The provision of an ambulance for Victor Brionne struck Anselm as incongruous given the circumstances. Standard procedure, said Detective Superintendent Milby with disinterest, dropping the gun into a plastic sample bag. He handed it to a colleague who stored it with the damaged book. ‘All in a day’s work,’ he added, surveying the waste of Victor Brionne’s life. Empty bottles, scatterings of fag-ash and an open packet of broken biscuits lay upon the floor.
‘Pig,’ said Milby
An officer bending over an armchair recovered a set of keys, holding them up like a fish at the market.
‘Ah, they’re mine actually’ said Anselm.
The Detective Superintendent scrutinised his old adversary but let the puzzle pass. He said, ‘Any chance of a favour?’
‘Depends.’
‘The girl wants someone to explain to her grandmother what’s happened. Bit unwell apparently. More your scene than mine.
‘What’s going to happen to her?’ asked Anselm flatly gesturing towards Lucy
‘Firearms. You know the game.’
‘Favours sometimes have a price.
‘You should have been in the Drug Squad.’
Anselm urged the arresting officer to contact DI Armstrong, to ask if she would visit Lucy at the station. And then he accepted the offer of a lift to Chiswick Mall in a Detective Superintendent’s carriage.
Anselm spoke assurances to Agnes.’ trying to assuage her trapped anxiety. He pulled his chair closer to the bed so as to read the alphabet card, but then the housekeeper entered pushing a television on a small serving trolley.
‘Vicar, now is not the time to speak of The Last Things,’ she admonished. ‘You may preach, but after the news.