Christopher Fowler - The Water Room

‘Let’s talk about something else.’ She tapped out another cigarette. ‘Janice told me you have a murder case.’

May was relieved by the change of subject. ‘It may not be murder, that’s the trouble. Arthur took the job to help out an old pal, and I wish he hadn’t. We’ve no motive, no cause of death, no leads, no prints, nothing.’

April’s interest was piqued. ‘You’ve always told me that every murderer leaves something behind.’

‘Yes, but unfortunately the house is thick with dust. I was hoping we could collate microfibres from a laser-scan of the floor, but the chance of finding anything has to be weighed against the expense of running tests. If Raymond Land discovers what Arthur is up to, doing favours for friends, he’ll blow a gasket. At least it’s good to be back in our own building.’

April smiled. ‘Perhaps you’re a little agoraphobic, too. It’s a very English habit, the preference for familiar surroundings. The victim lived in Kentish Town, yes? Did you know it now has an official gangsta name, K-Town? Because kids are shooting tickets in the high street. The dealers are selling wraps of powdered ketamine folded inside lottery tickets. Kids can snort it straight from the palm of the hand without being noticed. It’s referred to locally as Cat Valium.’

‘How do you know that? You never go out.’

‘No, but I have friends who do.’

‘You see how good you’d be at the job? Arthur and I are completely out of touch. He still uses his network of street misfits and fringe-dwellers, but I don’t think someone who reads psychic auras from bins and paving stones is a very reliable informant. Just think about the job, April, that’s all we’re asking.’

‘I understand that. And I’ll try, I promise.’ Her eye had been taken by some white silk roses on the window ledge. She was unable to resist realigning them until they stood as regimented as pencils in a box, and barely acknowledged her grandfather’s silent departure.

‘She’s right, it is a very English habit, not going out much,’ said Bryant, hanging his Bangkok spirit-beater behind his half-buried desk. ‘My father wore his unadventurous spirit like a badge. “Take your jacket off, you won’t feel the benefit when you go back out.” “I could never live in a country where you can’t buy Marmite.” “Looks like rain, we’d better not chance it.” If it hadn’t been for the War, he’d never have met people from other countries, although of course he had to kill them. Before 1940, the average English family had travelled less than nine miles from their home. Many never got beyond the end of their street. Now look at us-we can’t stay in one place for more than two minutes. April will come around in her own time, you’ll see. You can’t force these things.’

He pulled an old Sharp’s toffee hammer from his drawer and nailed an effigy of a Tasmanian dog-demon beside his knotted whaler’s rope made from human hair. On the mantelpiece he had placed the silver-chased Tibetan skull, with moonstones for eyeballs that looked like drum-polished cataracts. Beside it were several leatherbound copies of The East Anglian Book Of Civil Magicke, the collected essays of G. K. Chesterton and a privately circulated volume entitled Gardening Secrets of Curates’ Wives . His office was brand spanking new, but had already begun to look like some kind of esoteric rural museum.

‘A nation of shopkeepers.’ Bryant dragged a letter off his desk with a derisive snort. ‘Greedy little proprietors.’

‘What now?’ May looked up from his computer screen, only mildly interested. Bryant’s background monologues formed the soundtrack of his office life.

‘Those property bods, Garrett and Moss. They’re at it again. They moved in for a quick kill in Balaklava Street, and now they’re hounding some poor old dear in the next road. In the absence of any other suspects in the Singh case, I ran a quick check into their past history. Lots of local complaints, a couple of lawsuits that even reached the courts, but no actual prosecutions.’

‘You didn’t touch my computer?’ May asked hesitantly.

‘It may surprise you to know that there are other methods of accessing information apart from the Internet. I talked to a couple of their past victims.’ Bryant dropped back into his chair. Despite the scorching air from the fan heater blasting his legs, he had layered his clothes more heavily than ever. Shirt, sweater, two coats and the disgusting scarf he refuses to throw away, May marvelled. Alma knitted it for him, and he can’t bear to part with it. The poor landlady was distraught about her dismissal, but he hadn’t yet summoned the nerve to raise the subject with Arthur.

‘Of course, London’s always been full of that type,’ Bryant continued. ‘It’s a very selfish city. For centuries, ships bearing treasures from all over the world sailed into the Thames, but two-thirds of their cargoes never made it any further than the docks. For all of our much-vaunted honesty, we’re a nation of blasted thieves. I remember hearing stories of factory owners who delayed sending their staff down to the shelters during the Blitz in order to maintain productivity levels. They refused to sound their sirens until the last possible moment, said they were concerned for the city’s economic survival, if you please.’

‘Your naivety is touching, Arthur. Garrett and Moss are required to be opportunists by the nature of their employment. You can’t paint everyone with the same brush.’ Although the detectives were in public service, May’s sensibilities veered toward industry, while Bryant’s favoured the artist. It was a mark of their respect for each other that the division actually improved their relationship. ‘Look at your Mr Singh, he kept his promise and sold to the young lady, didn’t he? Didn’t you say he’s even going to let her move in prior to completion?’

‘He feels sorry for her having to sleep on a couch. Benjamin is a gentleman of the old school. He acted against my advice, but he knows a hawk from a handsaw. He recognizes honesty when he sees it, and it’s lucky for her that he does. These days, the innocent are routinely victimized by the rapacious.’

‘She succeeded in getting the property where Garrett and Moss failed,’ remarked May. ‘Perhaps the girl isn’t as innocent as she makes out.’

‘Well, there are no tidy moral lines any more,’ Bryant grumped. ‘Everything is so tainted now. The best you can do is follow a personal code of practice.’

‘I will never understand how someone as open-minded as you can be such a closet Victorian, Arthur. If it was left to you, the police would still be walking about in their Number Ones.’ Metropolitan police officers had been required to keep a Number One uniform for ceremonial duties, consisting of a high-necked tunic, heavy belt and cape. The Victorian outfit had only been phased out in 1971.

‘Not at all. Victorians were ghastly hypocrites, but there was an appealing sense of order.’

‘Remember you’re from working-class stock. You’d have been a boot-black.’

‘God, it’s freezing in here. I’ve got two T-shirts on,’ Bryant complained. ‘Look.’ He unbuttoned his coat and cardigan to reveal a logo that read TRUST NO ONE UNDER SEVENTY. ‘I’ve always had thin blood. Where do I have to go for a smoke?’

‘I keep telling you, out on the fire escape. But I wouldn’t-it’s pouring.’

‘I need to think. The verdict on Ruth Singh is bothering me.’

Since the investigation of Mrs Singh had ended with the pathologist’s open verdict on her death, there was no just cause for further analysis, and the file had been discreetly closed. Leaving the final arrangements of the property transfer in the hands of his lawyer, Benjamin Singh was preparing to head for Brisbane in order to be with his daughter’s family.