“Renfield prides himself on playing by the book. He would have been mortified to be reported by a man he considered his enemy.”
Longbright felt she was finally on the right track. “I think Renfield returned to the mortuary for some reason, and found Finch writing up a report that accused him of failure to carry out correct procedure.”
“The sergeant certainly has the right temperament,” Kershaw admitted.
“Hadn’t he once been placed on a month’s paid leave for attacking another officer? Finch would probably have goaded him. You know how he liked to wind people up. Suppose he realised that the girl could have been saved if Renfield had acted differently? What was he doing accompanying a body to the morgue anyway? If Lilith Starr wasn’t just another Camden overdose after all, Renfield should have noticed something and called in medics at once. Imagine Finch spotting that. He challenges the sergeant, the limit of Renfield’s patience is reached, and he gives Finch a little happy-slap…‘
“But the pathologist is old and infirm, and the effect on him is more drastic than intended.” Kershaw seized on the idea, taking it further. “He collapses on the floor. Renfield panics, looks about the room, sees the loose ceiling-fan cover and decides to make it look like an accident. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him.”
“You realize what will happen if we try to take him in as a suspect,” warned Longbright. “All these years we’ve spent attempting to heal the rift between the PCU and the Metropolitan Police. We’ll have to fight them head-on.”
“The Princess Royal’s visit is scheduled to commence in precisely five hours, but I see little sign of preparation for her appearance,” said Rosemary Armstrong, the royal appointments secretary. Upon her arrival she had glanced about the unit with a vaguely horrified air before flicking a handkerchief over the chair April had offered her. A search had commenced to locate a teacup, but April had only been able to produce a clean mug bearing the shield of St Crispin’s Boys’ School that Bryant had swiped in the course of their last investigation.
“We are a working unit,” said April, “and today is especially busy. We’re short-staffed, and-‘
“Yes, yes.” Armstrong impatiently waved the thought aside. “I’m sure we all have lots of work to do, yes? But by this evening the Princess will be quite fatigued, and in no mood for a poor show. Last night she had to sit through a performance of The Marriage of Figaro that could, with the utmost charity, have best been described as pedestrian, and today she is required to unveil a plaque dedicated to the Dagenham Girl Pipers before attending your presentation. Few people can imagine the stamina required to handle her responsibilities.” She rose and peered from the corner window overlooking the road. “What on earth is that down there?”
“It’s Camden High Street.”
“What a pity. Does it always look like that?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“With all those people milling about? That won’t do. I thought we’d decided on barriers.”
“The mayor was against the idea, I’m afraid.”
“That ghastly little Trot? Well, I suppose these things can’t be helped. I assume you can assure me that the building will have been thoroughly cleaned and tidied, with the fresh-cut flowers I requested in place throughout the offices by five o’clock, yes? That everyone will be in their places, and that the royal protocol brochures will have been read and digested? We cannot risk breaches of etiquette simply because some members of staff have failed to observe a few painfully simple rules.”
“We’ll certainly do our best to ensure that the Princess has a pleasant and informative visit,” said April.
“Hm.” Rosemary Armstrong looked as if she did not believe it for a minute, but the girl was sweet enough and seemed eager to please. “I shall be with the Princess for the rest of the day, and as she does not approve of mobile telephones, mine will be switched off, so if there are any problems, you’ll simply have to sort them out yourself. Oh, and one other thing-‘ She waggled her fingers at the air. ”There’s a most peculiar smell in here. It seems to be emanating from that cat. The Princess has allergies, and is very sensitive to a lack of freshness. Make it disappear, would you?“
“What a dreadful woman,” said Raymond Land after the royal secretary had wafted from the building in a haze of old English gardenia. “What are we going to do when they return expecting a full complement of staff? April, it’s your job to look after the unit, can’t you think of something?”
“What about a bomb scare?” she suggested. “We could get the area cordoned off, have the visit cancelled. It would be nobody’s fault.”
Land was too worried to hear her. “If she doesn’t come here and assess our operation in a positive light, we risk losing all of our remaining funding. It’s absolutely imperative that she approves and reports back to Kasavian. How did we ever get into this mess? It’s Bryant’s fault, trotting off to a ridiculous spiritualists’ convention and taking our best man with him. We’re for the high jump, there’s no way out of it this time. Obviously we can’t get them back here by five, but we have to release the rest of the staff from house arrest, and that means finding an explanation for Oswald’s death.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got a five-hour window. Surely it’s not asking the impossible?”
It seemed to be a rite of passage at the PCU that the performance of the impossible was required from every member of staff at least once during their tenure. April had already risked her life for the unit, as her mother had before her. Only weeks ago she had almost been thrown to her death from the top of a building during the unmasking of the Highwayman. Now, she realised, with her grandfather out of action and everyone else trying to solve Oswald Finch’s murder, their survival might be in her hands alone.
41
“We’ve had a call back, Arthur,” said John May, checking his messages. “You were right about the London lawyer, Edward Winthrop. He was sent to Marseilles to attempt the extradition of a young man named Pascal Favier, but Favier managed to attack him in the empty courtyard of the jailhouse, knocking the lawyer unconscious and stealing his identity. Winthrop died of a fractured skull. Favier was never caught.”
Bryant’s eyes lit up. “Then the police must have been tracking him ever since. Why haven’t they been able to catch him?”
“Who knows how efficient these people are?” May replied. “I don’t suppose the local police were notified properly. All kinds of communication breakdowns occur between the regions. It sounds like he’s been travelling through the southern provinces of France, adopting the identities of those he has assaulted and left for dead. Hang on, another positive ID coming in.” He played back the rest of the returned calls, listening intently. “There’s a Johann Bellocq registered as the owner of a villa in Eze-sur-Mer, which ties in with Madeline’s story. We can get the local gendarmes to go around there now.”
“It still doesn’t help us with the real identity of this maniac who’s out there in the snow, unless they can find a link which proves that Pascal Favier and Johann Bellocq are one and the same. I feel so hand-tied, stuck in here.” Bryant threw himself back in the passenger seat, frustrated.
May checked through his notes. “Madeline Gilby said Johann confessed his past to her. He said that his beloved grandfather had died, leaving him alone with his mother, and that he murdered her. He spent just five years in a church which operated as the local mental hospital, run by nuns-apparently there were mitigating circumstances surrounding the mother’s death-but the reprieve did him no good, as he became a member of something called Le Societe Du Diable, some kind of neo-Nazi organisation run from Jean-Marie Le Pen country. After leaving there, who knows where he went? Presumably this was the period in which he committed the crimes that landed him in the Marseilles jailhouse. After his escape he went off-radar again, living somewhere in the Alpes-Maritimes area, until killing this Bellocq chap.”