Broken Homes

Police because at least Operation Sallic showed a result when Robert Weil finally pleaded guilty. He claimed to have attacked and killed a complete stranger, shot her in the face and buried her in the woods all on the same night. The fact that Sussex MCT couldn’t find the shotgun, hadn’t identified the body and plainly just didn’t believe the motive for one moment was irrelevant. They had a confession and enough supporting forensic evidence to take to court, so up the steps Robert Weil did go.
    Operation Tinker, Bromley MIT’s investigation into Patrick Mulkern’s horrible human kebab impression, essentially stalled on all fronts. Sky remained an unidentified adult female found dead in suspicious circumstances, but since there were no signs of violence and Dr Walid could find no discernible cause of death that was probably going to end up as death by misadventure. All they had to show for a homicide investigation was a criminal damage case against Max and Barry.
    No doubt both cases would have garnered more interest in the media had not a tower block been blown up right on top of them. That case went straight to Counter Terrorism Command and became Operation Wentworth before mutating into a joint case with the Serious Fraud Office when the apparent motive was revealed to be removing Skygarden Tower, a Grade II listed building, as a barrier to the massively lucrative redevelopment of Elephant and Castle. It’s a case that could take years to come to court and I expected the Faceless Man had a couple of expendable colleagues to throw, as Varvara Sidorovna put it, out of the troika to keep the wolves busy.
    I went to see Mr Nolfi, our impromptu children’s entertainer, now released from hospital, at his home in Wimbledon. I took Abigail along, to teach her how to interview a witness without getting bored and fidgeting.
    ‘Good Lord,’ he said. ‘Is it bring your daughter to work day?’
    ‘My cousin,’ I explained.
    ‘I’m doing a project for school,’ said Abigail.
    ‘How enterprising,’ said Mr Nolfi.
    We asked him if he’d managed to replicate his magic trick since he’d been released home and he conjured a werelight right in front of us.
    ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he asked, despite my horrified expression. ‘I tried doing them for weeks after I got out and then just two week ago it was like somebody has turned on the electricity.’
    ‘You mustn’t tell anyone about this,’ I said.
    ‘Why ever not?
    That was a good question.
    ‘Because it’s like the magicians’ circle,’ said Abigail. ‘A magician must never reveal his secrets.’
    Mr Nolfi nodded sagely. ‘Mum’s the word eh?’ he said.
    ‘Believe it,’ said Abigail.
    I found Zach behind a bar in a pub situated ten metres below Oxford Street and accessible only via a Crossrail service tunnel. It had a vaulted ceiling and walls that were covered in something that looked like faded wood panelling until you ran your finger across it. The clientele were all men and dressed universally in moleskin trousers, leather waistcoats and high visibility jackets. They sat around the tables, hunched over their beers, heads almost touching and talking in whispers. A Zodiac jukebox stood by the bar and played Dire Straits very, very quietly.
    I leaned over the bar and whispered, ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’
    ‘Do you blame me?’ asked Zach.
    ‘Did you know?’
    ‘Did I know what?’
    I held up my hand to stop him.
    ‘No,’ he whispered.
    We drank in silence for a bit.
    ‘Have you talked to Beverley?’ he asked.
    ‘Why do you ask?’
    ‘Because she came here to talk to me about you,’ he whispered.
    ‘Why?’
    He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Suddenly everyone seems to think I’m the Peter Grant expert.’
    ‘Really? Who else?’
    ‘Your boss, for one,’ whispered Zach. ‘Then Lady Ty snuck up on me while I wasn’t looking and nearly scared me to death. And Oberon wanted to know on behalf of Effra who probably was asking on behalf of Beverley.’
    ‘How’s Nicky?’
    ‘Not a happy camper, but she’s young and immortal,’ he whispered. ‘She’ll get over it eventually.’
    With a worryingly creaky mechanical sound the jukebox flipped records and started playing Sultans of Swing.
    ‘Why Dire Straits?’
    Zach waved his hand at his whispering clientele. ‘They’re working their way through the last hundred years of popular culture. It was the early 70s last month.’
    ‘But Dire Straits?’
    ‘They were getting a