Full Dark House Read Free

want to buy me a cup of tea at Somerset House?’
    ‘It’s your turn to pay.’
    ‘I didn’t think you’d remember.’ Bryant squinted at the fading sun that was slipping behind the roof of the Savoy, as pale as a supermarket egg. ‘Not only were the files on the Palace Phantom still in the archives, but I discovered something interesting about our murderer. I’ve often thought of him over the years, poor old bugger.’ Ahead, the Embankment was picked out in neon, fierce reds and blues, part of a Thamesside festival. It looked like a child’s drawing of the river finished in crayons.
    ‘What did you find out?’
    ‘I was thinking of paying a visit to the Wetherby tomorrow morning,’ Bryant announced, not quite answering the question. The Wetherby was a sister clinic to the Maudsley on Southwark’s Denmark Hill, and housed a number of patients suffering from senile dementia.
    ‘Are you finally going to have yourself checked over? I’d love to join you, but I’m having lunch with an attractive lady, and nothing you say will persuade me to do otherwise.’
    Bryant made a face. ‘Please don’t tell me that you’re entertaining the notion of
relations
.’
    ‘I have every hope.’
    ‘I must say I find it rather grotesque that you still have a sex drive at your age. Can’t you just use Internet porn? How old is this one? She must be younger because you don’t fancy women as old as you, which makes her, let me guess, late fifties, a post-war child with a name like Daphne, Wendy or Susan, a divorcée or a widow, a brunette if your track record is anything to go by. She probably considers you the older child she never had, in which case she’ll be mooning over you, wanting to cook you meals and so on, and won’t mind waiting a little longer for the pleasure of finding one of your vulgar off-the-peg suits hanging in the other side of her wardrobe.’
    Irritated by the accuracy of his partner’s predictions, May dug out his lighter and lit a cigarette, which he wasn’t supposed to have. ‘What I do in my free time is no concern of yours. I’m not getting any younger. My cholesterol’s through the roof. This might be my last chance to have sex.’
    ‘Don’t be revolting,’ snapped Bryant. ‘You should pack it in, a man of your age, you’re liable to pull something in the pelvic region. You’re better off taking up something productive like wood carving. Women cost a fortune, running up restaurant bills and trawling shops for a particularly elusive style of sandal.’
    ‘They still find me attractive. They might even consider you if you smartened up your act a bit.’
    ‘I stopped buying shirts after they went over six quid. Besides, I like the trousers they sell at Laurence Corner, very racy, some of them.’
    ‘They sell ex-military wear, Arthur. That’s the lower half of a demob suit you’re wearing. Look at those turn-ups. You could park a bike in them.’
    ‘It’s all right for you, you’ve always been able to impress women,’ Bryant complained. ‘You don’t have the demeanour of a bad-tempered tortoise.’
    May’s modern appearance matched the freshness of his outlook. Despite his advanced age, there were still women who found his attentiveness appealing. His technoliteracy and his keen awareness of the modern world complemented Bryant’s strange psychological take on the human race, and their symbiotic teamwork dealt them an advantage over less experienced officers. But it still didn’t stop them from arguing like an old married couple. Their partnership had just commenced its seventh decade.
    Those who didn’t know him well considered Arthur Bryant to have outlived his usefulness. It didn’t help that he was incapable of politeness, frowning through his wrinkles and forever buried beneath scarves and cardigans, always cold, always complaining, living only for his work. He was the oldest active member of the London police force. But May saw the other side of him, the restless soul,