Razor's Edge: Kate Gardener Mysteries, #5

Prologue

June 2012, 6:34 AM

The Strand

It was going to be a beautiful day... that much Avery Barber was certain of. The air was warm already, even this early in the morning, and his chronic back pain was significantly less discomfiting than usual, making today’s walk to work from the Tube a very enjoyable experience. He slowed a bit, indulging in a generous sip from the large Cesare Caffé travel mug in his hand, savoring the smooth taste of his daily dose of high-powered caffeine, enjoying the sting as it scalded over his tongue. The next sip would never be quite as good, and Barber was grateful that the bulk of the commuter traffic was on the opposite side of the street, or in the vehicles crowding the busy street itself.

A red tour bus slowed beside Barber as he walked, and he looked up to find his own face looking back at him. He grinned broadly, though internally he still cringed at the sight of himself. He was the first to own that he wasn’t a very attractive man. His eyes were beady and black, his nose over-large and almost hooked, and his incisors verging on the designation bucked. Less charitable folk, be they children in his youth, or adversaries now, were quick to use the word rat when referring to his appearance, and, though it stung his ego, he had to admit they were right. Considering his profession, and his controversial approach to it, it was rather appropriate as well.

The light changed, and the bus pulled away, taking its load of people onward to their places of work, or perhaps taking them home after a night’s work. Barber slowed as he approached the curb, stopping by the lamp post, and indulging in another generous sip of his coffee. Yes, the first time is always the best, he thought to himself, and chuckled. After that, it isn’t the same... But then again, nothing ever really is. His editor used to say that he could have been an addict, or a criminal, what with Barber’s yearning for stimulation and excitement. It was what made him a good reporter, though, or at least, it’s what made him a very successful one. His yen for the adrenaline rush of a scandalous story had led him into the darkest alleys, and more than his share of dangerous situations. The print gods smiled on him, though, and he always managed to scrape through by the skin of his teeth.

The signal switched, and the sign to walk flashed before him. Barber hurried across the street, struggling to keep his cup steady as the pedestrian traffic thickened. Reaching the other corner, he turned to cross yet again. If the Strand hadn’t been such a bloody mess this time of day, he would have walked on, and simply jetted across the street right in front of the paper’s offices, traffic coppers be damned! But right now, that was a dangerous impossibility, so he waited impatiently for the signal to change, and allow him to get across to the right side of the street.

The melodic tone of his mobile phone chimed, and together with the accompanying vibration, made it impossible to ignore. Barber struggled with his coffee, but managed to grab the mobile and answer without spilling, a success that lent a chipper note to his voice as he answered.

Barber, he said, his deep, slightly nasal sound of his voice resonating. It was suggested in the past that he would be remarkable as a radio personality, or perhaps narrating books or advertisements, but Barber dismissed it readily. He needed action, he needed stimulation, he needed –

Beg pardon? Who is this? Barber felt his good mood sapping away as he found himself confronted with silence on the other end of the line. For fuck’s sake! He didn’t have time for this, and the coffee he’d been enjoying just moments before was not settling well on his stomach at all. He was beginning to think perhaps it was an ulcer, or, God forbid, something worse, for his morning coffee had been affecting him like this for... well, weeks, now. The first sip was glorious, the second nearly so, but afterward the pain in his stomach... One morning, it had been so horrible he’d left work and checked into a hotel so that he could recover privately. He’d told his wife, but he doubted she believed him... It was always difficult to tell with her, though. She was as enigmatic as they come, and Barber continued to think that she assumed he was engaged in some liaison rather than nursing stomach pains.

He felt someone bump into him, and glanced to the side. A parson, from the look of him, who clearly was not having a good day. The man looked positively evil, and Barber instinctively tried to move away from him even as the area around the crosswalk began to crowd with others eager to reach the other side of the Strand.

Barber suddenly doubled over, his coffee cup falling to the ground and spilling the remnants inside. He felt an equally searing pain slam into the back of his head, and he wondered how his luck could be so bad as to have stomach pains and a migraine hit at the same time. Barber felt his knees impact the pavement as he fell to the ground, and over onto his side. He noticed that people were screaming, though it was becoming more difficult to hear. He felt that black shade of unconsciousness descending, and the warm wetness of the spilled coffee touching his face... except... it wasn’t coffee... it was blood... his blood...

Drayson Mews, Kensington

RICHARD PIERCE TURNED the hot water up slightly, enjoying the heat as the spray pounded the muscles in his neck and shoulders, and eased out some of the tension. He knew why it was there, and the day ahead didn’t promise any respite from it. Though the injury to his shoulder, the latest one, at least, could take the blame for a portion of the strain and pressure, most of it was stress. By tonight, he’d likely have to look up Kate Gardener, and see if she had any of those mentholated patches of hers. Thanks to those, he was successfully putting off the shoulder surgery that would lay him up, likely for weeks... As for the stress... Pierce slowly worked his head back and forth, side to side, carefully stretching the taut muscles and tendons, and massaging that tightness out. The steam was beginning to get to him, a feeling of lightheadedness coming over him. Pierce tried to focus his mind, and his thoughts drifted back to Kate, and dinner two nights ago. They often met up after work for dinner, going to a pub near the Met, or near Lambeth, or sometimes just walking along the Embankment with fish and chips, and talking. Friendships with women had always been difficult... The few that had interested him enough to merit lowering those well-tended walls had gotten attached, and with that attachment came the jealousy and confusion, and eventually, a complete breakdown in communication. There was something effortless about Kate, and though, all these months later, he was still reluctant to completely let her in, Pierce had a feeling that there was nothing he could show her that she wouldn’t accept, a feeling that served to only increase his attraction to her.

Pierce squirted a generous portion of shower gel into his hands, and lathered himself up. He could feel his thoughts taking a decidedly non-platonic turn... Pierce reached down, and turned down the hot water. As the cold hit him, he gasped and startled out of the sensual place he was drifting into, knowing that, while his tension might find some release in a twenty-minute meditation on the obvious physical attributes of the incandescent Kate, he would ultimately end up late for work.

Twenty minutes later, Pierce sat in his black Jetta, the window wide open as he sipped coffee and smoked. He did, on occasion, smoke in the house, but once the warm weather came, he preferred to take it outside. Switching on the radio, Pierce sipped his morning coffee and listened as the news cut in.

"Sky News headlines this morning... The trial of Donald Eddowes, dubbed the ‘Cathgate Ripper’, begins today. Chief Crown Prosecutor Clive Reynolds, who will be presenting the case against Eddowes, told our own Hermione Hart that the circumstantial and physical evidence, as well as witness testimony, had allowed CPS to build a strong case, and he is confident that justice will be served. Eddowes’ defense counsel, Damian Matthews, commented on Reynolds statement, suggesting that Mister Reynolds’ confidence was misplaced, but declined to elaborate further.

A special Parliamentary election will be held in August to fill the vacancy left by the death of Prime Minister Reginald Cornyn. Cornyn passed away in March due to complications of chronic cardiopulmonary disease. Potential candidates are scrambling to submit their names, but recent polling numbers show Oliver Devereux, the current MP in Ealing, is the favorite to claim the spot. Devereux’s father, Lord John Devereux, is a sitting member in the House of Lords, and—

The chime of Pierce’s mobile ringing mercifully cut off the drone of the news, and Pierce quickly answered.

This is Pierce.

Rick? Detective Superintendent Douglas Hagen’s voice was strained, almost drowned out by the din of noise that must be behind him... Jesus, where the hell was he?

Morning, sir. Everything alright? Pierce was surprised to hear from Hagen. After all, Pierce was due in court in –

I know you’re due in court, but I need you here. It’s... bad. Hagen’s voice was tight, and Pierce felt the momentary elation that he might