deep that he feared she might never find a way to restore her spirit. As a child she had been untamed and tomboyish, a noisy, messy, natural force. Looking at the polished shelves of paperbacks coordinated by their spines, the towels and rugs stiff with overwashing, he could find no trace of the wild girl he’d loved. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that it could never be discussed. Her mother’s death was a sealed subject; to speak of it would require an acknowledgement of guilt that would destroy the little faith April had left in him. Perhaps there would come a time when an honest exploration of the past would prove healing. Until then, they would have to step warily around the events of the terrible night that lay between them like an open mineshaft.
‘Arthur reckons you’d be a good liaison officer with the unit. He thinks you’re a very perceptive young woman. He believes there are skills that can’t be taught. He wouldn’t have proposed you if he thought you couldn’t handle it.’
She raised her eyes as if seeing him for the first time, and for a moment it seemed he might win her over. ‘Uncle Arthur.’ The hint of a smile appeared. ‘I remember the smell of his pipe. Everything was scented with eucalyptus for days after he’d visited. He used to leave sweets under my pillow.’
Bryant had always believed in her, even during her darkest moments. He had insisted on taking April to visit one of his oldest friends, Maggie Armitage, leader of the Coven of St James the Elder, who was as much a student of human nature as she was of white witchcraft. Maggie had pressed her hands over April’s and told him that her subject feared loss of control, that she quickly needed to regain her sense of identity. When people lose confidence in themselves, Maggie had warned, they can be overwhelmed by powerful forces, possibly satanic in origin. Maggie had at least hit the button psychologically, so the detectives conspired to bring their favourite granddaughter back into the embrace of the world.
‘Will you at least consider it? We could take things slowly. Some part-time work, then if things pan out, you could join us on a more permanent basis. You’d start making new friends.’
‘Let’s talk about something else.’ She tapped out another cigarette. ‘Janice told me you have a murder case.’
May was relieved by the change of subject. ‘It may not be murder, that’s the trouble. Arthur took the job to help out an old pal, and I wish he hadn’t. We’ve no motive, no cause of death, no leads, no prints, nothing.’
April’s interest was piqued. ‘You’ve always told me that every murderer leaves something behind.’
‘Yes, but unfortunately the house is thick with dust. I was hoping we could collate microfibres from a laser-scan of the floor, but the chance of finding anything has to be weighed against the expense of running tests. If Raymond Land discovers what Arthur is up to, doing favours for friends, he’ll blow a gasket. At least it’s good to be back in our own building.’
April smiled. ‘Perhaps you’re a little agoraphobic, too. It’s a very English habit, the preference for familiar surroundings. The victim lived in Kentish Town, yes? Did you know it now has an official gangsta name, K-Town? Because kids are shooting tickets in the high street. The dealers are selling wraps of powdered ketamine folded inside lottery tickets. Kids can snort it straight from the palm of the hand without being noticed. It’s referred to locally as Cat Valium.’
‘How do you know that? You never go out.’
‘No, but I have friends who do.’
‘You see how good you’d be at the job? Arthur and I are completely out of touch. He still uses his network of street misfits and fringe-dwellers, but I don’t think someone who reads psychic auras from bins and paving stones is a very reliable informant. Just think about the job, April, that’s all we’re asking.’
‘I understand that. And I’ll try, I promise.’ Her eye had been taken by some white silk roses on the window ledge. She was unable to resist realigning them until they stood as regimented as pencils in a box, and barely acknowledged her grandfather’s silent departure.
‘She’s right, it is a very English habit, not going out much,’ said Bryant, hanging his Bangkok spirit-beater behind his half-buried desk. ‘My father wore his unadventurous spirit like a badge. “Take your jacket off, you won’t feel the benefit