which the rest of the day's horrors could play out.
Chapter Ten
WHEN THOMAS LYNLEY PULLED UP TO THE KIOSK AT NEW Scotland Yard the next morning, he began the process of steeling himself. The constable in charge stepped forward, not recognising the car. When he saw Lynley inside it, he hesitated before bending to the lowered window and saying huskily, "Inspector. Sir. It's very good to have you back."
Lynley wanted to say that he wasn't back. But instead he nodded. He understood then what he should have understood before: that people were going to react to his appearance at the Yard and that he was going to have to react to their reacting. So he readied himself for his next encounter. He parked and went up to a set of offices in Victoria Block as familiar to him as his own home.
Dorothea Harriman saw him first. It had been five months since he'd encountered the departmental secretary, but neither time nor circumstances were ever likely to alter her. She was, as always, kitted out to perfection, today in a red pencil skirt and breezy blouse, a wide belt cinching in a waist that would have made a Victorian gentleman swoon. She was standing at a filing cabinet with her back to him, and when she turned and saw him, her eyes filled and she set a file on her desk and clasped both her hands at her throat.
She said, "Oh, Detective Inspector Lynley. Oh my God, how wonderful. It couldn't possibly be better to see you."
Lynley didn't think he could live through more than one greeting such as this, so he said, as if he'd never been gone, "Dee. You look well today. Are they ... ?" and he indicated with a nod towards the superintendent's office.
She told him that they were gathered in the incident room and did he want a coffee? Tea?
A croissant? Toast? They'd recently started offering muffins in the canteen and it was no trouble -
He was fine, he told her. He'd had breakfast. She wasn't to bother. He managed a smile and set off for the incident room, but he could feel her eyes on him and he knew he was going to have to get used to people assessing him, considering what they should say or not say, unsure how soon or even whether to mention her name. It was, he knew, the way of all people as they navigated the waters of someone else's grief.
In the incident room, it was much the same. When he opened the door and walked in, the stunned silence that fell upon the group told him that Acting Superintendent Ardery hadn't mentioned he'd be joining them. She was standing to one side of a set of china boards on which photos were posted and officers' actions were listed. She saw him and said casually, "Ah, Thomas. Good morning," and then to the others, "I've asked Inspector Lynley to come back on board and I hope his return is going to be a permanent one. Meanwhile, he's kindly agreed to help me learn the ropes round here. I trust no one has a problem with that?" The way she spoke sent the message clearly: Lynley was going to be her subordinate and if anyone did have a problem with that, that relevant anyone could request reassignment.
Lynley's gaze took them in, his longtime colleagues, his longtime friends. They welcomed him in their various ways: Winston Nkata with blazing warmth on his dark features, Philip Hale with a wink and a smile, John Stewart with the guarded expectancy of one who knows there's more here than meets the eye, and Barbara Havers with confusion. Her face showed the question that he knew she wanted to ask him: Why didn't you tell me yesterday? He didn't know how he could explain. Of everyone at the Yard, she was closest to him and thus she was the last person to whom he could comfortably speak. She wouldn't understand this, and he didn't yet possess the words to tell her.
Isabelle Ardery continued the meeting that they had been having. Lynley took out his reading glasses and worked his way closer to the china board upon which the victim's photographs were displayed, in life and in death, including grisly autopsy photos. An e-fit of a person of interest was situated near the pictures of the murder site, and next to this was a close-up of what appeared to be some sort of carved stone.