Part 3 (2/2)

'Hm.' Land had been hoping for more of a career precis, but now it felt as though he was taking confession. 'April, I hope you can explain what you do here, because I'm b.u.g.g.e.red if I know.'

April glanced guiltily at her boss. She was aware that her grandfather had pet.i.tioned Land to hire her, and despite showing great promise in her first month at the unit, still felt as though she did not belong among professional criminologists.'Well,' she began softly, 'I'm just here to help out. I'm good at putting things together.'

'What does that mean?' asked Renfield. 'What field of expertise did you train in?'

'I have no formal training, but the Scarman Centre at Leicester University advocated the hiring of non-professionals in specialist criminology units, and Mr May asked me to join the PCU.'

'You mean your grandfather invited you in. Jobs for all the family, eh?'

'Give her a break, Renfield,' said Longbright. 'The girl is b.l.o.o.d.y good. She collates information and a.s.sembles it, together with forensic evidence, witness reports, timelines, data a.n.a.lysis and profiling strategy, and she does it instinctively. Could you do that?'

It was obvious to Renfield that the rest of the unit was prepared to defend May's grandchild. It was now common knowledge that her mother had been killed in the line of duty, and that April suffered intermittent bouts of agoraphobia as a result. She was thin and ethereally pale; a strong wind might blow her away. Was this fragile woman really the kind of person a specialist crime unit should be employing?

'Let's move on to Mr Kershaw,' Land suggested hopefully.

'I suppose I'm the odd man out,' Kershaw began, thoughtfully tucking a shaving of lank blond hair behind his right ear. 'Giles Kershaw, twenty-eight, single, can't imagine why, ha-ha. I went to Eton, which left my parents as impoverished as church mice but granted them a sense of genetic superiority over the st.u.r.dy farming stock in their parish. The police force is no place for the well-educated, let me tell you. I was studying to be a biochemist when I became fascinated with the morphology of death, which pretty much put my s.e.x life on hold. I've been under the tutelage of Mr Bryant and Mr May for long enough to appreciate the uniqueness of this unit, and the utter foolishness of attempts by the Home Office to close us down. Oh, and I'm your new pathologist.'

'Mr Banbury?'

Dan Banbury had pa.s.sed his formative years in an East End bedroom sprawled across a mauve candlewick bedspread, angrily punching a laptop connected to several thousand pounds' worth of computer equipment. From this unprepossessing cable-festooned site he penetrated enough security loopholes to bring himself to the attention of a forensic team specialising in high-tech fraud. However, he escaped prosecution after citing the case of Onel De Guzman, the twenty-four-year-old Filipino student at AMACC who evaded prison despite having released the world's most destructive computer virus. The police were so impressed with his defence that they asked him to check their own security system, and Banbury found himself studying on the right side of the law. It was hard to imagine that anyone so bright could have so few communication skills.

'Dan Banbury, the unit's IT guy and crime scene manager,' he said simply, stepping forward. 'I trained in technology forensics and photography, I've operated in major incident agencies sorting data recordings and I've done a lot of on-site work. People think only planes have black boxes, but anything with a microprocessor will leave a data print, and these days that includes everything from trains to was.h.i.+ng machines. But sometimes you just want to go into a murder scene and work out who knocked over a chair.'

'And of course you know...'Land waved his hand vaguely in the direction of Longbright.

'Sergeant Janice Longbright. Mr Renfield knows me, sir. There's really nothing more to say.'

'Come, come, Janice. I'm sure there's a lot we can learn from each other.'

'You're right, sir. From studying Renfield's behaviour I learned how to cause a colleague's death through incompetence.' A cold intake of breath pa.s.sed through the room.

'I think that's a bit ad hominem, Janice, if you don't mind my saying so,' said John May. 'We've already been over this, and I know that Renfield feels very bad about the matter. He admitted acting wrongfully and is trying to put the events of last week behind him.' It seemed that the sergeant's failure to involve the hospital services after he discovered a body on the street would stay to haunt him.

'I'd like to suggest that coming here, to work among Oswald Finch's oldest friends, wasn't the smartest move he could have made.'

'I know how strongly you feel, Janice, but this unit will not survive if it is divided, so it's our dutya”'

'I don't think you need to lecture me on duty, John,' said Longbright angrily.

'She's right,' said Kershaw. 'Everyone knows Renfield's appointment is a trade-off for my promotion, and I'd rather step down than cause divisions within the unit.'

'You're causing a division just by offering,' Mangeshkar pointed out.

'This is exactly the kind of thing I expected to find here,' said Renfield.'I heard you lot couldn't organise a tug-of-war in a rope factory.'

Land could sense control sliding away from him, and raised his hands. 'There'll be plenty of time to get to know each other later,' he told them. 'So, Jacka”'

'n.o.body told me there was a meeting,' said Bryant, wandering in from the corridor billowing a bonfire-trail of acrid smoke from his pipe. 'What's going on? Did I miss a punch-up? Are there any doughnuts left?'

'You can't bring that filthy thing in here!' Land protested. 'I sent you an e-mail about smoking this morning.'

'Well, there's your problem, old sausage, I never read them. Hullo, Renfield, how are you getting on with your new team-mates? You can't expect an easy ride, you know. Not after what happened.'

'Where have you been?' asked May. 'You were supposed to be here an hour ago.'

'British Museum. Christ's blood,' said Bryant, explaining without enlightening. 'I'd like to say their Earl Grey exceeded expectations but I'd be lying.' He turned to address the group. 'Now, look, we all know Renfield here is a humourless pain in the derriere who wouldn't notice an ironic remark if you tied it to a stick and poked him in the eye with it, but I think that's one of his strengths. You might also know that his father was Sergeant Leonard Renfield, an old enemy of mine at the Met, and like his father, Jack has been denied promotion several times, for which he seems to blame my reports. But he has no axe to grind with any of you, and nor should you with him. It's early days, so let's start by drawing a line under the past and at least withholding judgement until a later date when we can all gang up on him properly. Most of the trouble between us is because the sergeant doesn't understand what we do, so now's our chance to show him.'

'You didn't have to say that,' said Renfield sulkily as the meeting broke up around them. 'I'm capable of speaking for myself.'

'I know you are.' Bryant smiled. 'But least said soonest mended on this occasion, I think.'

'Well.' May marvelled as his partner ambled past in a cloud of sweetbrier smoke. 'I see you've added diplomacy to your repertoire of talents, Arthur. You know we need all the allies we can get, and that Renfield has a lot of friends in the Met. You think if we get him on our side, he'll eventually spread the word and give us more power against the Home Office. You sly old dog.'

'Perhaps this is one dog you can teach new tricks,' said Bryant, daintily pirouetting the tip of his walking stick as he danced from the room.

9.

RANDOM ACTS OF SLAUGHTER.

W.

hose bright idea was it to bring Jack Renfield in here anyway?' asked Dan Banbury. Giles Kershaw was packing the last of his belongings into a plastic crate, preparing for his move to the Bayham Street Morgue, where he would be stationed at Oswald Finch's old post. 'Land's, apparently,' he answered. 'Part of the trade-off for allowing me to take over as pathologist. They're playing politics upstairs, trying to set you against me and undermine the working structure of the unit at the same time. The most con-founding thing you can do is make the new man welcome. If you express dissatisfaction, you'll be playing directly into their hands.'

'But what will happen to Janice? There's only room for one sergeant in this outfit, and she's got years of experience over him.'

'She'll have to work it out,' said Kershaw, tamping down the crate lid with impatience. As will you. Renfield's going to be sitting right here, at my old desk. Okay, I'm out of here. See you later, old sprout.' He threw Banbury a salute as he hoisted the final box onto his hip and backed awkwardly out of the door.

Banbury had once thought that he and Kershaw would become a team in the Bryant and May mould, their respective talents complementing each other, but now it was obvious that his former partner could not wait to take up his new position. Kershaw was coolly ambitious and openly contemptuous of those who stayed behind. With a sigh of regret, Banbury woke his monitor to examine the Dead Diary, Kershaw's nickname for the daily files listing those who died in unusual or suspicious circ.u.mstances in the Central London area.

It was Dan's job to pa.s.s on any new cases which he felt required the attention of his seniors. Today, the very first one on the list caught his eye. Bryant always asked for printouts, claiming that the computer screen hurt his eyes, so Banbury made a hard copy, collected the doc.u.ment and headed across the hall. As he did so, he collided with Bryant, who was carrying a full bowl of porridge.

'G.o.d, I'm sorry, sir.' Banbury brushed milk and oat flakes from his paperwork. 'I thought you'd want to see this.'

'Come into my office.' Bryant set down the bowl, took the papers from him and dug out his reading gla.s.ses, waving Banbury to the cankerous crimson leather armchair he kept for visitors. 'Sit down before you do any more damage. What am I looking at? Don't answer, it's a rhetorical question. The Dead Diary for Monday the twenty-sixth, a forty-six-year-old deceased woman named Carol Wynley, found at the corner of Whidbourne Street, Bloomsbury, died some time before mid-night. And this is of interest because...?'

'It's just that John told me you cut across Bloomsbury on the way home, and I wondered if you'da”'

'a”Added random acts of slaughter to my already controversial repertoire of activities?' Bryant completed. 'Sorry to disap-point you, Banbury, but no. Around thirteen thousand out-bursts of violence occur outside pubs and clubs in the UK every week.' He threw the papers back. 'Wait, show me that again.' He s.n.a.t.c.hed the printed photograph and re-examined it. 'Talk to Renfield. He'll know where they've taken her. If she's gone to Bayham Street, Kershaw will be about to get his first case.'

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