removed a large cinema flashlight from his overcoat. He had been given the red-tipped Valiant by an usherette at the ABC Blackheath in 1968. All he could remember about her was that she had slapped his face halfway through They Came to Rob Las Vegas.
The beam illuminated a corridor as twisted as a funhouse walkway. The damp brown stair carpet covered rotten wood; an acrid smell of mould filled their nostrils. The building had hardly changed since the arrival into the area of Huguenot silk-weavers. As they crossed the sloped landing, rainwater cascaded down the window, seeping through its cracked frame in tobacco-coloured streams.
‘It doesn’t have the smell of a man with money,’ said Bryant. ‘I wonder how he can afford to pay Greenwood?’
‘Perhaps we should let Janice know where we are. I left my mobile in the car. Have you got yours?’
‘I’m not sure when I had it last.’ Bryant studied the cracked ceiling as he tried to think of a way to explain that he had mislaid it. By way of diverting attention and taking a breather on the gloomy stairs, he paused to unscrew the cap from his engraved pewter flask. ‘That coffee gave me the taste. Here, have a tot of this—buck you up.’
May took a swig and choked. ‘What on earth are you drinking?’
‘Greek Cherry brandy goes surprisingly well with fish,’ said Bryant, taking back the flask. ‘Confiscated from an unlicensed Cypriot restaurant with asbestos ceilings in the Holloway Road. They were mixing it in a tub at the back of the shop.’
‘Your sense of taste never ceases to amaze me.’
As they continued climbing, the stairs grew darker. ‘Careful—there’s a broken floorboard here,’ warned May.
‘Hang on.’ His partner had paused on the landing to regain his breath. This is embarrassing, Bryant thought, fighting to catch the air that seared in his chest. An investigation called off because the poor old bugger can’t handle five floors without resting on every landing. He gripped the bannister once more and followed May up the next flight. He wasn’t about to admit defeat.
Because his mind was so active, May sometimes forgot that his partner’s body was failing. Arthur’s heart attack had occurred eight years ago, in the middle of an exhausting investigation. His doctor had warned him to cut back on his office hours, but he seemed to be spending more time than ever at work. The truth was, he hated the lack of structure that came with being alone. Having toiled with no holiday longer than a fortnight since he was eighteen, he found it impossible to break the habit of putting in punishing shifts.
‘Don’t worry, there’s no need for both of us to go up,’ said May gently. ‘If there’s anything special you want me to look for—’
‘Don’t patronize me, I just need a minute.’ They waited together, listening to the crackling rain. Something scurried on tiny feet across the floor above.
‘Wonderful, rats as well. I wouldn’t let you go up there alone, John.’ Bryant reached the top of the steps as the unhealthy warmth spread from his sternum to his shoulder. Sam Peltz, the unit’s doctor, had tried to put him on a treadmill once a week, but had given up with him after Bryant dropped pipe tobacco into the mechanism, jamming it.
Pressing a palm over his ribs, Bryant detected the muscles of his heart flexing with considerable violence. Strangely, the problem only occurred in overheated rooms. Placed in a cold wet environment, he developed the stamina of a salmon in a stream. The irony of it was that he always felt cold, and, being forced to wrap up, risked further health problems. The elderly, he decided, thought too much about illness. Weak health accompanied seniority, and debilitated further by being dwelt upon. Still, he was glad when the floor levelled out before them into a short corridor.
There were just two doors, neither locked. The first opened into a cluttered office that appeared, with the exception of an elderly computer, not to have been modernized since the 1950s.
‘Looks like Mr Ubeda is bankrupt,’ said May, shining his torch into the top drawer of a grey filing cabinet. ‘These are all unpaid bills, threatening letters, legal warnings. He’s just shoved them into folders, as if he doesn’t care.’
‘He’s relying on the outcome of his venture with Greenwood to bail him out.’
‘What’s in the other room?’
‘It’s just the toilet,’ called Bryant. ‘How do we get up to the shed?’
‘Hang on.’ May checked the landing ceiling. ‘It’s a pull-down