Read Online The Victoria Vanishes by Christopher Fowler - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Fowler
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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 be cause 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 pa thologist. They're playing poli tics 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 circumstances in the Central London area.
It was Dan's job to pass 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 document and headed across the hall. As he did
'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 be cause 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 pa thologist. They're playing poli tics 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 circumstances in the Central London area.
It was Dan's job to pass 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 document and headed across the hall. As he did
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