Full Dark House

∨ Full Dark House ∧

6

ACTS OF VIOLENCE

May closed the transcribed files on the laptop and shut its lid. Beyond the bedroom window above the pub, a car stereo was playing hip-hop at a deafening volume, the bass notes shaking the glass in its casement. The elderly detective rose and watched the vehicle fishtail rubber streaks on tarmac. His partner Bryant had always liked noise, thriving in the dirt and chaos of the city streets.

May’s instinct, when away from Bryant but thinking of him, was to pick up the telephone and call for a chat. The day before the funeral he had absently done just that, and had been disconcerted to hear Bryant speaking – in that confused tone he adopted with all technological devices – on his office voicemail line.

Now he rang the unit and asked to be put through to Liberty DuCaine.

“We’ve got no incendiary evidence matching the blast pattern yet,” Liberty told him. “It’s hard to say what sort of device caused it. There was a piece of shell casing found in the next street, but it’s still being analysed.” He sounded harassed and distracted. There was a lot of noise in the background.

“But you have a team on the case, don’t you?” asked May.

“Sort of. There’s a lot going on here at the moment.”

“This was a bomb attack that killed a senior police officer, for God’s sake. It should receive the highest priority.”

“I’m aware of that, Mr May.” Liberty’s voice was filled with patience. “But right now we have a full-scale drug war on our hands. Two gangs of fifteen-year-old wannabe Yardies running around the streets of Lambeth armed with AR-15 laser-sighted armour-piercing rifles that fire nine hundred and fifty rounds a minute. Damned things are accurate to six hundred yards, not that any of them can shoot straight. The little bastards are buying them from American websites. We’ve got two civilians dead and one of our men down. You must have seen the newspapers.”

“Forgive me, no, I haven’t picked up a copy. The unit’s not supposed to get involved with stuff like that.”

“Under these conditions everyone has to help out. I’m sorry, Mr May, I understand how upset you are, but things are bad here. I promise we’ll have someone call you as soon as there’s any news.”

May thanked him and hung up. He felt obsolete. The new crimes infecting the crowded city streets were almost beyond his comprehension. People were being shot – shot! – for the most trivial reasons: a jumped traffic light, an altercation in McDonald’s, simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When had it started to go so wrong?

May thought back to the war, and his first meeting with Arthur, and that led him to the murder. The first one, his first sight of a dead body. That had changed everything. A fall from innocence, and the start of a lifelong fascination with violent crime.