The Memory of Blood

∨ The Memory of Blood ∧

36

Knowledge

Janice Longbright stood and stretched. She had taken on the Anna Marquand case as a favour to Arthur but had reached a dead end. If Ashley Hagan hadn’t stolen the girl’s mobile, who had, and why? She stared at the shopping bag on her desk and tried to imagine what had happened. In desperation, she emptied it out on the desk again. A half-litre bottle of Gordon’s gin, a volume of poetry, a packet of Handi Wipes, some tomatoes, a tin of beans.

Anna had come up to town and given Arthur his book, then caught the Northern Line south to Tooting Bee, then back up to London Bridge, where she changed for Bermondsey. Leaving the station, she had walked home with her shopping bag, where she was attacked. All pretty straightforward.

No, not straightforward.

Her attacker had been after something more. Longbright had a habit of keeping passwords on her mobile. She knew she shouldn’t, but who could remember every user name and code phrase? What if Anna had done the same? What if he had already searched their house? How did he do it, and when? No, that didn’t work because Rose Marquand never went out, and nobody had broken in. Besides, he had taken Anna’s keys and found out that there was another lock-up, which was why he had gone to the pool. But had he actually found anything?

Longbright called Anna’s mother.

“I can’t talk to you right now,” said Mrs Marquand. “I’ve got all this washing up to sort out, and then the laundry. I have trouble getting around with my back and there’s so much clearing up to do.”

“I thought you had Sheena helping you.”

“So did I, but she buggered off.”

“What happened?”

“Bloody little thief. I went upstairs and found her going through Anna’s bedroom. All the drawers open, all her papers out. You can’t trust nobody no more.”

“What about her safe?”

“Wide open. I was going to call the police but she ran out of the house. This was yesterday morning. I haven’t seen her since and her mobile number isn’t working.”

“Is there anything missing?”

“Not that I can see. Anna had files for all her clients and they’re numbered, one to thirty. It looks like all the files are still there.”

Except one. Arthur told her he’d let Anna look after the disc, because he was likely to lose it. Anna knew what was on it. Her attacker had been through the shopping bag and the lido locker – maybe he hadn’t found it after all. Maybe she’d been too smart for him. So what the hell had she done with it? Longbright rang off and went next door to see Bryant.

“Arthur, are you free for a moment?”

“For you I have all the time in the world.” He aimed her at a ratty armchair she had not seen before. “It was in the attic,” he informed her. “I found a swastika flag down the back of the seat but apart from that it’s very comfortable. You should come up there with me – there’s all kinds of strange stuff stored away.”

“Was there anything in your memoirs that could have been considered dangerous?”

“Anna removed the most contentious passages. There were some bits about past prime ministers that weren’t very flattering. A few mentions of missile bases, Russian spies, the pensions scandal – ”

“But does any one thing stick out above all the rest? Anything worth killing for?”

“You think Anna Marquand was murdered? It was blood poisoning. You can get that from virtually anything.”

“I know, but it’s the timing that makes me suspicious. Look, I know it sounds crazy, but Anna’s mother was befriended by a girl who just turned up on her doorstep one day offering her services as a carer. Then, when Mrs Marquand caught her going through Anna’s belongings, she fled. If someone had been monitoring Anna’s electronic mail, they would have known what she was working on. I want Giles to talk to his opposite number at Bermondsey mortuary. I need to know if there was anything at all suspicious about Anna Marquand’s death. I think there was something in your memoirs that could be considered a danger to national security, and Anna knew what it was, even if she didn’t realize the importance of it.”

“That’s the trouble.” Bryant shook his head. “I’ve only got Anna’s edited final version of the book to go on – some of the notes were written, some were dictated. I simply can’t remember what might have been in the original. Talk to Giles anyway, see if he can pull any strings with the coroner.”

“Are you sure there’s absolutely no possibility of you remembering all the things you wrote about?” Longbright pressed.

“I suppose there might be one way,” said Bryant. “Hypnotism. If I was put under, I might be able to recall what it was. And I know the very person who could do it.”