CANCELLED DUE TO LACK OF INTEREST.
PLEASE NOTE THAT SARDINES IN SUNFLOWER OIL DO NOT AGREE WITH CRIPPEN, AS THE PERSON WHO STACKED THEIR OUTGOING MAIL NEAR HIS LITTER TRAY WILL DISCOVER TO THEIR DISADVANTAGE.
1.
ASLEEP IN THE STARS.
S.
he had four and a half minutes left to live. She sat alone at the cramped bar of the Seven Stars and stared forlornly into her third empty gla.s.s of the evening, feeling invisible.
The four-hundred-year-old public house was tucked be-hind the Royal Courts of Justice. It had been simply furnished with a few small tables, wooden booths and framed posters of old British courtroom movies. Mrs Curtis had been coming here for years, ever since she had first become a legal secretary, but every time she came through the door, she imagined her father's disapproval of her drinking alone in a London pub. It wasn't something a vicar's daughter should do.
Hemmed in by barristers and clerks, she could not help wondering if this was all that would be left for her now. She wanted to remain in employment, but companies had grown clever about making women of a certain age redundant. After her last pay-off, she had spent time working for a philosophical society instead of heading back into another large firm. Now she was waiting fora”what exactly? Someone to surprise her, someone to appreciate her, someonea”
She stared back into the melting ice cubes.
Her name was Naomi, but her colleagues called her Mrs Curtis. What was the point of having an exotic name if no-body used it? She was st.u.r.dy-beamed and rather plain, with thick arms and straight bangs of greying hair, so perhaps she looked more like a Curtis to others. If she had married, per-haps she would have gained a more appealing surname. She regretted having nothing to show for the past except the pa.s.sing marks of time.
She checked the message on her cell phone again. It was brief and unsigned, but casual acquaintances sometimes called and suggested a drink, then failed to turn up; the legal profession was like that. Looking around the bar, she saw no-one she recognised. Friends usually knew where to find her.
'Give me another Gordon's, darling. Better make it a double.'
Adorable boy, she thought. The barman was impossibly slim, probably not much older than twenty-one, and didn't regard her with pity, just gave her the same friendly smile he bestowed on everyone else. Probably Polish; the ones who worked in bars now were quick to show pleasure, and had a rather old-fas.h.i.+oned politeness about them that she admired.
She touched her hair and watched him at work. She would never eat alone in a restaurant, but taking a drink by herselfin a pub was different. n.o.body knew her past here, or cared. For once, there were no tourists in, just the Friday night after-office crowd jammed into the tiny narrow rooms and spread out across the pavement on an unnaturally warm winter night. It had to be a lot colder than this to stop the city boys from drinking outside.
When she noticed him, it seemed he had been standing at her side for a while, trying to get served.'Here,' she said, pus.h.i.+ng back her stool, 'get in while you can.'
'Thanks.' He had a nice profile, but quickly turned his head from her, probably because of shyness. He was a lot younger than she, slightly built, with long brown hair that fell across his face. There was something distantly recognisable about him. 'Can I get you one while I'm here?' he asked. Rather a common voice, she thought. South London. But definitely familiar. Someone I've talked to after a few gins?
'Go on, then, I'll have another Gordon's, plenty of ice.'
He slid the drink over to her, looking around. 'I wonder if it's always this crowded.'
'Pretty much. Don't even think about finding your way to the toilets, they're up those stairs.' She pointed to the steep wooden pa.s.sageway where a pair of tall prosecutors were making a meal out of having to squeeze past each other.
He muttered something, but it was lost in a burst of raucous laughter behind them. 'I'm sorry, what did you say?' she asked.
'I said it feels like home in here.' He turned to her. She tried not to stare.
'My home was never like this.'
'You know what I mean. Cosy. Warm. Sort of friendly.'
Is he just being friendly, she thought, or is it something else? He was standing rather too close to her, and even though it was nice to feel the heat of his arm against her shoulder, it was not what she wanted. In a pub like this everyone's s.p.a.ce was invaded; trespa.s.s was part of the attraction. But she did not wanta”was not looking fora”anything else, other than another drink, and then another.