The Water Room (44 page)
A murmur of recollection rippled through the auditorium.
‘Statistics show that the nature of English crime is reverting to its oldest habits. In a country where so many desire status and wealth, petty annoyances can spark disproportionately violent behaviour. We become frustrated because we feel powerless, invisible, unheard. We crave celebrity, but that’s not easy to come by, so we settle for notoriety. Envy and bitterness drive a new breed of lawbreakers, replacing the old motives of poverty and the need for escape. But how do you solve crimes which no longer have traditional motives?’
He’s warming the audience up nicely, and he’s still got their attention,
decided Longbright, feeling for a chair at the side of the stage.
Let’s hope he remembers to talk about Raymond’s initiatives and can get all the way through without saying anything offensive.
She knew how volatile her boss could be, but now was the time for Bryant to exercise restraint. For once, the fortunes of the Peculiar Crimes Unit were on the rise. Indeed, they had been ever since a remarkable murder in a quiet north London street had placed them all in the public eye. Arthur’s partner, John May, had appeared on a late-night programme discussing the importance of the case with several bad-tempered social commentators, a number of articles in
The Guardian
and
The Times
had examined the case in detail, government funding for the coming year had miraculously appeared, and mercifully no one outside the unit knew the reality of the case’s conclusion; if they did, Longbright doubted that any of them would have survived with their careers intact. Arthur Bryant’s decision to break the law in order to close the investigation had been so contentious that Longbright had turned down the BBC’s offer to feature her in their film, in case she accidentally let slip the truth.
Basking in the glow of the publicity, Bryant had been asked to deliver a lecture to St. Crispin’s Boys School, the exclusive private academy founded by a devout Christian group in 1653 in St John Street, Clerkenwell, and had shyly accepted.
Longbright turned her attention back to the stage.
‘What we have here is a fundamental alteration in the definition of morality,’ Bryant argued. ‘What does it now mean to have a moral conscience? Do we need to develop different values from those of our parents? Most of you think you can distinguish right from wrong, but morality requires information to feed it, so you build your own internal moral system from the intelligence you receive, probably the hardest thing anyone ever has to do, judging by the number of times the system fails.
‘In London’s rural suburbs, not far from here, middle-class Thames Valley towns like Weybridge and Henley are awash with a new kind of malicious cruelty. Here the system appears to be failing. The criminals are not suffering inner-city deprivation, nor are they gang members protecting their turf through internecine wars based on divisions in ethnicity. They are wealthy white males facing futures filled with opportunities. So why are they turning to unprovoked violence and murder? Part of a generation has somehow become unmoored from its foundations, and no one knows how to draw it back from the harmful shallows. You all face complex pressures, problems that gentlemen of my advanced age are scarcely able to imagine. From the day you were born, someone has been targetting you as a potential market. Your attention has become fragmented. You are offered no solitude, no peace, no time for reflection. You are forced to create your own methods of escape. Some choose alcohol and narcotics, other form social cliques that combat the status quo. All of you in this hall are in danger. Many people of my age would suggest that you desire to break the law not because you’ve had a hard time growing up, but because you haven’t. You’ve been spoiled with everything you ever wanted, but you still want more.’
He’s forgotten the script,
Longbright worried,
and he’s stabbing his finger at them. At this rate he’ll have them throwing things at him.
Some of the pupils were fidgeting in annoyance. They were clearly uncomfortable with the hectoring tenor of Bryant’s sermon. The old detective hadn’t given a lecture in years, and had forgotten the importance of keeping the audience on his side.
Keep it light in tone but heavy on factual data,
Land had warned,
be positive but don’t say anything controversial. Remember, their parents are fee-paying voters with a lot of clout.
Bryant’s raised voice brought her back to attention. ‘Well, I don’t believe that,’ he was saying. ‘Children today have a far more complicated time growing up that I ever did. At the Peculiar Crimes Unit, we have the time and capability to see beyond stock answers and standard procedures. We claw our way to the roots of the crime, and by understanding its cause, we hope to provide solutions.’
As the audience half-heartedly pattered their hands, Longbright rose and made her way from the stage, back to the stand at the rear of the hall, where she accepted a polystyrene cup of coffee. Only the question-and-answer session was left now. Longbright had tried to talk her superior out of holding one, bearing in mind his capacity for argument, but half a dozen teenagers had already raised their hands. There was a palpable attitude of aggression and defiance in the pupils’ body language.
‘You say it’s a question of morals,’ said a pale, elongated boy with expensively layered blonde hair.
‘Stand up and give your surname,’ barked the teacher at the end of the row.
The boy unfolded himself from his seat with difficulty and faced the audience. ‘Sorry, Sir. Gosling.’ He turned to Bryant. ‘Are you saying we’re the ones who commit crimes because we lack a moral code?’
‘Of course not,’ Bryant replied. ‘I’m just saying that it’s understandable you’re confused. You know that sneakers are made in Korea for starvation wages, so you buy a pair from a company promising to make their product locally for a fair price. Then you discover that the company you chose destroyed ancient farmland to build their factory. How do you feel about your purchase now? You’ve been lied to, so why shouldn’t you commit a victimless crime and steal them? You’re given horrible role models, your divorced parents are having sex with people you hate and have given up caring what you do, you’re expected to take an interest in the lifestyles of singers who’ll make more money than you will ever see, so its no wonder you start taking drugs and behaving like animals.’
The hall erupted. Longbright covered her face with her hands. Bryant had never been much of a diplomat.
A small lad with a pustular complexion rose sharply. ‘Parfitt. You just don’t like the fact that we’re young, and still have a chance to change the world your contemporaries wrecked for us.’
A heavyset boy with shiny red cheeks, cropped black hair and bat ears jumped angrily to attention. ‘That’s right, we’re the ones—’
‘Surname!’ barked his master, leaning angrily forward.
‘Jezzard—you always blame the young, but we’re the ones who’ll have to correct the mistakes of the older generation.’
‘My dear boy, don’t you see that you no longer possess the means for changing the world?’ replied Bryant, adopting a tone of infuriating airiness. ‘You’ve been disempowered, old chap. It’s all over. The things you desire have become entirely unattainable, and you take revenge for that by being furious with your seniors all the time.’
Another boy, slender and dark, with feral eyes and narrow teeth, launched to his feet. ‘You’re accusing us when you know nothing about us, Mr Bryant—nothing!’
‘Name!’
squealed the teacher on the row.
‘Billings. It’s not us who’s the problem, it’s you. Everyone knows the police are corrupt racists—’
Now several more pupils stood up together, all speaking at once. Their teachers continued to demand that they identify themselves, but were ignored. Sides were swiftly being taken. Bryant had managed to divide the hall into factions. He threw up his hands in protest as the pupils barracked him.
‘You condescend to us because you don’t have a clue—’
‘You victimize those who can’t protect themselves—’
‘Why is it that young people never want to take responsibility for their actions?’ protested Bryant, as students popped up from their chairs in every section of the hall.
‘Just because you messed up your own society—’
‘Why should we be blamed for your greed when—’
‘We’re just starting out,’ shouted Parfitt, ‘and you’re trying to make us sound as cynical as you!’
‘I am not cynical, I simply know better,’ Bryant insisted, trying to be heard, ‘and I can tell from experience exactly how many of you will fall by the wayside and die before you progress to adulthood, because the cyclical nature of your short lives is as immutable as that of a dragonfly.’
There were so many things wrong with this last sentence that the Detective Sergeant could not bear to reflect on it, and could only watch the response helplessly. The lanky boy, Gosling, was the first to kick back his chair and leave. His friends swiftly followed suit. The distant authority of the teachers collapsed into panicked attempts at censorship as chairs fell across the centre of the audience, causing a clangorous ripple that quickly spread throughout the hall.
Longbright had been worried that Raymond Land might get to hear of the debacle. Now she was more concerned about getting Bryant out alive.
THE WATER ROOM
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Doubleday UK hardcover edition published 2004
Bantam hardcover edition / July 2005
Bantam mass market edition / April 2006
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2004 by Christopher Fowler
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2004062383
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90242-6
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