The Water Room by Christopher Fowler

of identity. When people lose confidence in themselves, Maggie had warned, they can be overwhelmed by powerful forces, possibly satanic in origin. Maggie had at least hit the button psychologically, so the detectives conspired to bring their favourite granddaughter back into the embrace of the world.
    ‘Will you at least consider it? We could take things slowly. Some part-time work, then if things pan out, you could join us on a more permanent basis. You’d start making new friends.’
    ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ She tapped out another cigarette. ‘Janice told me you have a murder case.’
    May was relieved by the change of subject. ‘It may not be murder, that’s the trouble. Arthur took the job to help out an old pal, and I wish he hadn’t. We’ve no motive, no cause of death, no leads, no prints, nothing.’
    April’s interest was piqued. ‘You’ve always told me that every murderer leaves something behind.’
    ‘Yes, but unfortunately the house is thick with dust. I was hoping we could collate microfibres from a laser-scan of the floor, but the chance of finding anything has to be weighed against the expense of running tests. If Raymond Land discovers what Arthur is up to, doing favours for friends, he’ll blow a gasket. At least it’s good to be back in our own building.’
    April smiled. ‘Perhaps you’re a little agoraphobic, too. It’s a very English habit, the preference for familiar surroundings. The victim lived in Kentish Town, yes? Did you know it now has an official gangsta name, K-Town? Because kids are shooting tickets in the high street. The dealers are selling wraps of powdered ketamine folded inside lottery tickets. Kids can snort it straight from the palm of the hand without being noticed. It’s referred to locally as Cat Valium.’
    ‘How do you know that? You never go out.’
    ‘No, but I have friends who do.’
    ‘You see how good you’d be at the job? Arthur and I are completely out of touch. He still uses his network of street misfits and fringe-dwellers, but I don’t think someone who reads psychic auras from bins and paving stones is a very reliable informant. Just think about the job, April, that’s all we’re asking.’
    ‘I understand that. And I’ll try, I promise.’ Her eye had been taken by some white silk roses on the window ledge. She was unable to resist realigning them until they stood as regimented as pencils in a box, and barely acknowledged her grandfather’s silent departure.
             
    ‘She’s right, it
is
a very English habit, not going out much,’ said Bryant, hanging his Bangkok spirit-beater behind his half-buried desk. ‘My father wore his unadventurous spirit like a badge.
“Take your jacket off, you won’t feel the benefit when you go back out.” “I could never live in a country where you can’t buy Marmite.” “Looks like rain, we’d better not chance it.”
If it hadn’t been for the War, he’d never have met people from other countries, although of course he had to kill them. Before 1940, the average English family had travelled less than nine miles from their home. Many never got beyond the end of their street. Now look at us—we can’t stay in one place for more than two minutes. April will come around in her own time, you’ll see. You can’t force these things.’
    He pulled an old Sharp’s toffee hammer from his drawer and nailed an effigy of a Tasmanian dog-demon beside his knotted whaler’s rope made from human hair. On the mantelpiece he had placed the silver-chased Tibetan skull, with moonstones for eyeballs that looked like drum-polished cataracts. Beside it were several leatherbound copies of
The East Anglian Book Of Civil Magicke,
the collected essays of G. K. Chesterton and a privately circulated volume entitled
Gardening Secrets of Curates’ Wives
. His office was brand spanking new, but had already begun to look like some kind of esoteric rural museum.
    ‘A nation of shopkeepers.’