Bryant & May - The Burning Man by Christopher Fowler Read Free Book Online

there?’
    The other officer rose and turned to him. ‘Senior Officer Blaize Carter. Good to finally meet you, Mr May. I’ve heard a lot about your unit.’
    May blinked and stared, lost for words.
    Carter looked at her colleague wearily, then back at May. ‘Go on then, have a laugh. It’s not my fault – I was christened with it, OK? My mother actually wanted me to be a concert pianist.’
    May decided it was better to let her assume he was taken aback by her name, but he was thinking something else entirely. Carter was slim and tough-looking, with the build of a runner or a gymnast, in her upper forties, her kinked auburn hair tied back, her face free of make-up. There was a world of patience and kindness in her eyes, something he often saw in nurses and firefighters.
    ‘I, um, it’s … a nice name.’ He mentally kicked himself. ‘You looked like you’d found something.’
    ‘Yeah, maybe nothing but – here …’ She stood aside to let him see the base of the entrance. ‘The doors have varnished wood surrounds. One side doesn’t open. You’d think anyone trying to torch the place would throw missiles here, against the doors, where there was the best chance of setting something alight, but the shards’ – she indicated the spot with her boot – ‘well, they’re all in the opposite corner, so that’s your impact spot. Johnnie Walker label, see?’
    ‘That’s a concrete step.’
    ‘Exactly. Nothing to burn. Not strictly true. There must have been one thing in the corner: the homeless guy’s head. Arsonists often miss their targets but he got pretty close before throwing the bottle. You can see by the force of the impact. So, was he aiming for the bank or the sleeper? Have you got someone doing the site forensics?’
    ‘Yes, my chap’s already been,’ said May. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you?’
    ‘
He’s
supposed to be in charge, isn’t he?’ She jerked her thumb back at Link, who was having some kind of argument with a junior officer. ‘I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. Maybe you could get your—’
    ‘Banbury,’ said May quickly. ‘Dan Banbury.’
    ‘Great, if you could get him to call us direct, maybe we can cut through some of the red tape. At the moment the bank staff are having to use the side entrance. It’s not fit for purpose, but they refuse to close so I’d like to get the doors reopened as soon as possible.’ She rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of soot.
    ‘Of course. How do I—’
    ‘This isn’t my jurisdiction,’ interrupted Carter. ‘I’m based at Euston Road. I guess you know most of the team there.’
    ‘A few, yes.’
    ‘Then now you know me as well.’ She turned and knelt once more.
    Blaize
, thought May as he walked away towards the bridge.
Blaize Carter.
     
    Superintendent Darren Link held a meeting with the specialist support unit for public order at the CoL’s Snow Hill station, one of the three he worked between in the Square Mile. The building had mullioned bay windows set in discoloured Portland stone, and looked like the headquarters of some benevolent Victorian charity. Inside, there was very little charity to be found today. On its first floor, Link was losing his temper.
    ‘You’re telling me you can’t even round up the ringleaders?’ He stared down the support unit with his fractured eye, daring them to argue back.
    ‘Not while they’re engaged in legitimate protest,’ said one of them, a legal expert named Ayo Onatade. ‘They held meetings with us about the prescribed route and the road closures, and we agreed hours and dates up front, all of which they’ve adhered to.’
    ‘Did you agree which windows they could chuck bricks through? Which cars they could set alight?’
    ‘We’ve been over this,’ said Onatade with weary patience. She was used to bearing the brunt of police wrath. ‘The original protest group was joined by unregistered outsiders who were bussed in from other parts of