Broken Homes

from three. On zero she flung the door open and charged in, I went in a metre behind to avoid the embarrassing police dog-pile effect you get if the officer in front trips over something – say a skateboard. It’s hard to project the full majesty and authority of the law when Lesley is sitting on your back and calling you a muppet.
    Lesley went into the kitchen and yelled, ‘In here!’ And I piled in behind her.
    ‘I surrender,’ said Zach around a mouthful of cereal. He was sitting at our tiny kitchen table with a packet of Weetabix, an open loaf of bread, a now almost empty litre bottle of milk and open jars of raspberry jam and honey in front of him – both with knives stuck in them.
    ‘How did you get in?’
    ‘I’ve got a way with locks,’ he said. ‘It’s a family thing.’
    ‘This would be the thieving side of the family,’ said Lesley.
    ‘There’s another side to his family?’ I asked.
    ‘Hey, leave my family out of this,’ said Zach, fishing the last two Weetabix out of the packet and then reaching for the milk.
    ‘Is there a reason you came round, or did you just run out of food?’ I asked.
    Lesley put the kettle on and snatched the milk from Zach before he could finish it.
    ‘There’s this pub up west that Lesley wanted to know about,’ said Zach. ‘I can get me and her in this afternoon.’
    I looked at Lesley, who shrugged.
    ‘We never did get to lay out our bait for the Faceless Man,’ she said.
    ‘What’s so special about this pub?’ I asked.
    ‘Full of fairies,’ said Zach.
    ‘I’ve got to come with you,’ I said.
    ‘Better if you don’t,’ said Zach as he spread honey on his cereal. ‘You’re a little bit too closely associated with the Thames girls, if you know what I mean. Makes the gentry a tad nervous.’
    ‘Besides, if we go in as a pair we will look like Old Bill. If I go in with Zach it will look more natural,’ said Lesley.
    ‘Just another victim of my legendary charm,’ said Zach.
    ‘And if our Night Witch is in there getting a rum and black?’ I asked. ‘What’re you going to do then?’
    ‘Trust me, bro, it’s not that kind of place, is it?
    ‘Isn’t it?’
    ‘They wouldn’t let your boss through the door, and he’s respected,’ said Zach. ‘It’s all strictly fae plus one and no wizards.’
    ‘Except Lesley?’
    ‘Lesley’s the exception that proves the rule, ain’t she?’ said Zach and I couldn’t argue with that.
    ‘Are you going to clear it with Nightingale?’ I asked her.
    ‘Duh!’ said Lesley and handed me a cup of instant.
    ‘In that case, I’m going to take Mr Phillips up on his invitation. I bet he keeps an eye on who comes and goes,’ I said. ‘And while you’re out you can pick up some more Weetabix.’ I checked the kitchen. ‘And bread and the cheese and – did you eat the dog food?’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Zach. ‘I fed the dog.’
    I checked Toby’s bowl and saw he was already working his way through a suitable pile.
    ‘Although I’ll put my hand up to having some of his biscuits,’ said Zach.

13
The Back of the Lorry
    I n Berlin, the Weimar Republic a massive workers’ estate did decree. And they handed out the job to, amongst others, Bruno Taut who built his estate in the shape of an enormous horseshoe. Once Lesley and Zach had gone, I used our fluctuating WiFi to look it up on Google Earth. As I’d remembered it, Taut’s Hufeisensiedlung enclosed a park with a central pond. Stromberg had admired Taut enough to have his prints on the wall of his study and I knew enough about architects’ egos to know that they don’t stick potential rivals on their walls unless they really like them. Or perhaps there’d been a professional connection that went beyond architecture – could they have been colleagues? Members of the Weimarer Akademie der Höheren Einsichten , the German equivalent of the Folly? Could he have been Taut’s protégé? When the Nazis had taken power, Taut had fled to Istanbul and Stromberg to London. Nightingale had told me that the German expat wizards had either enthusiastically joined the fight or had been shipped to Canada. Had Stromberg kept his skills secret to avoid the fight? Given the subsequent casualty rate, I can’t say I blamed him.
    Had the Skygarden Estate been built in emulation of the Hufeisensiedlung only with a tower at its centre instead of a pond? And did it have some purpose beyond inefficiently housing large numbers of Londoners?
    I really