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Monroe Canyon Formation
The Monroe Canyon Formation is a geologic formation in Idaho. It preserves fossils dating back to the Carboniferous period.
See also
List of fossiliferous stratigraphic units in Idaho
Paleontology in Idaho
References
Category:Carboniferous Idaho
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
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"("RED DWARF" THEME)" "(BLEEPING AND CLICKING)" "(INDISTINCT EXCITED CHATTER)" "(INDISTINCT)" "Stand by." "She's coming round." "There's something out there, man." "We're clamping on." "(ALL CHATTER)" " Visual down!" "Radar down!" " We've lost the entire desk!" "(WHIRRING)" " What are you all staring for?" " You've just unplugged the console." "Right." "I'm blow-drying my hair." " We're tracking a UFO." " Oh, you're tracking a UFO, so I have to look like the Bride of Frankenstein?" " Use another socket." " This is beyond belief." "A spaceship five miles long without enough plug sockets!" "There's plenty of plug sockets, Cat." "They're all taken up with your beauty aids." "Use a wall socket." "What?" "!" "Unplug my hot wax strip unsightly hair remover?" "!" "Yes." "Unplug your hot wax strip unsightly hair remover." "I don't believe this." "We finally encounter an alien species, and I meet them with a wavery bikini line!" "It's back, bearing zero-niner-zero." "Adjust 1% portside." "1% portside." "C locked on..." "All right." "OK." "I'll use gel." "Everybody happy?" "Stabilise pitch." "Reduce correctives..." " (LISTER) What is it?" " I have no idea." "The craft does not appear to be of Earth construction." "Aliens." "They're probably going to return Glenn Miller." " What?" " That's what they do." "People who inexplicably vanish, they return them." "Ah, smeg!" "That's all we need." "Glenn Miller boring us with "Pennsylvania 6-5000"." "Kryten, open communication channels." "(RIMMER) We don't want himI Go awayI" "You took him." "You can keep the smeggerI" "How deliciously bizarre." "The hall's molecular structure conforms to no known element." "Whoever or whatever made this thing had access to a technology far ahead of our own." " OK, let's split up." " Why?" "Why split up?" " We'll can search quicker." " What's the hurry?" "Have you got a major luncheon appointment?" " What's your problem?" " I'm not going with him." " Me?" "What's wrong with me?" " You're totally egocentric, you flee at the first sign of trouble, you're vain, selfish and self-obsessed." "You just listed my best features." " I'm going with Kryten." " Come on, Cat." "Kryten, take point." "I've seen those movies." "The guy in the lead always buys it first." "Well, in my experience, the fellow bringing up the rear gets picked off first, so the others aren't aware they're under attack." "You're right." "Can you take the front and the back, so I'm in the middle?" "I'll do my best, sir." " Go, Kryten." " We've found something, sir." " Yeah?" " I think it's one of the crew." "A hideously malformed triple-headed skeleton with putrefied flesh hanging from it." "It fell through Rimmer as we opened the lift door." " Is he all right?" " He's discovered what shirt tails are for." "(RIMMER) All right." "Don't make me sound like a complete cowardly git." "I'm fine now." "(KRYTEN) Shall I cancel the order to find your mother?" " (RIMMER) Is that thing still on?" " Hey, look at this." " Don't." "We don't know what it does." " I'm just looking." "Cheers, man!" "Brilliant!" "I'm trapped!" " Get me out of this thing." " Be cool." "I'm on the case." "I remember the sequence." "It was red-blue-yellow..." "No, blue-yellow-red." "(GARBLED ELECTRONIC VOICE)" "What the smeg is that?" "!" "Curious, the skeletal form appears to be basically humanoid in structure." "He's got three heads." "Wait." "Here's some kind of wallet." "The artefacts are human." "A pilot's licence, ID, even a video club card." "This guy belonged to a video club and needed a card so they'd recognise him?" "!" "He's got six eyes and three noses." "I'd remember him." ""Aren't you the bloke who came in last week, sneezed and caused a monsoon?"" "I think he started out as human and something happened that mutated him in this unspeakable way." "(COMPUTER) Language trace completed." "Dialect English, colloquial, 23rd century." "Do nothing." "Press nothing." "Just get Kryten!" " Wait, I think I got it." " Transmogrification sequence initiated." " Maybe not." " Transmogrifi-what?" "!" "Gene sample accepted and cloned." "Please key in new genetic structure." "Do nothing." "Press nothing." "Get Kryten!" "Hey, you think I can't handle this?" "I have to get Novelty-Condom-Head to bail you out?" "I got you into this, I'll get you out." " Get Kryten!" " Relax, would you?" "I know what I'm doing." "New genetic structure accepted." "Metamorphosis in ten seconds and counting." "I got a good idea." "Why don't I get Kryten?" "Look, forget Kryten." "Just press the pads, any pads!" "Stop this!" "Sequence complete." "(CLUCKS)" "Are you OK?" "We detected a massive power surge in this sector." "Where's Lister?" " That's Lister?" "!" " What can I say, except...whoops?" " What is it?" " Best guess?" "Some kind of DNA modifier, designed to alter organic life at its molecular level." "This explains our triple-headed friend." " So what does it do?" " Every cell in your body contains DNA, a series of genetic instructions for your body." "It's like a computer program that chooses the colour of your eyes, shape of your nose, designates sex, height, even your lifespan." "This machine rewrites the DNA program." "So this machine can transform any living thing into any other living thing?" " Precisely." " And it turned Lister into a chicken." " So it seems." " Question is, can we turn him back again?" "The question is, do we want to?" "Hypothetically, it shouldn't be too difficult to recall his original form." "We simply have to decode the keypad." "Listy?" "(CLUCKS)" "It's incredible." "It really is him." "Look, it's even got his little beer gut." "Hmm, seems a fairly straightforward hexadecimal layout." "Logically, this should be the recall sequence." "(KRYTEN) That's not it, is it?" "Let's start from the top." "What happened here, exactly?" "I was pressing the pads." "I definitely pressed the yellow one first." "And then this thing came down." "I'm pressing buttons," " then this voice said..." " Transmogrification sequence engaged." "Right!" "So I press some more buttons, and then it says..." " Please key in new genetic structure." " That's it exactly!" " Cat, stop!" " No need to engage your panic chip, sir." "The machine only operates on organic life." "I am mineral and therefore immune." "New genetic structure accepted." "Metamorphosis in ten seconds and counting." "Oh." "Wait a minute." "No." "My brain is part organic, and therefore it is possible for the machine to transmogrify my physical condition." "Engage panic circuits..." "Panic circuits engaged." "(WAILS)" "(BLEEPING)" " (RIMMER) Are you OK?" " Yeah, I think so." " What was it like being a hamster?" " Better than being a chicken." "You've seen the size of an egg?" "You've seen a chicken's bum?" "That's what the clucking was about." "I was trying to say, "Give me a epidural!"" "Let's get Kryten back." "Press what you pressed for Lister." "My heavens." "I am human." "Yeah, but you lost your looks." "I'm human - my greatest dream come true." "I can experience real feelings." "I'm experiencing one now." "I'm in happiness mode." "I've never experienced anything like it before." "Except for that time I accidentally welded my groinal socket to a washing machine." "I'm alive!" " How's he doing, Hol?" " Physically, he's fine." "He's got the body of a perfectly normal 30-year-old human male...apparently." " Is he all right?" " He needs to adjust." "Everything's a bit new." " Morning!" " Greetings, fellow human." "Ah, breakfast, my very first meal." "Boiled chicken ovulations - delicious!" " How you coping?" "Any problems?" " Just one or two." "I've compiled a list, if you'll indulge me." "Now, then, my optical system doesn't appear to have a zoom function." " No, human eyes don't have a zoom." " How do you bring a small object into focus?" "Well, you just move your head closer to the object." "I see." "Move your head closer...hmm...to the object." "All right." "What about other optical effects, like split screen, slow motion, Quantel?" " No." "We don't have them." " You don't have them?" "Just the zoom." "No, that's fine." "That's great." "No, that's great." "Now, my nipples don't work." "In what way "don't work"?" "Well, when I was a mechanoid, the right nipple nut regulated body temperature, while the left was used mainly to pick up short-wave radio transmissions." "Now, no matter how hard I twiddle it, I can't seem to pick up Jazz FM." " Human nipples don't do that, Kryt." " I see." "Fine." "Ah, recharging." "Now, I presume that humans recharge much the same way mechanoids do." "I have located what I presume is the recharging socket, but for some strange reason, it doesn't have the standard three-pin adaption." "Now, do I need some kind of adaptor, because the lead just keeps falling out?" "Kryten, we eat and sleep." "That's our way of recharging." "Oh." "Hmm..." "Ah, now, I wanted to talk to you about something." "Something I know we humans get a little embarrassed about." "It's a bit of a taboo subject, not the sort of thing we discuss in polite conversation." "Kryten, I'm an enlightened 23rd-century guy." "Spit it out, man." "Well, I want to talk to you about my penis." "I knew it." "You've gone straight into smirk mode." "Aren't we both adults?" "Can't we discuss our reproductive system without adolescent sniggering?" " Yeah, of course we can." " Thank you." " Well?" " Well, what?" " Well, what do you think?" " What am I supposed to say?" "Is that normal?" "Taking photographs of it and showing it to your mates?" "No, it's not!" "Well, is it supposed to look like that?" " Well, yeah." " It's hideous!" "That's the best they could come up with?" "!" "Are you telling me there were choices, and someone said, "Ah, that's it." ""That's the shape we're looking for, the last-chicken-in-the-shop look?"" "Shakespeare had one?" "Einstein?" "Perry Como sang "Memories Are Made Of This" with one of those stashed in his slacks?" " Well, yeah." " No wonder humans don't have a zoom mode." "Now, take a look at this." "And this." "Now, why do you suppose that happened?" "Wh-What were you thinking of at the time?" "Nothing in particular." "I was just flicking through an electrical appliance catalogue." "I came across the section on super de-luxe vacuum cleaners and suddenly my underpant elastic was catapulted across the medical bay." "You see, man, you're neither one thing or the other." "You shouldn't be getting erotic thoughts about electrical appliances." "It WAS a triple-bag easy-glide vac with turbo suction and a self-emptying dustbag." "Kryten, I don't care what model it was." "No vacuum cleaner should give a human being a double Polaroid." " Do yourself a favour, man." "Change back." " Back?" "Become one of those sappy, sad-act mechanoids again?" "This is my dream." "Hey, I've got a joke for you." "How many mechanoids does it take to change a light bulb?" " I don't know." " Twelve." "You know why?" " Why?" " Because they're so stupid!" "(LAUGHS)" "Isn't that the greatest joke?" "I've got another." "Heard about the mechanoid peeping Tom?" "(LAUGHS)" "(KRYTEN'S LAUGHTER ECHOES)" "Man, this is a totally whacked-out idea." "It'll never work." "That DNA machine can do anything." "The hard part was finding one of my dead cells." "You really think you can clone yourself from your dandruff?" "Why not?" "Dandruff has DNA in it." "That machine has a clone facility." "But a man made from dandruff?" "It'll never work." "The first time you use medicated shampoo, you'll disappear." "I won't be made of dandruff." "My body will be recreated from the genetic pattern in it." " How's Kryten?" " Confused." "If he offers to show you his photo collection, my advice is decline politely." "I bet he can't believe his luck." "He's reached the pinnacle of evolution." "He's human." "What's so big about being human?" "Listy, don't knock it till you've tried it." "I just don't trust that machine." "I know it's old-fashioned, but I believe if God intended us to fly, he wouldn't have invented Spanish air traffic control." "That machine might be able to cure diseases, but you shouldn't use it to change you into what you're not." "Wasn't it Descartes who said, "I am what I am"?" " No, it was Popeye the Sailor Man." " Well, he was a hell of a philosopher." "I think what he was saying was stay true to what you are." "Oh, here we go." "Typical knee-jerk techno-fear reaction." "That machine is the greatest single technological advancement mankind ever made." "Greater than fire, greater than the wheel." "What about the dude with three heads?" " Well, he abused it." " Someone always does." "So you wouldn't use it?" "There's nothing about your bodies you'd like to improve?" "Me?" "!" "Are you serious?" "Most people leave their bodies to medical science." "I'm leaving mine to the Louvre, baby!" "At some point, most people wish they were someone else." "This is going back years, before the accident." "Kochanski had finished with me, and I felt really pony." "So I went for a walk in the botanical gardens and saw this squirrel collecting nuts." "It stopped and looked at me, and I thought, "You lucky little sod." ""You like your job." "You have no woman trouble." "You'll never feel as bad as I feel."" "And at that moment, I would have given anything to swap places with him." "That's awful, man - when a woman screws you up so bad you want to become a squirrel." "It made me think that being human isn't always fun." "So, Lister, what are you telling us?" "You're a closet squirrel?" "Behind closed doors, you parade around in a strap-on bushy tail calling yourself Nutkin?" "I'm saying that being human sometimes isn't all it's cracked up to be." "If Kryten thinks it'll solve all his problems, he's in for a major disappointment." "(SNEEZES)" "A wonderful thing has happened." "We found this machine that's made me human." " You're a human now?" " That's right, Spare Head One." "Our wildest, most incredible dream has come true." " What's it like?" " It's indescribable, Spare Head Two." "True, I'm having a few problems coping with the human emotions, there's no zoom, the nipples don't work, and I could show you a snapshot that would make your eyes spin." " That apart, it's all going well." " What about us?" " It was my turn to be main head next month." " Obviously that's not possible." "Aren't you happy for me?" "I'm not second-class any more." "What about Spare Head Three?" "You can't just leave him." "He's got droid rot." "(YORKSHIRE ACCENT) I don't need no bugger to look after me!" "Me units may be shot to buggery, but I don't need sympathy from 'im!" "Well, I'll still visit." "I won't forget you." " Where have you been for the past four days?" " I've been busy." "Aye, busy swankin' round with his poncey new eight-valve heart, la-di-da-ing with all his fancy new human friends!" "Oh, what do you know about anything?" "Ooh, hark at 'im!" "Orderin' his own heads around." "I may be 30,000 years old, and me circuits may be bandy, but I'll tell you this for nowt - you came into this world a mechanoid, and a mechanoid you'll always be!" "I don't have to take this from you." "I'm a human." "Shut your stupid flat head!" "Kryten, I don't believe you just said that." "I don't even know why I came here." "I think you should leave now, Kryten." "There's nothing more to say." "Aye, sling your bloody hook!" "Go on!" "Clear off!" "And what about you, Spare Hand One?" "Greetings, fellow human." ""Fellow human." How hollow those words sound now." "What's eating you, man?" "I can't get the hang of these human emotions." "One moment I'm happy, the next I'm miserable." "I'm up and down more than a pair of kangaroos in the mating season." "Depression's there for a reason." "It's the mind's way of saying something's wrong." "What could be wrong?" "I've got everything I want." " Oh, yeah?" " No." "I've done the most terrible thing." "I've hurt my own kind, those closest to me." "I've been a complete Polaroid-head." "Yeah." "You've had your head up your recharge socket." "Agreed." "And you've known all along." "Yeah, well." "I did something similar once." "Sold out." "You sold out?" "Hmm." "Look, this is between me and you, OK, Kryten?" "Once, many years ago..." "I went into a wine bar." " That's it?" "You went into a wine bar?" " OK." "Keep it down!" " I don't want the whole world to know." " What's so bad about going into a..." "WB?" "It means I was a class traitor." "I could have been on that slippery slope - hankering after pine kitchens, sleeping on futons, eating tapas." "Who knows?" "I could have started having "relationships" instead of "going out", got married, got on the property ladder." "Who knows where it could have ended?" "Next thing you know, I'm playing squash every Tuesday night with a bloke called Gerald." "A lucky escape, man." "I want to be a mechanoid again." "It's what I always have been, always will be." "And no bad thing." "Let's do it." "Kryten, a cartoon character called Popeye said a really profound thing." " What did he say?" " "I am what I am."" "Are you sure?" "I thought that was Descartes." "So did I, man." "It's so easy to get those two dudes mixed up." " (LISTER) OK, Hol?" " I've got it sussed." " We should try it first." " What with?" " Well, anything organic." " Hey, don't look at me." " I'm not." "I'm looking at that container." " Lister's curry?" "!" "It's organic." "If we can change a mutton vindaloo into a chicken vindaloo, we'll know it's safe for Kryten." "Nice idea, Goalpost-Head." " Let's try it." " I was enjoying that!" "(COMPUTER'S VOICE) Gene sample accepted and cloned." "Metamorphosis in progress." "(BUBBLING AND GURGLING)" " What the smeg is it?" " What have we created?" "(LISTER) It's the mutton vindaloo beast!" "Half man, half extra-hot Indian curry!" "OK." "You go." "I'll cover you." " (OTHERS) Seriously?" "!" " No!" "(ROARS)" "I don't believe I'm running away from a psychopathic curried man!" " Is he still following us?" " Can't you smell him?" "He's right behind us!" "Remember last Easter?" "The Polymorph?" "That's right." "The killer shami kebab." "How can the same smeg happen to the same guy twice?" "Last time, it was hors d'oeuvres." "This time, it's lunch." " Kiss your ugly ass goodbye, beast!" " (LISTER) Twice!" "(GUNFIRE)" "Go back to the DNA suite." "I've got an idea!" "Holly, I want the truth - can you make this machine work without any mistakes?" "Yeah." "I know what I did wrong." "It's a mistake any deranged, half-witted computer could've made." " I can do it." "Give me a chance." " That creature's virtually indestructible." "There's only one way to beat it." "Turn me into a superhuman." "Man plus." "Are you totally insane?" "You're letting that fruitbat of a computer diddle with your DNA?" " Have you got a better plan?" " Maybe Indian restaurant music will stop it." "Or we could make a surrender flag out of flock wallpaper." "The chomp thing'll be through that door any minute now." "Right." "Let's do it." "(COMPUTER'S VOICE) Transmogrification sequence initiated." "(GROWLS)" "Metamorphosis complete." "(SQUEAKS) Did it work?" " Kind of." " What do you mean, "kind of"?" "I mean "kind of"." " (HOLLY) Well, getting better." " What now?" "No time to change him back." "Let's scoot." "Come on, stumpy." "(SQUEAKS) Wait for me!" "I can't keep up!" "I'm knackered!" "(GROWLS)" "(ROARS IN PAIN)" "Of course." "Lager." "The only thing that can kill a vindaloo." "Has anyone got a poppadom the size of Lake Michigan?" "This stuff's really good." "This guy's pure class." "# It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere" "# I'm all alone, more or less" "# Let me fly far away from here" "# Fun, fun, fun" "# In the sun, sun, sun" "# I want to lie shipwrecked and comatose" "# Drinking fresh mango juice" "# Goldfish shoals nibbling at my toes" "# Fun, fun, fun" "# In the sun, sun, sun" "# Fun, fun, fun" "# In the sun, sun, sun #"
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenSubtitles"
}
|
Q:
Visualforce Page and Visual Flow - Back and forth redirection - Solution?
I have a visual flow that is started on a click of Custom button. This flow is embedded in a visualforce page (standard way of using flows).
Now, in one of the steps in the flow, I want to redirect the user to a New Visualforce page (this page has the functionality of File Upload). In this page, the user will upload file (creates a uppload record). Then can the user be redirected back to THAT step in the flow where he left and continue with the remaning steps in the flow?
What is the feasible solution for this requirement.
So, in short, it is something like below.
Flow step1 ==> flow step 2 ==> Visualforce Page(upload file) ==> flow step 3 ==> finish flow.
EDIT: All this can be solved, if there is File Upload option in flow! #JustAThought
A:
you can redirect like this:
<flow:interview name="CrossSell" interview="{!theInterview}" finishLocation="{!finishLocation}">
public PageReference getfinishLocation() {
return new PageReference('/apex/some-fileuploadpage');
}
after upload, as a work around, you can start another flow instead.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Q:
How to drop null values in Pandas?
I try to drop null values of column 'Age' in dataframe, which consists of float values, but it doesn't work.
I tried
data.dropna(subset=['Age'], how='all')
data['Age'] = data['Age'].dropna()
data=data.dropna(axis=1,how='all')
It works for other columns but not for 'Age'
Pclass Fare Age Sex
0 3 7.2500 22.0 1
1 1 71.2833 38.0 0
2 3 7.9250 26.0 0
3 1 53.1000 35.0 0
4 3 8.0500 35.0 1
5 3 8.4583 NaN 1
6 1 51.8625 54.0 1
7 3 21.0750 2.0 1
A:
data.dropna(subset=['Age']) would work, but you should either set inplace=True or assign it back to data:
data = data.dropna(subset=['Age'])
or
data.dropna(subset=['Age'], inplace=True)
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
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package luxe.utils.unifill;
enum Exception {
InvalidCodePoint(code : Int);
InvalidCodeUnitSequence(index : Int);
}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
---
abstract: 'The fact that both the D6-brane and the orientifold 6-plane have smooth, horizon-free descriptions in M-theory makes them especially useful in understanding certain aspects of brane physics. We briefly review how this connection has been used to understand a number of effects, several of which are associated with the Hanany-Witten transition. One particular outcome is a “confinement mod 2” effect for zero-branes in the background of a single D8-brane. We also discuss an interesting puzzle associated with flux-expulsion from D6-branes in this context. Finally, we discuss the promise of using a similar M-theoretic description of the orientifold 6-plane to understand the consistency of stringy negative energy objects with the 2nd law of black hole thermodynamics.'
---
**The Past, puzzles, and promise of 6-branes**
Donald Marolf
Physics Department, Syracuse University, Syracuse, NY 13244
,
Introduction
============
This outline for this talk arose in an attempt to find a strong enough unifying theme in my recent work to keep an audience’s interest throughout a 50 minute talk. Rather to my surprise, such a theme did exist and, not only did it run through quite a bit of my recent work, but it continues to run through planned future work as well. The theme concerns a certain tool that one can use to uncover certain non-perturbative effects in brane physics by concentrating on the case of six-branes. Thus, the above title was born out of the idea that I would review past work involving six-branes, present some puzzles presently under study involving six-branes, and describe the promising future use of six-branes in addressing what may at first seem like a completely unrelated question.
The feature that makes six-branes unique in string theory is that they admit smooth, horizon-free strong-coupling descriptions in terms of eleven-dimensional supergravity. In the case of the D6-brane, the lift to M-theory is the Kaluza-Klein monopole, while for the orientifold 6-plane [@Sei1; @Sei2; @Sen] it is the Atiyah-Hitchin manifold [@AH]. These results turn out to provide a handle with which to grasp a variety of non-perturbative effects in brane physics, and we display a selection of such results below.
It turns out that several of the results of interest involve the Hanany-Witten effect [@HW]. For this reason, we begin with a review of the smooth picture of this effect and then proceed to discuss what one can do with six-branes. Our first application is the construction [@GM] of supergravity solutions describing the Hanany-Witten effect in which all branes involved are treated as gravitating objects that affect the bulk spacetime fields (and thus the other branes). This construction then leads to a puzzle [@Tdual] involving a certain ‘flux-expulsion’ property of the D6-brane.
We then turn in a rather different direction to discuss how D6-branes may be used to derive and understand a certain ‘confinement mod 2’ effect of D0-branes in the (symmetric) background created by a unit charged D8-brane [@half]. Finally, we make a further radical change in direction to discuss the issue of the consistency of negative tension string-theoretic constructions with black hole thermodynamics and how the study of orientifold 6-planes promises to provide a resolution.
Despite the wide variety of physical questions that will be discussed, all of these issues will be studied using the same basic fact that six-branes have an easily controlled strong coupling description. While the absence of a gravity/gauge-theory duality [@ISMY] for D6-branes may sometimes make these branes seem less exciting than their lower dimensional cousins, I hope that the reader is impressed with the variety of issues that can be raised, addressed, and resolved in the context of six-branes.
The smooth picture of the Hanany-Witten effect {#shn}
==============================================
This section provides a brief review of how the Hanany-Witten brane-creation effect [@HW] is described as a smooth process. While this discussion has nothing to do with six-branes specifically, it will set the context and provide background for two of the sections that follow. The basic picture follows from general principles, but one can also find a one-parameter moduli space of exact BPS solutions describing certain versions of the process in either the worldvolume theory of a test brane in the background generated by another brane [@NOYY; @Im; @CGS] or in full supergravity [@GM], meaning that both branes are fully coupled to bulk fields and can affect each other. However, in this latter case only so-called ‘near core’ solutions are available. What happens in either the worldvolume theory [@wv] or supergravity [@3Q] is that the flux of a gauge field generated by one brane falling on the second brane generates a third kind of charge associated with the new brane.
In the supergravity description, this effect follows from the fact that the ‘brane-source’ charge of the D4-brane (see [@3Q]) is not conserved [@GM; @3Q]. This in turn is a straightforward consequence of the modified Bianchi identity satisfied by the gauge invariant Ramond-Ramond four-form field strength $\tilde F_4 = dC_3 + A_1 \wedge H_3$ of which the D4-brane is a magnetic source. We have the relation $$\label{mbi}
d\tilde F_4 + F_2 \wedge H_3 = *j^{bs}_{D4},$$ where the right hand side is the brane-source current (which vanishes in the absence of an explicit D4-brane source). Here, $F_2$ is the usual IIA Ramond-Ramond two-form field strength and $H_3 = dB_2$ is the Neveu-Schwarz field strength. Taking an exterior derivative of (\[mbi\]) shows that $d*j^{bs}_{D4}$ does not vanish. Instead, a flux of $F_2$ falling on an NS5 brane (where $*j_{NS5}^{bs} \equiv
dH_3 \neq 0$) or a flux of $H_3$ falling on a D6-brane (where $*j^{bs}_{D6} \equiv dF_2 \neq 0$) acts as a source or sink of D4-brane charge. Some of the subtleties of defining charge and working with brane-source currents are discussed in [@3Q], but it is enough for us that this result leads to the Hanany-Witten effect and the associated creation of a D4-brane as described below.
The diagram below shows various stages in this process for the case of an NS5-brane moving past a D6-brane to make a D4-brane [@GM]. Similar results also follow for D$p$ and D$p'$ branes whenever $p + p' = 8.$, see e.g. [@Im; @CGS] for a worldvolume description of the D3/D5 case. At stage (i) when the NS5-brane is far from the D6-brane, the center of the NS5-brane subtends a small angle at the D6-brane and captures only a small amount of flux from the D6. As a result, essentially no D4 charge is induced in the region shown and one has only a flat NS5-brane. Then, as the NS5-brane approaches the D6-brane (ii), it subtends a larger angle and begins to capture some flux, generating some D4 charge. This charge corresponds to D4-branes lying inside the NS5-brane and running outward along this brane to infinity.
When the NS5-brane is dragged past the D6-brane (iii), all of the flux from the D6-brane is captured in the part of the NS5-brane close to the D6-brane. Capturing one quantum of flux corresponds to the creation of one quantum of fundamental string charge, so that the thin neck of NS5-brane approximates a single D4-brane. However, the NS5-brane captures flux of the opposite sign in the region where the neck joins the asymptotically flat part of the NS5-brane. The flux captured in this region is half of that generated by the D6-brane, so that a net one-half quantum of D4 charge reaches infinity along the NS5-brane. This last statement is true in each of the stages (i,ii,iii,iv), though only in stage (iii) are all of the relevant parts of the NS5-brane visible in figure 1. In stage (iv), the neck has narrowed so as to become difficult to resolve and all that remains is a D4-brane string stretching between an NS5-brane and a D6-brane.
The above picture seems to follow from general properties of the supergravity field equations, but it is important to check them by studying exact solutions in detail. This will be particularly clear in a moment when we discuss the 6-brane ‘puzzle,’ which is an apparent exception to the above story. The known exact solutions come in several forms, the first of which [@NOYY] considers a test D2-brane in the background created by a six-brane. This case is particularly tractable using the M-theory description in which we have an M2-brane in a Kaluza-Klein monopole background. In this case, any holomorphic curve represents a BPS configuration of the M2-brane. By moving the M2-brane past the monopole, one can watch the formation of a string that connects the monopole to the two-brane. Test brane solutions were also studied in [@Im; @CGS] for the case of a fundamental string stretching between a D5-brane and a D3-brane, but in this case one must work much harder to solve the differential equations for the BPS configuration as one does not have the shortcut of simply looking for holomorphic curves.
Supergravity Solutions and a Puzzle {#puz}
===================================
It is interesting, however, to go one step further and to solve for the full supergravity solutions beyond the test brane approximation; i.e., to go to the stage in which both branes are actively coupled to the bulk field. One would expect that this would show a ‘back-reaction’ of the D2-brane on the D6-brane. It turns out that such solutions can in fact be constructed in what is known as the ‘near-core limit’ using a simple trick introduced by [@ITY; @Aki].
The key point is that the charge N IIA D6-brane solution lifts to the charge N Kaluza-Klein monopole solution in M-theory. In particular, for the unit charge case the M-theory solution is completely smooth and so is well approximated by flat space at the center. As a result, there is a Kaluza-Klein reduction of flat space that yields the leading approximation to the D6-brane geometry near the singularity. This is the ‘near-core’ D6-brane solution. The observation is that it is straightforward to add another brane to this flat space and thereby obtain the ‘near-D6 brane’ part of a solution in which the D6-brane intersects an F1- or D4-brane. These solutions follow by simply applying the same Kaluza-Klein reduction to the M-theory solution describing ‘an M2- or M5-brane in flat space;’ i.e., to the usual M2- or M5-brane solution. This process was begun in [@Aki] and completed in [@GM], where it was shown that an appropriate family of such reductions in fact describes the near-D6 brane versions of stages (i-iv) in the Hanany-Witten process for a D2- or NS5-brane being pulled past a D6-brane. Similarly, the multiply charged case can be obtain by first taking an orbifold quotient and then reducing the result.
We refer to the reader to [@GM] for the details of these solutions, but we mention here an interesting puzzle that one finds after a bit of study. As already mentioned, one would expect that constructing such full supergravity solutions would show the ‘back-reaction’ of the D2- or NS5-brane on the D6-brane. Certainly, a brane-charge argument indicates that, for example, any $\tilde{F}_4$ or $H_3$ flux falling on the D6-brane must result in the creation of F1- or D4-branes. However, one does not see this in the solutions of [@GM]. Instead, there seems to be a ‘flux-expulsion’ effect associated with D6-branes which is reminiscent of the ‘superconducting branes’ phenomenon [@sup].
To begin to understand this effect, consider any massless type IIA solution containing D6-branes. This of course provides a solution to 11-dimensional supergravity in which the D6-branes are replaced by the cores of Kaluza-Klein monopoles. This solution has a Killing field $\lambda^{11}$ which vanishes at the core of each monopole. The natural boundary condition to impose on the D6-branes is that the corresponding 11-dimensional solutions (or an appropriate multiple cover in the multiply charged case) be smooth at these cores. But now consider the 11-dimensional four-form field strength $F_4^{\{11\}}$. If it is smooth then $F_4^{\{11\}} \cdot
\lambda^{11}$ must vanish when $\lambda^{11}$ does and in particular at any core. Since $H_3 = F_4^{\{11\}} \cdot \lambda^{11}$, it follows that $H_3$ will vanish at any D6-brane. Note that since the lowest Fourier mode around the circle will again give some smooth field, this conclusion also holds in cases where the 11-dimensional solution does not have an exact translation symmetry along $\lambda_{11}$ but which can be treated perturbatively. The same argument also applies to the dual field, so that $*\widetilde{F}_4=*_{11}F_{4}^{\{ 11 \} }$ should also vanish at a D6-brane. Here $*_{11}$ is the eleven-dimensional Hodge dual. This is the flux that causes D6-branes to produce fundamental strings, so no fundamental string charge should be induced on a D6-brane when a D2-brane is dragged past it. This is also related to a surprising property of a T-dual type IIB solution [@Tdual] involving D5-branes and Kaluza-Klein monopoles.
A similar sort of flux-excluding property was studied in [@sup]. For the ‘superconducting’ branes considered in that work, the normal component of some field strength was forced to vanish on the horizon. The situation here is somewhat different, however, as now the entire field strength $H_3$ or $*\widetilde{F}_4$ must vanish at the brane.
Although the above 11-dimensional argument for flux-expulsion meshes nicely with the unexpected results of [@GM] and [@Tdual], certain aspects of this story remain quite puzzling. For example, flux is clearly not expelled from the NS5-brane or from a corresponding D2-brane crossing a D6-brane. Yet, the D6-brane is connected to these other branes by dualities. Thus, at least naively it appears that application of supergravity dualities can transform the solutions of [@GM] into ones in which D6-branes do in fact admit flux from other branes. Nevertheless, finding the mechanism through which this works, or what alternative resolution string theory provides remains a puzzle to be solved by further study of D6-branes.
Confinement and Charge quantization {#confine}
===================================
We now turn to a related puzzle [@half] which, though we will use 6-branes in its study, is most easily stated in terms of D0- and D8-branes. Consider for example a system with a single D0-brane and a single D8-brane and suppose that the boundary conditions are such that the ten-form Ramond-Ramond gauge field takes the symmetric values $\pm 1/2$ of the fundamental quantum on either side of the D8-brane domain wall. Then, the brane-source charge arguments above (or, equivalently the arguments of [@PS; @BGL] in type IIA supergravity [@Romans] and the arguments of [@Lif; @BDG; @DFK; @K; @HoWu; @dA; @OSZ] in related contexts) lead to the conclusion that exactly 1/2 of a fundamental string must end on the D0-brane. While this seems to be at odds with charge quantization, several possible resolutions immediately present themselves. One possibility is that the half-string is a mere artifact of some accounting scheme (see, e.g. [@BDS; @Taylor; @Mor; @3Q; @SS]) and that it is not in fact in conflict with charge quantization. Another possibility is that such symmetric boundary conditions for D8-branes are not actually allowed, and that the Ramond-Ramond gauge ten-form field strength $F_{10}$ must take integer values. A final possibility is that $F_{10}$ is allowed to take half-integer values but that, in such backgrounds, D0-brane charge is allowed to occur only in multiples of 2. We will conclude that this final scenario is in fact correct by considering the T-dual D2/D6 system and again using the description of D6-branes as Kaluza-Klein monopoles in M-theory.
The same question of course arises for the D2/D6 case. It is useful to first establish notation and we recall that, supposing the D6-brane is oriented along the $x_0,x_1,x_2...x_6$, the unit charged D6-brane solution takes the form
$$\begin{aligned}
\label{10Dsol}
ds^2_{string} &=& V^{-1/2} dx_\parallel^2 + V^{1/2} dx_\perp^2, \cr
e^{2\phi} &=& V^{-3/2}, \cr
A_1 &=& \frac{1}{2} (1 - \cos \theta) d \psi, \cr
F_2 &=& \frac{1}{2} \sin \theta d \theta \wedge d\psi\end{aligned}$$
where we have introduced $dx_{\parallel}^2 = -dx_0^2 + dx_1^2
+ dx_2^2 + dx_3^2 + dx_4^2 + dx_5^2 + dx_6^2$ and $dx_\perp^2 = dx_7^2 + dx_8^2 + dx_9^2$, along with $V = 1 + \frac{1}{2r}$, $r =x_7^2 + x_8^2 + x_9^2$, $\theta = \cos^{-1} \left( \frac{-x_9}{r} \right)$, and $\psi = \tan^{-1}\left( \frac{x_8}{x_7} \right)$. Here, to simplify the formulas we have set the radius $R_{10}$ of the M-theory circle to one.
If the D2-brane is extended in two directions (say, $x_7,x_8$) orthogonal to the D6-brane, then it will capture half of the flux from the D6-brane and must therefore have half of a fundamental string ending on the D2. In [@half], this question was studied using the method of [@NOYY]; i.e., by considering test M2-branes in the Kaluza-Klein monopole background. There certainly do exist configurations in which the D2-brane is extended orthogonally to the D6-brane, and for these cases the issue is merely one of proper accounting. In particular, while there is indeed 1/2 unit of fundamental string ‘brane source’ charge in this system (in particular, this charge can be shown to flow along the D2-brane world-volume to infinity), brane-source charge is not in general quantized (see [@3Q]). Instead, the measure of charge that is quantized is known as the ‘Page charge.’ While the value of this charge is not gauge invariant, its value for this configuration is an integer in any gauge [@half]. In particular, in simple gauges one finds either zero or one units of fundamental string charge.
However, one can show [@half] that the distinction between brane-source and Page charge is important only for the case that the fundamental string charge runs to infinity along the worldvolume of the D2-brane[^1]. Note, however, that the flux of fundamental string charge or world-volume gauge field to infinity will obstruct any attempts to compactify this solution in the directions along the D2-brane. Because the flux is only outward, no consistent identifications can be imposed on solutions with such a flux. From the worldvolume perspective, this is just the familiar statement that the total charge coupled to the gauge field must vanish on a compact worldvolume. As a result, such configurations cannot be compactified and therefore are not in fact related by T-duality to the D0/D8 case.
Thus, the issue remains. However, we have learned that we must focus on the case in which no fundamental string brane-source charge flows along the D2-brane to infinity. Nonetheless, the D2-brane will necessarily intercept some flux from the D6-brane and it is clear that some fundamental string charge must somehow flow off of the D2-brane. The only remaining possibility is that this charge will in fact flow to the D6-brane itself. Since the fundamental string in this context is nothing but a deformation of the D2-brane worldsheet, this means that we must consider solutions where the D2-brane actually intersects the D6-brane. It is here that the M-theory context is particularly useful, as what appears to be a singular intersection in the IIA description becomes merely the smooth passage of an M2-brane through the core of a Kaluza-Klein monopole. In particular, while the D6-brane singularity would prevent one from determining the true structure of the intersection from the IIA perspective, from the 11-dimensional perspective it is clear that valid D2/D6 intersections are exactly those for which the M2-branes remain smooth at the Kaluza-Klein monopole core.
The general holomorphic such intersection is analyzed in [@half]. However, for simplicity we examine here only the special case in which the D2-brane is placed on the surface $x_9=0$. To describe the 11-dimensional description of this surface, we must first establish our conventions for the Kaluza-Klein monopole in 11-dimensions. A useful form of this metric is [@NOYY; @Yosh; @BG]
$$ds^2 = - dx_\parallel^2 + V dv d\overline v + V^{-1} \left|
\frac{dw}{w} - f dv \right|^2,$$
where $$f = \frac{x_9 + r}{2vr},$$ correcting a small typographic error in [@NOYY; @BG]. The complex coordinates $v$ and $w$ define one of the complex structures on the Euclidean Taub-Nut space. They are related to the ten-dimensional coordinates through $$\begin{aligned}
v &=& x_7 + i x_8 \cr
w &=& e^{-(x_9+ix_{10})} \left( - x_9 + \sqrt{x_9^2 + |v|^2} \right)^{1/2},\end{aligned}$$ and Kaluza-Klein reduction takes place along the Killing field $\partial_{x_{10}}$. Such coordinates are smooth so long as $v \neq 0$ or $x_9 < 0$. Note that $x_{10}$ ranges over $[0,2\pi]$ consistent with our setting $R_{10}=1$. In addition, a careful check will show that this space has a $Z_2$ symmetry of the form $(w,v) \rightarrow (\frac{v}{w}, v)$.
A holomorphic curve that reduces to the surface $x_9=0$ surface can be found by noticing that the symmetry $(w,v) \rightarrow (\frac{v}{w},v)$ changes the sign of $x_9$, so that any surface which is invariant under this symmetry must lie at $x_9=0$. The surface $w^2 = v$ is invariant in this way, and careful investigation [@half] shows that it remains smooth at the origin ($v=w=0$). However, because it contains $w^2$, upon dimensional reduction we find [*two*]{} D2-branes lying at $x_9=0$. The corresponding sheets of the M2-brane lie at $x_{10} = \psi$ and $x_{10} = \psi + \pi.$ Deforming this surface to move the asymptotic parts of both D2 branes to large $|x_9|$ therefore produces a string-like piece of D2-brane connected to the D6-brane and carrying a full unit of fundamental string charge and tension.
Note that the two D2-branes cannot be separated from one another as, when the angle $\psi$ increases by $2\pi$, we must move from one brane to the other. It turns out (see [@half]) that in fact all D2-brane configurations that can be compactified have a similar structure, with a pair of D2-branes forming a Riemann surface whose a branch point lies at the location of the D6-brane. As a result, the same behavior should be found in the T-dual D0/D8 system. That is, in the background of a unit charged D8-brane, D0-branes should only occur in pairs and these pairs must be connected to the D8-brane by (integer) fundamental strings. We refer to this effect as “confinement of the D0-branes in pairs.”
It is interesting to remark that a ${\bf Z}_2$ quotient of the above solution leads to the charge 2 Kaluza-Klein monopole and the charge 2 D6-brane. Such a ${\bf Z}_2$ quotient identifies the two sheets of the D2-brane, leading to a single D2-brane in the charge 2 D6-brane background. Thus, the confinement effect disappears in the charge 2 D8-brane background.
The future promise of the six-brane {#orient}
===================================
In this final section, we give a preview of other results one may hope to obtain from a study of six-branes. This latter study is of quite a different nature, and involves the relationship between negative energy objects and the generalized second law of thermodynamics. Let us first state the issues involved, and we will then fore-shadow briefly why a study of six-branes, this time of the orientifold variety, should allow us to understand the situation.
The following discussion is motived by the recent appearances of negative energy objects in various large extra dimension scenarios (see, e.g. [@Rubakov:1983bb]-[@Corley:2001rt]). It is, of course, important that any extra-dimensional scenario be stable, and negative energies can be problematic. Placing a negative tension brane at a orbifold fixed plane has been shown to remove perturbative dynamical instabilities. Nevertheless, one still worries about the second law of thermodynamics, particularly as generalized to include the entropy of black holes. To see the point, consider a process in which a bit of a negative tension brane is lowered into a black hole (or, equivalently, in which a black hole is thrown at a negative tension brane). Heuristically, one expects that as negative energy matter flows into the black hole, the black hole will shrink and reduce in entropy. In the semi-classical limit, the entropy of a black hole should dominate over all other forms of entropy and one expects a reduction in black hole area to lead to a violation of the generalized second law of thermodynamics.
In [@NegT], exact constructions were given of spacetimes representing collisions in 2+1 dimensional gravity between BTZ black holes and 1+1 dimensional negative tension branes at orbifolds. The results are interesting in that one can prove that if the system were to settle down to some equilibrium state representing a black hole attached to the brane, then a violation of the second law would necessarily result. However, in this case such clear violations are avoided by the onset of a catastrophe. Instead of settling down to some equilibrium state, a new spacelike singularity forms that extends far outside of what one would naively have called the black hole, reaching out to engulf the entire brane and, in a certain sense, the entire universe.
One is led to wonder whether this behavior is somehow typical or whether other sorts of branes are better behaved. In particular, a priori this might be an artifact of our low-dimensional setting, and a higher dimensional study is currently in progress in collaboration with Joel Rozowsky, Pedro Silva, and Mark Trodden. However, one suspects that the above catastrophe is somehow related to the more basic issue involving black hole thermodynamics. It seems likely that negative tension objects should be allowed only in the case that they have some property that guarantees compatibility with black hole thermodynamics.
This is where we come to the connection with six-branes. We begin by recalling that certain negative tension orientifolds do in fact arise in string theory (see, e.g., [@OGS; @Hanany:2000fq] for recent reviews). String theoretic calculations do not indicate any instabilities of such objects, and given the history of string theory one might well suspect that such objects could teach us something new about gravitational physics. Thus, one expects that such orientifolds are the best candidates for negative tension objects that may be compatible with black hole thermodynamics.
As with the puzzles discussed above, it appears that the six-plane case can shed further light on the issues. It turns out that (at strong coupling) there is an M-theoretic understanding of the orientifold six-plane [@Sei1; @Sei2; @Sen] in terms of the Atiyah-Hitchin manifold [@AH]. The resulting 11-dimensional spacetime is in fact a smooth Ricci-flat (hyperkähler) manifold whose structure near infinity resembles a $Z_2$ quotient of a negative tension Kaluza-Klein monopole. As a result, one may describe the collision of a black hole with such an orientifold as a problem in pure [*vacuum*]{} (i.e., source-free) Einstein-Hilbert gravity in eleven dimensions. Under such conditions, the Raychaudhuri equation leads in the usual way [@HE] to the conclusion that the total horizon area must increase during the collision. Our violations of the generalized second law of thermodynamics will not arise in this context. As the various stringy negative tension orientifolds are related by T-duality, one expects that the other orientifolds of string theory also have properties such that the second law of thermodynamics is upheld in collisions with black holes.
Since we have seen that the orbifold boundary condition itself is not sufficient to make negative tension compatible with black hole thermodynamics, it would be interesting to understand in more detail just what properties of these orientifolds enforce the second law. One suspects that one need only probe the details of the Atiyah-Hitchin manifold for the answers. A study of this form is currently in progress in collaboration with Simon Ross. We hope to report the results of this work soon.
[**Acknowledgments**]{}
In addition to the various acknowledgments in the original papers, I would like to thank Andrés Gomberoff, Simon Ross, and Mark Trodden for delightful collaborations on various parts of the work reported here. This work was supported in part by NSF grants PHY97-22362 and PHY00-98747 to Syracuse University, the Alfred P. Sloan foundation, and by funds from Syracuse University.
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[^1]: In the usual worldvolume description, one would represent this as a non-zero flux to infinity of the D2-brane gauge field
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Smart gadgets are everywhere, even for your everyday selfie taking. Just when we thought that the selfie stick was a great invention for all photo taking lovers, this Smart Selfie Robot reshaped our thinking. With its facial tracking technology, it recognizes your face and then takes photos automatically. Supporting single person mode, couple mode, and multi-person mode with 360 swivel, tracking, and recording, Fiedora A-Ding Smart Robot helps you snap and capture those fun moments without any hassle. You can order it on Amazon for only $75.99.
5) Ultra Comfortable On-Ear Headphones
Bose SoundTrue
If you are looking for a pair of quality big-brand headphones but can’t afford the expensive price tag, then please hear this out. Bose SoundTrue On-ear headphones provide an ultra comfortable listening experience that is engineered to produce deep, clear audio and make your music sound better. This pair of goodies is something you don’t want to miss out on for this holiday season. These headphones would make a killer gift for yourself, your friends, or your family members, especially considering that they are on sale at Best Buy for only $59.99 during Black Friday.
6) Track the Air Quality Around You
ATMOTUBE
Air pollution is a growing concern, and honestly, we don’t really know much of what we’re breathing in. At most, we might notice a pungent smell if we’re close to a dumpster or around an industrial area, yet what about the air we breathe in everyday? Atmotube is an air quality tracker and a highly portable tool to constantly check for levels of volatile organic compounds and harmful gases like CO, and is used in conjunction with an app for real-time checking and tracking. This compact gadget is here to help you monitor the air around you and to help you breathe better. You can order one or a couple at INDIEGOGO starting at $69.
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JBL FLIP 3
JBL’s portable bluetooth speakers are definitely one of the best on the market without an insane price tag. Besides the really hot Pulse 2, the new Flip 3 is also an option to consider. TURN UP! Retailing at only $97.95 for the Black version, Flip 3 has it all: portable size, great sound quality, bass response, loud volumes, and splash proof! Compared to similar bluetooth speakers on the market such as the UE Boom, its performance and price beat it hands down.
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SUAOKI G7 CAR JUMP STARTER
This amazing jump starter has many features and worth way more than its $99.99 mark up. With its high battery capacity, you can start your vehicle about 22 times on one charge. The specially designed intelligent crocodile clamps prevent your car battery from any short circuit damages. Moreover, it can be used as a power hub to charge your digital devices using the USB sockets, and can be used as an emergency lighting source during night time. Get this so you are all ready to hit the road, especially when it’s really cold out!
Military-Standard Waterproof Case for Sports Lovers
JUICE PACK H2PRO
Waterproof protection and an extra battery all in one! This Juice Pack H2PRO offers waterproof protection that exceeds military standards, while providing more than 100% extra battery when you need it the most. Put this on your holiday gift buying list, either for you or your loved ones. Retailing for $129.95, it’s a bit on the pricier side for a phone case, but its outstanding performance is definitely worth the bucks.
10) Fun to Wear, Activité Pop!
Withings Activité Pop
For only $99.99, you can get the best wearable tech with Withings Activité Pop! This piece of wearable tech supports activity tracking, including steps taken, running distance, calories burned, sleep cycle analysis, and an alarm setting to help you start the day with a gentle wake-up vibration.
11) Cute Interface Smart Watch
Pebble Time
Pebble Time helps you to do more and better. This lightweight silicone band smart watch has some of the coolest features for smart watches. You can choose from thousands of custom watchfaces in the Pebble appstore, and they are continuously adding more. For only $129.99, you can choose from three colors to fit your gift needs: white, black or red.
12) Communicate with your Kids Anytime, Anywhere
FLOUREON WALKIE TALKIE
Want to stay connected with your children during nature excursions, fairs, festivals or in shopping malls? Then these walkie talkies are the best option for you to keep in touch with your kids. With a general max range of 3 miles, you can communicate without worrying about the signal. With both FRS and GMRS and an auto channel scan function, it will automatically scan the clearest channel open for you to use. For 4 packs of walkie talkies, you can buy it at Amazon for only $42.99.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
/* crypto/pem/pem_oth.c */
/* Copyright (C) 1995-1998 Eric Young (eay@cryptsoft.com)
* All rights reserved.
*
* This package is an SSL implementation written
* by Eric Young (eay@cryptsoft.com).
* The implementation was written so as to conform with Netscapes SSL.
*
* This library is free for commercial and non-commercial use as long as
* the following conditions are aheared to. The following conditions
* apply to all code found in this distribution, be it the RC4, RSA,
* lhash, DES, etc., code; not just the SSL code. The SSL documentation
* included with this distribution is covered by the same copyright terms
* except that the holder is Tim Hudson (tjh@cryptsoft.com).
*
* Copyright remains Eric Young's, and as such any Copyright notices in
* the code are not to be removed.
* If this package is used in a product, Eric Young should be given attribution
* as the author of the parts of the library used.
* This can be in the form of a textual message at program startup or
* in documentation (online or textual) provided with the package.
*
* Redistribution and use in source and binary forms, with or without
* modification, are permitted provided that the following conditions
* are met:
* 1. Redistributions of source code must retain the copyright
* notice, this list of conditions and the following disclaimer.
* 2. Redistributions in binary form must reproduce the above copyright
* notice, this list of conditions and the following disclaimer in the
* documentation and/or other materials provided with the distribution.
* 3. All advertising materials mentioning features or use of this software
* must display the following acknowledgement:
* "This product includes cryptographic software written by
* Eric Young (eay@cryptsoft.com)"
* The word 'cryptographic' can be left out if the rouines from the library
* being used are not cryptographic related :-).
* 4. If you include any Windows specific code (or a derivative thereof) from
* the apps directory (application code) you must include an acknowledgement:
* "This product includes software written by Tim Hudson (tjh@cryptsoft.com)"
*
* THIS SOFTWARE IS PROVIDED BY ERIC YOUNG ``AS IS'' AND
* ANY EXPRESS OR IMPLIED WARRANTIES, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, THE
* IMPLIED WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY AND FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE
* ARE DISCLAIMED. IN NO EVENT SHALL THE AUTHOR OR CONTRIBUTORS BE LIABLE
* FOR ANY DIRECT, INDIRECT, INCIDENTAL, SPECIAL, EXEMPLARY, OR CONSEQUENTIAL
* DAMAGES (INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, PROCUREMENT OF SUBSTITUTE GOODS
* OR SERVICES; LOSS OF USE, DATA, OR PROFITS; OR BUSINESS INTERRUPTION)
* HOWEVER CAUSED AND ON ANY THEORY OF LIABILITY, WHETHER IN CONTRACT, STRICT
* LIABILITY, OR TORT (INCLUDING NEGLIGENCE OR OTHERWISE) ARISING IN ANY WAY
* OUT OF THE USE OF THIS SOFTWARE, EVEN IF ADVISED OF THE POSSIBILITY OF
* SUCH DAMAGE.
*
* The licence and distribution terms for any publically available version or
* derivative of this code cannot be changed. i.e. this code cannot simply be
* copied and put under another distribution licence
* [including the GNU Public Licence.] */
#include <openssl/pem.h>
#include <stdio.h>
#include <openssl/buf.h>
#include <openssl/err.h>
#include <openssl/mem.h>
#include <openssl/evp.h>
#include <openssl/obj.h>
#include <openssl/rand.h>
#include <openssl/x509.h>
/* Handle 'other' PEMs: not private keys */
void *PEM_ASN1_read_bio(d2i_of_void *d2i, const char *name, BIO *bp, void **x,
pem_password_cb *cb, void *u)
{
const unsigned char *p = NULL;
unsigned char *data = NULL;
long len;
char *ret = NULL;
if (!PEM_bytes_read_bio(&data, &len, NULL, name, bp, cb, u))
return NULL;
p = data;
ret = d2i(x, &p, len);
if (ret == NULL)
OPENSSL_PUT_ERROR(PEM, ERR_R_ASN1_LIB);
OPENSSL_free(data);
return ret;
}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
1. Introduction
===============
Breast cancer is one of the most important female cancers in many countries, and its incidence has increased in recent decades.^\[[@R1]\]^ That rise is attributed to the more widespread use of mammography and a consequent earlier detection of the disease. Earlier detection---and therefore earlier treatment---is expected to result in improved survival rates.^\[[@R2]\]^ The improvement in survival rates has been related to the concern with quality of life (QOL) among the surviving breast cancer patients.^\[[@R3]\]^ With advanced treatment, the role of the patient shifts to that of survivor, and there is a need for continued focus on overall QOL issues.^\[[@R4]\]^
Generally, the evaluating indices of QOL mainly include 2 aspects: information from physician and patient-rated indices. There is some difference between physician and patient-rated indices in survival status of patient with breast cancer. The patient rating is viewed as more useful because it includes subjective information only patients can provide. There is a paradigm shift in evaluating the outcomes of medical care in the past years. The outcome assessment has a more focus on the patients' perception of their health than clinical indexes of disease activity. The term "patient-reported outcome" (PRO) has been used to denote the inclusion of the patient\'s viewpoint in medical care.^\[[@R5]\]^ The US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) 2006 draft guidance "Patient-Reported Outcome Measures: Use in Medical Product Development to Support Labeling Claims" has engendered wide discussion about PRO domains that should be taken as the end points in clinical trials.^\[[@R6]\]^ PRO refers to outcomes that arise directly from patients' perceptions of their own health conditions.^\[[@R7]\]^ In the case of cancer, PRO is used to assess the overall burden of the disease and the effectiveness of interventions.
There has been increased the use of outcome measures in both clinical practice and research to capture data regarding a patient\'s self-reported level of disability and determine the relative effectiveness of interventions.^\[[@R8]\]^ The European Organization for Research and Treatment of Cancer-Breast Module and Functional Assessment of Cancer Therapy-Breast (FACT-B) were widely translated and used by many countries to measure QOL in breast cancer population.^\[[@R9]\]^
Due to the number of items and domains, scoring, and psychometric properties, there are great differences in these instruments. These items of QOL are more important in breast cancer survivors. Apart from some clinical symptoms, patients with breast cancer experience a series of nonclinical symptoms. Feelings of depression and isolation are mostly experienced. Additionally, patients with breast cancer are so fatigue that they have difficulty in daily life. The research findings have indicated that such factors as fatigue, anxiety, body image, and sexuality strongly affect QOL following breast cancer diagnosis and treatment.^\[[@R10]\]^ Developments in therapeutic interventions and humanistic concerns have transformed the prospects for breast cancer patients. PRO for a patient with a history of breast cancer assess the impacts of disease, treatment, and side effects related to different treatment modalities on various aspects of a patient\'s outcomes.^\[[@R11]\]^ The interventions of providing social support could improve QOL.^\[[@R9]\]^
Such patient-reported outcomes measure for breast cancer (BC-PROM) includes the following: measures of physical functioning, emotional functioning, social functioning, and therapeutic aspects.^\[[@R12]\]^ The most indexes of patient-reported outcomes measure (PROM) are subjective indicators, and strongly influenced by the regional economic and cultural background in the evaluation of health status. Under the circumstance, there is no recognized and accurate scale of patients with breast cancer. So development and validation of a new specific BC-PROM which suit regional economic and cultural background is indispensable. The information collected from the scale is used to evaluate the effect of cancer therapy, and screening the best choices of treatment and new anticancer drugs in clinical oncology.
2. Methods
==========
2.1. Ethics statement
---------------------
The study protocol (No.2013098) received medical and ethical approval from the Shanxi Medical University. We obtained written informed consent from all participants.
2.2. Study population
---------------------
We enrolled patients from 8 different hospitals in Shanxi Province, China. The investigators had studied training manuals and acquired investigative techniques through unified training. All participants were requested to complete the scale independently after receiving a brief introduction about the BC-PROM from one of the investigators. If a patient was unable to complete the questionnaires by themselves, they received assistance from an individual who had a proper understanding of the patient\'s condition. If the patients or their assistants encountered any problems with the questions, investigators were able to provide a detailed explanation. The questionnaires were filled in so as to reflect the patient\'s current situation. If the patients or their assistants were illiterate or had a low educational level, an investigator read out the questions and options, though without providing any actual guidance. Depending on the patient\'s own wishes, they could receive the assistance of an investigator or an assistant in completing the questionnaire.
Prior to the study, the investigators received relevant medical knowledge about general surgery and oncology. Furthermore, the authors made every effort to ensure that the investigators adopted a serious, responsible attitude so as to maintain the quality of this study. To minimize any missing data, the investigators checked the questionnaires immediately after completion.
The inclusion criteria for the breast cancer patients were as follows: having a definite diagnosis of breast cancer; being over 18 years of age; and being willing to undergo the investigation. The exclusion criteria were as follows: a patient with mental illness or disturbance of consciousness; inability to understand or complete the scale owing to deficiencies of language or cognitive ability; and being unwilling to undertake the investigation. Control participants were collected to meet the following criteria: not suffering from breast cancer, cancer, and mental illness; the overall age of healthy people was similar with that of patients with breast cancer; and being a volunteer to join in the research of this subject. Health controls also provided informed consent and got some rewards.
We tested the missing data in the questionnaires using Little missing completely at random test, and set a *P* value of \<.001. If the data were being missing at random, we replaced them based on the expectation-maximization algorithm.^\[[@R13]\]^
2.3. Sample size
----------------
In order to obtain stable and reliable analysis results and accurate parameter estimates, some scholars have suggested that the actual survey data sample should be 5 to 10 times of the observed variables. Nunnally^\[[@R14]\]^ suggested that the number of subjects was at least 10 times that of the study variables in factor analysis. For the first item-selection process, we recruited 149 breast cancer patients; valid data were obtained from 137 participants. We selected 102 patients and 35 controls, who participated in the presurvey. For the 2nd item-selection process and validation of the BC-PROM, we recruited 446 breast cancer patients and 141 controls from the same 8 regions. Of those, 417 patients and 135 controls were able to complete the final scale.
2.4. Scale scoring
------------------
For each item, patients responded using a 5-point Likert scale to reflect how often they experienced the issues in past2 weeks. We assigned initial values to each category, ranging from 0 to 4. The responses were 0 = never, 1 = occasionally, 2 = about half of the time, 3 = often, and 4 = almost every day. Scores of positively worded items were recoded as the original score plus 1; scores of negatively worded items were recoded as 5 minus the original response. This recoding produced a score range for each item of 1 to , with a higher score reflecting a more positive PROM.
2.5. Development and formation of BC-PROM
-----------------------------------------
The PROM for breast cancer was developed in 4 phases: conceptual framework construction and preliminary item generation; development of the initial scale by the 1st item-selection process; formation of the final scale based on the 2nd item-selection process; and validation of the PRO measure. A flowchart of this 4-phase developmental process appears in Fig. [1](#F1){ref-type="fig"}. We mainly used the methods of classical test theory (CTT) and item response theory (IRT) in the 2 item-selection processes.
{#F1}
2.6. Conceptual framework construction
--------------------------------------
Following the principles for PRO measurement tools provided by the FDA, we conducted a literature search of academic databases for PRO instruments and available Net resources for breast cancer. We then formed a conceptual framework for the new instrument. We developed 4 domains and 13 subdomains as follows: physical domain (subdomains: breast symptom, chest symptom, systemic symptom, unique reaction, and independence), psychological domain (subdomains: anxiety and depression, self-abasement, and despair), social domain (subdomains: social support and social adaptation), and therapeutic domain (subdomains: satisfaction, compliance, and drug side effects).
2.7. Item generation
--------------------
We conducted in-depth open-ended interviews of 10 breast cancer patients to identify potential items for the BC-PROM using the selected conceptual framework.^\[[@R15]\]^ Patients were interviewed to discuss their main physical feelings and symptoms, psychological and social burden, and satisfaction with treatment. We recorded the main points of information from those interviews.
We selected 10 patients to take a cognitive test. Those patients were requested to indicate items that they found vague or difficult to understand. Based on the patients' suggestions, we added or removed some items. As a result, we generated a bank of some potential items. We made revisions to the scale following interviews with these experts, and the preliminary scale was formed.
2.8. Statistical analysis
-------------------------
### 2.8.1. Item selection
We used the methods of CTT and IRT to evaluate the items. An item was considered for selection when it was retained by 4 or more methods. However, the evaluation also included a consideration of each item\'s practical significance. Together, the statistical results and practical significance of the items contributed to improvements of the scale.^\[[@R16]\]^
### 2.8.2. Classical test theory (CTT)
We used 4 methods to evaluate the items in the CTT analyses. We assessed the sensitivity of items using the standard deviation (SD): an item was deleted if its standard deviation was ≤1. We employed factor analysis to assess the subdomains. Items with low factor loading (\<0.40) and with factor loading close to other factors were deleted. An item was considered for deletion when the Pearson correlation between the item and its superior factor was \<0.50. Internal consistency was assessed with Cronbach alpha coefficient and the corrected item-total correlation. An item was considered for deletion when the corrected item-total correlation was \<0.50 and the item\'s deletion increased the Cronbach alpha coefficient.^\[[@R17]\]^
### 2.8.3. Item response theory (IRT)
IRT models have been the preferred methodology for statistically analyzing survey responses and patients' latent traits.^\[[@R18]\]^ We assessed items using MultiLog 7.03 with Samejima graded response model to investigate the measurement properties. The graded response model is suitable for analyzing ordered response categories, such as Likert-type rating scales.^\[[@R19]\]^ We used plots of an item\'s characteristic curves to demonstrate efficiency. Each item was characterized by 2 parameters, namely discrimination parameter and difficulty parameter. We determined these with maximum likelihood estimation. The practical values of the item parameters for deletion were as follows: a \< 0.4; b (--3, 3).^\[[@R20]\]^
### 2.8.4. Validation of final scale
We evaluated the final BC-PROM for validity, reliability, and responsiveness using the data obtained from those 417 patients as well as the 135 control participants.
### 2.8.5. Reliability
We calculated Cronbach alpha coefficients for 4 domains and the total scale to measure the internal consistency of the BC-PROM. Generally, a value of more than 0.70 indicates that individual items provide an adequate contribution to the overall scale.^\[[@R21]\]^
### 2.8.6. Validity
Content validity. The relevant literatures and subject patients' opinions were typically consulted in validating content validity which how well these items met the empirical indexes of interest.^\[[@R5]\]^
Construct validity. We subjected the factor structure of the scale to confirmatory factor analysis (CFA). The model was contrasted for relative goodness-of-fit statistics, such as the following: root mean square error approximation (values \< 0.08 indicate adequate fit and values \< 0.05 indicate a close fit of the data to the model); ^\[[@R22]\]^ normed fit index (values ≥0.90); nonnormed fit index (values ≥0.90); incremental fit index (values ≥0.90); comparative fit index (values ≥0.90); and root mean square residual (values \< 0.09).^\[[@R23]\]^ Using LISREL 8.70, we assessed construct validity with CFA.
Discriminant validity. We determined discriminant validity by comparing the mean scores for every subdomain of the BC-PROM among control participants and the groups of breast cancer patients. We compared the differences using analysis of variance, with the significance level set at *P* \< .05.^\[[@R21]\]^
### 2.8.7. Feasibility
We evaluated the feasibility of the BC-PROM by examining the response rate, completion rate, and response time to completion. We considered response and return rates of less than 95% inadequate and completion times of 8 to 13 minutes acceptable.
3. Results
==========
3.1. Participant characteristics
--------------------------------
In the 1st item-selection phase, 102 from breast cancer patients and 35 from control participants were returned. The subjects of breast cancer were 18 to 68 years old, with an average of 45.12 ± 12.04 years (see Appendix 1, Supplemental Content, which described demographic characteristic of patients and controls in the 1st item-selection phase). In the 2nd item-selection phase, 417 breast cancer patients and 135 controls agreed to participate. The subjects of breast cancer were 20 to 73 years old, with an average age of 47.97 ± 10.31 years. We calculated and compared demographic information using the Z-test for continuous variables and chi-square test for categorical variables (see Appendix 2, Supplemental Content, which described demographic characteristic of patients and controls in the 2nd item-selection phase).
3.2. Generation of item pool and matrix plot of item characteristic curves
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
We undertook a comprehensive review to form 4 domains, 13 subdomains, and 53 potential items. Then we made an interview with some experts to revise the various fields of the scale. We finally created a preliminary scale of 58 items. The matrix plot of item characteristic curves (ICCs) with IRT for each item is showed in Fig. [2](#F2){ref-type="fig"}. Each item of the BC-PROM had 5 response categories. For each item in ICCs, each response category was represented by 1 curve. Ideally, the 1st and last curve of ICCs should be monotonic for each item. And the remaining 3 curves (ie, curves of blue, magenta, and green) should be approximately normal distribution. As shown in Fig. [2](#F2){ref-type="fig"}, the ICCs were closer to the ideal case for a majority of items.
{#F2}
3.3. Item selection
-------------------
### 3.3.1. The 1st item-selection phase
In our study, the Kaiser--Meyer--Olkin statistic was 0.706, which was larger than the gold criteria of Kaiser--Meyer--Olkin (0.7). Meanwhile the *P* value was \<.001 in Bartlett test of sphericity. These 2 statistics indicated the factor analysis was right for the data. The cumulative variance contribution rate of the first 13 factors was up to 75.145%. Therefore, we selected 13 factors and assigned each item to the corresponding factors. For CTT and IRT in the 1st item-selection phase, the selection and some statistical results of the items appear in Table [1](#T1){ref-type="table"}. The items PHD10, PSD15, SOD3, SOD10, and SOD12 should have been removed in the results. However, many patients and experts agreed that there is a need to ask and investigate with regard to item SOD12 (Do you take an active part in beneficial social activities?), and so we decided to retain it. Therefore, we deleted 4 items from the initial scale. The scale was left with 4 domains, 13 subdomains, and 54 items.
######
Summary of the 1st item-selection phase using classical test theory and item response theory.
### 3.3.2. The 2nd item-selection phase
With CTT and IRT in the 2nd item-selection phase, the selection and some statistical results of the items appear in Table [2](#T2){ref-type="table"}. Items PSD10 (Have you changed your understanding and pursue of life?) and PSD15 (Are you worried about that you will die?) had to be removed according to the above criteria. Therefore, 2 items were deleted from the final scale, which consisted of 4 domains, 13 subdomains, and 52 items (see Table [3](#T3){ref-type="table"}).
######
Summary of the 2nd item-selection phase using classical test theory and item response theory.
######
Scale structure of the bank of 52 items of the final scale.
### 3.3.3. Validation of the scale
Additional analyses focused on examining the reliability and validity of the BC-PROM (ie, 52 items, 4 domains) using classical measurement techniques.
### 3.3.4. Reliability
Cronbach alpha coefficients for the 4 domains and overall scale appear in Table [4](#T4){ref-type="table"}. As evident in that table, Cronbach alpha coefficients are 0.867, 0.884, 0.826, 0.712, and 0.902 for physical domain, psychological domain, social domain, therapeutic domain, and total scale, respectively. The 52-item BC-PROM demonstrated a high degree of internal consistency reliability.
######
Reliability of the 4 domains and the whole scale.
### 3.3.5. Content validity
We achieved content validity by referring to the relevant literature. To ensure that all the items were appropriate and relevant, we consulted questionnaires from China and other countries. We also interviewed 10 patients to identify potential items; we consulted with 5 patients, 3 physician experts, and 1 psychometric expert for item revision and refinement.
### 3.3.6. Construct validity
The indexes of fit for 4 domains are mostly presented in following. Indicators of model fitness used include the root-mean-square error approximation (0.079 for PHD, 0.13 for PSD, 0.079 for SOD, and 0.007 for TRD), normed fit index (0.94 for PHD, 0.92 for PSD, 0.96 for SOD, and 0.97 for TRD), nonnormed fit index (0.95 for PHD, 0.92 for PSD, 0.96 for SOD, and 0.98 for TRD), the comparative fit index (0.96 for PHD, 0.93 for PSD, 0.97 for SOD, and 0.99 for TRD), and incremental fit index (0.96 for PHD, 0.93 for PSD, 0.97 for SOD, and 0.99 for TRD). The fit statistics met the defined criteria, which was strongly suggested by the high factor loadings. The results of CFA appear in Table [5](#T5){ref-type="table"}. The standardized factor loadings for most of the items were \>0.5; construct validity was therefore deemed satisfactory.
######
Results of the confirmatory factor analysis.
### 3.3.7. Discriminant validity
As shown in Table [6](#T6){ref-type="table"}, the discriminant validity of each subdomain was examined by comparing mean scores in the 2nd validation samples (417 patients, 135 controls). Based on *t* tests, the rejection of the null hypothesis of each subdomain indicated that the scale had the ability to differentiate between controls and patients.
######
Scores comparisons between control participants and patients with breast cancer.
### 3.3.8. Feasibility
The response rate of the BC-PROM was 90.31%. The effective rate of return of the scale was 94.04%. The majority of participants were able to complete the scale within 10 minutes.
4. Discussion
=============
With the number of women with breast cancer increasing annually among many countries, breast cancer is one of the leading causes of death in women. In such an environment, it is really essential to get more acquainted with the information of one\'s health-related QOL.^\[[@R24]\]^ Currently, more and more patients are involved in evaluations of health-care quality using PRO.^\[[@R21]\]^ The purpose of this study was to establish a reliable and valid patient-reported scale for assessing the QOL of breast cancer patients. The BC-PROM which had validated by 2 samples from 8 hospitals included areas of QOL and broader concepts, such as patient satisfaction with care and some side effects. The results of our study indicated that the BC-PROM is a valid instrument for measuring survival state for women with breast cancer.
We evaluated 4 aspects of our scale: reliability, validity, responsiveness, and feasibility. To decrease the study burden and funding, we did not evaluate test--retest reliability. We used Cronbach alpha coefficient to examine reliability. We employed the CFA method to assess construct validity. Responsiveness was evidenced by the score differences between controls and breast cancer patients. Finally, we evaluated feasibility on the basis of the effective rate of return and the time required to complete the scale. The Cronbach alpha coefficient for the breast subscale was 0.59 in Wan study on the Chinese version of FACT-B scale.^\[[@R25]\]^ But the findings of this study show that the reliability is appropriate. Cronbach alpha reliability coefficient for total scale is 0.902.
During the item-selection phase, we combined CTT and IRT. CTT is easy to implement in the software of SPSS. Cronbach alpha of 4 subdomains and the whole scale was calculated which described the reliability of BC-PROM. However, CTT was item-sample dependent,^\[[@R26]\]^ and its application was restricted in the development and validation of the scale. The analyses based on IRT can increase the accuracy and efficiency of the BC-PROM. Results through IRT provided much richer information on the performance of each item.^\[[@R27]\]^ It is useful during the development or refinement of our scale. ICCs provided through IRT reflected the accuracy of measurement at different values of the latent trait.^\[[@R28]\]^ By examining the probability of endorsing response categories for each item, it ensured that the best items are remained. Graded response theory was one of several models in IRT. It was used on the characteristics of ordered polytomous categories in our paper.
Many existing instruments measuring QOL have undergone development and validation among patients.^\[[@R12]\]^ Referring to the pros and cons of those currently available PRO instruments, we developed a PROM to assess the survival of breast cancer patients. This study examined measurement properties, such as the reliability, validity, and responsiveness of the instrument. Finally, we developed a scale that consisted of 4 domains and 13 subdomains as follows: physiology, psychology, society, and treatment. The helpful information gathered by this instrument is used to be as prognostic and medical factors. Studies of BC-PROM can further indicate the directions needed for more efficient treatment of cancer patients. The scientific evidence from QOL data can be used to assist in clinical decision making during the phase of diagnosis and treatment for breast cancer.^\[[@R29]\]^
The BC-PROM covered more symptoms and treatment-related side effects than the Functional Assessment of Cancer Therapy--Breast Symptom Index. In the present study, the questionnaires were validated in the breast cancer population of community health centers in 3 Chinese cities. However, owing to the difficulties in following up patients and the desire not to impose an excessive burden on patients, we did not measure the test--retest reliability in the validation process of the BC-PROM. Thus, internal consistency was used only to illustrate the reliability of this scale. However, we did conduct reliability evaluation of the items with respect to both item selection and evaluation of the scale.
In 1st item-selection phase of this study, the sample size was less than 5-fold the number of selected items, and so factor analysis could not be used to explore the 4 subdomains. We need to explore this problem in future studies.
The study participants were female breast cancer patients. Because of the special symptoms of this disease, the items we assessed were related to the physiological characteristics of women. There are thus limits to the application of our scale. Owing to limited funds and other resources, our study population was restricted to Shanxi Province in northern China. Further development and wider application of the BC-PROM should be validated using nationwide or non-Chinese samples in future studies.^\[[@R12]\]^
5. Conclusion
=============
This study makes an important contribution to the treatment of breast cancer and the wider health-measurement fields. We used mixed methods (CCT, IRT, and CFA) to identify beneficial items in the BC-PROM, which may be widely applied in other health areas. The validated BC-PROM could be applied to evaluate clinical treatment and clinical trials of new medicines for breast cancer patients.
5.1. Other Information
----------------------
All authors declared that the work described was original research that has not been published previously, and not under consideration for publication elsewhere, in whole or in part. The manuscript had been read and approved by the authors, that the requirements for authorship as stated in the Uniform Requirements for Manuscripts Submitted to Biomedical Journals had been met.
Acknowledgements
================
The authors thank the cooperation of the community hospitals at Taiyuan City, Linfen City and Jincheng City. The authors also thank the National Natural Science Foundation of China \[81273180\] for the support.
Supplementary Material
======================
###### Supplemental Digital Content
Abbreviations: BC-PROM = patient-reported outcomes measure for breast cancer, CFA = confirmatory factor analysis, CTT = classical test theory, ICC = item characteristic curve, IRT = item response theory, PRO = patient-reported outcome, PROM = patient-reported outcomes measure, QOL = quality of life.
Funding/support: This work was supported by the National Natural Science Foundation of China \[81273180\].
The authors have no conflicts of interest to disclose.
Supplemental Digital Content is available for this article.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Central"
}
|
Effect of PaCO2 variation on standard base excess value in critically ill patients.
The aim of this study was to investigate the impact of acute Paco(2) temporal variation on the standard base excess (SBE) value in critically ill patients. A total of 265 patients were prospectively observed; 158 were allocated to the modeling group, and 107 were allocated to the validation group. Two models were developed in the modeling group (one including and one excluding Paco(2) as a variable determinant of SBE), and both were tested in the validation group. In the modeling group, the mathematical model including SIDai, SIG, l-lactate, albumin, phosphate, and Paco(2) had a predictive superiority in comparison with the model without Paco(2) (R(2) = 0.978 and 0.916, respectively). In the validation group, the results were confirmed with significant F change statistics (R(2) change = 0.059, P < .001) between the model with and without Paco(2). A high correlation (R = 0.99, P < .001) and agreement (bias = -0.25 mEq/L, limits of agreement 95% = -0.72 to 0.22 mEq/L) were found between the model-predicted SBE value and the SBE calculated using the Van Slyke equation. Acute Paco(2) temporal variation is related to SBE changes in critically ill patients.
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|
Q:
Send Raw hex data in jython udp packet
I'm experience with Java, but I have to integrate a java library into a co-workers python code. Enter jython, yay!
We are trying to send a UDP packet with a very specific data section.
We are building up the packet like so:
version = 0x0001
referenceNumber = 0x2323
bookID = byteArray('df82818293819dbafde818ef')
For easy of explanation assume byteArray takes in a string of hex digits and returns a byte array
We then build the packet:
packet = hex(version)
packet += hex(referenceNumber)
packet += bookID
and send it out the socket.
I know this is incorrect, the data types can't be right ,so the concat wont do the right thing. How do we build up this packet properly? The python documentation say that s.sendTo() takes a string? I think I want an alternative to s.sendTo() that takes a byte array.
We want the packet to arrive at the server with the udp data section looking like:
00 01 23 23 df 82 81 82 93 81 9d ba fd e8 18 ef
What is the proper approach to do this in python?
We are using wireshark to verify the packet arrives properly and right now the udp data section looks as if python converts each field as an ascii representation. For example, the referenceNumber field comes accross as the ascii values for the literal string '0x2323'. Which makes sense because s.sendTo() takes a string.
====================SOLUTION==============================
Yup, that does it... shows how new I am to python. For the curious, here is the code:
version = '0001'
referenceNumber = '2323'
packet = a2b_hex(version)
packet += a2b_hex(referenceNumber)
.. etc
then just
s.send(packet)
A:
Check out the binascii module.
|
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Jermaine Rogers Originals
Fraternity - Original
Junk Head - Original
Lincoln Bunny - Original
Melvins Unsane 2012 Tour - Original
Passenger - Original
Rabbit Fighter - Original
Sleepwalking - Original
South X Stereogum 2006 Austin - Original - SOLD
Warhol & Vincent - Original
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Kenneth Tom Olsen
NOW through Sunday, February 25th
Olsen is a Danish artist who has been painting since his youth, however it was not always his primary career path. Following his service in the Danish Air Force, Olsen worked in the telecommunications business for more than 20 years. He recently left a position as CEO of a successful company in order to paint full time. His drive to follow his passion is apparent in his work.
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|
Q:
When developing a rubygem with C extensions, how do you test locally with Rspec?
I'm writing a gem, that includes a C extension. Usually when I write a gem, I follow a process of TDD, where I'll write a failing spec and then work on the code until it passes, etc etc...
With my C extension in "ext/mygem/mygem.c" and a valid extconf.rb configured in the gemspec's "extensions", how do I run my specs and still have my C extension loaded? When I make changes to the C code, what steps do I need to take to recompile the code?
This is probably a stupid question, but typing 'bundle install' from inside my gem's development source tree does not build any native extensions. When I manually run ruby ext/mygem/extconf.rb I do get a Makefile (in the root of the whole project) and when I then run make, I do get a shared object (again, in the root of the whole project). I must be following the wrong workflow, since I understand that the .so is supposed to be placed under lib/. Unless I'm just supposed to do that by hand during development?
A:
Don't know whether it's the 'right' way but the way I've done this in the past is
Add
$: << File.dirname(__FILE__) + '/../ext'
To my spec helper
And then have a rakefile that looks like
require 'rspec/core/rake_task'
RSpec::Core::RakeTask.new('spec')
task :build do
Dir.chdir('ext') do
output = `ruby extconf.rb`
raise output unless $? == 0
output = `make`
raise output unless $? == 0
end
end
task :spec => :build
So rake spec builds the c code for me each time, with the built library existing in ext/. The change to the load path ensures that this copy is loaded. This github repo illustrates this.
A:
The solution I went with in the end was to use rake-compiler, on github:
https://github.com/luislavena/rake-compiler
You just add a rake task to do the compile (documented in the README), then make the 'spec' task(s) depend on that build phase.
|
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|
Corpus Christi Professor of Latin
The Corpus Christi Professorship of the Latin Language and Literature, also known simply as the Corpus Christi Professorship of Latin and previously as the Corpus Professorship of Latin, is a chair in Latin literature at Corpus Christi College, University of Oxford. The chair was created after the Oxford University Act of 1854.
List of Corpus Christi Professors of Latin
1854–1869: John Conington; first incumbent
1870–1878: Edwin Palmer
1878–1893: Henry Nettleship
1893–1913: Robinson Ellis
1913–1934: Albert Curtis Clark
1935–1953:Eduard Fraenkel
1953–1970: Sir Roger Mynors
1970–1992: Robin Nisbet
1992–2001: Michael Winterbottom
2002–2006:Philip Hardie
2008–present: Tobias Reinhardt
References
Category:Professorships at the University of Oxford
Category:Professorships in classics
Category:Lists of people associated with the University of Oxford
Category:Corpus Christi College, Oxford
|
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"name": "",
"short_name": "",
"icons": [
{
"src": "/android-chrome-192x192.png",
"sizes": "192x192",
"type": "image/png"
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"theme_color": "#ffffff",
"background_color": "#ffffff",
"display": "standalone"
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Live By Helping To Live
Designing Branding and Website for non-profit association.
PROJECT
Brand + Website
Vivi Aiutando A Vivere
The association aims to provide tangible help to the elderly and disabled people with handicaps, ensuring their dignity and 'independence, and promote their full integration into society.Support for all activities of recovery, treatment and rehabilitation of people with physical, mental and sensory disabilities.
|
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Free Shipping on all orders $35 and up.
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If you want big, detailed home theater sound, but don't have the room for large floor-standing speakers, then check out Polk's ultra-compact Blackstone TL2. Thanks to Polk's decades of speaker-building expertise, along with some pretty advanced driver technology, you'll experience effortlessly clear, engaging sound from speakers that take up very little space.
Advanced technology produces astonishingly realistic sound
The "TL" refers to Polk's "Time Lens" technology, which aligns the drivers in such a way that high- and low-frequency sounds all reach your ears at the same time. This improves the speaker's imaging and soundstaging, so that you'll feel less like you're watching a movie and more like you're part of it. An "acoustic lens" in the speaker grille disperses sound waves in a way that makes your music and movie soundtracks sound larger and more open. The TL2 also features Polk's acclaimed PowerPort® technology to help reinforce bass output. Plus, its sturdy cabinet is reinforced with a steel plate to help fight resonances that can muddy the sound.
Easy speaker placement
The TL2 has a keyhole slot in the back for easy mounting to your wall straight from the box. You can also use the threaded insert to attach it to an optional speaker bracket or stand. Create your own home theater system using a combination of black TL2's in the front of your room and white TL2 surrounds in the back. Don't forget to add the TL2 center channel speaker and a Polk subwoofer to complete your system.
Why choose bookshelf speakers?
Bookshelf speakers may be small in size, but they can deliver surprisingly big sound. Some ultra-compact models even fit on a desktop. Most are right at home in tight spaces like shelves, so they're usually good choices for your home theater's rear channels. For the best performance, try placing bookshelf speakers on solid speaker stands to help the sound really "open up." If you want full bass impact, add a powered subwoofer and enjoy punchy sound that's as deeply satisfying as that of floor-standing speakers.
Product Research
Driver Technology
Dynamic Balance Driver Technology: Polk Audio's patented Dynamic
Balance process allows Polk to design their drivers specifically for flatter
frequency response, revealing the sharpest details and a more lifelike
transparency, with absolutely no strain even at high volume. It's a bold, rich,
warm, and lifelike sound.
Time Lens Technology: The sophisticated laser alignment of the
"acoustic center" of the Blackstone TL2 tweeters with their accompanying drivers
results in far superior imaging. The acoustic centers of the tweeter and
mid-range woofer are aligned, creating a crisp accurate soundstage. The acoustic
centers of the tweeter and mid-bass driver are located in the same plane for
superior imaging, while the acoustic lens incorporated in the grille smoothes
the tweeter's frequency response.
Frequency Response: The overall frequency response is
95-24,000Hz, and the -3dB frequency response is 125-20,000Hz.
Additional Speakers: The TL2 satellite speaker will require
a powered subwoofer (107PSW111,
sold separately) for full-range sound. You can also add addition TL2 series
speakers for 2.1, 3.1, 5.1, 6.1 and 7.1 channel home theater configurations.
Enclosure Design
Curved Enclosure Design: The Polk Audio Black Stone TL2
satellite speaker employs non-parallel surfaces that not only lead to a stronger, more
rigid and acoustically inert enclosure, but they also result in less audible
coloration from internal surface resonances.
Steel Reinforced: Extra-rigid steel plates reinforce the curved
enclosure of the TL2 series satellite speaker, resulting in acoustically inert
enclosures free from internal resonances and any audible coloration, for more
lifelike audio detail.
Integrated Acoustic Lens: An innovative acoustic lens incorporated
into the grille produces a high frequency response so smooth that it delivers a
balanced, realistic performance. An acoustic lens is molded into the back of the
speaker grille and helps create imaging frequency balance previously impossible
in small high-performance satellite speakers.
High-Gloss Finish: The Polk Audio TL2 series satellite
speaker is available in a
durable, deep automotive-strength high-gloss white or high-gloss black finish to
match today's
most stylish flat-panel TVs.
Connections
5-Way Binding Posts: The Polk Audio Black Stone TL2
series satellite speaker is equipped with
one pair of 5-way binding posts to ensure a secure connection to many types of
speaker cables and connectors. The binding post terminals will accept banana
plugs (single or dual), pin-connectors, spade-connectors, and bare wire (18-12 AGW).
Mounting Options
Rubber Feet: The Polk Audio TL2 satellite speaker features integrated rubber feet
so you can sit the speakers on a stand or shelf securely.
Wall Mountable: The Black Stone TL2 satellite speaker features a single keyhole
slot on the back of the cabinet for wall-mounting the speaker without any
additional wall-mount brackets (mounting screws not supplied). There is also a
1/4"-20 threaded insert on the back of the satellite speaker for mounting the speaker
to the wall using an optional articulating bracket (sold separately).
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Git my need perfectly.
Written By Hank, Illinois on Sunday, March 29, 2015
As the title says, it fit my need perfectly. I was looking for small speakers to mount in each of the 4 corners of my newly constructed man cave. I have all 4 speakers powered by a older Yamaha 1070 receiver at 110watts per channel. I use the speakers mostly for music and they sound great. The sound is clear and distortion free, even when the volume is way up. They are a bit Ight on bass, but not as much as I thought they would be based on reviews by others. In other words enough bass fo my requirements.
Perfect surround speakers
I had originally planned a different set of surround sound speakers, turns out the Crutchfield rep was of great help selecting the right combination of speakers! Really clear and crisp speakers for movies, TV and music! I purchased some wall mount hangers so I could aim them to where I wanted them to face as well.
Great for movies!
Written By Enforcer23, Texas on Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Great surround sound speakers. Blu Rays thru my Marantz 5.1 and PS3 sound FANTASTIC. But when it comes to music, they don't quite have the punch I'd like. But I suppose that is to be expected from such small front speakers. Nonetheless, I am happy with my purchase. I will be upgrading the front speakers though :-)
Pros:Paired with a Polk Audio Subwoofer that came free with the purchase, Blu Ray Movies sound GREAT.
Cons:Not quite the punch I'd like on music. But still not too bad for such small speakers. The only reason I didn't give 5 stars...
Small Speakers, Big Sound
Polk makes good speakers. TL2s are perfect for a compact surround setup with an HDTV. I'm using them with a Marantz NR1403 receiver on a 3.1 setup. The Marantz classified them as large speakers during the auto setup. They sound excellent.
Polk Blackstone TL2
If you want surprisingly crisp tones from your rear surround speakers, look no further than Polk's TL2's. How so great sounds come out of a little package has to go back to Polk's engineering. Just by changing these two speakers, (rear surround) in my setup, it awoke by 18 year old system. I can't wait to get my Polk TSi 400's and Polk CS 10 hooked up.
Great surround speaker
Terrific for a smaller space
Written By Bob H, Lake Monticello, VA on Saturday, August 03, 2013
Much depends on the ears of the listener. Polk speakers are noted for the warmth, or smoothness, of their sound quality. For a small office they are excellent when coupled with a receiver also noted for its warmth. I use a Yamaha 573 as my receiver and have Polk TL3s as center channel and front speakers. The TL2s are used for surround center and back speakers with a Polk PSW 111 sub woofer to round out the 7.1 system. For my office space these fill the room with smooth, crisp, music which is slightly warmer than a neutral, flat, sound. Since I find 'bright' or 'brilliant' music tires out my ears I prefer the warmth Polk supplies. I find the Time Lens feature that aims the sounds, especially the treble, to your sitting position a positive feature on these.
Pros:Beautiful music, and when watching DVDs, a good reproduction of speech.
Cons:I haven't found anything wrong with any of the Polk speakers I have had.
Small footprint, big sound
I replaced some surround sound speakers I have had for years. These TL2s really improve the effect. In fact, my new Sony receiver classified them as big speakers when it did the automatic setup. I tried the TL1s but wasn't happy with them. I love that Crutchfield let me send those back and get these. The customer service was amazing. The day after I shipped the others back I had a credit on my credit card!
Great Clarity / Good Power / A little more bass?
These units are used in my 7.1 system as my surround rear and side speakers. Great clarity and power out of these little guys and they look great. Love the speaker connections on them and easy wall mount capabilities. Lots of power these can be driven by a powerful amp like the Denon I got. But if your looking for more bass then you might want to look at a more traditional style speaker.
Nice Surround Speakers
Bought 2 Polk Audio Blackstone TL2 to compliment my other Polk speakers (Fronts: TSi100, Center: TSi CS10). Needed something that had a small footprint and was white. Placed them on the back wall. Once they were configured properly, they sounded great. Originally had them as front speakers with the TSi CS10. The TSi CS10 over powered them. Moved the TL2s to surround speakers and wow, they performed well. Highly recommend.
Polk Blackstone TL2
Bought 2 Polk blackston TL2s to compliment my other Klipsch speakers in my home theater. Placed the Polks on the back wall. It took a while to get them to perform correctly. The auto sound setup on my Yamaha receiver didn't do the job. After manually adjusting the distance and other settings, I finally got the volume corrected. Very happy so far. They have been in use for about 2 weeks.
Great little speakers!!!
Written By Believer, Minneapolis, ks on Sunday, February 03, 2013
I purchased the 5 piece set of the TL2 speakers two years ago and they have been great. The mid-range driver in one of them quit working about two weeks after I bought them, but polk replaced it quickly. Overall they are a great budget speaker, but be sure you have a good subwoofer as these speakers are too small to produce good low frequencies. Oh and if you're buying these as a set and opt to get the free PSW111 I strongly urge you to put the money towards a better sub! These speakers will overpower the sub at high volumes and sound too bright. I just recently upgraded to a PSW505 which is discontinued but can be purchased elsewhere. I have never been happier! Overall the TL2s are worth the money!
Pros:Great looks, good sound for movies and low volume music listening. Works well with low power.
Cons:If you really put the power to them at high volume they seem too bright, but I would imagine thats just because of the size.
Very Good!
Bought these speakers to enhance the high end frequencies of an audio dedicated sound system. Coupled with a pair of floor speakers, these opened up and added more depth to the entire sound spectrum. Worth the money.
Superior Design and Sound
Since I already purchased the Blackstone 5 Speaker Package a while back, I purchased 2 more BlackStone TL2 speakers to match what I already had and to complete my 7.1 system (for use as either Surround Back or Front Height; currently being used as Front Height Speakers.) Polk sound as usual is superior and the desiign is sleek and modern. I love the black piano color. On a side note, I had to return the first 2 I ordered as both speaker casings were damged. It appeared as if this occured during the manufacturing process. Anyhow, Crutchfiled's process of return and redelivery was a breeze.
Great Speakers
Really love these little speakers. I've paired them with 2 Polk 8 inch in-ceiling speakers, and a PS -10 sub (10", 100W), and everything sounds very good together. There is great difference with the different modes, and I'm using an Onkyo tx-nr414 network receiver. From music to movies, these TL2s are great front speakers, and attractive looking too. Enjoy.
Polk Audio Blackstone TL2
part of an indoor surround system i value-engineered using all polk products. needed the surround speakers to all be white. used a pair of atrium5 in front, atrium4 in rear and one blackstoneTL2 for the center...with the polk special, all of it was less than $500! looks and sounds like a lot more...crutchfield/artie was a great help...
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Ideas about start-ups - andrewbaron
http://weblog.blogads.com/2010/03/09/19-ideas-for-start-ups/
======
gr366
Reading the title I thought this would be ideas for actual products or
services that a start-up could pursue. Rather it is 19 points of advice for
startups to follow.
~~~
ledger123
That's why I first see couple of comments before jumping to the article.
~~~
papa
Good strategy. I was expecting the same.
There was an interesting link to a public google doc with a load of
interesting startup/product ideas a few days back. I forgot to bookmark it and
am having trouble locating it via google. Anyone know the link I'm talking
about?
~~~
dho
[http://spreadsheets.google.com/lv?key=tOGIddn3rPdqKbHWsqaWbi...](http://spreadsheets.google.com/lv?key=tOGIddn3rPdqKbHWsqaWbiw&toomany=true)
~~~
papa
thank you sir!
------
timf
_"If you’re hiring someone with a significant other, you’ve got to meet that
person. He or she shows a lot about your potential hire."_
If you're hiring, you can't ask people about their marriages, their kids, etc.
Let alone _meet_ them, what the hell.
~~~
JangoSteve
I think this bit of advice makes more sense if you replace "hiring someone"
with "finding a cofounder" and "potential hire" with "potential cofounder".
------
SamAtt
I'm starting to think people post stuff like this just to get to the top of
sites like HN. In this list I only see 2 items (Interview by E-mail and meet a
potential employee's mate) that aren't common sense.
The rest boils down to Work Hard, Hire great people who get along, use Social
Networking and Don't count your chickens before they've hatched. All advice
that's been posted here 100,000 times in the past.
~~~
nkohari
Meeting a prospective candidate's mate might be a good idea, but at least in
the US, it's illegal (or at least dangerous). To avoid discrimination claims
for sexual preference, you can't even ask if the person is married or has a
significant other.
------
oceanician
Not rocket science, but good to hear repeated often all the same.
For ideas see the shed load (67 just now) over at:
[http://spreadsheets.google.com/lv?key=tOGIddn3rPdqKbHWsqaWbi...](http://spreadsheets.google.com/lv?key=tOGIddn3rPdqKbHWsqaWbiw&toomany=true)
------
inboulder
This is some seriously trite advice, and from a spammy site no less, who
upvoted this?
|
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"You will travel far, my little Kal-El." "But we will never leave you even in the face of our deaths." "You will make my strength your own." "You will see my life through your eyes as your life will be seen through mine." "The son becomes the father, and the father the son." "In spite of your past I know you're a good man." "And all good men deserve a second chance." "From the moment I received your first letter I knew you were not like the rest." "You came from nothing and you worked so hard to get where you are." "You might have made a few mistakes." " Gertrude, for God's sake!" " Damn it, Gertrude, let us in now!" "You said that if I helped you get out of prison you'd take care of me." "And you have." "You've shown me pleasures that I've never known." "That's why you deserve everything." "I love you Lex Luthor." "Gertrude, let us in." "He's a crook." "He doesn't love you, Gertrude!" "He's a monster!" "Gertrude!" " You can keep that." " Oh, God." "The rest is mine." "We're done." "Bye, Martha." "Oh, Clark." "Oh, my boy." "Will you get that thing out of my face!" "Lex, your friends give me the creeps." "Prison is a creepy place, Kitty." "One needs to make creepy friends in order to survive." "Even a man with my vast talents is worth less inside than a carton of cigarettes and a sharp piece of metal in your pocket." "Do you know the story of Prometheus?" "No, of course you don't." "Prometheus was a god who stole the power of fire from the other gods and gave control of it to mortals." "In essence, he gave us technology." "He gave us power." "So we're stealing fire?" "In the Arctic." "Actually, sort of." "You see, whoever controls technology controls the world." "The Roman Empire ruled the world because they built roads." "The British Empire ruled the world because they built ships." "America, the atom bomb, and so on and so forth." "I just want what Prometheus wanted." "Sounds great, Lex, but you're not a god." "Gods are selfish beings who fly around in little red capes and don't share their power with mankind." "Hey, boss." "We found something." "No, I don't wanna be a god." "I just wanna bring fire to the people." "And I want my cut." "Was this his house?" "You might think so." "Most would." "This is more of a monument to a long dead and extremely powerful civilization." "This is where he learned who he was." "This is where he came for guidance." "Possibilities." "Endless possibilities." "You act like you've been here before." "My son you do not remember me." "I am Jor-El." "I'm your father." "By now, I will have been dead many thousands of your years." " He thinks I'm his son." " You are the only survivor of Krypton." "Embedded in the crystals before you is the total accumulation of all literature and scientific fact from dozens of other worlds spanning the 28 known galaxies." "There are questions to be asked." "Here in this...." "This Fortress of Solitude we shall try to find the answers together." "Can he see us?" "No, he's dead." "So, my son Kal-El speak." "Tell me everything starting with crystals." "Hey, boy." "on Tuesday, between support- -hindered the firefighting efforts for all those" "Police have finally arrived and it's still complete mayhem down here." "Fighting broke out in the southernmost region with border fire and small-arms attacks prevalent." "Don't worry, I buried it this morning." " -it was futile trying to force him to testify before a grand jury." "Mom?" "Five years." "If your father was alive, he never would have let you go." "I almost gave up hope." "I just thought I would never see you again." "Oh, Clark." "Did you find what you were looking for?" "I thought, hoped it might still be there." "Your home?" "That place was a graveyard." "I'm all that's left." "Clark, the universe is a big place." "And you don't know who's out there." "And even if you are the last you're not alone." "I know." " Sorry." " Look out!" "Watch out, will you?" " Excuse me." " Sorry." "Sorry." "Great." "Would you be careful?" " Jimmy." " Mr. Clark!" "I mean, Kent!" "Mr. Kent!" "Welcome back!" "Oh, my God!" "Hey, come" " Wait right there." "I'll be right back." "Oh, hey, sorry, guys, I'm still looking for a place to live if you know of anything reasonable." "Behind you, Mr. Kent." "I made it myself." "It's a cake." "Oh, it looks delicious." "Olsen!" "Where are the photos of that birthday-clown-massacre thing?" "I'm on it, chief." "Hey, look who's back." " Kent?" " Hey, chief." " Thank you for giving me my job back." " Don't thank me." "Thank Norm Palmer for dying." "It was his time." " Let's get you set up, huh?" " Olsen!" "Okay, so I gotta run but I will be back to check on you in a sec, Mr. Kent." "Oh, hey, do you know where I can find Lois?" "The timing of this automated-ignition countdown is the most precarious part of the launch." "Lois Lane, Daily Planet." "You also stated that the shuttle will usher in a new era of travel enabling the average person to afford transcontinental flights." "But can you tell us the exact price an "average person" will be expected to pay?" "The answer to that question is in your press packet." "The Earth is surrounded by a blanket of air which we call the atmosphere." "It reaches over...." "Yeah." "He looks just like his mom." "Already takes after her too, especially when it comes to getting into trouble." "Mother?" "Oh, yeah, well, I guess you've been gone." "Fearless reporter Lois Lane is a mommy." "Oh, you know, I'll just-- I'll take that." "That's good." " Sorry." " No." "She's got plenty." " Wait, she's married?" " Yes." "No." "Not really." "It's more like a prolonged engagement." "But don't ask Miss Lane when they're tying the knot because she hates that question." " -like this follow the same stringent safety guidelines set by NASA?" "Since this is a joint venture with the Air Force...." "You all right?" "You look like you could use a drink." "This place is so tacky." "Why are we back here?" "Kitty, while you were doing your nails and ordering fur coats online I was busy unlocking the secrets of one of the most advanced civilizations in the universe." "Weren't there two of those?" "You see, unlike our clunky earthbound forms of construction the technology on Krypton, Superman's home world was based on manipulating the growth of crystals." "Sounds like hocus-pocus to me." "Well, naturally, to the primitive mind, any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic." "But imagine: cities, vehicles, weapons entire continents all grown." "To think that one could create a new world with such a simple little object." "It's like a seed." "And all it needs is water." "Like Sea-Monkeys." "Exactly, Kitty." "Like Sea-Monkeys." "Clark has been doing a little soul-searching for the last couple years." " He saw llamas." " Yeah?" " Yeah." " Must be tough coming back." " Coming back?" " To work." "Yeah." "Well, you know, things change." "I mean, of course things change but sometimes things that you didn't think would change could change." "Take Lois." "A woman like her, I never thought she'd settle down." "You know, if you ask me-- Because she'll never tell you this but if you ask me, she's still in love with you-know-who." "The original space shuttle generated 7.5 million pounds of thrust just in the initial launch phase." "But, by piggybacking on this Boeing 777" " Yes?" "If this launch is as pivotal as you claim why is it being covered by one news network?" "Why don't we save those questions for the post-launch briefing." "How about that, Miss Lane?" "When we hit 40,000 feet, the shuttle will detach, ascend and then fire the first of two propellant systems, the liquid fuel boosters." "When the shuttle reaches the stratosphere the secondary insertion booster will fire propelling the craft at 4 G into the mesosphere." " Careful." " I know." " Careful." "Careful." " I know." "Wow, that's really something, Lex." "Wait for it." "Wow, that's really something, Lex." "It's freaking Gone With the Wind." " Shut off the camera." " But I'm getting it." "I said, shut off the damn camera." "I think I did something wrong." "No." "That wasn't you." "Ignition is at T minus one minute and we are prepping for separation." "CDR, start the clock." "Three minutes and counting." "Body signs normal." "Crew is looking good." "Shuttle readouts are holding steady." " We're still a go for launch." " Roger." " Houston, you copy?" " Houston, do you copy?" "Oh, God." "Electrical variance." "What the--?" "Please, there's nothing to worry about." "It seems that we are experiencing a slight power outage." " What did you do?" " It wasn't me." "It just cycled back up." "Genesis, radio check from Houston." "There we have it." "We were experiencing a power outage." " Climbing to 40,000 feet." " Roger, 40,000 feet." "And it's gone!" "A blazing fastbalI" "Is that it?" "I don't think so." "Dual engine failure, but they're up and running again." "Genesis, I hate to say this, but it looks like we're gonna have to scrub the launch." " Aborting booster ignition." " Roger." "Aborting booster ignition." "Boosters are non-responsive." "We're still counting down for ignition." " Platform, we have a problem." " Go." "Looks like something faulted during the power outage." "Both boosters are counting down for ignition." "Platform, you have 30 seconds." " What?" " Release couplings." "We can 't shut down boosters." "We should be able to manage the launch and recover to the emergency field." "T minus 23 seconds to ignition." "Genesis, you're a go for evac procedures." "Twenty-one, 20 19...." "Couplings are non-responsive." " We're still attached." " Seventeen." " Platform, couplings are jammed." " Fifteen." "Fourteen." "Don't be alarmed." "It's absolutely normal." "We're still attached." "Couplings are non-responsive." " Nine, eight..." " Houston, can you do a remote override?" "...seven..." " Remote override is unresponsive." " ...six, five..." " I repeat, remote override is unresponsive." " ... four, three. ..." "And if you're lucky, you may hear the faint pop of the sonic boom." " Houston, we have ignition." " Roger, ignition." " This is Python 21, she's pulling away." " Okay, all flight control is on the" "This is not a drill." "Clear nonessential personnel." "Switch to emergency band frequencies." "Warning, warning." "Oh, no!" "Oh, no!" "Can I get a little help?" "This is UPV breaking news." "From Washington, Frank Jacobs." "We've just received word that the inaugural flight of the Genesis space shuttle is experiencing a midair emergency." " -a problem with the launch of the new orbital shuttle, Genesis." "The reports are telling us the shuttle failed to disengage sending both crafts rocketing towards space." "We're now going live to Cape Canaveral for the latest update on this story." "Jim, all we know right now is that the couplings which hold the shuttle to the 777 malfunctioned and did not release as planned." " We're uncertain..." " I should do-- ... why the ignition sequence continued and boosters fired." "However, there's speculation here that the blackout, which...." "Help me sit up." "Mach one." "Still tied to the shuttle at 42,000 feet." " Houston, we need some help." "Houston!" " Running diagnostics check." "Stand by." "Insertion booster ignition in five seconds." "Warning, warning." "What the hell is that?" "There's some kind of unidentified bogey coming from the north." " Roger that." " And it's coming in fast." "Declaring an emergency." "Overspeed, overspeed." "Altitude...." "Do you see that?" "Fly up, fly up." "Is everyone all right?" "Are you okay?" "Well, I hope this experience hasn't put any of you off flying." "Statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel." "Superman!" "Superman!" "Superman!" "Superman!" "Okay, everybody, listen up." "I wanna know it all, everything." "Olsen, I wanna see photos of him everywhere." "No, I want the photos." "Sports, how are they gonna get that plane out of the stadium?" "Travel, where did he go?" "Was he on vacation?" "If so, where?" "Gossip, has he met somebody?" "Fashion, is that a new suit?" "Health, has he gained weight?" "What's he been eating?" "Business, how is this gonna affect the stock market?" "Long-term, short-term." "Politics, does he still stand for truth, justice, all that stuff?" "Lifestyle:" ""Superman Returns. "" "Come on." "Gil, how many F's in "catastrophic"?" "None." "What's the usage?" ""This mysterious electromagnetic pulse knocked out portable devices and entire power grids, causing a catastrophic event during--"" " Lois!" " Yes." "In my office." "This goes for everyone." "The story isn't the blackout, it's Superman!" "The story is the EMP, chief." "Every electronic device on the East Coast goes dark." " First, are you okay?" " Yes, thank you." "Lois, three things sell papers:" "tragedy, sex and Superman." "People are sick of tragedy, we know you can't write worth a damn about sex." "That means one thing." "That one thing is Superman." "And you know it, Lois." "Lois?" " Are you all right?" "You sure?" " Yeah." " Yeah, I'm fine." " Thank God." " Where's Jason?" " I don 't know." "Isn 't he with you?" " No." " Well, where is he?" "Hi." "Hello." "Who are you?" "I'm Clark Kent, an old friend of your mom's from before you were born." "Really?" "She never mentioned you." "Really?" "Never?" " No." " Jason." " What are you doing here, honey?" " Daddy's office is boring." "Daddy's office is boring?" "Clark, hey!" "Welcome back." " I see you've already met the munchkin." " Yeah, we were just talking" " Did you take vitamins?" "Eye drops?" " Yes." "Yes." " Albuterol?" "Poly-Vi-Flor?" " Yes." "Yes, Mom." "Good boy." "He's a little fragile, but he's gonna grow up to be big and strong like his dad, won't you?" " Yes?" " Yes." "Oh, I saw you on the" "Oh, yeah." "That was nothing." " Hey, can I borrow your stapler?" " Oh, yeah." "Thanks." "Congratulations on the Pulitzer." "That's incredible." "Yeah." "Can you believe it?" "It's. ..." "So I wanna hear all about your trip." "Where did you go?" "What did you see?" "Meet anyone special?" "Well, there's so much." "Where to begin?" "Where's the little guy?" "Hey, kiddo." " How are you?" " Good." "Can you work some magic to get your uncle to stop giving me such a hard time on this article?" " Please?" " Again?" " Again." " You got it." " How are you, kiddo?" " Good." "Oh, this is Clark." " Clark, Richard." "Richard, Clark." " Richard White." "Hi." "Richard's an assistant editor here who's basically saved our International section." "He's also a pilot and he loves horror movies." "Clark is. ..." "Well, he's Clark." "Well, it's great to finally meet you." "I've heard so much." " Oh, you have?" " Yeah, Jimmy won't shut up about you." " Gotta run." " Where?" "You heard Perry." "Superman's back, and he thinks I'm the only one equipped to. ..." "To what?" " I don't know, you know." " So don't listen to him." "I'm not." "Going to the power plant to check out the blackout." "Okay." " Bye, Mom." " Bye." " Bye, Lois." " And she's gone." "No matter how close we are, that woman will always be a mystery." "If you need anything, I'm right over there." "Nice to finally meet you." "Where do you wanna go?" "Wanna go to the park?" "And he's got the whole world In his hands" "He's got the whole world" "And he's got the whole world in his" "Oh, he's cute." "Run into trouble?" " Should see the other guy." " What are we gonna do?" "Modify it, attach it to the stern." "I don't care if the instructions are Russian." " Lois?" " Hey, Clark." "How does it feel to be back at work?" "Pretty good." "You know, kind of like riding a bike, I guess." " A bike?" " Yeah, you know. ..." "Never mind." "But I was wondering since I've gotten back, we haven't really had a chance to catch up." "I thought maybe, if you'd like, we could go grab some food" " Hey, can I ask you something?" " Sure." "Have you ever met someone and it's like you're from different worlds but you shared such a connection you knew you were destined to be together?" "Then he just takes off without explaining why or without even saying goodbye?" "Sounds cheesy, I know." " Well, maybe..." " Taxi!" "... it was hard to say goodbye because he had to go and he wanted to say goodbye, but maybe it was too difficult for him." "Difficult?" "What's so difficult about it?" ""Goodbye. " It's easy." "What's so hard about saying goodbye?" "Who are we talking about?" "Nobody, just forget I said anything." "Taxi!" "Hey!" "Taxi!" "Wow, thanks." "312 Riverside Drive, please." "Good night, Clark." "Superman!" "I want egg rolls." "Nice try, kiddo." "Only steamed chicken and snow peas for you." "Why do we order Chinese if he's allergic?" "Because he loves the peas and I think we all prefer egg rolls over macrobiotic shakes." "It's a good point." "So I noticed you've been acting a little different lately." "Have I?" "You know, Lois, that article that you wrote." ""Why the World Doesn't Need Superman"?" "No, no, no." "No, the other one, from years ago, before we met." "Which article?" "I wrote dozens about him." "I was practically his press agent." ""I Spent the Night With Superman. "" "Richard, come on." "It was the title of an interview." "Plus, it was your Uncle Perry's idea." " No, I know, I know." "It's okay, it's okay." " Richard." "It was a long time ago." "Were you in love with him?" "He was Superman." "Everyone was in love with him." "But were you?" "No." "Lois, I shouldn 't have brought it up." "Even though you've been raised as a human being you are not one of them." "They can be a great people, Kal-El." "They wish to be." "They only lack the light to show the way." "For this reason above all, their capacity for good I have sent them you my only son." "Load them up." "Holy sh" "Attention, the Metropolis Museum of Natural History will be closing in 10 minutes." "We hope that you've...." "Sir, we're closing in 10 minutes." "We only need five." "You're done, the museum's closed." "Thank you." "Are you all right, miss?" " My heart." "I" " I" " I'm sorry?" "I have a palpitation, a heart palpitation." "And a murmur." "Please, take me to the hospital." "Take me to the hospital." "Just hold on tight." "Bingo." " There you are, ma'am." " My heart." "My palpitations, they're gone." "What did you do?" "I didn't do anything." "Call me Katherine." "Katherine." "I'm glad you're feeling better." " You have places to go, people to save?" " Yes." "Would you like to get a cup of coffee sometime?" " I know that's forward." "Or a drink?" " Good night." "Good night." "It's like this on every channel." "He was in Manila at 10:55 p.m. and then spotted...." " Hey, Kent, chief wants to see you." " Oh, thanks." "But as this security footage from a simple deli robbery proves there's really no feat too big or too small for the Man of Steel." "Reports are flooding in from Metropolis, Houston, Gotham and as far...." "Satellites have proven most ineffective at tracking him." "He might literally be moving near the speed of light." " Our map is illuminated with sightings..." " Kent!" " The chief is waiting." " ...on every continent, giving citizens...." "These are iconic, and they were taken by a 12-year-old with a camera phone." " What do you got, Olsen?" " I got those." " Look, in the sky, chief." " It's a bird." " It's a plane." " No, look, it's" "You wanted to see me?" "Yeah, Kent, come on in." "Sit down." "I wanna talk a little strategy." "Okay." "First off, Lois, I don't understand what you're doing..." " ... sneaking around covering the blackout." " It wasn't just a blackout." "Cell phones, pagers, automobiles, airplane" "Every other paper in town has got a female reporter a good-looking female reporter, stashed on the roof covering Superman." " And you two are the ones with history." " Chief, I've done Superman." "Covered him." "You know what I mean." "Yeah, that makes you an expert." "Do him again." " There are a dozen other stories out there." " Yeah?" "Name one." "Well, there was a museum robbery last night." "Even Superman missed that one." "He was too busy saving this hooker." "Why don't you guys track down Lex Luthor?" "Well, no one's seen him since his fifth appeal." "He's got more history with Superman than anyone." "Maybe he's got something to say." " Luthor's yesterday's news." " No, I like that idea." "Perry, Lex Luthor is a career criminal who nearly killed him, for God's sakes." "Jimmy, how did Lex Luthor get out of prison?" "Well, the appeals court called Superman as a witness and he wasn't around." "How much do you think that pisses off Superman?" " Give him to someone else." " A lot." " A lot." " Polly." "Give him to Polly." "Lois, Superman." " What about the blackout?" " Kent, blackout." "Great." "Thanks, chief." "Lois, I'm sorry." "I'd hate if this damaged our relationship." "Relationship?" " Yeah." " Hi, Mommy." " Hi, you." " Hey, guys." "He got an A in science, but a D in gym, so we're doing something right." " Yeah, at least one of us is." " What?" "It's Perry." "He just shoved Superman back into my life." "Well, honey, I'm sure you can find a way to interview Superman without bringing him back into your life." "There's really no way around it, folks." "Superman is back in all of our lives." "We're coming to you from Sydney where people have gathered on these rooftops to scour the sky...." "Okay, how about this?" "We'll stay late." "We'll get dinner." "I'll help with Superman, and you and Clark can work on the blackout together." " Is that all right with you, Clark?" " Swell." "I was gonna pretend the brakes were out." "Pretend." "Like we talked about." "You didn't actually have to cut them!" "Of course I did." "A man can always tell when a woman is pretending, especially Superman." "So did you get your rock?" "I did." "U.S. Coast Guard issuing a small-craft advisory for the Metropolis ocean area." "High-wind advisory is in effect ocean currents and tides becoming increasingly dangerous." "All warnings lasting until later this evening." "Security, security." "This is U.S. Coast Guard issuing a small-craft advisory for northeast seas." "Winds reaching 50 miles per hour, high tides in the morning." "Waves reaching 20 to 30 feet." "This warning is in effect for all small crafts for the next four hours." "Weird." "If these times are right the blackout spread from a specific origin point." "Where?" "I'm not sure yet." "With the super-hearing, does he hear each sound by itself or everything at once?" "Both." " He's certainly taller than I thought." " 6'4"." "I love that he can see through anything." "I'd have fun with that." "Anything but lead." " I bet he's- 225 pounds faster than a speeding bullet draws his power from the sun, invulnerable to anything but kryptonite..." " ... and he never lies." " Kryptonite?" "Radioactive pieces of his home world." "It's deadly." "To him." "Lois, how tall would you say Clark is?" "About 6'3", 6'4"." "About 200, 215 pounds?" "Jimmy, Jason, let's go get these intrepid reporters something to keep them going." " Burritos!" " Come here, canhead." "We're going this way." "Do they have anything other than burritos?" "I think they have fries and burgers." "So have you found a place to live yet?" "No." "I'm still looking." "You know, Lois, I wanted to ask you about that artic" "Hey, I'm gonna run downstairs for some fresh air." "Great!" "Thanks." " Let's talk when I get back." " Sure." "You know, you really shouldn't smoke, Miss Lane." " Sorry." "Didn't mean to startle you." " I'm fine." "Really." "I just wasn't expecting you." "With all the press on the plane I wasn't sure it was the best time for us to talk." "Well, there's no press around now." "Except for me, of course." "I know people are asking questions now that I'm back." "I think it's only fair that I answer those people." "So you're here for an interview?" "Okay, then." " Where did I put that thing?" " Right pocket." "Let's start with the big question." " Where'd you go?" " To Krypton." "But you told me it was destroyed." "Ages ago." "It was." "But when astronomers thought they found it I had to see for myself." "Well, you're back, and everyone seems to be pretty happy about it." "Not everyone." " I read the article, Lois." " So did a lot of people." " Tomorrow they're giving me the Pulitzer" " Why did you write it?" "How could you leave us like that?" "I moved on." "So did the rest of us." "That's why I wrote it." "The world doesn't need a savior." "And neither do I." "Lois." "Will you come with me?" "Why?" "There's something I wanna show you." "Please." "I can't be gone long." "You won't be." "Clark said the reason you left without saying goodbye is because it was too unbearable for you." "Personally, I think that's a load of crap." " Clark?" " He's just a guy I work with." "Maybe Clark's right." "You know, my. ..." "Richard, he's a pilot." "He takes me up all the time." "Not like this." "I forgot how warm you were." "Listen." "What do you hear?" "Nothing." "I hear everything." "You wrote that the world doesn't need a savior but every day I hear people crying for one." "I'm sorry I left you, Lois." "I'll take you back now." "Richard's a good man." "And you've been gone a long time." "I know." "I" "So will I see you around?" "I'm always around." "Good night, Lois." "We're having beef, honey." "Do you want the tofu wrap or the veggie wrap?" "You all right?" "Department of Water and Power, please." "7782, great." "Metropolis Public Works." "Hi, Stephen, Lois Lane from the Daily Planet." "Blackout?" "I just need a little info on a few outstanding power grids." "Yeah, I do have it here, actually." "So the uptown grid went dark at 12:36 and midtown 10 seconds before." "Which grid was hit first?" "It just reads Vanderworth." " Across the river?" " 6 Springwood Drive." "6 Springwood Drive." "A residence or a business?" " Residence." " Sure?" "Nothing before that?" " That's all it shows." " Thank you very much." "Oh, Jason." " There's your mom, Jason." " You're late, Mommy." "Where are we?" "ls this the Pulitzer?" "Nope." "I've just gotta ask these people a few questions and then we can go." "Can I stay in the car?" "No, honey." " Are we trespassing?" " No." "Yes." "Hello?" "Hello?" "I like the curly one." "Let's go." "This was a bad idea." "Lex Luthor." "Lois Lane?" "You're bald." "And what is your name?" "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." " Cute kid, and smart." " Thanks." "We're not really strangers, are we?" "This is kind of a little reunion." "Heck, I'm a fan." "I love your writing..." " ... and your dress." " I love your boat." "How'd you get it?" "Swindle some widow out of her money?" "That's funny." "Didn't you win the Pulitzer Prize for my favorite article of all time, "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman"?" "Didn't you have a few more years to go on that double life sentence?" "Yes, well, we can thank the Man of Steel for that." "I mean, he's really good at swooping in and catching the bad guys but he's not so hot at the little things, like Miranda rights due process, making your court date." "Did you have anything to do with the blackout?" "Are you fishing for an interview, Miss Lane?" "It's been a while since you've been a headline." "Maybe it's time people knew your name again." "How about we turn this boat around, call a cab for my son and then you can do whatever you want with me." "No, I don't think we'll be turning around, Miss Lane which means that we do have some time to kill." "How about that interview?" "Yeah, just call me if you hear anything." "Okay." "Thank you." "So, what did the school say?" "She picked him up at 3: 15." " Hi, I heard about Lois." " Yes, come in, Clark, come in." " ls there anything I can do?" " Yeah, you're a reporter." " Help Richard track her down." " I'll check her computer." "Excuse me, Clark." "What do you know about crystals?" "They make great chandeliers." "This crystal may seem unremarkable, but so is the seed of a redwood tree." "It's how our mutual friend in tights made his Arctic getaway spot." "Cute." "It's a little small for my taste." "You're building an island?" "You're not seeing the big picture here, Miss Lane." "Let me enlarge it for you." "Not just an island, an entirely new continent." "An extinct world, reborn on our own." "Why?" "Land, Miss Lane." "I mean" " Kitty, what did my father used to say to me?" ""You're losing your hair"?" " Before that." " "Get out"?" "He said, "You can print money manufacture diamonds, and people are a dime a dozen but they'll always need land. "" "It's the one thing they're not making any more of." "But the United States" "Will be underwater." "It's simple physics, Miss Lane." "Two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time." "And the rest of the world will just let you keep it?" " They'll" " They'll what?" "I'll have advanced alien technology thousands of years beyond what anyone could throw at me." "Bring it on!" "And eventually the rest of the world will be begging me for a piece of high-tech beachfront property." "ln fact, they'll pay through the nose for it." "But millions of people will die." "Billions!" "Once again, the press underestimates me." "This is front-page news." "Come on, let me hear you say it just once." " You're insane." " No!" "Not that." "No, the other thing." "It's dangling off the tip of your tongue." "Let me hear it just once, please?" " Superman will never" " Wrong!" "What is that?" "I think you know exactly what this is." "Mind over muscle, Miss Lane." "Mind... ." "Who is that boy's father?" "Richard." "Mr. Luthor, we're approaching the coordinates." "Are you sure?" "Yes, sir." "Latitude 40 degrees north, longitude 73 degrees west." "Don't let them leave this room." "Kitty, come with me." "You're not gonna want to miss this." " Damn it." " What?" "She has a password." ""Jason. "" ""Richard. "" "Try "Superman. "" ""Superman. " Great." "Don't touch that, honey." "Why don't you go play the piano." "Come on, come on, come on." "Lex, this isn't like the train set." "I know." "Come on, come on." "Come on." " Honey, are you okay?" " Yeah." " Are you hurt?" " I'm fine." "Open this door!" "Open it!" "Could you help Mommy open the door?" "I'm sorry." "It's gonna be okay." "Okay?" "It's gonna be okay." "We had a little problem downstairs." "Brutus is dead." "He got hit with the piano." "Where's the boy?" "With the mother, locked up in the pantry." "Oh, it's time for us to go." "My camera's not working." "And my phone's not working." " Okay, I'm good." " That was weird." "Hey, guys." "This just came through the fax." "It's Lois' handwriting, I'd recognize it anywhere." "I just" " No idea what the numbers mean." " They're coordinates." " Coordinates." "That's just off the coast." "Jimmy, tell Perry I'm taking the seaplane." "Keep trying her cell." "What are these, lottery numbers?" "I think they're coordinates, chief." "Chief... ." "Come on!" "Move it!" "Chief!" "Great Caesar's ghost." " Daddy." " Oh, my God." "How did you get here?" "I flew." "Look out!" "Mom!" "Mom!" "Mom!" "Jason, come here!" "Jason!" "Come here!" "Watch your head!" "Come here!" "Mommy!" "Mom!" "Jason!" "Jason, hold on!" " Have you got him?" " I got him!" "Go!" "Hold on!" "Hold on!" " Mommy!" " Give him to me!" "Mommy!" " Mommy!" "Mommy!" " Come on, Jason!" "Come on!" " Lois!" "Lois!" " Mommy!" "Jason, get on my back." "Give me your hand." " Have you got them?" " Yeah." "Get buckled in!" "She'll be fine." "I can't take off in this." " I'll point you in the right direction." " Thank you." "See anything familiar?" "I see an old man's sick joke." "Really?" "Because I see my new apartment and a place for Kitty, one for my friends and that place over there, I'll rent out." "But, you know, maybe you're right." "You know, maybe it is a little cold." "It's" " What's the word I'm searching for?" "It's a little alien." "It lacks that human touch." "You have something that belongs to me." "Metropolis Tower, this is seaplane November-Seven-Two-Four-One-Hotel." "Do you copy?" "Metropolis Tower, this is seaplane November-Seven-Two-Four-One-Hotel." "Do you copy?" "Damn it!" "Metropolis Tower, this is seaplane November-Seven-Two-Four-One-Hotel." "Do you copy?" "Lois!" "Are you all right?" "Yeah." "What happened?" " Superman." " Where is he?" "He went back." " Richard, we have to turn around." " What?" "No." " We have to turn around!" " We barely made it out of there." " Now you want me to go back?" " Yes, please!" "He'll die." "All right, hold on." "Kryptonite." "You're asking yourself, "How?"" "Didn't your dad ever teach you to look before you leap?" "Crystals." "They're amazing, aren't they?" "They inherit the traits of the minerals around them kind of like a son inheriting the traits of his father!" "You took away five years of my life, I'm just returning the favor!" "I'm still Superman!" "Get up!" "Come on!" "Now, fly." "So long, Superman." "Your leadership can stir others to their own capacities for moral betterment." "The human heart is still subject to monstrous deceits." "Our destruction could have been avoided." "At this very moment I could embrace you in my arms." "Your help would be called for endlessly." "Remember me." "Even for those tasks which human beings could solve themselves." "Remember me, Kal-El." "Remember me." "Superman's down there." " You sure?" " Yeah." " Richard!" " Yeah, I saw him." "Strap in." "Lois!" "Don't move." "Come on, come on, come on." "Richard!" "I'm trying!" "It's too choppy!" "Oh, my God." "How did you find me?" "Thank you." "What are you doing?" "I have to go back." "You're hurt!" "Goodbye, Lois." "The technology on Krypton, Superman 's home world was based on manipulating the growth of crystals." "Sounds like hocus-pocus to me." "Well, naturally, to the primitive mind, any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic." "But imagine: cities, vehicles, weapons entire continents, all grown." "Lex?" "Are billions of people really going to die?" "Yes." "Lex, what's happening?" "Go, go, go." "Get to the helicopter." "Go!" "Out, out!" "Now!" "No, no, no, take nothing!" "Take nothing!" "Go, go!" "Got it." "Here." " What did you do?" " I'm sorry!" "No!" " What did you do?" " I'm sorry!" "Watch it." " Clear a path." " Clear the way." " Move!" " Trauma One." " Where we going?" " Trauma One." "Here it is." "Watch it!" "Got him!" "Okay, I think I got it." "Penetrating side wound to right part of lower back." "No hemorrhage." "Shock at 200." "ls that enough?" "He's not human." "All right, charge to three, 360." "Clear!" "It's kind of morbid, Perry." "Always be prepared." "How is she?" "Thank you." "Thanks, baby." " Lois?" " Yeah." "We can leave whenever you're ready." "I mean you don't have to be here." "Where else would I be?" "Police have surrounded the area in order to control thousands of visitors who have arrived to show their support." "Many are carrying signs and banners...." "I could drive." "no official announcements over the past few hours but unconfirmed reports from inside tell us the Man of Steel lies in a coma his condition unchanged since he was admitted late yesterday." " Doctors have been vigilant in their...." " Foreign exchange markets...." " Where are you going?" " To the hospital." "I'd be careful down there, guys." "It's a madhouse." " So much for parking." " Do you think I can get in?" "You're Lois Lane." "They'll let you in." "I wanna go with Mommy." "Taxi." "I'll be right here." "Watch your head, okay?" "Here we go." "This way, Miss Lane." "Mommy?" "ls he gonna get better?" " I don't know." " I want him to." "I like him." "Me too." "I don't know if you can hear me." "They say sometimes that when people are... ." "That sometimes they can hear you." "I don't know if you can hear me." "I wanted to tell you... ." "Come on, honey." "Step back, please!" "Lex, we only have six of those!" "Six?" "I would trade 300,000 coconuts and every ounce of your blood for a quart of gasoline!" "But what will we have to eat?" "You will be different." "Sometimes, you will feel like an outcast." "But you'll never be alone." "You will make my strength your own." "You will see my life through your eyes as your life will be seen through mine." "The son becomes the father and the father becomes the son." "Good night!" "I" "Will we see you?" "Around?" "I'm always around." "Good night, Lois."
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Peru's Energy Future
Last year, International Rivers and the Peruvian organization Forum Solidaridad commissioned a study about Peru’s energy future. We wanted to understand what plans were in the works, and rigorously examine whether these plans were in step with 21st century realities.
We asked Dr. Alberto Ríos Villacorta, an engineer, researcher and renewable energy expert currently at The Technical University of Ambato, in Ecuador, to examine two current plans for Peru’s energy future: the National Energy Plan 2014-2025 from the Ministry of Energy and Mines (MINEM), and the New Sustainable Energy Matrix (NUMES) prepared by the Inter-American Development Bank (IDB).
Now the results of the study are out, and they are troubling. The plans both double down on the use of fossil fuels in the transportation sector and for electricity generation; they endorse only very modest energy savings and efficiency plans; and only timidly promote the integration of renewable technologies in the national energy structure.
According to the study, Peru is heavily – and dangerously – dependent on fossil fuels. Fossil fuels supplied 72% of the country’s energy consumed in 2013, while non-hydro renewables provided 12%, and hydroelectricity provided 11%.
Dr. Ríos Villacorta suggests that Peru’s dependence on fossil fuels “presents an extremely complex and potentially dangerous situation” because of the country’s scarce fossil fuel resources. Furthermore, complex international geopolitical circumstances will increasingly make it risky and difficult to maintain “continuity in providing energy based on fossil fuels.”
Both the IDB and MINEM plans rely heavily on hydroelectric dams. Peru currently has 15 dams planned and has identified roughly 60 other potential sites for dams, mostly in the Amazon. But Rios’s study dismisses dams as a legitimate source of renewable energy because of their social and environmental impacts, and because of their vulnerability to climate change. The report says that Peruvian hydroelectric dams will be particularly impacted by climate change: “the future energy production of large hydrodams could be seriously affected by the reduction of Andean glacials and changes in pluviometrical patterns caused by climate change phenomena.”
The study does recommend that existing dams be refurbished and upgraded with newer technology, but Rios recommends Peru engage in river basin planning before any more dams are proposed or built.
Dr. Rios’ study found that neither plan adequately explores Peru’s capacity for generating energy through true renewables like wind, solar and geothermal. In addition, neither plan boosts energy efficiency measures, which have led to unanticipated drops in energy demand in many industrialized countries, including the US and China.
Foment radical change in the transportation system by reducing oil dependency, disincentivizing private transportation and providing incentives for the use of sustainable transportation systems.
Implement a plan to promote sanitary solar hot water systems.
Create a National Plan on wind energy that will integrate 5000 MW of wind energy into the grid in the next five years, substituting it for energy now provided by natural gas plants.
Conduct a zoning study of river basins, in collaboration with the Ministry of the Environment and Ministry of Agriculture, to identify areas to protect and areas where projects could be built.
Map oil exploration and exploitation, documenting and ultimately protecting areas of great biodiversity that are at risk.
In light of its uncertain energy future, Peru must analyze existing renewable resources, evaluate the costs of renewable technologies, and develop proposals to transform its currently dirty, unsustainable and fossil fuel-dependant energy model into a model that respects the environment. This study points the way towards an economy based renewable energy, saving plans and energy efficiency, as well as the intelligent and respectful consumption of energy, associated with a culture of energy sobriety and simplicity of future generations.
Dr. Ríos says that Peru must face the fact that it’s not a real oil producing country, and it must minimize exploitation in areas of high biodiversity – which means it shouldn’t pursue dams as aggressively as it could pursue options like wind, solar and geothermal.
Forum Solidaridad and International Rivers will present the study to regional governments, and a more user-friendly version will be prepared for the general public.
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On March 5, as part of a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) suit seeking disclosure of the unredacted copy of the Mueller report, a judge for the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia ordered the government to provide him with an unredacted copy so that he could review it himself and determine whether the government had validly invoked FOIA’s exemptions in refusing to release it. Normally a court would accept as true the government’s representations as to why it was withholding disclosure of information—for example, because disclosure would reveal classified information or harm a law enforcement investigation. But, as the opinion of Judge Reggie Walton—who was appointed by George W. Bush and who previously served as the presiding judge of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court—explained, “in camera inspection may be particularly appropriate when ... there is evidence of bad faith on the part of the agency.”
In camera review—in which a judge privately examines a document or testimony before determining whether it should be admitted or disclosed—is, although not the norm, a frequent-enough event. What is striking about Walton’s opinion is why he felt it was appropriate in this case; namely, Walton’s “grave concerns” about Attorney General William Barr’s behavior surrounding the Mueller report. Specifically, Walton pointed to Barr’s misleading letter to Congress weeks before the release of the report, as well as Barr’s now-infamous release-day press conference, both instances where Barr downplayed the seriousness of the report’s findings. Barr’s actions and “lack of candor ... call[ed] into question [his] credibility” and led Walton “to seriously question whether Attorney General Barr made a calculated attempt to influence public discourse about the Mueller Report in favor of President Trump despite certain findings in the redacted version of the Mueller Report to the contrary.”
By the standards of cable news and Twitter, Walton’s criticisms may sound mild, but make no mistake—translated from the formal hush of judge-speak, this is as close as it gets to a sitting federal judge calling the attorney general a lying partisan hack. And it is another example of how the Trump era is severely testing a fundamental principle of executive-judicial relations: the presumption of regularity.
The presumption of regularity refers to a collection of deference doctrines by which courts presume that government officials “have properly discharged their official duties” in the course of making decisions—that they’ve acted with proper motives, haven’t lied and have generally comported themselves as ethical professionals. The main value of the presumption is that it, like all good legal rules, simplifies judicial decision-making while still giving the right answer most of the time. The government really does usually act “regularly,” and the presumption allows courts to avoid the time-consuming and fact-intensive process of independently verifying the truth of every government representation and the integrity of every government decision.
For the presumption to have any bite, courts must use it often enough for it to result in at least some false negatives—that is, sometimes the presumption will insulate government action even though it was not in fact properly undertaken. For example, many legal challenges to administrative action are quickly dismissed because the courts take the government at its word that it acted for the right reasons.
This willingness to look the other way is sometimes interpreted as a flaw with the presumption, but it is in fact key to the presumption’s value. By recognizing that the optimal level of government abuse of power is non-zero—that is, given the realities of imperfect information and an imperfect government, some tolerance of government misconduct is unavoidable—the presumption avoids the kind of perfectionism that would make effective government impossible. If every government action had to be supported with reams of documentation as to its scrupulousness, or if the government had to follow every jot or tittle of the law, governing would grind to a halt. The presumption’s tolerance for error also plays an important separation-of-powers function: It protects the judiciary from too-frequent conflicts with the executive branch, which could in the long term weaken the judiciary’s checking ability.
But taken too far the presumption encourages lawlessness and leaves those whose rights the government has violated without any remedy. There’s no guarantee that government abuse of power will in fact be optimal, and some of the most shameful episodes in American judicial history have come when the courts have turned a blind eye to flagrant government misconduct. Thus the presumption is a moving target, as courts continually calibrate to strike the right balance between scrutiny and permissiveness.
For the presumption to remain even-approximately accurate, courts need to take notice of the kind of government that they’re dealing with. Just how much courts should apply the presumption to the Trump administration is a matter of ongoing debate. The two highest-profile legal challenges so far to Trump administration action went in opposite directions—although the Supreme Court upheld the travel ban as on its face not discriminating against Muslims (despite Trump’s clear intent to target Muslims), it struck down the government’s bid to put a citizenship question on the 2020 census, concluding that the government’s stated justification (to better implement voting rights law) was pretextual.
It’s in this context that Walton’s opinion should be understood: as a vote of no confidence in the presumption’s applicability to the Trump administration.
Whether Walton’s ruling stands remains to be seen. The government may appeal, and a higher court may explicitly reject Walton’s skeptical approach. But Walton’s opinion matters less as a matter of doctrine and more as a matter of norms and what it signals to other judges about what one of their own colleagues thinks about this executive branch. The presumption is effective not because it is a binding rule that the government can invoke as a get-out-of-jail-free card, but because it reflects the sincere respect that one branch of government pays another. But this respect must go both ways, and in a world where the president repeatedly attacks judges and lies constantly, on matters both large and small, there’s a limit to a judicial presumption of honesty and good faith, both for the president and for those who do his bidding. What goes around comes around.
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Delavan Lake, Wisconsin
Delavan Lake is a census-designated place (CDP) in Walworth County, Wisconsin, United States. The population was 2,649 at the 2010 census. It is located near the shore of Delavan Lake.
Geography
Delavan Lake is located at (42.601840, -88.622456).
According to the United States Census Bureau, the CDP has a total area of 6.0 square miles (15.5 km²), of which, 3.5 square miles (9.2 km²) of it is land and 2.4 square miles (6.3 km²) of it (40.64%) is water.
The maximum depth of Delavan Lake, which is near the CDP of Delavan Lake, is 52 feet, with seaweed growth prevalent at the lake ground floor. The lake's water clarity is on average low.
Demographics
As of the census of 2000, there were 2,352 people, 944 households, and 623 families residing in the CDP. The population density was 663.4 people per square mile (255.8/km²). There were 1,920 housing units at an average density of 541.6/sq mi (208.8/km²). The racial makeup of the CDP was 92.98% White, 0.34% African American, 0.17% Native American, 0.43% Asian, 0.04% Pacific Islander, 4.80% from other races, and 1.23% from two or more races. Hispanic or Latino of any race were 8.50% of the population.
There were 944 households out of which 28.6% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 54.1% were married couples living together, 7.6% had a female householder with no husband present, and 34.0% were non-families. 27.0% of all households were made up of individuals and 9.9% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.49 and the average family size was 3.06.
In the CDP, the population was spread out with 25.4% under the age of 18, 6.5% from 18 to 24, 29.3% from 25 to 44, 24.1% from 45 to 64, and 14.6% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 38 years. For every 100 females, there were 102.1 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 100.0 males.
The median income for a household in the CDP was $45,192, and the median income for a family was $53,324. Males had a median income of $37,500 versus $22,295 for females. The per capita income for the CDP was $24,067. About 2.4% of families and 5.7% of the population were below the poverty line, including 6.8% of those under age 18 and 8.4% of those age 65 or over.
References
Category:Census-designated places in Wisconsin
Category:Census-designated places in Walworth County, Wisconsin
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Transport abnormalities from single-breath dynamics of Ar, CO2 and O2.
A model framework is developed for analyzing non-invasive measurements of Ar, CO2, O2, and lung volume during a single exhalation from healthy and diseased lungs. The objective is to distinguish ventilation inhomogeneity from gas-exchange limitations associated with alveolar-capillary transport and processes within the blood. Several practical, quantitative indices are compared to provide distinction and physiological interpretation in terms of rate-determining transport processes. Some indices arise from a model in which the composition in the alveolar space differs from that of the exhaled gas. Other indices are computed from the effective dead-space volumes for Ar, CO2, and O2. Ventilation inhomogeneity is accounted for by the Ar dynamics. Values of these indices were computed from experiments with human subjects having normal lungs, restrictive pulmonary disease, or chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. These three groups are clearly distinguished by a pair of indices: one reflects ventilation inhomogeneity, while the other reflects dysfunction associated with the alveolar-capillary transport and capillary blood flow and distribution.
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United States Court of Appeals
FOR THE EIGHTH CIRCUIT
________________
No. 07-2334
________________
National Labor Relations Board, *
*
Petitioner, *
* Petition for Enforcement
v. * of an Order of the
* National Labor Relations Board.
Bolivar-Tees, Inc; Screen *
Creations, Ltd.; Screen Creations *
de Mexico; Screen Creations de *
Celaya; Single Employers; Allan *
Heller, *
*
Respondents. *
________________
Submitted: February 15, 2008
Filed: June 4, 2008
________________
Before MELLOY, GRUENDER and SHEPHERD, Circuit Judges.
________________
GRUENDER, Circuit Judge.
The National Labor Relations Board (“Board”) held that Bolivar-Tees, Inc.
(“Bolivar”) committed unfair labor practices in violation of the National Labor
Relations Act (“NLRA”) and ordered the corporation to provide backpay to five
former employees. However, when the United States Court of Appeals for the District
of Columbia Circuit enforced the order, Bolivar was dissolved and had disposed of all
of its assets. In a subsequent compliance proceeding, an administrative law judge
(“ALJ”) recommended that Screen Creations, Ltd. (“Screen Creations”), Screen
Creations de Mexico, Screen Creations de Celaya and Allan Heller be held jointly and
severally liable with Bolivar because the corporations constituted a single employer
and because the corporate veil should be pierced to allow collection from Heller
personally. The Board filed a petition for the enforcement of its Supplemental
Decision and Order (“Order”), which adopted the recommendations of the ALJ. We
grant the petition and enforce the Order.
I. BACKGROUND
Screen Creations, incorporated in Missouri by Heller’s father, made custom,
screen-printed tee-shirts. Upon receiving a tee-shirt order from a customer, Screen
Creations would purchase the fabric and contract with another entity to cut and sew
the fabric into a tee-shirt. The contracted entity would then provide the finished
garment to Screen Creations, which would screen print the tee-shirt and ship the final
product to the customer. Heller became sixty percent owner of Screen Creations while
his father maintained a forty percent interest in the corporation. Heller also exercised
overall managerial control of the corporation’s operations and was its only officer and
director from 1999 to 2003, except for 2002, when the company’s annual report also
listed Heller’s father as one of the directors. Heller drew an average annual salary
from Screen Creations of approximately $192,000 from 1990 to 1997, and
approximately $120,000 from 2000 to 2003.1
In an effort to consolidate the production process, Heller incorporated Bolivar
in March 1990 to cut and sew fabric into tee-shirts exclusively for Screen Creations.
1
From 1990 to 1997, Screen Creations paid Heller a salary of $226,250,
$156,800, $245,850, $219,000, $134,000, $107,000, $224,750 and $224,750,
respectively. From 2000 to 2003, he received $187,000, $99,750, $90,240 and
$103,600, respectively. Heller’s salary for 1998 and 1999 was not part of the record.
-2-
Heller was Bolivar’s sole owner, officer and director. At Bolivar’s inception, Heller
borrowed $170,000 from Screen Creations in return for a promissory note dated
March 26, 1990. He used the money to purchase cutting and sewing equipment from
one of Screen Creations’ subcontractors. Heller then had Bolivar purchase this
equipment from him with its promissory note for $170,000. Both promissory notes
provided for ten percent interest, payments starting on December 31, 1990, and
payment of the remaining principal balance by 1995. Throughout its existence,
Bolivar purchased additional equipment, using $501,218 of its own funds.
Bolivar consistently suffered financial difficulties. The amount Bolivar charged
Screen Creations for the tee-shirts it manufactured did not cover its basic operating
costs. As a result, Bolivar made no payments to Heller on the promissory note, and
Heller similarly made no payments to Screen Creations. With interest accruing on the
promissory note, Bolivar’s books indicated that it owed Heller $357,438 by 2000.
Screen Creations, which was generally profitable, also regularly advanced operating
funds to Bolivar. By 2001, Bolivar’s books also reflected that it owed $202,741 to
Screen Creations.
Even beyond the advances, Screen Creations and Bolivar were closely
connected financially. In 1997, Screen Creations revised its profit-sharing plan to
include Bolivar’s employees. From 1999 to 2001, the two corporations were insured
under an insurance policy issued to Screen Creations. The policy covered Bolivar’s
equipment in the amount of $550,000. Finally, Screen Creations, and not Bolivar,
provided Heller with a salary and insurance benefits.
In 1998, charges were brought against Bolivar for unfair labor practices. After
a hearing, an ALJ found that Bolivar unlawfully suspended and discharged five
employees in violation of section 8(a)(1) and (3) of the NLRA, 29 U.S.C. § 158(a)(1),
(3). The Board issued an order requiring Bolivar to reinstate the former employees
and to make those employees “whole for any loss of earnings and other benefits
-3-
suffered as a result of the discrimination.” Bolivar Tee’s Mfg. Co., 334 N.L.R.B.
1145, 1159 (2001) (affirming the ALJ’s September 24, 1998 decision). The United
States Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit granted the Board’s
petition for the enforcement of that order. Bolivar Tee’s Mfg. Co. v. NLRB, 61 Fed.
Appx. 711 (D.C. Cir. 2003) (unpublished per curiam). The Board has since calculated
the amount of lost earnings and benefits due to the five discriminatees, concluding that
Bolivar owes $96,399.15 in backpay. Bolivar-Tees, Inc., 349 N.L.R.B. No. 70, at *4
(2007).
According to Heller, the North American Free Trade Agreement (“NAFTA”)
made textile manufacturing unprofitable in the United States but economically
advantageous in Mexico. In 1999, Heller began moving Bolivar’s equipment to
Mexico. In February 2000, Heller incorporated Screen Creations de Mexico, a
Mexican corporation, and was a fifty percent owner, the president and a member of
its board of directors. By October 20, 2000, Heller had moved all of Bolivar’s
equipment to Screen Creations de Mexico. Screen Creations de Mexico never paid
Bolivar for the equipment or for its use of the equipment.
Heller claims that he transferred the legal title of Bolivar’s equipment to Screen
Creations and that Screen Creations paid for the equipment by reducing the debt
Bolivar owed it on January 1, 2001. Heller did not have Bolivar’s equipment
appraised at the time of the transfer and did not provide any documentation regarding
the change in legal title. Although Bolivar purchased the equipment for $671,218 and
it was insured for $550,000, Bolivar’s 2001 tax return recorded the transfer as a sale
of the equipment in the amount of $225,000, a figure that Heller claims he and his
accountant arrived upon after “we went through various scenarios and talked about
market conditions, book value and other issues.” Screen Creations never actually paid
Bolivar. Instead, Heller asserts that the transfer was a “paper transaction,” where
Bolivar’s debt to Screen Creations was reduced by $225,000. However, according to
Bolivar’s 2001 tax return, Bolivar’s debt to Screen Creations was reduced by
-4-
$122,573, not the full $225,000. With respect to the $102,427 difference, Heller
asserts that Screen Creations must have advanced an additional $102,427 during the
2001 tax year. Heller, however, did not provide any documentary evidence supporting
this claim.
Bolivar’s equipment was its only asset. With no assets left, Bolivar ceased
operations in July 2001. In October 2004, the State of Missouri officially dissolved
Bolivar for failure to file a 2004 annual registration report. In November 2004, Screen
Creations de Mexico also ceased operations. Heller then sent the Bolivar equipment
to a Mexican corporation named Confecciones Guanajuanto (“Confecciones”). Heller
had no ownership interest in Confecciones, and Confecciones paid no compensation
for the use of the equipment. However, Heller hoped to receive future compensation
from Confecciones through commissions on product sales.
Screen Creations’ operations also moved to Mexico. In November 2001, Heller
incorporated Screen Creations de Celaya to conduct the custom screen printing.
Heller was a sixty-five percent owner, the president and a member of its board of
directors. Heller transferred eighty to ninety percent of Screen Creations’ equipment
to Screen Creations de Celaya, although the title to the equipment remained with
Screen Creations. Screen Creations de Celaya did not pay any compensation for the
use of the equipment. Heller claims that Screen Creations de Celaya forwarded a
portion of its profits to Screen Creations, although no agreement existed for such
payments and no evidence was presented that Screen Creations de Celaya actually
made such payments.
By April 2003, Screen Creations ceased all production work and became a
service business that engaged in sales and technical assistance to Screen Creations de
Mexico and Screen Creations de Celaya, although it has not been compensated for
these services. In October 2004, the State of Missouri administratively dissolved
Screen Creations for failure to file a 2004 annual registration report. Nonetheless,
-5-
Screen Creations continues to operate, and Heller is the corporation’s only remaining
employee. Heller claims that he has loaned more than $300,000 to Screen Creations
between 2001 and 2004.
Before Heller transferred Bolivar’s assets, Bolivar did not attempt to satisfy the
unfair labor practice award against it. In an attempt to collect on the backpay due, the
Board issued a compliance specification against Bolivar, Screen Creations, Screen
Creations de Mexico, Screen Creations de Celaya and Heller. See Bolivar-Tees, Inc.,
349 N.L.R.B. No. 70, at *5. The compliance specification alleged that the corporations
and Heller should be held jointly and severally liable for the backpay award against
Bolivar because the corporations constituted a single employer2 and because the
corporate veil should be pierced to allow collection from Heller personally. An ALJ
conducted a hearing regarding the allegations of the compliance specification and
recommended that all five respondents be held jointly and severally liable for the
award against Bolivar. On April 12, 2007, the Board issued the Order adopting the
ALJ’s recommendation.
Pursuant to 29 U.S.C. § 160(e), the Board filed a petition in this court for the
enforcement of its Order. Heller challenged the Board’s decision to pierce the
corporate veil, but the corporate respondents did not contest the Board’s decision that
the four corporations constitute a single employer. “The Board is entitled to summary
enforcement of the uncontested portions of its order.” Flying Food Group, Inc. v.
NLRB, 471 F.3d 178, 181 (D.C. Cir. 2006); accord NLRB v. MDI Commercial Servs.,
175 F.3d 621, 624 (8th Cir. 1999). We therefore summarily enforce the Order with
respect to the single employer holding. Because the Board’s uncontested findings
allow us to treat Screen Creations, Bolivar, Screen Creations de Mexico, and Screen
2
“The single employer doctrine is a Board creation that treats two or more
related enterprises as a single employer for purposes of holding the enterprises jointly
. . . liab[le] for any unfair labor practices.” Iowa Express Distrib., Inc. v. NLRB, 739
F.2d 1305, 1310 (8th Cir. 1984).
-6-
Creations de Celaya as a single employer, we consider the evidence involving all of
the corporations in deciding whether the Board’s order piercing the corporate veil to
allow collection from Heller was appropriate. See MDI Commercial Servs., 175 F.3d
at 624; Radisson Plaza Minneapolis v. NLRB, 987 F.2d 1376, 1381-82 (8th Cir. 1993).
II. DISCUSSION
“We will enforce the Board’s order if the Board has correctly applied the law
and its factual findings are supported by substantial evidence on the record as a
whole,” Wal-Mart Stores, Inc. v. NLRB, 400 F.3d 1093, 1097 (8th Cir. 2005), “even
if we might have reached a different decision on de novo review,” NLRB v. Rockline
Indus., Inc., 412 F.3d 962, 966 (8th Cir. 2005). “Substantial evidence is more than a
mere scintilla. It means such relevant evidence as a reasonable mind might accept as
adequate to support a conclusion.” NLRB v. La-Z-Boy Midwest, 390 F.3d 1054, 1058
(8th Cir. 2004). However, “[i]n considering whether substantial evidence supports the
Board’s decision, we must take into account whatever in the record fairly detracts
from its weight.” MDI Commercial Servs., 175 F.3d at 630 (internal quotations
omitted).
“The corporate structure is an artificial construct of the law, a substantial
purpose of which is to create an incentive for investment by limiting [a shareholder’s]
exposure to personal liability” for the corporation’s debts and obligations. NLRB v.
Greater Kan. City Roofing, 2 F.3d 1047, 1051 (10th Cir. 1993). “In extreme
circumstances, . . . the corporate form will be disregarded and the personal assets of
a controlling shareholder or shareholders may be attached in order to satisfy the debts
and liabilities of the corporation.” Id. However, courts should “only reluctantly and
cautiously” pierce the corporate veil, and the “veil may not be pierced absent a
showing of improper conduct.” Id. “[T]he party who wishes to pierce the corporate
veil bears the burden of proving that there are substantial reasons for doing so.”
-7-
Contractors, Laborers, Teamsters & Eng’rs Health & Welfare Plan v. Hroch, 757
F.2d 184, 190 (8th Cir. 1985).
Whether a shareholder can be personally liable for a corporation’s financial
obligations resulting from its unfair labor practice under the NLRA “is a question of
federal law [because] it arises in the context of a federal labor dispute.” NLRB v.
Fullerton Transfer & Storage Ltd., 910 F.2d 331, 335 (6th Cir. 1990); accord White
Oak Coal Co., 318 N.L.R.B. 732, 734 (1995), enforced, 81 F.3d 150 (4th Cir. 1996).
Although Congress did not provide specifically for shareholder liability for violations
of the NLRA, federal courts have pierced the corporate veil to hold shareholders liable
for violations of federal statutes, including the NLRA. See, e.g., United States v.
Bestfoods, 524 U.S. 51, 61-64 (1998); Anderson v. Abbott, 321 U.S. 349, 358 (1944);
Minn. Laborers Health & Welfare Fund v. Scanlan, 360 F.3d 925, 928 (8th Cir.
2004); Hroch, 757 F.2d at 190-91; Bufco Corp. v. NLRB, 147 F.3d 964, 969 (D.C. Cir.
1998). We have adopted the following two-prong test as the “federal common law
standard,”3 Scanlan, 360 F.3d at 928, for piercing the corporate veil: “(i) was there
such unity of interest and lack of respect given to the separate identity of the
corporation by its shareholders that the personalities and assets of the corporation and
the individual are indistinct, and (ii) would adherence to the corporate fiction sanction
a fraud, promote injustice, or lead to an evasion of legal obligations.” Id. (quoting
Greater Kan. City Roofing, 2 F.3d at 1052).4
3
The Supreme Court has noted that there is “significant disagreement among
courts and commentators” regarding whether federal courts should “apply a federal
common law” or “borrow state law” when piercing the corporate veil to attach
shareholder liability for a corporation’s violation of a federal law. Bestfoods, 524 U.S.
at 63 n.9.
4
Although the term “alter ego” is commonly employed in the context with
piercing of the corporate veil, a distinct “alter ego doctrine” has developed under the
NLRA, which “involves a more lenient standard for disregarding the corporate form
than that employed in corporate law.” Greater Kan. City Laborers Pension Fund v.
-8-
When assessing the first prong to determine whether the shareholders and the
corporation have failed to maintain their separate identities, “we consider . . . the
degree to which the corporate legal formalities have been maintained, and . . . the
degree to which individual and corporate assets and affairs have been commingled.”
Greater Kan. City Roofing, 2 F.3d at 1052. A non-exhaustive list of factors we will
consider to make this determination include:
(1) whether the corporation is operated as a separate entity; (2) the
commingling of funds and other assets; (3) the failure to maintain
adequate corporate records; (4) the nature of the corporation’s ownership
and control; (5) the availability and use of corporate assets, the absence
of same, or under capitalization; (6) the use of the corporate form as a
mere shell, instrumentality or conduit of an individual or another
corporation; (7) disregard of corporate legal formalities and the failure
to maintain an arm’s-length relationship among related entities; (8)
diversion of the corporate funds or assets to noncorporate purposes; and
. . . (9) transfer or disposal of corporate assets without fair consideration.
White Oak Coal Co., 318 N.L.R.B. at 735; accord Greater Kan. City Roofing, 2 F.3d
at 1052 n.6. No one factor is determinative, and not all of the these factors must be
present.
When assessing the second prong to determine whether adherence to the
corporate fiction would sanction a fraud, promote injustice or lead to an evasion of
Super. Gen. Contractors, Inc., 104 F.3d 1050, 1055 (8th Cir. 1997) (internal
quotations and citations omitted). The NLRB’s “alter ego doctrine focuses on whether
one business entity should be held to the labor obligations of another business entity
that has discontinued operations.” Iowa Express, 739 F.2d at 1310. However,
piercing of the corporate veil to attach liability to a shareholder is a doctrine of
corporate law and is distinct from the alter ego doctrine developed under the NLRA.
See Bestfoods, 524 U.S. at 61-63; Scanlan, 360 F.3d at 927-28.
-9-
legal obligations, we consider causation and culpability. See Greater Kan. City
Roofing, 2 F.3d at 1052-55. A corporation’s inability to pay its debt alone is not
sufficient to support a finding of injustice. Id. at 1053; see Hroch, 757 F.2d at 191.
“It is only when the shareholders disregard the separateness of the corporate identity
and when that act of disregard causes the injustice or inequity or constitutes the fraud
that the corporate veil may be pierced.” Greater Kan. City Roofing, 2 F.3d at 1053
(emphasis in original). Additionally, the shareholders who will be held personally
liable for the corporation’s debt must share in some level of culpability for the
injustice. Id.
With respect to the first prong, substantial evidence supports the Board’s
finding that Heller and the corporations failed to maintain their separate identities.
First, Heller controlled and owned all four corporations, and he directed the decision-
making of each corporation. Second, Heller did not operate Bolivar and Screen
Creations as separate entities. Screen Creations’ insurance plan covered Bolivar’s
assets and its profit-sharing plan included Bolivar’s employees. More importantly,
Heller kept Screen Creations profitable in part by rendering Bolivar unprofitable.
Screen Creations was Bolivar’s sole customer, but Bolivar neither charged enough to
cover its basic operating costs nor attempted to expand its customer base. Heller also
received his salary from Screen Creations and not Bolivar. As a result, Heller’s salary
was tied to Screen Creations’ profitability and not Bolivar’s profitability.
Third, Heller and the corporations readily commingled funds, failed to maintain
adequate corporate records, disregarded corporate legal formalities, and failed to
maintain an arm’s-length relationship. The funds used to purchase Bolivar’s initial
equipment came from Screen Creations through Heller. Although Screen Creations,
Bolivar and Heller exchanged promissory notes, neither Bolivar nor Heller ever made
any payments on the notes, and neither Heller nor Screen Creations ever attempted to
enforce them in any way. Heller effectively prevented Bolivar from making payments
on the promissory note because he did not allow Bolivar to charge Screen Creations
-10-
enough to cover its operating costs. Moreover, Screen Creations advanced operating
funds to Bolivar without any real accounting or any formal agreement for return
payments. In fact, outside the yearly tax returns, the corporations failed to document
and account for the transactions between them adequately. As a result, the two
corporations’ tax returns reflected different amounts for Bolivar’s debt to Screen
Creations.5 According to Screen Creations’ 2001 tax return, Bolivar owed Screen
Creations $306,071 at the beginning of the tax year and $103,330 at the end of the tax
year. According to Bolivar’s 2001 tax return, Bolivar owed Screen Creations
$202,741 at the beginning of the tax year and $80,168 at the end of the tax year.
Thus, Heller readily commingled funds between the two corporations and failed to
follow normal legal formalities.
Finally, Heller disposed of Bolivar’s corporate assets without fair consideration.
Screen Creations de Mexico and Confecciones have never paid compensation for the
use of Bolivar’s equipment, and no appraisal of the equipment occurred before the
transfer of Bolivar’s assets to Screen Creations. Instead, Heller and his accountant
arrived at the sale price of $225,000, for equipment insured for $550,000 and
purchased for $671,218, after a discussion of “various scenarios.” Additionally, no
corporate records document the sale of Bolivar’s assets to Screen Creations. Even if
the $225,000 sale price did reflect the fair market value for the equipment, $102,427
of the sale proceeds was never realized by Bolivar, according to its 2001 tax return.
Although Heller asserts that Screen Creations must have advanced an additional
$102,427 during the 2001 tax year, he did not provide any documentation of such
advances. Screen Creations’ 2001 tax return also does not reflect such an advance.6
5
Heller testified that the amount “due from affiliated companies” on Screen
Creations’ tax returns reflected the amount Bolivar owed Screen Creations. Heller
also testified that the “due to affiliate” on Bolivar’s tax returns reflected the amount
Bolivar owed Screen Creations.
6
According to Screen Creations’ 2001 tax return, Bolivar’s debt at the
beginning of the tax year was $306,071. Had Screen Creations reduced this debt by
-11-
Thus, neither Screen Creations’ nor Bolivar’s tax returns substantiate Heller’s
assertions. The failure to operate as a separate entity, to maintain adequate corporate
records, to maintain an arm’s-length relationship, to maintain corporate legal
formalities, to avoid the commingling of funds, and to avoid the disposal of corporate
assets without fair consideration provide substantial evidence to support a finding that
corporate legal formalities were not maintained and that the assets and affairs of
Heller and his corporations were indistinct. Therefore, substantial evidence supports
the Board’s finding that Heller and the corporations have failed to maintain their
separate identities.7
the full sale price of $225,000, then Bolivar’s debt would have been $81,071. Had
Screen Creations then advanced an additional $102,427 as Heller asserted, Bolivar’s
debt would have increased to $183,498. However, Screen Creations’ 2001 tax return
shows that Bolivar’s debt was $103,330 at the end of the tax year, reflecting a possible
advance of no more than $22,259. Screen Creations’ tax returns do not indicate an
advance to Bolivar of $102,427.
7
The Board found that Heller grossly undercapitalized Bolivar. Because no
evidence was provided of the level of capitalization at the time of incorporation, we
do not look at the adequacy of capitalization in this case. The adequacy of
capitalization must be measured at the time of incorporation because it reveals
whether the corporation was created to avoid liability. See 1 William Meade Fletcher
et. al., Fletcher Cyclopedia of the Law of Private Corporations § 41.33, at 652 (perm.
ed., rev. vol. 1999); Harry G. Henn & John R. Alexander, Laws of Corporations and
Other Business Enterprises § 146, at 349 & n.21 (3d ed. 1983); see also J-R Grain Co.
v. FAC, Inc., 627 F.2d 129, 135 (8th Cir. 1980) (finding that inadequate capitalization
is to be determined at the time of incorporation under the common law and applying
it to Nebraska law). Inadequate capitalization after incorporation is generally relevant
if the capital was removed as part of a fraudulent conveyance scheme. In such a
scheme, the inappropriate transfer of assets and not the level of capitalization would
be the prevailing factor in determining whether to pierce the corporate veil. See
Robert Charles Clark, The Duties of the Corporate Debtor to its Creditors, 90 Harv.
L. Rev. 505, 544 (1977); see also Stephen B. Presser, Piercing the Corporate Veil §§
1:8-1:9 (2004) (providing an in-depth comparison of the inadequate capitalization
theory and the fraudulent conveyance theory to piercing the corporate veil).
-12-
With respect to the second prong, substantial evidence supports the Board’s
finding that adherence to the corporate fiction would sanction a fraud or lead to an
evasion of a legal obligation. In addition to providing substantial evidence of the first
prong, Heller’s transfer of Bolivar’s assets provides substantial evidence to support
a finding under the second prong that Heller fraudulently removed Bolivar’s assets to
avoid Bolivar’s legal obligations to the five discriminatees. Although Screen
Creations insured Bolivar’s equipment for $550,000, Heller, without a formal
assessment of the value of the equipment originally purchased for $671,218,
supposedly sold the same equipment for $225,000. Even if the $225,000 sale price
reflected the fair market value of Bolivar’s equipment, Bolivar’s 2001 tax return also
reveals that Bolivar never received approximately forty-five percent of the proceeds.
This missing $102,427 could have been available to satisfy the entire backpay award
against Bolivar or, according to Bolivar’s accounting, could have paid all of Bolivar’s
debt to Screen Creations and approximately a quarter of the backpay award.
Additionally, with the equipment in Mexico, the possibility of attachment of Bolivar’s
assets became significantly more difficult, if not impossible. The arrangement also
benefitted Heller because his corporation, Screen Creations de Mexico, received the
equipment for free at the expense of Bolivar and the discriminatees.
In addition to removing all of Bolivar’s assets, Heller prevented Bolivar from
becoming profitable. Bolivar did not charge enough to cover its operating costs. As
a result, Screen Creations was able to have greater profitability, and Heller could draw
his salary from Screen Creations. Thus, it was at least reasonable for the Board to
conclude that Heller’s transfer of Bolivar’s assets and the allocation of all profits to
Screen Creations purposely caused Bolivar to lack the resources to satisfy the award.
Therefore, substantial evidence exists to support a finding that adherence to the
corporate fiction would sanction a fraud and lead to the evasion of a legal obligation.
-13-
Heller argues that substantial evidence does not support a finding that he had
the requisite culpability to justify piercing the corporate veil.8 Heller first claims that
his case is similar to Greater Kansas City Roofing. In Greater Kansas City Roofing,
the Tenth Circuit held that Tina Clarke did not have sufficient culpability to justify
piercing the corporate veil. 2 F.3d at 1055. Clarke’s brother and sister-in-law owned
Greater Kansas City Roofing (“GKC”), a corporation that was ordered to make
payments to remedy its unfair labor practices. Id. at 1049. When the company began
to struggle financially, Clarke provided personal loans to GKC. Id. at 1050. Upon
realizing that GKC would not survive, Clarke incorporated New Greater Kansas City
Roofing and obtained the assets of GKC through a transfer in lieu of foreclosure. Id.
The Tenth Circuit held that although Clarke had not maintained many corporate
formalities, the Board could not pierce the corporate veil because she was unaware of
the judgment against GKC for unfair labor practices when she obtained GKC’s assets.
Id. at 1055. Unlike Clarke, however, Heller knew of the findings against Bolivar for
unfair labor practices and of the ALJ’s decision that Bolivar provide backpay to the
five discriminatees. The ALJ issued the decision on September 24, 1998. Although
the ALJ did not specify the exact amount that Bolivar owed the discriminatees, Heller
easily could have calculated the amount owed based on the formula that the ALJ
provided in the order. While the ALJ’s decision was pending before the Board, Heller
8
There has been some debate as to the level of culpability required to pierce the
corporate veil. Compare Seymour v. Hull & Moreland Eng’g, 605 F.2d 1105, 1111
(9th Cir. 1979) (requiring a showing of fraudulent intent), Cent. States, Se. & Sw.
Areas Pension Fund v. Cent. Transp., Inc., 85 F.3d 1282, 1288 (7th Cir. 1996) (same),
and Bhd. of Locomotive Eng’rs v. Springfield Terminal Ry. Co., 210 F.3d 18, 38 (1st
Cir. 2000) (Stahl, J., dissenting) (same), with Trs. of the Nat.’l Elevator Indus.
Pension, Health Benefit & Educ. Funds v. Lutyk, 332 F.3d 188, 194 (3d Cir. 2003)
(holding that fraudulent intent not required for piercing the corporate veil), and
Thomas v. Peacock, 39 F.3d 493, 504 n.16 (4th Cir. 1994), rev’d on other grounds,
516 U.S. 349 (1996) (stating that proof of fraud is not a necessary element to
disregard the corporate entity). We need not decide, at this time, the exact level of
culpability required because we conclude that substantial evidence supports a finding
that Heller had the highest level of culpability, the intent to defraud.
-14-
began moving Bolivar’s assets to Mexico in 1999 and finished transferring assets to
Screen Creations by January 1, 2001, the date of sale as recorded in Bolivar’s tax
return. Bolivar also ceased operations a month before the Board issued its decision
adopting the ALJ’s recommendations. Thus, this case is distinguishable from Greater
Kansas City Roofing.
Second, Heller argues that his infusion of personal assets into Bolivar and
Screen Creations belies any attempt on his part to avoid paying the discriminatees by
fraudulently removing Bolivar’s assets. Other than the initial $170,000 provided to
Bolivar to purchase equipment, the funding of which actually came from Screen
Creations, Heller never provided any funds to Bolivar. Although Heller made loans
to Screen Creations, Screen Creations was not liable to the five discriminatees unless
the single employer doctrine applied, which Heller would not have foreseen at the
time. Additionally, Heller only loaned Screen Creations money after he guaranteed
that Screen Creations would not be profitable. Heller had moved all of Screen
Creations’ equipment to Screen Creations de Celaya and did not charge Screen
Creations de Celaya for the equipment’s use. Heller also ceased Screen Creations’
production work and made it into a service business; however, Screen Creations never
charged Screen Creations de Celaya for the services it rendered. Also, although Heller
loaned Screen Creations approximately $300,000, he received an average annual
salary of $120,000 during these years. Hence, Heller’s loaning money to Screen
Creations does not sufficiently undermine our conclusion that substantial evidence
supports a finding that Heller attempted to avoid paying the discriminatees by
fraudulently removing Bolivar’s assets.
Finally, Heller argues that he moved Bolivar’s assets to Mexico because of
NAFTA and not because he intended to defraud anyone. Although economic
conditions can provide a legitimate reason for transferring assets, substantial evidence
supports a finding that the structure, manner and timing of the equipment transfer here
suggested otherwise. Bolivar could have simply moved its assets to Screen Creations
-15-
de Mexico and maintained title over the equipment, similar to the arrangement
between Screen Creations and Screen Creations de Celaya. Rather, Bolivar
transferred all of its assets to Screen Creations without proper documentation and full
compensation. Therefore, substantial evidence exists to conclude that the transfer of
assets was intended to avoid Bolivar’s legal obligations to the five discriminatees.
We do not doubt that Heller presented some evidence that weighs against the
Board’s decision to pierce the corporate veil. Indeed, we may have reached a different
conclusion on de novo review. However, Heller’s arguments do not detract from the
substantial evidence in the record as a whole that supports a finding that Heller
intended to avoid Bolivar’s legal obligations to the five discriminatees by fraudulently
removing the corporation’s assets.
III. CONCLUSION
We conclude that the Board did not err in piercing the corporate veil because
substantial evidence exists to support the Board’s findings (i) that Heller and the
corporations’ assets were indistinct and (ii) that adherence to the corporate fiction
would sanction a fraud, promote injustice or lead to an evasion of legal obligations.
Accordingly, we enforce the Board’s Order holding Bolivar, Screen Creations, Screen
Creations de Mexico, Screen Creations de Celaya and Heller jointly and severally
liable.
______________________________
-16-
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Managing overnight defects
As Jim starts his shift at 22:00, he studies defect sheets for the arriving trains that were printed in the afternoon. Some defects are not urgent and can be deferred to the next ‘A’ examination, others may be deferred subject to additional monitoring. His first priority is to identify the safety and operational defects that have to be fixed before the train can leave the depot.
These include an HST power car with a very quiet driver’s safety device (DSD) vigilance sounder and a failed driver’s air conditioning unit. This train had been turned at Newcastle to put the defective power car at the rear of the train. There was also a power car with the engine shutting down, one to be replaced for a ‘C’ examination and tyre turning and another with tripping wheel slide protection, for which a pitted road was needed to examine the WSP (wheel slide protection) probes.
Although Jim says that every shift is different, the common factor is that trains have to be available for their morning services. That night was no exception.
During the day, the depot is a very different place. There are fewer trains but more people as the focus is on heavy maintenance and repair work. Phil Buck, head of VTEC’s HST fleet, explains that the depot also undertakes a wide variety of work for other train operators. As well as servicing CrossCountry’s Voyagers and First TransPennine’s class 350 units, the depot undertakes wheel re-profiling for all operators and services the luxury Royal Scotsman train.
HST maintenance
The depot’s core activity is HST maintenance for which its allocation is 32 power cars and 131 mark three coaches (including spare first, standard, buffet and guard coaches) of the VTEC HST fleet, 10 power cars and 40 mark three coaches of the CrossCountry HST fleet and the three HST power cars of Network Rail’s New Measurement Train (NMT).
The Virgin and CrossCountry power cars have a progressive examination regime with A, B, C and D examinations being undertaken after 7,000, 21,000, 84,000 and 252,000 miles respectively, while the three NMT power cars have a different, balanced examination regime. Mark three coaches have A and B exams after 15,000 and 30,000 miles. Thereafter there is a balanced exam every 90,000 miles.
Normally the ROSCO (rolling stock company – the train’s owner) would arrange for levels 4 and 5 rolling stock maintenance to be undertaken at a specialist workshop. However, Angel Trains and Porterbrook have agreed that the depot can do heavy maintenance of their HST fleets, for which there is a corresponding reduction train lease charge. Phil considers this to be a much more flexible arrangement which also avoids the need to move rolling stock to workshops and maximises fleet availability.
This heavy maintenance requires the depot to manage the supply of sub-components. For example, power car bogies are changed at E, F and G exams as they have a maximum life of 630,000 miles. The new bogies are supplied from the Doncaster plant of LUR, a joint venture of Lucchini and Unipart. LUR also supplies the mark 3 coach bogies required for a C4 repair which can be done in a single day. These bogies are guaranteed for the 600,000 miles running between C4 repairs, although this is soon to be extended to 750,000 miles between overhaul.
The Class 43 power cars have MTU V16 4000-series engines which are returned to MTU’s Magdeburg MRT (MTU Remanufacturing Technology) plant every 25,000 hours for remanufacturing, using components that have been restored to as-new condition. MRT also overhauls the alternator so MTU returns a fully overhauled and tested power unit. Thus, typically the depot will change one power car engine every two weeks.
Virgin red seats
From a passenger perspective, the most obvious work currently being undertaken by the depot is the interior refurbishment of its HST fleet as part of a £21 million programme announced by Virgin Trains in November.
This involves completely stripping out the nine mark 3 coaches in each train prior to replacing carpets and fittings throughout as well as refreshing the vestibules and toilets. The train’s 523 seats are replaced with those of a Virgin design which, not surprisingly, includes a lot of red – even in first class, the seats are charcoal leather with red trim. A search of the hashtag #PlushTush on Twitter shows this refurbishment to be popular with Virgin’s customers.
For this work, one of the cleaning shed roads has a wide scaffold platform erected between the side of the shed and the train to provide both easy access and a storage/ working area. Halfway along the shed, a part of the wall has been removed to create a loading bay to transfer deliveries from lorries onto the platform.
Other than for its project management, the refurbishment work does not use depot staff. Instead, personnel are supplied by a labour supply agency, with up to 41 staff working at any one time.
The complete interior renewal requires a train set to be out of service for fourteen days. It takes eleven days to carryout the refurbishment, after which the coaches each receive a B exam. This includes a battery check as the set has been on shore supply for this time.
Scotland’s biggest depot
With capacity for 176 rail vehicles, Craigentinny is by far the biggest depot in Scotland. When first built by the North British Railway company in 1914 as a carriage servicing depot, it was reputed to have had Britain’s first carriage washing plant. It was extensively modernised in 1978 to maintain HSTs as they were introduced to east coast services.
The depot complex is 11⁄4 miles long and is energised at 25kV except for the heavy maintenance and repair roads and the Portobello servicing facility. Its reception road begins two miles east of Edinburgh Waverley station and includes two fuelling roads for HSTs and Voyagers.
The main depot consists of an inspection shed with two 265 metre roads with centre and side pits for routine maintenance, an adjacent single 265 metre road with a centre pit, which is covered by a three-tonne crane for one hundred metres, for heavy maintenance and refurbishment, and a further 90-metre long road with a centre pit and two three-tonne cranes for power car maintenance.
The depot also has a carriage cleaning shed, with four 250-metre roads and facilities for controlled emission toilet (CET) servicing, and a further eight roads for stabling and servicing trains. An external 15-tonne crane lifts engines, cooler groups and bogies.
Furthest away from Edinburgh Waverley is the Portobello end of the depot. Here are three dedicated roads for the servicing and cleaning of six Voyager trains each night. Also at Portobello is the Hegenscheidt CNC wheel lathe. This was installed in 2014 by Cairn Cross Civil Engineering to replace an older lathe, which involved demolishing and rebuilding the wheel lathe pit and installation of the lathe. The tyre turning workload varies but is typically one to two vehicles per shift. If there is no tread damage, a full vehicle can have all its tyres re-profiled within four hours.
The depot also has a training centre and a dedicated component repair centre to overhaul and test components, including air conditioning and kitchen equipment.
Most reliable HST fleet
The depot’s 256 staff includes 45 in servicing teams, 62 in repair and heavy maintenance and 54 in the cleaning teams including ‘finishers’ who hand polish the train’s bodysides which are not fully cleaned by the carriage washers as the coaches are not perfectly smooth. Also, each night one train receives a complete exterior hand wash. At any time of the day, this work is managed by one of six production managers who are supported by seven planners who work with Virgin Trains and CrossCountry controls to develop short, medium and long-term train maintenance plans.
The depot’s complement also includes 24 in operations teams to move trains within the depot. To do so, they are assisted by the recent replacement of four hand- operated points by Zonegreen Points Converters at the Portobello servicing sidings which are almost a kilometre from the depot’s operation’s control. These are operated by a computerised control system that provides route visualisation and can be set to route trains into sidings without physical intervention.
There are also small teams for the wheel lathe, Edinburgh Waverley station, stores, the repair centre, training and the maintenance of depot facilities.
Martin Armour leads the technical team which reviews all technical defects and develops prioritised action plans to reduce failures. This includes recent work on central door locking (CDL) and the battery charging system.
One current programme is the replacement of the trailer car three-phase power cables. This is a significant amount of work for a fleet which, by December 2019, will have been replaced by new trains. Phil Buck explains that performance improvements will be required until HSTs leave Craigentinny when the intention is to hand them over in peak condition.
The fleet’s reliability is measured in miles per technical notifiable incident (MTIN) i.e. failures that cause more than three minutes’ delay. In the recent period 12, the Virgin Trains HST fleet had a 33,886 MTIN. At the ‘Golden Spanners’ awards in November, VTEC was shown to have by far the most reliable HST fleet. Martin is clearly proud of this and recalls that about fifteen years ago MTIN was only about 7,000 miles.
All change
Craigentinny’s reliable train maintenance derives from its skilled staff which have years of experience. Yet this maintenance regime is soon to change. On 18 March, Virgin Trains East Coast unveiled its new ‘Azuma’ trains. These will be a fleet of 65 Class 800/801 IEPs (Intercity Express Programme), which will progressively replace Virgin’s HST and IC225 fleets from August 2018.
At the same time, VTEC’s lease of the depot from Network Rail will be transferred to the new trains’ manufacturer, Hitachi. However, prior to then, the depot will be maintaining Hitachi trains in the form of new ScotRail AT200 EMUs (Class 385s) which will be introduced from August 2017.
The Azuma fleet will be maintained at a new Doncaster depot, Bounds Green, as well as at Craigentinny where the VTEC HST fleet will be looked after until the last one is replaced in December 2019. Thus the transitional arrangements for Craigentinny to maintain the new Hitachi trains are quite complex. They also need to take account of the current work for other train operators and ScotRail’s introduction of 27 HST trains in 2018 with Scotland’s HST expertise being at Craigentinny.
From December 2019, Craigentinny will also see Hitachi trains operated by First TransPennine. These are the 19 five-car AT300 units, similar to the IEP trains, that the company has ordered from Hitachi in a contract announced on 31 March. They will be bi-mode units that have both electric and diesel propulsion with increased engine power output to cope with the gradients of the TransPennine network. These trains will also be maintained at Hitachi’s Craigentinny and Doncaster depots.
Getting the depot ready for Azuma trains started in November when Spencer Group started work to install a new Garrandale washing plant for them. This is housed in a 40-metre long x 6.5-metre wide steel clad building. It will wash trains in ambient temperatures as low as -5°C and will recycle 70 per cent of the water used. This work involves alterations to the fuelling point as well as significant track and OLE alterations and is due to be completed in July.
Close liaison between the depot and Spencer has ensured that these alterations will not reduce work carried out by the depot. Nevertheless, there are some operational constraints, for example during a week in May when a Kirow crane is to remodel the depot layout – it will only be possible to access the depot from its Portobello end during the daytime.
The next stage is the installation of additional facilities within the depot. Synchronous jacks are to be installed within the inspection shed for bogie replacement and number 2 maintenance road is to have a roof level inspection gantry installed. A bogie drop is also required in the maintenance shed. However, as the shed is not long enough both to accommodate an HST train and to build a bogie drop, this installation will not start until 2017.
From HST to Azuma
For over a hundred years Craigentinny has maintained coaching stock for east coast train operations. During this time, it has seen many famous locomotives including the iconic Flying Scotsman and Mallard in the steam era and the Deltic diesel locomotives. With the use of HSTs on east coast services commencing in 1978, it also became a traction maintenance depot.
The HSTs are the world’s fastest diesel trains. Their introduction transformed the east coast train services by reducing journey time between London and Edinburgh by an hour. Each day they travel about a thousand miles and, after nearly forty years, have now each covered about ten million miles.
In October 2014, the depot celebrated its one hundredth birthday at a ceremony attended by Karen Boswell, then East Coast managing director, who was “delighted to celebrate Craigentinny’s centenary with the dedicated team who provide such an important service to Britain’s railway” and noted that the depot had “grown to inherit the mantle of the once-great steam shed at St Margaret’s, becoming Edinburgh’s long- distance passenger train depot”.
Although the depot will continue in this role for the foreseeable future, there will soon be significant changes as it starts to maintain VTEC’s new Azuma trains under Hitachi ownership. However, it will still have the same managing director as Karen Boswell now holds this role with Hitachi Rail Europe.
As for the future of Craigentinny’s HSTs, surely someone would be glad to acquire these trains that have only 10 million miles on the clock and one careful owner.
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Recent perspective on coronary bifurcation intervention: statement of the "Bifurcation Club in KOKURA".
The treatment of coronary bifurcation lesion remains a challenging issue even in the drug-eluting stent era. Frequent restenosis and stent thrombosis have been recently shown to be related not only to geometrical gap or stent structural deformation but also to rheological disturbance. Low wall shear stress at the lateral side of the bifurcation is likely to cause atherosclerotic changes due to easy access of the macrophages that induce chemical mediators. The turbulent flow over stent metal may facilitate accumulation of platelets, which results in thrombosis. The jailed strut and excess metal overlap may increase these risks. Since dramatic changes of the coronary flow pattern at the bifurcation are closely related to the genesis of atherosclerosis, future bifurcation intervention technique should be considered to restore the original physiological state as well as the anatomical structure. This article summarizes the global consensus of the members of the Asian Bifurcation Club and European Bifurcation Club at the KOKURA meeting. It also provides a perspective of basic sciences relating to bifurcation anatomy, physiology, and pathology, in the search for a best strategy for bifurcation intervention.
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---
abstract: 'In this note we study standard and in particular good determinantal schemes. We show that there exist arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay schemes that are not standard determinantal, and whose general hyperplane section is good determinantal. We prove that if a general hyperplane section of a scheme is standard (resp. good) determinantal, then the scheme is standard (resp. good) determinantal up to flat deformation. We also study the transference of the property of being standard or good determinantal under basic double linkage.'
address: |
Institut für Mathematik\
Universität Zürich, Winterthurerstrasse 190, CH-8057 Zürich, Switzerland
author:
- Elisa Gorla
title: Lifting the determinantal property
---
Introduction {#introduction .unnumbered}
============
Standard and good determinantal schemes are a large family of projective schemes, to which belong many varieties that have been classically studied. For example rational normal scrolls, rational normal curves, and some Segre varieties are good determinantal schemes. Standard determinantal schemes are cut out by the maximal minors of a matrix of polynomials (see Definition \[stdef\]). In particular they are arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, and their saturated ideal is resolved by the Eagon-Northcott complex. Good determinantal schemes are standard determinantal schemes that are locally a complete intersection outside a subscheme. Ideals of minors have been the object of extensive study in commutative algebra. These families were studied from the geometric viewpoint by Kreuzer, Migliore, Nagel, and Peterson in [@kr00]. In this article, they introduced the definition of standard and good determinantal schemes that we use. The relevance of standard and good determinantal schemes in the context of liaison theory became clear in [@kl01], where it was shown that standard determinantal schemes belong to the Gorenstein-liaison class of a complete intersection.
In this note we study standard and good determinantal schemes and their general hyperplane sections. The property of being standard or good determinantal is preserved when taking a general hyperplane section. So we ask whether every arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay scheme whose general hyperplane section is good determinantal is itself good determinantal. The answer is negative. In Proposition \[symm\], Example \[vero\], and Proposition \[n+1curve\] we produce examples of schemes which are not standard determinantal, and whose general hyperplane section (or whose Artinian reduction) is good determinantal. We also show that a section of the schemes of Proposition \[symm\] by a number of generic hyperplanes is good determinantal up to flat deformation. Then we discuss the property of being standard or good determinantal in a flat family. This is motivated by the observation that we can study flat families all of whose elements are hyperplane section of a given scheme by a hyperplane that meets it properly. We show by means of examples that we can have a flat family which contains a non standard determinantal scheme and whose general element is standard determinantal, or the other way around. In Proposition \[sect\] we give sufficient conditions on a section of a scheme $S$ by a hyperplane that meets it properly that force a general hyperplane section of $S$ to be good determinantal. We saw that a scheme $S$ with good determinantal general hyperplane section does not need to be good determinantal. In Theorem \[flatfam\] we show that $S$ is good determinantal up to flat deformation. Finally, we discuss how the property of being standard or good determinantal is preserved under basic double linkage. In Theorem \[det\] we prove that under some assumptions the property is preserved. In Example \[gensectbdl\] we show that in other cases the property is not preserved. We produce a family of schemes via basic double link from the family of Proposition \[n+1curve\], and we prove that the schemes we produced are not standard determinantal, but their general hyperplane sections are good determinantal.
Standard and good determinantal schemes
=======================================
Let $S$ be a scheme in ${\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}={\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}_k$, where $k$ is an algebraically closed field. Let $I_S$ be the saturated homogeneous ideal corresponding to $S$ in the polynomial ring $R=k[x_0,\ldots,x_{n+1}]$. We denote by ${\mathfrak{m}}$ the homogeneous irrelevant maximal ideal of $R$, ${\mathfrak{m}}=(x_0,\ldots ,x_{n+1})$. For a sheaf ${\mathcal{F}}$ we denote by $$H^i_*({\mathcal{F}})=\bigoplus_{m\in{\mathbb{Z}}}H^i({\mathbb{P}}^{n+1},{\mathcal{F}}(m))$$ the i-th cohomology ring. We will usually be interested in the case when ${\mathcal{F}}$ is an ideal sheaf. Let $T$ be a scheme that contains $S$. We denote by ${\mathcal{I}}_{S|T}$ the ideal sheaf of $S$ restricted to $T$, and by $I_{S|T}=H^0_*({\mathcal{I}}_{S|T})$ the ideal of $S$ restricted to $T$. We often write aCM for arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay.
In this note we study schemes whose general hyperplane section is standard or good determinantal. The following definition was given in [@kr00] for schemes, i.e. for saturated ideals. Here we extend it to include Artinian ideals.
\[stdef\] An ideal $I\subseteq k[x_0,\ldots,x_{n+1}]$ of height $c$ is [*standard determinantal*]{} if it is generated by the maximal minors of a homogeneous matrix $M$ of polynomials of size $t\times (t+c-1)$, for some $t\geq 1$. A matrix $M$ with polynomial entries is [*homogeneous*]{} if its minors are homogeneous polynomials.
A [*standard determinantal*]{} scheme $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ of codimension $c$ is a scheme whose saturated ideal $I_S$ is standard determinantal.
A standard determinantal ideal $I$ is [*good determinantal*]{} if after performing invertible row operations on the matrix $M$ and then deleting a row, the ideal generated by the maximal minors of the $(t-1)\times (t+c-1)$ matrix obtained is standard determinantal (that is, it has height $c+1$). In particular, we formally include the possibility that $t=1$, i.e. a complete intersection is good determinantal.
A scheme $S$ is [*good determinantal*]{} if its saturated ideal $I_S$ is good determinantal.
Let $S$ be a standard determinantal scheme with defining matrix $M=(F_{ij})$. We assume without loss of generality that $M$ contains no invertible entries. Let ${\mathcal U}=(u_{ji})$ be the transposed of the matrix whose entries are the degrees of the entries of $M$. ${\mathcal U}$ is the [*degree matrix*]{} of $S$. We adopt the convention that the entries of ${\mathcal U}$ increase from right to left and from top to bottom: $u_{ji} \geq u_{lk}$ if $i\leq k$ and $j \geq l$. $S$ can be regarded as the degeneracy locus of a degree 0 morphism $$\varphi:\bigoplus_{i=1}^t
R(b_i){\longrightarrow}\bigoplus_{j=1}^{t+c-1} R(a_j).$$ Set $a_1\leq\ldots\leq a_{t+c-1}$ and $b_1\leq\ldots\leq b_t$. Then $\varphi$ is described by the transposed of the matrix $M$, and $u_{ji}=a_j-b_i$.
([@ei88], Definition 1.1) A matrix $M=(F_{ij})$ is [*1-generic*]{} if the entries in each row or column are linearly independent over $k$.
\[1gen\] It is shown in [@ei88] that the ideal generated by the maximal minors of a 1-generic matrix defines a reduced and irreducible standard determinantal scheme. Clearly 1-genericity is preserved if we delete a row of the matrix. Therefore, the ideal of maximal minors of a 1-generic matrix defines a reduced and irreducible good determinantal scheme.
In this note we study standard and good determinantal schemes, and schemes whose hyperplane section is standard or good determinantal.
Let $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be a projective scheme of dimension $d\geq 1$. Let $H$ be a hyperplane. If $H$ does not contain any component of $S$, we say that $S\cap H\subseteq H={\mathbb{P}}^n$ is a [*proper hyperplane section*]{} of $S$.
Fix a geometric property $\mathcal P$. We say that $\mathcal P$ holds for a [*general hyperplane section*]{} of $S$ if there is a nonempty open set $\mathcal V$ (in the ${\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ parameterizing hyperplanes in ${\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$) such that $S\cap H$ has the property $\mathcal P$ for all $H\in {\mathcal V}$. We call $S\cap
H\subseteq H={\mathbb{P}}^n$ a [*general hyperplane section*]{} of $S$.
For a fixed scheme $S$, a general hyperplane section is proper. Namely, the set $\mathcal V$ of hyperplanes in ${\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ that do not contain any component of $S$ is open and nonempty.
If the scheme $S$ has dimension $d\geq 1$, then a general hyperplane section has dimension $d-1$. If $I_S$ is the homogeneous saturated ideal of the scheme $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$, then $I_{S\cap H|H}=H^0_*({\mathbb{P}}^n,{\mathcal{I}}_{S\cap H})\subseteq R/(H)$ is the homogeneous saturated ideal of the general hyperplane section $S\cap H\subseteq H$. The following short exact sequence of ideal sheaves relates $S$ to a general hyperplane section $S\cap H$ $$0{\longrightarrow}{\mathcal{I}}_S(-1)\stackrel{\cdot H}{{\longrightarrow}}{\mathcal{I}}_S{\longrightarrow}{\mathcal{I}}_{S\cap H|H}{\longrightarrow}0.$$ Taking cohomology we get the exact sequence: $$\xymatrix{0\ar[r] & I_S(-1)\ar[r]^{\cdot H} & I_S\ar[rr]^{\pi}\ar[dr]& & I_{S\cap H|H}
\ar[r] & H^1_*({\mathcal{I}}_S)(-1)\\
& & & I_S+(H)/(H)\ar[ur]\ar[dr] & & \\
& & 0\ar[ur] & & 0 & }$$ If $S$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, or more in general if $R/I_S$ has depth at least 2, then $H^1_*({\mathcal{I}}_S)=0$, and $I_{S\cap H|H}=I_S+(H)/(H).$ In particular, if $S$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay then a proper hyperplane section of $S$ is also arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay. Recall that a scheme $S$ of dimension $d\geq 0$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay if and only if $H^i_*({\mathcal{I}}_S)=0$ for $1\leq i\leq d$. Every zero-dimensional scheme is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay.
If $S$ has dimension $d=0$, then geometrically it does not make sense to take a hyperplane section. However in this case the ideal $I_S+(H)/(H)\subseteq R/(H)$ is Artinian (i.e. $R/I_S+(H)$ has Krull-dimension 0). In this case, we will abuse terminology and still call $I_S+(H)/(H)$ the ideal of a general hyperplane section of $S$, whenever $H\in R$ is a general linear form. The short exact sequence relating the ideals of $S$ and of a general hyperplane section is $$0{\longrightarrow}I_S(-1)\stackrel{\cdot H}{{\longrightarrow}} I_S{\longrightarrow}I_S+(H)/(H){\longrightarrow}0.$$ We refer the interested reader to Section 1.3 of [@mi98b] for facts about hyperplane and hypersurface sections.
Lifting the determinantal property, and good determinantal schemes in flat families
===================================================================================
In this note, we address the question of whether it is possible to lift the property of being standard or good determinantal from a general hyperplane section of a scheme to the scheme itself. For schemes of codimension $2$, the Hilbert-Burch Theorem states that being standard determinantal is equivalent to being arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay. So this question is a natural generalization of the questions that were investigated by Huneke and Ulrich in [@hu93], by Migliore in [@mi94], and by the author in [@go06].
Before starting our discussion, we would like to observe that the good determinantal property does not behave as well as the standard determinantal property under hyperplane sections by a hyperplane that meets the scheme properly. In fact, any hyperplane section of a standard determinantal subscheme of ${\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ by a hyperplane that meets it properly is a standard determinantal subscheme of ${\mathbb{P}}^n$. It is not true in general that every hyperplane section of a good determinantal subscheme of ${\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ by a hyperplane that meets it properly is a good determinantal subscheme of ${\mathbb{P}}^n$. However, a general hyperplane section is good determinantal. Next, we see an example when this is the case. The following example was derived from Example 4.1 in [@kl01].
\[stgood\] Let $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^4$ be a curve whose homogeneous saturated ideal is given by the maximal minors of $$\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
x_0 & x_1+x_4 & 0 & x_2 \\
0 & x_1 & x_2 & x_0+x_1
\end{array}\right).$$ One can check that $C$ is one-dimensional, hence standard determinantal. $C$ is a cone over a zero-dimensional scheme supported on the points $[0:0:0:1]$ and $[0:1:0:-1]$. The curve $C$ is indeed good determinantal, since deleting a generalized row we obtain the matrix of size $1\times 4$ $$\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
\alpha x_0 & (1+\alpha)x_1+\alpha x_4 & x_2 & x_0+x_1+\alpha x_2
\end{array}\right)$$ for a generic value of $\alpha$. For $\alpha\neq 0$ the entries form a regular sequence, since they are linearly independent linear forms. Therefore they define a complete intersection, that is a standard determinantal scheme, and $C$ is good determinantal.
Let $H$ be a general linear form. In particular we can assume that the coefficient of $x_3$ in the equation of $H$ is non-zero, so that $H$ does not contain the vertex of the cone $C$. Intersecting $C$ with $H$ we obtain a subscheme $X$ of ${\mathbb{P}}^3$, whose saturated homogeneous ideal $I_X$ is generated over $k[x_0,x_1,x_2,x_4]$ by the maximal minors of $$\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
x_0 & x_1+x_4 & 0 & x_2 \\
0 & x_1 & x_2 & x_0+x_1
\end{array}\right).$$ One can show that $X$ is good determinantal following the same steps as for $C$. Indeed, $C$ is just a cone over $X$.
Let $H=x_4$. Intersecting $C$ with $H$ we obtain a subscheme $Z$ of ${\mathbb{P}}^3$, whose saturated homogeneous ideal $I_Z$ is generated over $k[x_0,\ldots,x_3]$ by the maximal minors of $$\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
x_0 & x_1 & 0 & x_2 \\
0 & x_1 & x_2 & x_0+x_1
\end{array}\right).$$ $I_Z=I_P^2$ for $P=[0:0:0:1]$, hence $Z$ is a zero-dimensional scheme supported on the point $P$. Then $Z$ is standard determinantal and a section of $C$ by a hyperplane that meets it properly. However, $Z$ is not good determinantal. In fact, deleting a generalized row we obtain the matrix of size $1\times 4$ $$\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
\alpha x_0 & (1+\alpha)x_1 & x_2 & x_0+x_1+\alpha x_2
\end{array}\right)$$ whose entries generate the ideal $(x_0,x_1,x_2)$ of codimension $3<4$.
.5cm Every standard determinantal scheme is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay. Moreover, the two families coincide for schemes of codimension $1$ or $2$, while for codimension $3$ or higher the family of arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay schemes strictly contains the family of standard determinantal schemes. From the results in [@hu93] one can easily obtain a sufficient condition for a scheme $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ to be arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay in terms of the graded Betti numbers of a general hyperplane section of $V$. If a general hyperplane section of $V$ is standard determinantal, the condition can be expressed in terms of the entries of its degree matrix. Notice that since the graded Betti numbers of a hyperplane section of $V$ are the same for a general choice of the hyperplane, the degree matrix is also the same for a general choice of the hyperplane.
\[aCM\] Let $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be a projective scheme. Assume that a general hyperplane section of $V$ is a standard determinantal subscheme of ${\mathbb{P}}^n$ with degree matrix ${\mathcal U}=(u_{ji})_{i=1,\ldots,t;\; j=1,\ldots,t+c-1}.$ If either $dim V\geq 2$ or $$u_{1,t}+\cdots+u_{c-1,t}\geq n+1$$ then $V$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay.
If $dim(V)\geq 2$ and a general hyperplane section of $V$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, then $V$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay (see Proposition 2.1 in [@hu93]). We can then reduce to the case when $V$ is one-dimensional. Let $H$ be a general hyperplane, and let $Z=V\cap H$. From Theorem 3.16 of [@hu93] it follows that the minimum degree $b$ of a minimal generator of $I_{Z|H}$ that is not the image of a minimal generator of $I_V$ under the standard projection $I_V\stackrel{\pi}{{\longrightarrow}} I_{Z|H}$ is $$b\geq u_{1,1}+\cdots+u_{t,t}+u_{t+1,t}+\cdots+u_{t+c-1,t}-n=$$ $$=u_{1,t}+\cdots+u_{c-1,t}+u_{c,1}+u_{c+1,2}+\cdots+u_{t+c-1,t}-n
\geq u_{c,1}+u_{c+1,2}+\cdots+u_{t+c-1,t}+1.$$ In particular, it is bigger than the maximum $u_{c,1}+u_{c+1,2}+\cdots+u_{t+c-1,t}$ of the degrees of the minimal generators of $I_{Z|H}$. Then all the minimal generators of $I_{Z|H}$ are images of the minimal generators of $I_V$. Hence $H^1_*({\mathcal{I}}_V)=0$, and $V$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay.
As we mentioned, every arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay scheme of codimension $2$ is standard determinantal. So Lemma \[aCM\] gives a sufficient condition to conclude that $V$ is standard determinantal if $codim(V)=2$.
\[dim2\] Let $V$ be a projective scheme. If $dim(V)\geq 2$ and a general hyperplane section of $V$ is aCM, then $V$ is aCM. Therefore the graded Betti numbers of $V$ coincide with the graded Betti numbers of a general hyperplane section of $V$ (for more details see [@mi98b], Theorem 1.3.6). Moreover, for a scheme of codimension $2$ the property of being standard determinantal can be decided by checking the graded Betti numbers. In fact, a scheme of codimension $2$ is standard determinantal if and only if it is aCM, if and only if a minimal free resolution of its saturated ideal has length $2$. Hence if $dim(V)\geq 2$ and $codim(V)=2$, we can decide whether $V$ is standard determinantal by looking at the graded Betti numbers of a general hyperplane section. However, if $codim(V)\geq 3$ then the property of being standard determinantal cannot in general be decided by looking at the graded Betti numbers. In other words, there are schemes which are not standard determinantal, but have the same graded Betti numbers as a standard determinantal scheme (see e.g. Example \[vero\]).
In very special cases the graded Betti numbers of a homogeneous ideal $I$ can force the ideal to be standard determinantal, even when the codimension is $3$ or higher. The next is an easy example of this phenomenon.
\[artin\] Let $R=k[x_1,\ldots,x_n]$, ${\mathfrak{m}}=(x_1,\ldots,x_n)$. Let $I\subseteq R$ be a homogeneous ideal generated by ${ {{n+t-1} \choose {t}} }$ linearly independent polynomials of degree $t$. Then $I_j=0$ for all $j<t$ and $dim I_t={ {{n+t-1} \choose {t}} }=dim({\mathfrak{m}}^t)_t$. Therefore $I={\mathfrak{m}}^t$, so it is the ideal of maximal minors of the $t\times (t+n-1)$ matrix $$\left(\begin{array}{ccccccc}
x_1 & \cdots & x_n & 0 & \cdots & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & x_1 & \cdots & x_n & 0 & & \vdots \\
\vdots & \ddots & \ddots & \ddots & \ddots & \ddots & \vdots \\
\vdots & & 0 & x_1 & \cdots & x_n & 0 \\
0 & \cdots & \cdots & 0 & x_1 & \cdots & x_n
\end{array}\right).$$ So $I$ is good determinantal.
The next proposition shows that this is not the case in general. We present a family of arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay schemes that are not standard determinantal, but such that the Artinian reduction of their coordinate ring is good determinantal. In particular, they have the graded Betti numbers of a standard determinantal scheme. From a more geometric point of view, it is interesting to decide whether the schemes in question have a general section which is good determinantal. In other words, whether a section of $V$ by $r$ generic hyperplanes is good determinantal for some $r\leq {t+2\choose 2}-3$. We prove that the schemes of the following proposition have a (special) ${ {{t} \choose {2}} }$-th proper hyperplane section which is good determinantal.
\[symm\] Let $X$ be a symmetric matrix of indeterminates of size $(t+1)\times(t+1)$, $t\geq 2$ $$X=\left(\begin{array}{ccccc} x_{0,0} & x_{0,1} & \cdots & \cdots & x_{0,t} \\
x_{0,1} & x_{1,1} & \cdots & \cdots & x_{1,t} \\
\vdots & \vdots & & & \vdots \\
x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & \cdots & \cdots & x_{t,t} \end{array}\right).$$ Let $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{{ {{t+2} \choose {2}} }-1}$ be the scheme corresponding to the saturated ideal $I_V=I_t(X)\subseteq R=k[\; x_{i,j}\; |\; 0\leq i\leq j\leq t\;]$, generated by the submaximal minors of $X$.
1. $V$ is an arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, integral scheme of codimension $3$ which is not standard determinantal, but every Artinian reduction of its homogeneous coordinate ring is good determinantal.
2. Let $D$ be a general ${ {{t} \choose {2}} }$-th hyperplane section of $V$. Then $V$ has a proper ${ {{t} \choose {2}} }$-th hyperplane section $C$ that is a good determinantal scheme, and there is a flat family of schemes with fixed graded Betti numbers that contains both $C$ and $D$.
\(1) The fact that $V$ is an arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, integral scheme of codimension $3$ follows from classical results, that can be found e.g. in [@br88]. In particular a minimal free resolution of the ideal $I_V$ is known, and the cardinality of a minimal system of generators of $I_V$ is $m={ {{t+2} \choose {2}} }$. Then the Artinian reduction of the coordinate ring of $V$ is good determinantal, as showed in Example \[artin\]. The divisor class group of $V$ is isomorphic to ${\mathbb{Z}}_2$ (see [@go77]). From knowledge of the graded Betti numbers of $I_V$ (see e.g. [@br88]), it follows that if $V$ was standard determinantal, then its degree matrix would have size $t\times (t+2)$ and all of its entries would be equal to $1$. The divisor class group of such a standard determinantal scheme is isomorphic to ${\mathbb{Z}}$ (see [@br75]). Therefore $V$ is not standard determinantal. Notice that if $t=2$ then $V$ is the Veronese surface in ${\mathbb{P}}^5$, which is not standard determinantal, since it is not isomorphic to a rational normal scroll surface.
\(2) Consider a special ${ {{t} \choose {2}} }$-th hyperplane section of $V$, with defining matrix of size $(t+1)\times (t+1)$ $$Y=\left(\begin{array}{cccccc}
x_{0,0} & x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & \cdots & \cdots & x_{0,t} \\
x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & & & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} \\
x_{0,2} & & & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & \vdots \\
\vdots & & \adots & \adots & & \vdots \\
\vdots & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & & & x_{t-1,t} \\
x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & \cdots & \cdots & x_{t-1,t} & x_{t,t}
\end{array}\right).$$ We obtain this section intersecting with the hyperplanes $x_{i,j}-x_{0,i+j}$ for $i+j\leq t$ and $i\geq 1, j\leq t-1$ and $x_{i,j}-x_{i+j-t,t}$ for $i+j>t$ and $i\geq 1, j\leq t-1$. We take ${ {{t} \choose {2}} }$ hyperplane sections by hyperplanes that meet $V$ properly. So we obtain a scheme $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{2t}$ of codimension $3$. $C$ is good determinantal, with defining matrix $$U=\left(\begin{array}{cccccccc}
x_{0,0} & x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & \cdots & \cdots & x_{0,t-1} & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} \\
x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & & & x_{0,t-1} & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & x_{2,t} \\
x_{0,2} & & & x_{0,t-1} & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & x_{2,t} & \vdots \\
\vdots & & \adots & \adots & \adots & \adots & & \vdots \\
\vdots & x_{0,t-1} & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & x_{2,t} & & & \vdots \\
x_{0,t-1} & x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & x_{2,t} & \cdots & \cdots & \cdots & x_{t,t}
\end{array}\right).$$ In fact, the maximal minors of $U$ coincide with the submaximal minors of $Y$. Moreover, the matrix $U$ is 1-generic. Therefore, the ideal of maximal minors of $U$ defines a reduced and irreducible, good determinantal scheme (see also Remark \[1gen\]).
Let $D$ be a general ${ {{t} \choose {2}} }$-th hyperplane section of $V$. The saturated ideal of $D$ is the ideal $I_D=I_t(Z)$ generated by the submaximal minors of the symmetric matrix $$Z=\left(\begin{array}{ccccc}
x_{0,0} & x_{0,1} & \cdots & x_{0,t-1} & x_{0,t} \\
x_{0,1} & L_{1,1} & \cdots & L_{1,t-1} & x_{1,t} \\
\vdots & \vdots & & \vdots & \vdots \\
x_{0,t-1} & L_{1,t-1} & \cdots & L_{t-1,t-1} & x_{t-1,t} \\
x_{0,t} & x_{1,t} & \cdots & x_{t-1,t} & x_{t,t} \end{array}\right).$$ We can assume without loss of generality that the equations of the hyperplanes that we intersect with $V$ are $x_{i,j}-L_{i,j}$, $i\geq 1, j\leq t-1$, where $L_{i,j}$ is a general linear form in $k[x_{0,0},\ldots, x_{0,t},
x_{1,t},\ldots, x_{t,t}]$. Observe that we have a flat family of codimension 3 schemes $D_s$ whose saturated ideal is $I_t(Z_s)$, $Z_s=sZ+(1-s)Y$. In fact, for any choice of $s$ and for $L_{i,j}$ generic, the matrix $Z_s$ is 1-generic. Then by Corollary 3.3 of [@ei88] $$codim\: I_t(Z_s)\geq 2(t+1)-1-2(t-1)=3.$$ Hence $Z_s$ defines an aCM scheme $D_s$ of codimension three, whose graded Betti numbers are the same as those of $C$ and of $V$ (this follows from [@br88], Theorem 3.5). In particular the Hilbert polynomial of $D_s$ is the same for all $s$.
The Veronese surface $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$ is an example of a non standard determinantal scheme from the family of Proposition \[symm\]. In the next example we show that a general hyperplane section of $V$ is a good determinantal curve.
\[vero\] The Veronese surface $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$ is an example from the family of Proposition \[symm\], for $t=2$. Its homogeneous saturated ideal is the ideal $$I_V=I_2\left(\begin{array}{ccc} x_0 & x_1 & x_2 \\
x_1 & x_3 & x_4 \\ x_2 & x_4 & x_5 \end{array}\right)$$ $I_V\subseteq S=k[x_0,\ldots,x_5].$ Its general hyperplane section is a reduced and irreducible arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay curve $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^4$ of degree $4$, hence a rational normal curve. In particular, a general hyperplane section of $V$ is good determinantal, with defining matrix equal to (after a change of coordinates and invertible row and column operations) $$\left(\begin{array}{cccc} x_0 & x_1 & x_2 & x_3 \\
x_1 & x_2 & x_3 & x_4 \end{array}\right).$$
.5cm Kleppe, Migliore, Miró-Roig, Nagel and Peterson proved that under certain assumptions the closure of the locus of good determinantal schemes with a fixed degree matrix $M$ is an irreducible component in the corresponding Hilbert scheme (see chapters 9 and 10 of [@kl01] and the paper [@kl05]). Clearly, standard determinantal schemes with the same degree matrix $\mathcal U$ belong to the closure of the locus of good determinantal ones. It is natural to ask whether a general ${t\choose 2}$-th hyperplane section of a scheme $V$ as in Proposition \[symm\] is standard (or good) determinantal. The following example shows that this is in general not the case.
\[verodeform\] Let $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^9$ be the scheme whose saturated homogeneous ideal $I_V$ is generated by the submaximal minors of the matrix $$X=\left(
\begin{array}{cccc}
x_{0,0} & x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & x_{0,3} \\
x_{0,1} & x_{1,1} & x_{1,2} & x_{1,3} \\
x_{0,2} & x_{1,2} & x_{2,2} & x_{2,3} \\
x_{0,3} & x_{1,3} & x_{2,3} & x_{3,3}
\end{array}\right).$$ In Proposition \[symm\] we showed that $V$ has a $3$-rd hyperplane section $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^6$ that is good determinantal. More precisely, the ideal $I_C$ is generated by the maximal minors of the matrix $$Y=\left(\begin{array}{ccccc}
x_{0,0} & x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & x_{0,3} & x_{1,3} \\
x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & x_{0,3} & x_{1,3} & x_{2,3} \\
x_{0,2} & x_{0,3} & x_{1,3} & x_{2,3} & x_{3,3}
\end{array}\right).$$ The homogeneous saturated ideal of a general $3$-rd hyperplane section of $V$ is generated by the maximal minors of the matrix $$Z=\left(
\begin{array}{cccc}
x_{0,0} & x_{0,1} & x_{0,2} & x_{0,3} \\
x_{0,1} & L_{1,1} & L_{1,2} & x_{1,3} \\
x_{0,2} & L_{1,2} & L_{2,2} & x_{2,3} \\
x_{0,3} & x_{1,3} & x_{2,3} & x_{3,3}
\end{array}\right)$$ where $L_{1,1},L_{1,2},L_{2,2}\in
k[x_{0,0},x_{0,1},x_{0,2},x_{0,3},x_{1,3},x_{2,3},x_{3,3}]$ are general linear forms. Let $I(s)=I_3(Z_s)$ be the ideal generated by the submaximal minors of the matrix $Z_s=sZ+(1-s)Y$. Then one can check that for a generic value of $s$ the cardinality of a minimal system of generators of $I(s)^2$ is $\mu(I(s)^2)=55$ (we used the computer algebra software CoCoA [@cocoa]). If $I(s)$ defines a standard determinantal scheme, then it follows by knowledge of the graded Betti numbers of $I(s)$ that it must be associated to a matrix of linear forms of size $3\times 5$. In that case we have 5 linearly independent Plücker relations, which implies that $\mu(I(s)^2)\leq 50$. Therefore $I(s)$ cannot define a standard determinantal scheme. Hence $V$ has a good determinantal $3$-rd hyperplane section by hyperplanes that meet it properly, while its general $3$-rd hyperplane section is not standard determinantal.
The last family of examples that we wish to study consists of non standard determinantal curves, whose general hyperplane section is good determinantal (see Proposition \[n+1curve\]). The result of the next lemma is not new. For completeness we give a simple algebraic proof of it.
\[sqfr\] Let $I\subseteq k[x_0,\ldots,x_n]$ be the ideal generated by all the squarefree monomials of degree $d$. Then $I$ is a good determinantal ideal.
Let $A$ be a matrix of size $d\times (n+1)$ with entries in $k$ such that all the maximal minors of $A$ are nonzero, $A=(a_{i,j})_{1\leq i\leq
d;\; 0\leq j\leq n}$. Consider the matrix $M$ that we obtain from $A$ by multiplying each entry in the $j$-th column by $x_j$, $M=(a_{i,j}x_j)_{1\leq i\leq
d;\; 0\leq j\leq n}.$ The minor involving columns $0\leq j_1<\ldots<j_d\leq n$ is $\alpha_{j_1,\ldots,j_d} x_{j_1}\cdot\ldots\cdot x_{j_d}$, where $\alpha_{j_1,\ldots,j_d}$ is the determinant of the submatrix of $A$ consisting of the columns $j_1,\ldots,j_d$. If $d=1$ then $I$ is a complete intersection, hence good determinantal. If $d\geq 2$ the height of $I$ is $n+2-d$, then $I$ is standard determinantal. In particular, $k[x_0,\ldots,x_n]/I$ is Cohen-Macaulay. If we delete a generalized row of $M$, up to nonzero scalar multiples the $(d-1)\times (d-1)$ minors of the remaining rows are all the squarefree monomials of degree $d-1$ in $k[x_0,\ldots,x_n]$. Since they generate a standard determinantal ideal, $I$ is good determinantal.
In order for the result of Lemma \[sqfr\] to hold we do not even need the ground field $k$ to have infinite cardinality. However we need to have enough scalars in $k$ so that we can find a matrix $A$ of size $d\times (n+1)$ with entries in $k$ such that all the $d\times d$ minors of $A$ are nonzero. If $|k|\geq
d+1$ we can let $A$ be the Vandermonde matrix in $\alpha_1,\ldots,\alpha_d$, distinct elements in $k^*$, i.e. $a_{ij}=\alpha_i^{j-1}$.
The next proposition is a straightforward consequence of Lemma \[sqfr\].
\[genpts\] $n+1$ generic points in ${\mathbb{P}}^n$ are a good determinantal scheme.
Observe that $n+1$ generic points in ${\mathbb{P}}^n$ can be mapped via a change of coordinates to the $n+1$ coordinate points. The saturated ideal of the $n+1$ coordinate points in ${\mathbb{P}}^n$ is generated by the squarefree monomials of degree 2 in $x_0,\ldots,x_n$. Therefore it is a good determinantal scheme by Lemma \[sqfr\].
Let $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be a nondegenerate, reduced and irreducible curve of degree $n+1$. Then $C$ is a rational normal curve, in particular it is good determinantal. In the next proposition we produce a nondegenerate, arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, reduced curve of degree $n+1$ in ${\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ that is not standard determinantal and whose general hyperplane section is good determinantal. The curve is necessarily reducible, because of what we just observed.
\[n+1curve\] Let $C_1\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be a cone over $n$ generic points in ${\mathbb{P}}^n$. Let $C_2\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be a generic line through a point in $C_1$. Let $C=C_1\cup C_2$. Then $C$ is not standard determinantal, and a general hyperplane section of $C$ is good determinantal.
Without loss of generality we can let the $n$ generic points in ${\mathbb{P}}^n$ be all the coordinate points except for $[1:0:\ldots:0]$. Then the saturated ideal of $C_1\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ is $$I_{C_1}=\bigcap_{i=1}^n(x_0,x_1,\ldots,x_{i-1},x_{i+1},\ldots,x_n)=
(x_0)+\sum_{1\leq i<j\leq n}(x_ix_j).$$ We can also assume that $I_{C_2}=(x_2,\ldots,x_{n+1}).$ Then the saturated ideal of $C$ is $$I_C=I_{C_1}\cap I_{C_2}=x_0(x_2,\ldots,x_{n+1})
+\sum_{1\leq i<j\leq n}(x_ix_j).$$ Since $I_{C_1}+I_{C_2}=(x_0,x_2,\ldots,x_{n+1})=I_P$ where $P$ is the point $[0:1:0:\ldots:0]$, it follows that $C$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay. This follows from computing cohomology from the short exact sequence $$0{\longrightarrow}{\mathcal{I}}_C{\longrightarrow}{\mathcal{I}}_{C_1}\oplus{\mathcal{I}}_{C_2}{\longrightarrow}{\mathcal{I}}_P{\longrightarrow}0.$$ In fact we obtain the long exact sequence $$0{\longrightarrow}I_C{\longrightarrow}I_{C_1}\oplus I_{C_2}{\longrightarrow}I_{C_1}+I_{C_2}=I_P\stackrel{0}{{\longrightarrow}} H^1_*({\mathcal{I}}_C){\longrightarrow}H^1_*({\mathcal{I}}_{C_1})\oplus H^1_*({\mathcal{I}}_{C_2})=0$$ where vanishing of the last module follows from the observation that $C_1$ and $C_2$ are aCM. The curve $C$ has degree $n+1$, and its general hyperplane section consists of $n+1$ generic points in ${\mathbb{P}}^n$ by construction. Therefore a general hyperplane section of $C$ is good determinantal by Proposition \[genpts\].
We now study the last morphism in a minimal free resolution of $I_C$, in order to show that $C$ is not standard determinantal. Let $I=x_0(x_2,\ldots,x_{n+1})$, $J=\sum_{1\leq i<j\leq
n}(x_ix_j)$. Then clearly $I_C=I+J$. So we have the short exact sequence $$\label{mapp}
0{\longrightarrow}I\cap J{\longrightarrow}I\oplus J{\longrightarrow}I+J{\longrightarrow}0.$$ Let $$\label{mfrI}
0{\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{F}}_n{\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{F}}_{n-1}{\longrightarrow}\cdots{\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{F}}_1{\longrightarrow}I{\longrightarrow}0$$ be a minimal free resolution of $I$. Then ${\mathbb{F}}_n=R(-n-1)$ and ${\mathbb{F}}_{n-1}=R(-n)^n.$ The last morphism in (\[mfrI\]) is $$\label{lastI}
R(-n-1)\stackrel{(x_2,-x_3,x_4,\ldots,(-1)^{n+1}x_{n+1})}{{\longrightarrow}}
R(-n)^n.$$ Let $$\label{mfrJ}
0{\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{G}}_{n-1}\stackrel{M}{{\longrightarrow}}{\mathbb{G}}_{n-2}{\longrightarrow}\cdots{\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{G}}_1{\longrightarrow}J{\longrightarrow}0$$ be a minimal free resolution of $J$. The ideal $J$ is a lexsegment squarefree monomial ideal, hence morphisms in a minimal free resolution are explicitly computed in [@ar98], Theorem 2.1. It turns out that ${\mathbb{G}}_{n-1}=R(-n)^{n-1}$, ${\mathbb{G}}_{n-2}=R(-n+1)^{n(n-2)}$, and the matrix $M$ describing the last morphism in (\[mfrJ\]) has size $n(n-2)\times(n-1)$ and is of the form $$M=\left(\begin{array}{ccc}c_1 & \ldots & c_{n-1}
\end{array}\right)$$ where each $c_i$ is a column with exactly $n-1$ nonzero entries (all the indeterminates but $x_i$). Finally, $I\cap J=x_0J$, so the minimal free resolution (\[mfrJ\]) twisted by $-1$ is a minimal free resolution of $I\cap J$ $$\label{mfrIJ}
0{\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{G}}_{n-1}(-1)\stackrel{M}{{\longrightarrow}}{\mathbb{G}}_{n-2}(-1){\longrightarrow}\cdots{\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{G}}_1(-1){\longrightarrow}I\cap J{\longrightarrow}0.$$
Using the mapping cone construction on the short exact sequence (\[mapp\]), one can write the last matrix in a minimal free resolution of $I+J=I_C$: $$\label{matx}\left(\begin{array}{ccccc}
x_2 & 0 & \ldots & \ldots & 0 \\
-x_3 & -x_1 & 0 & \ldots & 0 \\
\vdots & 0 & \ddots & & \vdots \\
\vdots & \vdots & & \ddots & 0 \\
(-1)^{n+1} x_{n+1} & 0 & \ldots & 0 & -x_1 \\
0 & x_0 & 0 & \ldots & 0 \\
\vdots & 0 & \ddots & & \vdots \\
\vdots & \vdots & & \ddots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & \ldots & 0 & x_0 \\
0 & & & & \\
0 & & M & & \\
0 & & & & \\
\end{array}\right).$$ The matrix corresponds to a morphism $$R(-n-1)^n={\mathbb{F}}_n\oplus{\mathbb{G}}_{n-1}(-1){\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{F}}_{n-1}\oplus{\mathbb{G}}_{n-1}\oplus{\mathbb{G}}_{n-2}(-1)=R(-n)^{n^2-1},$$ where the block consisting of the first $n-1$ rows and the first column comes from the last map in a minimal free resolution of $I$, i.e. (\[lastI\]). The block consisting of the last $n(n-2)$ rows and the last $n-1$ columns comes from the last map $M$ in a minimal free resolution of $I\cap J$. The block consisting of the first $2n-1$ rows and last $n-1$ columns comes from the morphism ${\mathbb{G}}_{n-1}(-1){\longrightarrow}{\mathbb{F}}_{n-1}\oplus{\mathbb{G}}_{n-1}$ induced by the diagonal morphism $I\cap J{\longrightarrow}I\oplus J$. The rows $2,\ldots,n$ have $-x_1$ on the diagonal and zeroes anywhere else, while the rows $n+1,\ldots,2n-1$ have $x_0$ on the diagonal and zeroes anywhere else. This corresponds to the fact that each minimal generator of $I\cap J$ is of the form $x_0$ multiplied by a minimal generator of $J$, which is also equal to $x_1$ multiplied by a minimal generator of $I$. The indeterminate $x_{n+1}$ appears in the matrix (\[matx\]) only in one position. From this observation and from the form of $M$ it is easy to see that the ideal of $2\times 2$ minors of the matrix (\[matx\]) is $(x_0,\ldots,x_n)^2+x_{n+1}(x_0,\ldots,x_n).$
Suppose by contradiction that the curve $C$ is standard determinantal. Then there exist linear forms $L_0,\ldots,L_{2n+1}\in k[x_0,\ldots,x_{n+1}]$ such that $I_C$ is the ideal of $2\times 2$ minors of the matrix $$\left(\begin{array}{ccc}
L_0 & \ldots & L_n \\
L_{n+1} & \ldots & L_{2n+1}
\end{array}\right).$$ The Eagon-Northcott complex is a minimal free resolution of the ideal $I_C$. The last matrix in the complex has a block form, where the basic block is given by the two column vectors $$U=\left(\begin{array}{c}
-L_{n+1} \\
L_{n+2} \\
\vdots \\
(-1)^{n+1} L_{2n+1}
\end{array}\right)\;\;\;\mbox{and}\;\;\; V=\left(\begin{array}{c}
L_0 \\
-L_1 \\
\vdots \\
(-1)^n L_n
\end{array}\right).$$ The matrix has the form $$\label{matx2}
\left(\begin{array}{cccccc}
U & V & 0 & 0 & \ldots & 0 \\
0 & U & V & 0 & \ldots & 0 \\
\vdots & \ddots & \ddots & \ddots & \ddots & \vdots \\
0 & \ldots & 0 & U & V & 0 \\
0 & \ldots & 0 & 0 & U & V
\end{array}\right).$$ In particular the ideal of $2\times 2$ minors of the matrix (\[matx2\]) is $$(L_0,\ldots,L_{2n+1})^2=(x_0,\ldots,x_n)^2+x_{n+1}(x_0,\ldots,x_n).$$ Taking radicals we obtain $$(L_0,\ldots,L_{2n+1})
\subseteq\sqrt{(L_0,\ldots,L_{2n+1})^2}=(x_0,\ldots,x_n)$$ hence $x_{n+1}\not\in (L_0,\ldots,L_{2n+1})$, which is a contradiction.
In Proposition \[symm\], Example \[vero\], and Proposition \[n+1curve\] we discussed some examples of “pathological” behavior connected with lifting the property of being standard or good determinantal. The schemes we studied are all defined by minors of matrices with linear entries. In analogy with the question of lifting the property of being arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay (see Lemma \[aCM\]), one could ask the following.
\[asympt\] Assume that $char(k)=0$ and let $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}_k$ be an aCM scheme. Let $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^n$ be a general hyperplane section of $V$, and assume that $C$ is standard/good determinantal. Does there exist an $N$ such that if all the entries of the degree matrix of $C$ are at least $N$, then $V$ is standard/good determinantal?
The next example illustrates the necessity of requiring that a general hyperplane section of the scheme is standard (or good) determinantal, as opposed to requiring that a hyperplane section by a hyperplane that meets the scheme properly is standard (or good) determinantal. Notice that the entries of the degree matrix $M$ in the next example can be taken arbitrarily large.
Let $k$ have arbitrary characteristic. Let $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5_k$ be the scheme corresponding to the saturated ideal $$I_V=I_2\left(\begin{array}{ccc}
x_0^n & x_1^n & x_2^n \\
x_1^n & x_3^n & x_4^n \\
x_2^n & x_4^n & x_5^n
\end{array}\right)\subseteq k[x_0,\ldots,x_5].$$ The ideal $I_V$ is saturated and has height $3$, hence it defines a surface $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$. Since ${{\rm ht}}I_V=3$, a minimal free resolution of $I_V$ can be obtained from a minimal free resolution of the Veronese surface by substituting $x_i$ by $x_i^n$ for $i=0,\ldots,5$. This follows from Theorem 3.5 in [@br88]. One can check that $V$ is not standard determinantal by a similar argument to that used for the Veronese surface in Proposition \[vero\].
Let us intersect $V$ with a hyperplane $H$ of equation $x_3-x_2=0$. The scheme $D=V\cap H$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, and its saturated ideal $I_D$ is generated by the submaximal minors of the matrix $$\left(\begin{array}{ccc}
x_0^n & x_1^n & x_2^n \\
x_1^n & x_2^n & x_4^n \\
x_2^n & x_4^n & x_5^n
\end{array}\right).$$ Consider a rational normal curve $C$ whose saturated ideal $I_C$ is generated by the submaximal minors of the matrix $$\left(\begin{array}{ccc}
x_0 & x_1 & x_2 \\
x_1 & x_2 & x_4 \\
x_2 & x_4 & x_5
\end{array}\right).$$ $C$ is good determinantal, hence the Eagon-Northcott complex is a minimal free resolution of $I_C$. Since ${{\rm ht}}I_D={{\rm ht}}I_C=3$ and $I_D$ is obtained from $I_C$ by replacing each occurrence of $x_i$ by $x_i^n$, it follows from Theorem 3.5 in [@br88] that we can obtain a minimal free resolution of $I_D$ from a minimal free resolution of $I_C$ by replacing each occurrence of $x_i$ by $x_i^n$. $D$ is good determinantal, since $C$ is.
We now present an easy example that shows how the closure of the locus of good determinantal schemes in the Hilbert scheme can contain also schemes that are not standard determinantal (or not even arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay).
\[deg9gen10\] Consider the Hilbert scheme ${\mathbb{H}}$ parameterizing curves of degree $9$ and genus $10$ in ${\mathbb{P}}^3$. Let $D$ be the locus of ${\mathbb{H}}$ whose points correspond to a $CI(3,3)$. Let $E$ be the locus of ${\mathbb{H}}$ whose points correspond to curves of type $(3,6)$ on a smooth quadric surface. The elements of $E$ are non-aCM. In fact, up to linear equivalence, a curve of type $(3,6)$ is $C=C_1\cup C_2$ where $C_1$ consists of $3$ skew lines and $C_2$ consists of $6$ skew lines. Moreover, each line of $C_1$ intersects each line of $C_2$, so $C_1\cap C_2$ consists of $18$ distinct points. Let $I_C\subset R=k[x_0,x_1,x_2,x_3]$ be the ideal corresponding to $C$. The minimal free resolution of $I_C$ as an $R$-module is $$0{\longrightarrow}R^2(-8){\longrightarrow}R^6(-7){\longrightarrow}R^4(-6)\oplus R(-2){\longrightarrow}I_C{\longrightarrow}0.$$ In particular, $C$ is non-aCM.
By the uppersemicontinuity principle, no point of the closure of $E$ can be aCM, so $E$ is closed. But since ${\mathbb{H}}$ is connected, the closure of $D$ needs to intersect $E$, therefore there is a point in the closure of $D$ that corresponds to a non-aCM curve. Notice that aCM schemes and standard determinantal schemes coincide in the codimension $2$ case. So this shows that the closure of the locus of good determinantal schemes in the Hilbert scheme can contain also schemes that are not standard determinantal (and not even arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay).
Examples \[verodeform\] and \[deg9gen10\] show that we can have a flat family which contains a non standard determinantal scheme and whose general element is standard determinantal, or the other way around. Notice however that while all the schemes in the flat family of Example \[verodeform\] are arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay, the non standard determinantal element in the flat family of Example \[deg9gen10\] is not aCM.
In Example \[verodeform\] we exhibit an arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay scheme that has a proper 3-rd hyperplane section which is good determinantal, but whose general 3-rd hyperplane section is not good determinantal. Under some assumptions we can conclude that if a scheme $V$ has a good determinantal section by a hyperplane that meets $V$ properly, then a general hyperplane section of $V$ is good determinantal. In the sequel, we will see that this forces $V$ to be good determinantal up to flat deformation (see Theorem \[flatfam\]).
Let $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be a scheme of dimension $d\geq 2$ and let $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^n$ be a general hyperplane section of $S$. Notice that since we are working with schemes of dimension greater than or equal to 1, it is not restrictive to assume that $S$ is arithmetically Cohen-Macaulay. In fact, $C$ aCM forces $S$ to be aCM. Sufficient conditions for the unobstructedness of $C$ are discussed in the last two chapters of [@kl01].
\[sect\] Let $k$ have characteristic zero. Let $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be an aCM scheme and let $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^n$ be a hyperplane section of $S$ by a hyperplane that meets $S$ properly. Assume that $C$ is good determinantal, and let ${\mathcal U}=(u_{ij})$ be the degree matrix of $C$. Let $p$ be the Hilbert polynomial of $S$ and $C$, and let $Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)$ be the Hilbert scheme of subschemes of ${\mathbb{P}}^n$ with Hilbert polynomial $p$. Assume that $C$ belongs to the interior of the locus of good determinantal schemes with degree matrix ${\mathcal U}$ in $Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)$, and that it is unobstructed. Assume moreover that one of the following holds:
- $S$ has codimension $3$, and $n\geq 5$;
- $S$ has codimension $3$, $n\geq 4$, $u_{i,i-{{\rm min}}\{2,t\}}\geq 0$ for ${{\rm min}}\{2,t\}\leq i\leq t$, and $u_{t,t+1}>u_{t,t}+u_{1,t-1}$;
- $S$ has codimension $3$, $n=4$, and $u_{t,0}>u_{t,1}+u_{t,2}$;
- $S$ has codimension $4$, $n\geq 6$, and $u_{i,i-{{\rm min}}\{3,t\}}\geq 0$ for ${{\rm min}}\{3,t\}\leq i\leq t$;
- $S$ has codimension $4$, $n\geq 5$, $u_{i,i-{{\rm min}}\{3,t\}}\geq 0$ for ${{\rm min}}\{3,t\}\leq i\leq t$, and $u_{t,t+2}>u_{t,t}+u_{1,t-1}$;
- $S$ has codimension $c\geq 5$, $n\geq c+1$, $u_{i,i-{{\rm min}}\{3,t\}}\geq 0$ for ${{\rm min}}\{3,t\}\leq i\leq t$, and $u_{t,t+j-2}>\sum_{k=t}^{t+j-4}
u_{t,k}-\sum_{k=0}^{j-5} u_{t,k}+u_{1,t-1}$ for $5\leq j\leq c$.
Then a general hyperplane section of $S$ is good determinantal with degree matrix ${\mathcal U}$.
Let $H$ be a hyperplane that meets $S$ properly and let $C=S\cap
H$. Let $D$ be a general section of $S$. Then we have a flat family of subschemes $D_s\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^n$ such that for all $s$ $D_s$ is a section of $S$ by a hyperplane that meets it properly, $D_0=C$ and $D_1=D$. Consider the Hilbert scheme $Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)$, where $p$ is the Hilbert polynomial of $C$. Under our assumptions, Proposition 10.7 in [@kl01] and the results in Section 4 of [@kl05], we have that $dim_C Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)=dim W$, where $W\subseteq
Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)$ is the locus of good determinantal schemes whose degree matrix is the same as the one of $C$. Moreover, $W$ is irreducible, therefore its closure is an irreducible component of $Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)$. Since $C$ is a smooth point of $Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)$, we have that the irreducible component of $Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^n)$ containing $C$ contains $D$ as well. Since $C$ belongs to the interior of $W$, then $D_s$ belongs to $W$ for a generic value of $s$. Therefore a general hyperplane section of $S$ is good determinantal with degree matrix ${\mathcal U}$.
Let $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^7$ be a fourfold and let $H$ be a hyperplane that meets $S$ properly. Let $C\subseteq H={\mathbb{P}}^6$ be a threefold whose saturated ideal is generated by the maximal minors of a generic matrix of linear forms of size $3\times 5$. $C$ is a smooth scroll over ${\mathbb{P}}^2$, and it has Hilbert polynomial $p(t)=\frac{5}{3}t^3+4t^2+\frac{10}{3}t+1$. It follows from Proposition 5.4 of [@be05] that the Hilbert scheme $Hilb^p({\mathbb{P}}^6)$ has an irreducible component $\mathcal H$ of dimension 72, whose general element is good determinantal and defined by the maximal minors of a $3\times 5$ matrix of linear forms. $C$ is unobstructed and it belongs to the interior of the locus of good determinantal schemes as above (whose closure is $\mathcal H$). Then by Proposition \[sect\] a general hyperplane section of $S$ is good determinantal and defined by the maximal minors of a $3\times 5$ matrix of linear forms.
We saw that a scheme with good determinantal general hyperplane section does not need to be good determinantal. However, it is good determinantal up to flat deformation.
\[flatfam\] Let $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^n$, be an aCM scheme and let $C$ be a proper hyperplane section of $S$. Then one can find a flat family $T_s$ whose elements all have $C$ as a proper hyperplane section, and such that $T_1=S$ and $T_0$ is a cone over $C$. In particular, if $C$ is standard (resp. good) determinantal, one can find a flat family $T_s$ whose elements all have $C$ as a proper hyperplane section, and such that $T_1=S$ and $T_0$ is standard (resp. good) determinantal.
By assumption $C=S\cap H$ for some hyperplane $H$ that meets $S$ properly. With no loss of generality, we can assume that $H$ is the hyperplane of equation $x_{n+1}=0$. Let $C\subseteq {\mathbb{P}}^n=H\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$. Let $C'$ be the cone over $C$, so that $H$ intersects $C'$ properly and $C'\cap H=C$. Then if $I_S$ has a minimal system of generators $F_1,\ldots,F_m$, then $I_{C'}$ has $F_1(x_0,\ldots,x_n,0),\ldots,
F_m(x_0,\ldots,x_n,0)$ as a minimal system of generators. Consider the flat family $T_s$ of schemes with homogeneous saturated ideal $$I_{T_s}=(F_1(x_0,\ldots,x_n,sx_{n+1}),\ldots,
F_m(x_0,\ldots,x_n,sx_{n+1})).$$ Then $S_0=C'$ and $S_1=S$. The graded Betti numbers are constant in the family, since the graded Betti numbers of $C'$ and $S$ coincide by assumption, and for $s\neq
0$ $T_s$ and $S$ only differ by a change of coordinates. Moreover, $T_s\cap H=C$ since for all $s$ $$I_{T_s}+(x_{n+1})/(x_{n+1})=$$ $$(F_1(x_0,\ldots,x_n,0),\ldots,
F_m(x_0,\ldots,x_n,0),x_{n+1})/(x_{n+1})=I_{C|H}.$$
In Theorem \[flatfam\] we cannot conclude that $S$ belongs to the closure of the locus of the Hilbert scheme consisting of good determinantal schemes. This is connected to the fact that we cannot prove that a general element of the flat family that we construct is good determinantal. Indeed this is not necessarily the case, as the next example shows.
Let $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$ be the Veronese variety, let $C'\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$ be a cone over a rational normal quartic curve in ${\mathbb{P}}^4$. Let $$M_s=\left(\begin{array}{ccc}
x_0 & x_1 & x_2 \\
x_1 & (1-s)x_2+sx_3 & x_4 \\
x_2 & x_4 & x_5
\end{array}\right)$$ and let $T_s$ be the surface in ${\mathbb{P}}^5$ with saturated ideal $I_{T_s}=I_2(M_s).$ Then $S_0=C'$ while $T_s\cong V$ for $s\neq 0$. So the general element of the flat family is not standard determinantal. Moreover, a dimension count shows that a generic good determinantal scheme belongs to a different component of the Hilbert scheme from the one containing $V$. In fact, the dimension of the Hilbert scheme at $V$ is 27, while the dimension of the component which is the closure of the locus of good determinantal schemes is 29 (the latter can be computed using the formulas in [@kl05]). In particular $C'$ is not unobstructed (notice that unobstructedness results such as Corollary 10.15 in [@kl01] do not apply to this setting, since $C'$ is not a Cartier divisor of the scheme defined by the matrix obtained by deleting a column of $M_0$). Notice moreover that a general hyperplane section of $T_s$ is a rational quartic curve in ${\mathbb{P}}^4$ for all $s$.
The determinantal property via basic double linkage
===================================================
In this section we show how to produce a standard or good determinantal scheme by basic double link from another determinantal scheme. We also show how to produce a non standard determinantal scheme by basic double link from a non standard determinantal scheme. Putting these together, one can start from a scheme which is non standard determinantal and whose general hyperplane section is standard determinantal, and produce another scheme with the same property. We refer the reader to Proposition 5.4.6 in [@mi98b] for the definition and facts about basic double links.
\[det\] Let $C\subseteq S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^n$ be standard determinantal schemes, such that $C$ has codimension $1$ in $S$. Assume that for a suitable choice of defining matrices $M$ and $N$ for $C$ and $S$, either $M$ is obtained from $N$ by deleting a row or $N$ is obtained from $M$ by deleting a column. Then a basic double link $D$ of $C$ on $S$ is standard determinantal. Moreover, if $C$ is good determinantal then a basic double link $D$ of $C$ on $S$ via a generic hypersurface is good determinantal. In this sense, the property of being standard/good determinantal is preserved under basic double linkage.
Let $C\subseteq S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^n$ be standard (resp. good) determinantal schemes, where the saturated ideal of $C$ is generated by the maximal minors of a $t\times (t+c)$ matrix $M$. $I_C=I_t(M)$ and $C$ is standard determinantal, i.e. it has codimension $c+1$. Assume that the matrix $N$ defining $S$ is obtained from the one of $C$ by adding a row, $I_S=I_{t+1}(N)$. $S$ has codimension $c$ by assumption. Notice that $S$ is good determinantal by construction, in particular it is generically complete intersection (see [@kr00], Remark 3.5). $I_{t+1}(N)\subseteq I_t(M)$, so $S\supseteq C$. Let $D$ be a basic double link of $C$ on $S$, $D=C\cup (S\cap F)$ for some hypersurface $F$ that meets $S$ properly. If $C$ is good determinantal, then after applying generic invertible row operations to $M$ we have a submatrix $M'\subseteq M$ whose maximal minors define a standard determinantal scheme $U$. $M'$ is obtained from $M$ by deleting a row. If we apply the same row operations to $N$ and delete the corresponding row, we obtain $N'\subseteq N$. The ideal of maximal minors of $N'$ defines a scheme $V$ which is standard determinantal of codimension $c+1$ (as $N$ is the defining matrix of a good determinantal scheme). We assume that $F$ meets $V$ properly as well. Notice that this holds for a generic choice of $F$. The saturated ideal of $D$ is then $$I_D=I_S+F\cdot I_C$$ (see Proposition 5.4.5 in [@mi98b]), so it is minimally generated by the maximal minors of the matrix obtained by adding to $N$ a column vector, whose entries are all equal to $0$, except for an entry equal to $F$. In other words, let $M=(m_{i,j})_{i=1,\ldots,t;\; j=1,\ldots,t+c}$ and $N=(n_{i,j})_{i=1,\ldots,t;\; j=1,\ldots,t+c}$, with $n_{i,j}=m_{i,j}$ for $i\leq k-1$, $n_{i,j}=m_{i-1,j}$ for $i\geq k+1$ (inserting a row in position $k$). If $deg(n_{k,l-1})\leq deg(F)\leq deg(n_{k,l})$, then the defining matrix of $D$ is $O=(o_{i,j})$ with $o_{i,j}=n_{i,j}$ for $j\leq l$, $o_{k,l}=F$, $o_{i,l}=0$ for $i\neq k$ and $o_{i,j}=n_{i,j-1}$ for $j\geq l+1$. Therefore $M\subseteq
N\subseteq O$, $N$ is obtained from $O$ by removing a column and $M$ is obtained from $N$ by removing a row. If $C$ is good determinantal, then we have $M'\subseteq M$ whose maximal minors define the standard determinantal scheme $U$. $M'$ is obtained from $M$ by deleting a row. If we apply the same row and column operations to $O$ and delete the corresponding row, we obtain $O'\subseteq O$. The ideal of maximal minors of $O'$ defines a scheme which is a basic double link of $U$ on $V$. In fact $$I_t(O')=I_t(N')+F\cdot I_{t-1}(M')=I_V+F\cdot I_U.$$ Recall that by assumption $F$ meets $V$ properly. In particular, $I_t(O')$ defines a standard determinantal scheme of codimension $c+2$. This proves that $D$ is good determinantal.
Assume now the matrix $N$ that defines $S$ is obtained from $M$ by deleting the $k$-th column. $I_S=I_t(N)$ and $S$ has codimension $c$ by assumption. Notice that all the minimal generators of $I_S$ are also minimal generators of $I_C$. Moreover, $S$ is good determinantal (as shown in [@kl01], Theorem 3.6). $I_t(N)\subseteq I_t(M)$, so $S\supseteq C$. Let $D$ be a basic double link of $C$ on $S$, $D=C\cup (S\cap F)$ for some hypersurface $F$ that meets $S$ properly. The saturated ideal of $D$ is $I_D=I_S+F\cdot I_C$ (see Proposition 5.4.5 in [@mi98b]), so it is minimally generated by the maximal minors of the matrix $O$ obtained by adding to $N$ the $k$-th column of $M$, after multiplying all of the entries by $F$. If $C$ is good determinantal, then after applying generic invertible row operations to $M$ we have a submatrix $M'\subseteq M$ whose maximal minors define a standard determinantal scheme $U$. $M'$ is obtained from $M$ by deleting a row. If we apply the same row operations to the matrix $O$ and delete the corresponding row, we obtain $O'\subseteq O$. The ideal of maximal minors of $O'$ defines a scheme which is a basic double link of $U$, in particular it has codimension $c$ hence it is standard determinantal. Therefore $D$ is good determinantal.
We now give an example of how one can systematically produce families of schemes which are not standard determinantal. This can be achieved by taking a basic double link of a scheme $C$ which is not standard determinantal on a standard determinantal scheme $S$. Of course one needs to check that the result is not standard determinantal, since clearly Theorem \[det\] does not guarantee it. Let $H$ be a hyperplane that meets $C,D$ and $S$ properly. In order to guarantee that the basic double link $D\cap H$ of $C\cap
H$ on $S\cap H$ is standard determinantal, we can lift a basic double link of the type described in Theorem \[det\] from $C\cap H$ to $C$.
Let $V\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$ be the Veronese surface $$I_V=I_2\left(\begin{array}{ccc}
x_0 & x_1 & x_2 \\
x_1 & x_5 & x_3 \\
x_2 & x_3 & x_4
\end{array}\right)\subseteq k[x_0,\ldots,x_5].$$ Let $S\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$ be the threefold defined by $$I_S=I_3\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
x_0 & x_1 & x_2 & x_3 \\
x_1 & x_5 & x_3 & x_4 \\
x_2 & x_3 & x_4 & x_0
\end{array}\right).$$ Then $S$ is good determinantal and contains $V$. Let $F$ be a general linear form. Then a basic double link $W=V\cup(S\cap F)$ of $V$ on $S$ is not standard determinantal. This can be checked by computing the cardinality of a minimal system of generators of $I_W^2$ and counting Plücker relations (as done in Example \[verodeform\]).
Let $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^4$ be a smooth rational normal curve $$I_C=I_2\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
x_0 & x_1 & x_2 & x_3 \\
x_1 & x_2 & x_3 & x_4
\end{array}\right)\subseteq k[x_0,\ldots,x_4].$$ Let $H\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^5$ by the hyperplane of equation $x_2-x_5=0$. Then $H$ meets $V$ properly and $C=V\cap H\cong{\mathbb{P}}^4$. Moreover, if $T=S\cap H$, then $D=W\cap H=C\cup(T\cap F)$ is a basic double link of $C$ on $T$. $D$ is good determinantal by Theorem \[det\]. The saturated ideal of $D$ is $$I_D=I_3\left(\begin{array}{ccccc}
x_0 & x_1 & x_2 & x_3 & 0 \\
x_1 & x_2 & x_3 & x_4 & 0 \\
x_2 & x_3 & x_4 & x_0 & \overline{F}
\end{array}\right)$$ where we denote by $\overline{F}$ the equation of $F$ restricted to $H$.
Next we show in an example how one can use a similar construction to produce a scheme that is not standard determinantal and whose general hyperplane section is good determinantal.
\[gensectbdl\] Consider the curve $C\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ of Proposition \[n+1curve\]. We use the same notation as in the proof of the proposition. We saw that $$I_C=x_0(x_2,\ldots,x_{n+1})+\sum_{1\leq i<j\leq
n}(x_ix_j).$$ Let $S\supseteq C$ be the surface cut out by all the squarefree monomials of degree 2 in $x_0,x_2,\ldots,x_n$. $S$ is good determinantal by Lemma \[sqfr\]. Let $L$ be a hyperplane that meets $S$ properly, let $D=C\cup(S\cap L)$. To simplify the computation, we let $L=x_1$. $D$ is a basic double link of $C$ on $S$, and has saturated ideal $$I_D=x_1I_C+I_S=(x_0x_1x_{n+1})
+x_1^2(x_2,\ldots,x_n)+\sum_{i,j\in\{0,2,\ldots,n\},\; i<j}(x_ix_j).$$ We now sketch the proof that $D$ is not standard determinantal. In order to show it, we proceed as in the proof of Proposition \[n+1curve\] and examine the last matrix in a minimal free resolution of the ideal of $D$. We can follows the same steps as in the proof of Proposition \[n+1curve\], taking into account the fact that the minimal generators $x_0x_{n+1}$ and $x_1(x_2,\ldots,x_n)$ are replaced by their multiples by $x_1$. Therefore we can write the last matrix in a minimal free resolution of $I_D$ as $$\label{lastD}\left(\begin{array}{cccccc}
x_2 & 0 & \ldots & \ldots & \ldots & 0 \\
-x_3 & -x_1^2 & 0 & \ldots & \ldots & 0 \\
\vdots & 0 & \ddots & & & \vdots \\
\vdots & \vdots & \ddots &\ddots & & \vdots \\
(-1)^n x_n & 0 & \ldots & 0 & -x_1^2 & 0 \\
(-1)^{n+1} x_1x_{n+1} & 0 & \ldots & 0 & 0 & -x_1^2 \\
0 & x_0 & 0 & \ldots &\ldots & 0 \\
\vdots & 0 & \ddots & & & \vdots \\
\vdots & \vdots & & &\ddots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & \ldots & 0 & 0 & x_0 \\
0 & & & & & \\
0 & & & M' & & \\
0 & & & & & \\
\end{array}\right).$$ The matrix $M'$ is obtained from the matrix $M$ in (\[matx\]) by replacing each occurrence of $x_1$ by $x_1^2$. Then one checks that the ideal of $2\times
2$ minors of the matrix (\[lastD\]) is monomial, and it does not contain any pure power of $x_{n+1}$. However, it contains all the monomials of degree $2$ in $x_0,x_2,\ldots,x_n$, as well as $x_1^4$, $x_1^3x_{n+1}$ and $x_1^2x_i$ for $i=0,2,\ldots,n$. As in Proposition \[n+1curve\], one can write down the last matrix in a minimal free resolution of the ideal of maximal minors of a $2\times(n+1)$ matrix of indeterminates $z_0,\ldots,z_{2n+1}$. The matrix has been explicitly described in (\[matx2\]). One can check that the ideal of $2\times 2$ minors of (\[matx2\]) is $(z_0,\ldots,z_{2n+1})^2$. Therefore, we conclude that $D$ is not standard determinantal by a specialization argument as in Proposition \[n+1curve\]. If $I_D$ is the ideal of $2\times 2$ minors of a $2\times (n+1)$ matrix of linear forms, then the entries of the matrix do not involve $x_{n+1}$, which is a contradiction.
We show that a general hyperplane section of $D$ is good determinantal. Let $H\subseteq{\mathbb{P}}^{n+1}$ be a general hyperplane of equation $x_{n+1}-h$. Let $X=C\cap H$, $Y=D\cap H$, and $E=S\cap H$. Then $X,Y$ are zero-dimensional subschemes of $H\cong{\mathbb{P}}^n$, $X,Y\subseteq E$. $x_0,\ldots,x_n$ are coordinates on $H$ and $$I_{X|H}=x_0(x_2,\ldots,x_n,h)+\sum_{1\leq i<j\leq n}(x_ix_j)=$$ $$x_0(y,x_2,\ldots,x_n)+y(x_2,\ldots,x_n)+\sum_{2\leq i<j\leq n}(x_ix_j).$$ Here $y=\alpha x_0+\beta x_1$ for generic $\alpha,\beta\in k^*$. Then $I_{X|H}$ is generated by the squarefree monomials of degree 2 in $x_0,y,x_2,\ldots,x_n$, hence it corresponds to $n+1$ generic points in ${\mathbb{P}}^n$. So $I_{X|H}$ is the ideal of maximal minors of the matrix $$\left(\begin{array}{ccccc}
x_0 & y & x_2 & \ldots & x_n \\
x_0 & \gamma y & \gamma^2 x_2 & \ldots & \gamma^n x_n
\end{array}\right)$$ for $\gamma\in k^*$ generic. The ideal $I_{S|H}$ is generated by the maximal minors of $$\left(\begin{array}{cccc}
x_0 & x_2 & \ldots & x_n \\
x_0 & \gamma^2 x_2 & \ldots & \gamma^n x_n
\end{array}\right).$$ Therefore Theorem \[det\] applies, and $Y\subseteq H\cong{\mathbb{P}}^n$ is good determinantal with defining matrix $$\left(\begin{array}{ccccc}
x_0 & yx_1 & x_2 & \ldots & x_n \\
x_0 & \gamma yx_1 & \gamma^2 x_2 & \ldots & \gamma^n x_n
\end{array}\right).$$
[35]{}
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{
"pile_set_name": "ArXiv"
}
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Superoxide dismutase (glu100-->gly) in a family with inherited motor neuron disease: detection of mutant superoxide dismutase activity and the presence of heterodimers.
Superoxide dismutase glu100-->gly, a mutation known to be associated with familial motor neuron disease (familial amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) has been detected in one symptomatic and five of seven asymptomatic members of a family with a history of this disease. On average, the individuals with the mutation had 75% of normal red blood cell superoxide dismutase activity. Native polyacrylamide gels stained for superoxide dismutase activity showed two abnormal bands in the family members identified as carrying the mutation. This indicates that active mutant enzyme is present in red cells and forms stable homodimers and heterodimers with the normal chain. A silent mutation in exon 4, not associated with motor neuron disease, was also detected in one family member.
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{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
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1. Introduction {#sec1-insects-10-00106}
===============
Natural and planted forests encompass \~300 million hectares and \~32% of total land area in the US. \[[@B1-insects-10-00106]\]. Of these forests, 56% are privately owned and the rest are publicly owned, that is, managed by local, tribal, state, and federal governments \[[@B1-insects-10-00106]\]. The western region contains the majority of the country's public forestlands, managed for a mix of uses including timber production, recreation, and conservation, while the eastern US is dominated by private forests, some of which are heavily utilized for timber production \[[@B2-insects-10-00106]\]. This leads to vastly different management goals, objectives, and approaches especially under variable political conditions. However, a common goal for these various types of forests across the nation is to maintain their long-term productivity and resilience, as demands and pressure on resources grow with time.
America's extensive and diverse forests, including those in urban areas, provide a basis for multiple uses, including but not limited to timber and fiber extraction; non-timber products; recreation; wildlife habitat; clean water, soil, and air; and carbon sequestration, and are of high economic values to local communities, worth billions of dollars each year \[[@B3-insects-10-00106],[@B4-insects-10-00106],[@B5-insects-10-00106],[@B6-insects-10-00106]\]. Further, US forests are rich repositories of local biodiversity with thousands of endemic plant and animal species---many of which are critical to maintaining extant forest processes and patterns \[[@B7-insects-10-00106]\]. For example, fire-adapted pine species such as longleaf (*Pinus palustris* Mill.) and ponderosa (*Pinus ponderosa* Dougl. ex Laws.) pines have unique biotic components associated with them, and the Appalachian Mountains have high rates of endemism for salamander and bird species \[[@B6-insects-10-00106],[@B7-insects-10-00106],[@B8-insects-10-00106],[@B9-insects-10-00106]\]. Long-term conservation, sustainability, and resilience of the US forests is, therefore, of high importance both economically and ecologically.
Historically, US forests have been subjected to both natural and anthropogenic disturbances \[[@B3-insects-10-00106],[@B10-insects-10-00106]\]. Examples of natural disturbances include wildfires, flooding, landslides, ice storms, windstorms, and native insects and diseases \[[@B11-insects-10-00106],[@B12-insects-10-00106]\]. Anthropogenic disturbances include logging, conversion to agriculture and/or urbanization, non-native insects/diseases, and forest clearing for industrial uses, which can result in fragmentation, isolation, and loss of original habitat \[[@B13-insects-10-00106]\]. Climate change interacts with these disturbances in complex ways, increasing stress on trees and associated forest species \[[@B14-insects-10-00106]\]. Forests tend to be adapted and resilient to natural disturbances of variable frequency, intensity, and severity, but their successional and recovery pathways may differ greatly when anthropogenic disturbances are more dominant and common on the landscape. Interactions between various natural and anthropogenic disturbances or "compounded" disturbances (e.g., salvage logging after a windstorm or wildfires) are currently determining landscape heterogeneity, and patterns and processes that are evident in the US forests \[[@B15-insects-10-00106],[@B16-insects-10-00106]\].
Insects and diseases, both native and non-native, have great potential to alter and affect tree and forest health with cascading ecological impacts ([Figure 1](#insects-10-00106-f001){ref-type="fig"}). Native insect and disease species are natural disturbance agents to which ecosystems are adapted \[[@B17-insects-10-00106]\], whereas non-native species are a major cause of demise of major tree genera and loss of biodiversity from which little recovery is possible \[[@B18-insects-10-00106],[@B19-insects-10-00106]\]. Prominent examples of non-native species that have devastated the forested landscapes and altered them forever include loss of elms (*Ulmus americana* L.) due to Dutch elm disease (*Ophiostoma novo-ulmi* Brasier vectored by *Scolytus multistriatus* Marsh.), whitebark pine (*Pinus albicaulis* Engelm.) due to blister rust (*Cronartium ribicola*. J.C. Fisch.), ash (*Fraxinus* spp.) due to emerald ash borer (*Agrilus planipennis* Fairmaire), hemlocks (*Tsuga* spp.) in eastern US due to hemlock woolly adelgid (*Adelges tsugae* Annand), and red bays (*Persea borbonia* (L.) Spreng.) due to laurel wilt disease (*Raffaelea* spp. vectored by *Xyleborus glabratus* Eichhoff) ([Figure 1](#insects-10-00106-f001){ref-type="fig"}) \[[@B20-insects-10-00106],[@B21-insects-10-00106],[@B22-insects-10-00106],[@B23-insects-10-00106],[@B24-insects-10-00106],[@B25-insects-10-00106]\]. In many landscapes, both native and non-native invasive species may cause impacts at the same time and by interacting with each other, thus, leading to larger and more managerially complex forest health problems.
Public policies are enacted to address an issue or a problem with implications for public values and interests \[[@B26-insects-10-00106],[@B27-insects-10-00106]\]. Public policies intended to influence private behavior may include punitive (regulatory) measures, incentives (e.g., subsidies), learning and capacity-building tools, and symbolic tools \[[@B28-insects-10-00106]\]. A separate suite of public policies set objectives, provide funding, and authorize the use of particular tools for public agencies and the public resources (e.g., public lands) they are entrusted to manage \[[@B27-insects-10-00106],[@B29-insects-10-00106]\]. These policies are enacted, implemented, and interpreted by the legislative, executive, and judicial government branches, providing direction and resources for public and private behavior. Through effects on the global flow of goods, the management of forests and forest-associated species, and the generation and diffusion of knowledge, public policies can greatly influence the nature and severity of insect and disease impacts on forests. With the current increased interest in policy issues related to forest health (especially under shrinking funding for control, management, and research activities), our objectives are to: (1) provide a historical context and an overview of the roles of major federal agencies in managing insects and diseases; (2) outline major policies related to forest health and their possible impacts; and (3) identify gaps where new policies can play a major role in enhancing forest health in the US. We are particularly interested in laws on forest management practices, those that influence activities of the government agencies, and those that regulate the movement of insects and diseases within and outside the country \[[@B30-insects-10-00106]\].
2. Background and Historical Context {#sec2-insects-10-00106}
====================================
Forest managers may treat native and non-native insects and diseases alike, viewing both as equally unwelcome invaders whose presence should be minimized or eliminated. Contemporary understanding of forest dynamics, however, suggests that native insects and diseases can play important roles in stand dynamics, nutrient cycling, and the creation of stand- and landscape-level heterogeneity and that some control measures may have reduced overall forest resilience \[[@B31-insects-10-00106],[@B32-insects-10-00106]\]. At the same time, the unprecedented scale and impacts of recent insect outbreaks such as the mountain pine beetle (*Dendroctonus ponderosae* Hopkins) in the Rocky Mountains, the American Southwest, and the Sierra Nevada, and southern pine beetle (*Dendroctonus frontalis* Zimmermann) in the northeastern states point to the importance of both climate change and forest conditions in driving insect activity outside of historic patterns of variability \[[@B17-insects-10-00106],[@B25-insects-10-00106],[@B32-insects-10-00106],[@B33-insects-10-00106]\]. Such impacts from various native bark beetles are estimated to be 5.2 million ha of tree mortality in western forests between 1997 and 2012, and these eruptions continue to occur each year \[[@B34-insects-10-00106]\].
The continued establishment and spread of non-native forest insects create additional impacts and damage to those created by native insects. For example, \[[@B35-insects-10-00106]\] estimated that the annual cost of wood and phloem feeding non-native insects alone includes at least \$1.7 billion in government expenditures and \$830 million in household expenditures and residential property value loss. These economic values are an underestimation since loss of ecosystem services such as cascading impacts on native biodiversity and changes in stand structure and attributes, soil, air, and water conditions are rarely quantified. A greater emphasis is being placed on ecological impacts in recent years for restoration purposes; for example, many more studies exist on ash tree dieback since the 2000s (summarized by \[[@B36-insects-10-00106]\]) than on the loss of elms and chestnuts (*Castanea dentata* (Marsh.) Borkh) since the mid-20th century.
As our collective understanding of forest insect dynamics advances, policy tools and mandates informed by high-quality scientific information are essential for sustainable forest management \[[@B37-insects-10-00106]\]. Public policy has a central role to play in managing forest health, for several reasons. The first is that the cross-boundary nature of insect movement and impacts presents a collective action problem to which individual landowners are unlikely to respond effectively in isolation \[[@B38-insects-10-00106]\]. Public policy creates a coordinating mechanism for research, monitoring, and action on insects and their impacts. Second, the federal government is the nation's largest forest owner via the National Forest System, Bureau of Land Management lands, and other land management agencies. Some of the largest and most destructive insect outbreaks in recent history have occurred in western mountain regions dominated by federal ownership \[[@B17-insects-10-00106]\]. Third, public policies govern the detection, prevention, and management of non-native forest pests and pathogens that enter the country through the pathway of importation of goods. Finally, the federal government has had a longstanding leadership role in research, monitoring, and treatment for both native and non-native insect and disease species across ownership boundaries, as detailed in the following sections.
3. Role of the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) Forest Service {#sec3-insects-10-00106}
=================================================================
The mission of the USDA Forest Service is "to sustain the health, diversity, and productivity of the Nation's forests and grasslands to meet the needs of present and future generations" \[[@B39-insects-10-00106]\]. Linked to this mission is the wise stewardship of forests through conservation, protection, and management using the concept of multiple use. The USDA Forest Service also strives to provide technical and financial assistance to landowners and foresters (both nationally and internationally), and develops technical and scientific knowledge to further enhance its mission. With such diverse objectives, the USDA Forest Service has had a major impact on our nation's forests at many levels.
Federal forest insect policy reflects a longstanding model of public--private cooperation in which the federal government provides technical and financial resources for treating both native and non-native forest insects and diseases across ownership boundaries. Federal agencies and federally funded scientific research have been central components of managing forest insects and diseases in the US. For the early US Department of Agriculture (under which the USDA Forest Service is located), eliminating bark beetles, defoliators, and other agents of tree mortality was a logical component of a larger vision of a regulated forest efficiently producing timber for human needs \[[@B40-insects-10-00106]\]. The federal government was sending scientists from the Bureau of Entomology on investigative missions as early as 1899 when Andrew Delmar Hopkins investigated insect concerns on forests in the Pacific Northwest \[[@B40-insects-10-00106]\]. The young Forest Service was experimenting with new insect detection and control strategies on federal lands from the early years of the 20th century \[[@B41-insects-10-00106]\]. The federal government consolidated its authority to conduct cross-boundary research and management of forest insects in 1947 via the Forest Pest Act \[[@B42-insects-10-00106]\]. This authority was later affirmed and expanded via policies such as: The Forest and Rangeland Renewable Resources Research Act of 1978---which builds on a similar act in 1974 \[[@B43-insects-10-00106]\]. This act states that the federal government has a substantial role in the "health, productivity, and sustainability of the forests and rangeland of the United States" including on public and private lands. Further, the international component of forestry was acknowledged, and research activities were expanded to a global scale. The principal revisions relating to forest health are found in Section 3(a)(3) (16 United States Code (U.S.C.) 1642), which authorizes research for protecting renewable resources from "fires, insects, diseases, noxious plants, animals..." \[[@B44-insects-10-00106]\]. This act also required the USDA to conduct an inventory of forest resources. For example, the Forest Inventory Analysis (FIA), which in addition to reporting on the current status and trends of forests (species, size, type, growth, harvest, etc.), also includes an inventory of damage caused by insects and diseases \[[@B45-insects-10-00106]\].The Healthy Forests Restoration Act (HFRA) of 2003 (House of Representatives (H.R.) 1904), (16 U.S.C. 6501--6502, 6511--6518, 6541--6542, 6571--6578)---aimed primarily at addressing increases in the scale and impact of wildfires and insect outbreaks in forests nationwide \[[@B46-insects-10-00106]\]. Specifically, Title I Hazardous Fuels Reduction on Federal Lands established new environmental planning and analysis procedures for hazardous fuel reduction projects including those caused by insect epidemics on at-risk National Forest System and Bureau of Land Management lands, and provided other authorities and direction to help reduce hazardous fuel and restore forests and rangelands on lands of all ownerships. Title IV, Insect Infestations and Related Diseases, promoted the collection of monitoring data on insects and diseases that cause large-scale damage through partnerships with state, university, and private entities to assist with maintaining forest health. Section 404 allowed for "applied silvicultural assessments", expedited treatments of areas of up to 1000 acres of federal land considered to be infested or at high risk of infestation.This act was amended in the 2014 Farm Bill; Title VI, Section 602 (Designation of Treatment Areas) established priorities for projects in areas that would reduce and ameliorate insect and disease outbreaks \[[@B47-insects-10-00106]\]. Similar to areas designated for applied silvicultural assessments, these treatment areas were categorically exempt from determination of environmental impact significance under the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA). Up to \$200 million was authorized annually to carry out such treatments in National Forests. The 2014 Farm Bill also included a provision that amended HFRA to require the Secretary of Agriculture to designate landscape-scale insect and disease treatment areas in response to a petition by the relevant state governor; an additional categorical exclusion under NEPA was included in the bill \[[@B47-insects-10-00106]\].The "Wyden Amendment" (Public Law (P.L.) 105--277, Section 323) authorizes the USDA Forest Service to enter into cooperative agreements with "federal, tribal, state and local governments, private and nonprofit entities and landowners" to benefit federal lands and related investments at the watershed scale \[[@B48-insects-10-00106]\]. These agreements may support or conduct invasive species management activities on aquatic and terrestrial areas owned by non-USDA Forest Service entities to benefit and protect national forestlands and other resources within a watershed at risk from invasive species.
Federal policy content specifically focused on forest insects has become more common in recent proposed and enacted congressional legislation \[[@B32-insects-10-00106],[@B49-insects-10-00106]\], largely driven by the growing scale and incidence of outbreaks nationwide. In many ways, questions of insect policy have become embroiled in larger debates regarding the purposes of federal forestlands and the prudence of expediting silvicultural treatments as a response to both insect and wildfire risk \[[@B32-insects-10-00106],[@B49-insects-10-00106]\]. Indeed, the concept of "forest health" has itself emerged as a highly contested concept in policy debates over federal forest policy \[[@B17-insects-10-00106],[@B29-insects-10-00106]\]. As recently as December 2018, Executive Order 13855 specifically identified insects as a contributing factor to the loss of forest and rangeland health nationwide and ordered the Secretaries of Interior and Agriculture to "identify salvage and log recovery options from lands damaged by fire during the 2017 and 2018 fire seasons, insects, or disease" \[[@B50-insects-10-00106]\].
In addition to formal federal policymaking responses to forest insect outbreaks, the creation of regional place-based networks as a means of providing direction and resources for outbreak response has been observed in some geographies \[[@B51-insects-10-00106],[@B52-insects-10-00106],[@B53-insects-10-00106]\]. These networks function to build consensus regarding management response, attract public investments in response plans, innovate practical solutions to problems encountered in implementation, and leverage the capacity existent among the various federal, state, local governmental, private, and civil society network partners. The limited research to date on these networks indicates that they may take advantage of recent forest policy tools and authorities to leverage greater treatment outcomes once consensus has been established \[[@B51-insects-10-00106],[@B53-insects-10-00106]\].
Overall, the task and mandate of the USDA Forest Service to protect and maintain forests (especially in National Forests) from forest health issues as defined by federal policy has increased, while the funding and resources to accomplish it have significantly decreased. This trend has been in place for at least two decades, and greatly hampers the recovery and restoration of forest stands. In the case of native insects achieving pest status, some of the forest health issues appear to be emerging primarily from the National Forests in the southeastern region \[[@B54-insects-10-00106]\]. An example is that of the Oconee Ranger District in the Chattahoochee National Forest System in Georgia, which has had extensive *Ips* and southern pine beetle outbreaks, while private properties surrounding the District had low levels of bark beetle infestations (personal observations). Similar trends have been observed for southern pine beetle outbreaks in some National Forests in Mississippi \[[@B54-insects-10-00106]\].
Through its Forest Health Management (FHM) program under the State and Private Forestry program of Forest Health Protection (FHP), the USDA Forest Service assists non-federal government agencies---state and municipal---in evaluating and providing early warning on threats from both native and non-native forest pests \[[@B55-insects-10-00106]\]. The FHM program provides data, reports, maps, and consultation with experts to natural resource managers, landowners, policymakers, researchers, and analysts. For example, the \$73 million Southern Pine Beetle Prevention Initiative, which (among other outcomes) led to landowner incentive payments to conduct pine plantation thinning and prescribed burning to reduce susceptibility to the southern pine beetle \[[@B56-insects-10-00106]\]. However, funding for the USDA Forest Service---FHM program has been reduced significantly in recent years. In Fiscal Year 2011, Forest Health Protection received \$132 million. The appropriation fell to \$99.6 million by FY2016, then to \$93.8 million in FY2018 \[[@B57-insects-10-00106],[@B58-insects-10-00106]\]. Thus, in the face of rising numbers of pests that need to be addressed, funding levels have fallen substantially.
The USDA Forest Service FHP also provides funding for various forest health projects related to evaluating the risk of insects and diseases, pesticide impact assessment, biocontrol of invasive plants, and new technology on the prediction and management of insects and diseases \[[@B59-insects-10-00106]\]. Many of these grants serve as a backbone for forest health projects developed collaboratively between universities and federal and state entities. Similar to other programs, funding has been drastically cut in the last decade, leading many scientists to search for alternative funding to achieve the same goals.
The USDA Forest Service Research and Development program funds in-house and extramural research on issues affecting the detection and management of insect pests. Funding for invasive species represents a small proportion of the total research and development budget and there is no specific line item for this function. Funding for research---both overall funding and funding targeting invasive species---has declined precipitously. Funding for invasive tree pests declined from \$8 million in 2010 to \$3 million in 2018. The Southern Research Station's research division had 70 entomologists and 50 pathologists in the mid-1980s ([Figure 2](#insects-10-00106-f002){ref-type="fig"}). By 2007, the numbers had declined to about 25 entomologists and 14 pathologists, an average of \~70% decline in number of dedicated research personnel which has had substantial impact on research activities ([Figure 2](#insects-10-00106-f002){ref-type="fig"}). Similar trends are also present in other research stations across the country.
4. Roles of the USDA Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) and Agriculture Research Services (ARS) {#sec4-insects-10-00106}
===============================================================================================================
The US Department of Agriculture's Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (USDA APHIS) has the principal responsibility for managing non-native insects and pathogens that attack native trees \[[@B60-insects-10-00106]\]. This includes preventing pests' initial introduction, implementing quarantines and other programs intended to eradicate or at least prevent further spread of pests that are introduced, and management of pests that have established.
USDA APHIS' programs are carried out primarily under the authority of the Plant Protection Act (PPA) of 2000 (7 U.S.C. §7701, et seq. (2000)) \[[@B61-insects-10-00106]\]. This statute authorizes the agency to regulate any living stage of any of the following that can directly or indirectly injure, cause damage to, or cause disease to any plant or plant product such as protozoans, nonhuman animals, parasitic plants, bacterium, fungus, virus, viroid, and infectious agents \[[@B61-insects-10-00106]\]. Also regulated under the PPA are biocontrol agents, organisms altered by certain biotechnical (genetic engineering) procedures, and noxious weeds.
The statute provides the legal foundation for USDA APHIS to regulate the importation, exportation, and interstate movement of plant pests and articles (including plants) that could transport these pests \[[@B62-insects-10-00106]\]. Regulation of pests within individual states is carried out by that state except in cases when the Secretary of Agriculture declares an extraordinary emergency. The Plant Protection Act prohibits importation or movement in interstate commerce (including by mail) of any plant pest unless otherwise authorized under a permit issued by USDA APHIS. Policies and regulations must be based on sound science, transparent, and accessible. USDA APHIS, thus, has broad authority to take a range of actions including holding, seizing, putting under quarantine, applying various remedial measures to, destroying, or otherwise disposing of any plant, plant product, other article, or means of conveyance, that threatens to move a regulated plant pest. USDA APHIS may also order the owner of any of the regulated articles (or their agents) to take required actions.
USDA APHIS inspects imports of living plants at one of its 16 Plant Inspection Stations \[[@B63-insects-10-00106]\]. All other imports such as fruits, vegetables, and grains for consumption and miscellaneous merchandise in packaging made from wood are inspected by the US Bureau of Customs and Border Protection (CBP), a division of the Department of Homeland Security \[[@B64-insects-10-00106]\]. In carrying out these inspections and associated treatment or disposal decisions, the CBP follows protocols and rules established by the USDA APHIS, thus broadening their authority.
Similar to other federal agencies, USDA APHIS' actual efforts to manage plant pests---especially those that threaten tree species---have been severely hampered by funding shortfalls. Funding for the management of "tree and wood pests" has declined from \$85 million in 2009 to \$54 million in 2018. At the same time, the number of pests has risen and the extent of known infestations and difficulty of addressing them have also increased. Among high-risk insect pests that USDA APHIS has not officially designated as "quarantine pests" are redbay ambrosia beetle, spotted lanternfly (*Lycorma delicatula* (White)), and polyphagous and Kuroshio shot hole borers (*Euwallacea* spp.). USDA APHIS does provide some funding to address these pests, especially through grants funded through the Plant Pest and Disease Management and Disaster Program (§7721 of the Plant Protection Act).
Under 7 U.S.C. §7772, USDA APHIS also has authority to access "emergency" funds from funds available to the Department of Agriculture. These funding sources are not subject to annual appropriations. However, the agency's access is tightly controlled by the Office of Management and Budget. At the beginning of 2018, e.g., USDA APHIS accessed \$17 million in emergency funding to address the expanding spotted lanternfly outbreak \[[@B65-insects-10-00106]\].
The USDA Agriculture Research Services or USDA ARS aims to find and transfer solutions to major agricultural issues in the US. Their mandate is much broader than the USDA Forest Service as they mostly focus on nutritional and food crop systems but do include "natural resource base and the environment" as part of their mission statement \[[@B66-insects-10-00106]\]. Under their National Programs 303---Plant Diseases and 304---Crop Protection and Quarantine, the USDA ARS scientists work on new pests and pathogens that are detected within the country to provide technical information related to their detection, monitoring, epidemiology, and management \[[@B67-insects-10-00106]\].
5. Farm Bill {#sec5-insects-10-00106}
============
The 2008 Farm Bill (P.L. 110--234) established the Plant Pest and Disease Management and Disaster Program, which provided permanent funding drawn from the Commodity Credit Corporation to support enhanced pest analysis, improved pest surveillance, improved pest identification and technology enhancement, targeted domestic surveillance, enhanced mitigation capabilities, safeguard nursery production, and outreach \[[@B68-insects-10-00106]\]. The Agricultural Act of 2014 (known as the 2014 Farm Bill, P.L. 113--170) amended the Plant Protection Act to combine the National Clean Plant Network and the Plant Pest and Disease Management and Disaster Program, making them permanent \[[@B69-insects-10-00106]\]. It raised the authorized funding level for the combined programs to \$62.5 million per year from FY2014--FY2017 and \$75 million per year in FY2018 and beyond. The program now operates under Section 7721 of the Plant Protection Act (7 U.S.C. Section 7721). During 2014--2017, \~\$63 million in Commodity Credit Corporation funding was provided under this program \[[@B70-insects-10-00106]\]. In 2019 alone, the Plant Pest and Disease Management and Disaster Program funded about \$60 million in programs related to enhancing plant pest/disease analyses and surveys, targeting domestic inspection activities at vulnerable points, pest identification and detection technology, enhancing mitigation capabilities, and rapid response \[[@B71-insects-10-00106]\]. Hence, the Farm Bill provides a substantial investment in the detection, quarantine, and control of pests and diseases in the US each year with variable funding levels. Over the past decade (as assessed from project reports), only about 10% of these funds has supported projects focused on forest pests and pathogens, and there is need for more funding targeted at critical forest health needs.
6. Conclusions {#sec6-insects-10-00106}
==============
During the last few decades, there have been some major policies embedded as part of the larger farm and forestry bills that have indirectly and directly affected forest health issues in the US. While it is hard to quantify how these polices have directly shaped forest health and its management, such investments have been critical to allowing detection, control, and management to proceed as needed at multiple levels (e.g., \[[@B72-insects-10-00106]\]) in addition to providing solution-driven research resources through collaborations with diverse agencies. It is also clear that these few policies are not enough---and much more are needed especially under variable climatic conditions to empower scientists and managers at all levels. Even in the wake of devastating pest outbreaks such those by bark beetles on federal lands, the federal policy response was quite weak \[[@B51-insects-10-00106]\]. Many forest policies, in fact, appear to be static, and changes are made largely to budgetary allocations \[[@B26-insects-10-00106]\]. In contrast, many more bills are proposed, very few of them move forward to become policy, and even fewer result in funding appropriations. For example, H.R. 4976---Empowering State Forestry to Improve Forest Health Act of 2018---was proposed with an objective to "improve forest health and forest ecosystems, including addressing native, nonnative, and invasive pests"; this bill did not pass \[[@B73-insects-10-00106]\]. From identifying an issue, working with Congress to propose a bill, to policy establishment and implementation is akin to turning around a massive ship, and this is certainly true for the forest health field.
Insect and disease policy on federal lands has increasingly reflected prevailing social and political contestations regarding the proper role of human intervention in relatively natural forest systems. The emergence of regional governance networks with access to various tools for planning, responding to, and recovering from insect outbreaks---as well as to scientific information---suggests possible constructive pathways forward through conflict to achieving adaptive responses. However, long-term declines in funding for federal forest management (especially when major portions of the USDA Forest Service funding are spent fighting fires each year) \[[@B58-insects-10-00106]\] complicate the ability of such networks to implement adaptive management at appropriate scales without substantial investments from other sources. USDA National Institute of Food and Agriculture, Agriculture and Food Research Initiative (USDA AFRI), another major funding agency that supports applied research, does not have a stand-alone program on forest health, which dilutes the funding pool through competition with other fields. Similarly, there are several commodity-driven funding programs focused on crop and orchard plants, but none on forest trees, which are also critical commodity products in many regions in the US (particularly the southeastern region).
Introduction, establishment, and spread of non-native insects and diseases are managed by a separate USDA agency, the APHIS. Under the Plant Protection Act, USDA APHIS operates under mandates to both facilitate international trade and "reduce, to the extent practicable" the associated risk of pest introductions (PPA Sec. 7701 (3))---this creates a balancing situation. Clearly, greater and more comprehensive phytosanitary measures are needed as many sources demonstrate that forest pest and pathogen arrivals and introductions continue to occur in the US \[[@B74-insects-10-00106],[@B75-insects-10-00106],[@B76-insects-10-00106],[@B77-insects-10-00106],[@B78-insects-10-00106]\]. Management of pests in these situations is also impeded by several factors including the difficulty in detecting them before they are established over a significant area, poor understanding of the insect's life cycle and spread potential, and sometimes opposition to management strategies such as removing of live trees and aerial spraying of pesticides or pheromone-infused particles \[[@B77-insects-10-00106]\].
Reference \[[@B37-insects-10-00106]\] reviewed the impacts of non-native insects and diseases in the US and provided policy suggestions that may reduce their arrival and establishment by focusing on their major pathways and imported material (e.g., wood packaging and live-plant trade). Examples of suggestions include strengthening overseas relationships and enforcement of regulatory actions (home and abroad), increasing funding for all aspects of the invasion process (e.g., early detection, quarantine, eradication, control, etc.), and improved data collection and dissemination with input from an advisory board of scientists. Similar policy recommendations for native pestiferous species are notably scarce or absent. The combination of anthropogenic influences on forest conditions and on climatic patterns has allowed some native insects and diseases to behave---and to affect forests---in novel and unexpected ways through range expansion. Adaptive approaches to insect management will become more important than ever, and public policies will be important in setting the stage for forest restoration activities. Without the strong federal support, our forests will continue to be devasted, with major implications for their long-term resilience.
Many scientists have opportunities to be involved in policy advocacy, depending upon the guidelines of their respective agencies and institutions \[[@B79-insects-10-00106],[@B80-insects-10-00106]\]. Advocacy can include one-on-one contact (visit and/or call) with local legislatures, visiting them in Washington DC, and working through their stakeholders to reach lawmakers. Further, many scientific societies such as the Entomological Society of America (ESA) and the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) have well-developed and successful science policy fellowships. These programs acknowledge that scientists can play important roles in directing new laws and policies in their field, and that their expertise is needed for effective decision-making \[[@B81-insects-10-00106],[@B82-insects-10-00106]\]. These training programs also provide insights into the workings of the government, and federal funds being allocated to various fields, thus allowing for greater visibility of the available funding pool. Grassroots initiatives on advocating forest health issues are also being developed, for example for providing greater funding to insect and disease--host resistance research by several groups \[[@B83-insects-10-00106]\]. We expect that some of these local efforts will convene while maintaining their individual missions and agendas, for greater positive impact on forest health funding in the future.
Overall, we recommend a push for stand-alone major policy and funding efforts focused solely on enhancing the health of our forests. Such efforts will rebuild our capacity to respond effectively to insect and disease outbreaks, as they happen in real time. Policies that strengthen the research, outreach, and managerial capacity of federal agencies while also providing support to regional multi-stakeholder networks of practice would go a long way toward improving the acceptability and effectiveness of insect and disease management strategies and their impacts on US forests.
We thank the three editors of this special issue for an invitation to submit this paper. Jim Guldin (USDA Forest Service, Southern Research Station) graciously supplied statistics on employment with the USDA Forest Service system. Two anonymous reviewers provided comments that improved the paper.
K.J.K.G. conceptualized the paper; K.J.K.G., J.A., and F.C. all contributed to the writing.
We thank our respective institutions for providing financial support while working on this paper. This work was also supported by the National Science Foundation, Grant Number 1414041.
The authors declare no conflict of interest.
{#insects-10-00106-f001}
{#insects-10-00106-f002}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Central"
}
|
Sex differences in principal farm operators' tractor driving safety beliefs and behaviors.
To examine the widely accepted hypothesis that farm women are more concerned with safety issues and behaviors than their male counterparts are. A telephone survey was administered to a random sample of Kentucky principal farm operators, 90 of whom were women. Participants were questioned about their tractor safety beliefs and practices. No significant sex differences in tractor safety perceptions and behavior were observed. Socialization of women to the role of principal farm operator may override their typically greater sensitivity to safety issues, an important consideration when designing safety campaigns for this population.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
/*
* Copyright (c) 2016 Apple Inc. All rights reserved.
*
* @APPLE_OSREFERENCE_LICENSE_HEADER_START@
*
* This file contains Original Code and/or Modifications of Original Code
* as defined in and that are subject to the Apple Public Source License
* Version 2.0 (the 'License'). You may not use this file except in
* compliance with the License. The rights granted to you under the License
* may not be used to create, or enable the creation or redistribution of,
* unlawful or unlicensed copies of an Apple operating system, or to
* circumvent, violate, or enable the circumvention or violation of, any
* terms of an Apple operating system software license agreement.
*
* Please obtain a copy of the License at
* http://www.opensource.apple.com/apsl/ and read it before using this file.
*
* The Original Code and all software distributed under the License are
* distributed on an 'AS IS' basis, WITHOUT WARRANTY OF ANY KIND, EITHER
* EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, AND APPLE HEREBY DISCLAIMS ALL SUCH WARRANTIES,
* INCLUDING WITHOUT LIMITATION, ANY WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY,
* FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE, QUIET ENJOYMENT OR NON-INFRINGEMENT.
* Please see the License for the specific language governing rights and
* limitations under the License.
*
* @APPLE_OSREFERENCE_LICENSE_HEADER_END@
*/
#include <string.h>
#include <stdint.h>
#include <stdbool.h>
#include <vm/vm_map.h>
#include <kern/assert.h>
#include <kern/cpu_data.h>
#include <kern/backtrace.h>
#include <machine/machine_routines.h>
#include <kern/locks.h>
#include <kern/simple_lock.h>
#include <kern/debug.h>
#include <kern/kalloc.h>
#include <kern/zalloc.h>
#include <mach/mach_vm.h>
#include <mach/mach_types.h>
#include <mach/vm_param.h>
#include <mach/machine/vm_param.h>
#include <libkern/libkern.h>
#include <libkern/OSAtomic.h>
#include <libkern/kernel_mach_header.h>
#include <sys/queue.h>
#include <sys/sysctl.h>
#include <kern/thread.h>
#include <machine/atomic.h>
#include <kasan.h>
#include <kasan_internal.h>
#include <memintrinsics.h>
const uintptr_t __asan_shadow_memory_dynamic_address = KASAN_SHIFT;
static unsigned kexts_loaded;
unsigned shadow_pages_total;
unsigned shadow_pages_used;
vm_offset_t kernel_vbase;
vm_offset_t kernel_vtop;
static unsigned kasan_enabled;
static unsigned quarantine_enabled;
static unsigned enabled_checks = TYPE_ALL; /* bitmask of enabled checks */
static unsigned report_ignored; /* issue non-fatal report for disabled/blacklisted checks */
static unsigned free_yield = 0; /* ms yield after each free */
/* forward decls */
static void kasan_crash_report(uptr p, uptr width, access_t access, violation_t reason);
static void kasan_log_report(uptr p, uptr width, access_t access, violation_t reason);
/* imported osfmk functions */
extern vm_offset_t ml_stack_base(void);
extern vm_size_t ml_stack_size(void);
/*
* unused: expected to be called, but (currently) does nothing
*/
#define UNUSED_ABI(func, ...) \
_Pragma("clang diagnostic push") \
_Pragma("clang diagnostic ignored \"-Wunused-parameter\"") \
void func(__VA_ARGS__); \
void func(__VA_ARGS__) {}; \
_Pragma("clang diagnostic pop") \
static const size_t BACKTRACE_BITS = 4;
static const size_t BACKTRACE_MAXFRAMES = (1UL << BACKTRACE_BITS) - 1;
decl_simple_lock_data(, kasan_vm_lock);
static thread_t kasan_lock_holder;
/*
* kasan is called from the interrupt path, so we need to disable interrupts to
* ensure atomicity manipulating the global objects
*/
void
kasan_lock(boolean_t *b)
{
*b = ml_set_interrupts_enabled(false);
simple_lock(&kasan_vm_lock);
kasan_lock_holder = current_thread();
}
void
kasan_unlock(boolean_t b)
{
kasan_lock_holder = THREAD_NULL;
simple_unlock(&kasan_vm_lock);
ml_set_interrupts_enabled(b);
}
/* Return true if 'thread' holds the kasan lock. Only safe if 'thread' == current
* thread */
bool
kasan_lock_held(thread_t thread)
{
return thread && thread == kasan_lock_holder;
}
static inline bool
kasan_check_enabled(access_t access)
{
return kasan_enabled && (enabled_checks & access) && !kasan_is_blacklisted(access);
}
static inline bool
kasan_poison_active(uint8_t flags)
{
switch (flags) {
case ASAN_GLOBAL_RZ:
return kasan_check_enabled(TYPE_POISON_GLOBAL);
case ASAN_HEAP_RZ:
case ASAN_HEAP_LEFT_RZ:
case ASAN_HEAP_RIGHT_RZ:
case ASAN_HEAP_FREED:
return kasan_check_enabled(TYPE_POISON_HEAP);
default:
return true;
};
}
/*
* poison redzones in the shadow map
*/
void NOINLINE
kasan_poison(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t size, vm_size_t leftrz, vm_size_t rightrz, uint8_t flags)
{
uint8_t *shadow = SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(base);
uint8_t partial = size & 0x07;
vm_size_t total = leftrz + size + rightrz;
vm_size_t i = 0;
/* base must be 8-byte aligned */
/* any left redzone must be a multiple of 8 */
/* total region must cover 8-byte multiple */
assert((base & 0x07) == 0);
assert((leftrz & 0x07) == 0);
assert((total & 0x07) == 0);
if (!kasan_enabled || !kasan_poison_active(flags)) {
return;
}
leftrz /= 8;
size /= 8;
total /= 8;
uint8_t l_flags = flags;
uint8_t r_flags = flags;
if (flags == ASAN_STACK_RZ) {
l_flags = ASAN_STACK_LEFT_RZ;
r_flags = ASAN_STACK_RIGHT_RZ;
} else if (flags == ASAN_HEAP_RZ) {
l_flags = ASAN_HEAP_LEFT_RZ;
r_flags = ASAN_HEAP_RIGHT_RZ;
}
/*
* poison the redzones and unpoison the valid bytes
*/
for (; i < leftrz; i++) {
shadow[i] = l_flags;
}
for (; i < leftrz + size; i++) {
shadow[i] = ASAN_VALID; /* XXX: should not be necessary */
}
if (partial && (i < total)) {
shadow[i] = partial;
i++;
}
for (; i < total; i++) {
shadow[i] = r_flags;
}
}
void
kasan_poison_range(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t size, uint8_t flags)
{
/* base must be 8-byte aligned */
/* total region must cover 8-byte multiple */
assert((base & 0x07) == 0);
assert((size & 0x07) == 0);
kasan_poison(base, 0, 0, size, flags);
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_unpoison(void *base, vm_size_t size)
{
kasan_poison((vm_offset_t)base, size, 0, 0, 0);
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_unpoison_stack(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t size)
{
assert(base);
assert(size);
/* align base and size to 8 bytes */
vm_offset_t align = base & 0x7;
base -= align;
size += align;
size = (size + 7) & ~0x7;
kasan_unpoison((void *)base, size);
}
/*
* write junk into the redzones
*/
static void NOINLINE
kasan_rz_clobber(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t size, vm_size_t leftrz, vm_size_t rightrz)
{
#if KASAN_DEBUG
vm_size_t i;
const uint8_t deadbeef[] = { 0xde, 0xad, 0xbe, 0xef };
const uint8_t c0ffee[] = { 0xc0, 0xff, 0xee, 0xc0 };
uint8_t *buf = (uint8_t *)base;
/* base must be 8-byte aligned */
/* any left redzone must be a multiple of 8 */
/* total region must cover 8-byte multiple */
assert((base & 0x07) == 0);
assert((leftrz & 0x07) == 0);
assert(((size + leftrz + rightrz) & 0x07) == 0);
for (i = 0; i < leftrz; i++) {
buf[i] = deadbeef[i % 4];
}
for (i = 0; i < rightrz; i++) {
buf[i + size + leftrz] = c0ffee[i % 4];
}
#else
(void)base;
(void)size;
(void)leftrz;
(void)rightrz;
#endif
}
/*
* Report a violation that may be disabled and/or blacklisted. This can only be
* called for dynamic checks (i.e. where the fault is recoverable). Use
* kasan_crash_report() for static (unrecoverable) violations.
*
* access: what we were trying to do when the violation occured
* reason: what failed about the access
*/
static void
kasan_violation(uintptr_t addr, size_t size, access_t access, violation_t reason)
{
assert(__builtin_popcount(access) == 1);
if (!kasan_check_enabled(access)) {
if (report_ignored) {
kasan_log_report(addr, size, access, reason);
}
return;
}
kasan_crash_report(addr, size, access, reason);
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_check_range(const void *x, size_t sz, access_t access)
{
uintptr_t invalid;
uintptr_t ptr = (uintptr_t)x;
if (kasan_range_poisoned(ptr, sz, &invalid)) {
size_t remaining = sz - (invalid - ptr);
kasan_violation(invalid, remaining, access, 0);
}
}
/*
* Return true if [base, base+sz) is unpoisoned or has given shadow value.
*/
bool
kasan_check_shadow(vm_address_t base, vm_size_t sz, uint8_t shadow)
{
sz -= 8 - (base % 8);
base += 8 - (base % 8);
vm_address_t end = base + sz;
while (base < end) {
uint8_t *sh = SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(base);
if (*sh && *sh != shadow) {
return false;
}
base += 8;
}
return true;
}
/*
*
* KASAN violation reporting
*
*/
static const char *
access_str(access_t type)
{
if (type & TYPE_READ) {
return "load from";
} else if (type & TYPE_WRITE) {
return "store to";
} else if (type & TYPE_FREE) {
return "free of";
} else {
return "access of";
}
}
static const char *shadow_strings[] = {
[ASAN_VALID] = "VALID",
[ASAN_PARTIAL1] = "PARTIAL1",
[ASAN_PARTIAL2] = "PARTIAL2",
[ASAN_PARTIAL3] = "PARTIAL3",
[ASAN_PARTIAL4] = "PARTIAL4",
[ASAN_PARTIAL5] = "PARTIAL5",
[ASAN_PARTIAL6] = "PARTIAL6",
[ASAN_PARTIAL7] = "PARTIAL7",
[ASAN_STACK_LEFT_RZ] = "STACK_LEFT_RZ",
[ASAN_STACK_MID_RZ] = "STACK_MID_RZ",
[ASAN_STACK_RIGHT_RZ] = "STACK_RIGHT_RZ",
[ASAN_STACK_FREED] = "STACK_FREED",
[ASAN_STACK_OOSCOPE] = "STACK_OOSCOPE",
[ASAN_GLOBAL_RZ] = "GLOBAL_RZ",
[ASAN_HEAP_LEFT_RZ] = "HEAP_LEFT_RZ",
[ASAN_HEAP_RIGHT_RZ] = "HEAP_RIGHT_RZ",
[ASAN_HEAP_FREED] = "HEAP_FREED",
[0xff] = NULL
};
#define CRASH_CONTEXT_BEFORE 5
#define CRASH_CONTEXT_AFTER 5
static size_t
kasan_shadow_crashlog(uptr p, char *buf, size_t len)
{
int i,j;
size_t n = 0;
int before = CRASH_CONTEXT_BEFORE;
int after = CRASH_CONTEXT_AFTER;
uptr shadow = (uptr)SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(p);
uptr shadow_p = shadow;
uptr shadow_page = vm_map_round_page(shadow_p, HW_PAGE_MASK);
/* rewind to start of context block */
shadow &= ~((uptr)0xf);
shadow -= 16 * before;
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n,
" Shadow 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 a b c d e f\n");
for (i = 0; i < 1 + before + after; i++, shadow += 16) {
if ((vm_map_round_page(shadow, HW_PAGE_MASK) != shadow_page) && !kasan_is_shadow_mapped(shadow)) {
/* avoid unmapped shadow when crossing page boundaries */
continue;
}
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n, " %16lx:", shadow);
char *left = " ";
char *right;
for (j = 0; j < 16; j++) {
uint8_t *x = (uint8_t *)(shadow + j);
right = " ";
if ((uptr)x == shadow_p) {
left = "[";
right = "]";
} else if ((uptr)(x + 1) == shadow_p) {
right = "";
}
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n, "%s%02x%s", left, (unsigned)*x, right);
left = "";
}
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n, "\n");
}
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n, "\n");
return n;
}
static void
kasan_report_internal(uptr p, uptr width, access_t access, violation_t reason, bool dopanic)
{
const size_t len = 4096;
static char buf[len];
size_t n = 0;
uint8_t *shadow_ptr = SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(p);
uint8_t shadow_type = *shadow_ptr;
const char *shadow_str = shadow_strings[shadow_type];
if (!shadow_str) {
shadow_str = "<invalid>";
}
buf[0] = '\0';
if (reason == REASON_MOD_OOB || reason == REASON_BAD_METADATA) {
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n, "KASan: free of corrupted/invalid object %#lx\n", p);
} else if (reason == REASON_MOD_AFTER_FREE) {
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n, "KASan: UaF of quarantined object %#lx\n", p);
} else {
n += snprintf(buf+n, len-n, "KASan: invalid %lu-byte %s %#lx [%s]\n",
width, access_str(access), p, shadow_str);
}
n += kasan_shadow_crashlog(p, buf+n, len-n);
if (dopanic) {
panic("%s", buf);
} else {
printf("%s", buf);
}
}
static void NOINLINE OS_NORETURN
kasan_crash_report(uptr p, uptr width, access_t access, violation_t reason)
{
kasan_handle_test();
kasan_report_internal(p, width, access, reason, true);
__builtin_unreachable(); /* we cant handle this returning anyway */
}
static void
kasan_log_report(uptr p, uptr width, access_t access, violation_t reason)
{
const size_t len = 256;
char buf[len];
size_t l = 0;
uint32_t nframes = 14;
uintptr_t frames[nframes];
uintptr_t *bt = frames;
kasan_report_internal(p, width, access, reason, false);
/*
* print a backtrace
*/
nframes = backtrace_frame(bt, nframes, __builtin_frame_address(0)); /* ignore current frame */
buf[0] = '\0';
l += snprintf(buf+l, len-l, "Backtrace: ");
for (uint32_t i = 0; i < nframes; i++) {
l += snprintf(buf+l, len-l, "%lx,", VM_KERNEL_UNSLIDE(bt[i]));
}
l += snprintf(buf+l, len-l, "\n");
printf("%s", buf);
}
#define REPORT_DECLARE(n) \
void OS_NORETURN __asan_report_load##n(uptr p) { kasan_crash_report(p, n, TYPE_LOAD, 0); } \
void OS_NORETURN __asan_report_store##n(uptr p) { kasan_crash_report(p, n, TYPE_STORE, 0); } \
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_report_exp_load##n, uptr a, int32_t b); \
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_report_exp_store##n, uptr a, int32_t b);
REPORT_DECLARE(1)
REPORT_DECLARE(2)
REPORT_DECLARE(4)
REPORT_DECLARE(8)
REPORT_DECLARE(16)
void OS_NORETURN __asan_report_load_n(uptr p, unsigned long sz) { kasan_crash_report(p, sz, TYPE_LOAD, 0); }
void OS_NORETURN __asan_report_store_n(uptr p, unsigned long sz) { kasan_crash_report(p, sz, TYPE_STORE, 0); }
/* unpoison the current stack */
void NOINLINE
kasan_unpoison_curstack(bool whole_stack)
{
uintptr_t base = ml_stack_base();
size_t sz = ml_stack_size();
uintptr_t cur = (uintptr_t)&base;
if (whole_stack) {
cur = base;
}
if (cur >= base && cur < base + sz) {
/* unpoison from current stack depth to the top */
size_t unused = cur - base;
kasan_unpoison_stack(cur, sz - unused);
}
}
void NOINLINE
__asan_handle_no_return(void)
{
kasan_unpoison_curstack(false);
/*
* No need to free any fakestack objects because they must stay alive until
* we drop the real stack, at which point we can drop the entire fakestack
* anyway.
*/
}
bool NOINLINE
kasan_range_poisoned(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t size, vm_offset_t *first_invalid)
{
uint8_t *shadow;
vm_size_t i;
if (!kasan_enabled) {
return false;
}
size += base & 0x07;
base &= ~(vm_offset_t)0x07;
shadow = SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(base);
vm_size_t limit = (size + 7) / 8;
/* XXX: to make debugging easier, catch unmapped shadow here */
for (i = 0; i < limit; i++, size -= 8) {
assert(size > 0);
uint8_t s = shadow[i];
if (s == 0 || (size < 8 && s >= size && s <= 7)) {
/* valid */
} else {
goto fail;
}
}
return false;
fail:
if (first_invalid) {
/* XXX: calculate the exact first byte that failed */
*first_invalid = base + i*8;
}
return true;
}
static void NOINLINE
kasan_init_globals(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t size)
{
struct asan_global *glob = (struct asan_global *)base;
struct asan_global *glob_end = (struct asan_global *)(base + size);
for (; glob < glob_end; glob++) {
/* handle one global */
kasan_poison(glob->addr, glob->size, 0, glob->size_with_redzone - glob->size, ASAN_GLOBAL_RZ);
}
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_load_kext(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t __unused size, const void *bundleid)
{
unsigned long sectsz;
void *sect;
#if KASAN_DYNAMIC_BLACKLIST
kasan_dybl_load_kext(base, bundleid);
#endif
/* find the kasan globals segment/section */
sect = getsectdatafromheader((void *)base, KASAN_GLOBAL_SEGNAME, KASAN_GLOBAL_SECTNAME, §sz);
if (sect) {
kasan_init_globals((vm_address_t)sect, (vm_size_t)sectsz);
kexts_loaded++;
}
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_unload_kext(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t size)
{
unsigned long sectsz;
void *sect;
/* find the kasan globals segment/section */
sect = getsectdatafromheader((void *)base, KASAN_GLOBAL_SEGNAME, KASAN_GLOBAL_SECTNAME, §sz);
if (sect) {
kasan_unpoison((void *)base, size);
kexts_loaded--;
}
#if KASAN_DYNAMIC_BLACKLIST
kasan_dybl_unload_kext(base);
#endif
}
/*
* Turn off as much as possible for panic path etc. There's no way to turn it back
* on.
*/
void NOINLINE
kasan_disable(void)
{
__asan_option_detect_stack_use_after_return = 0;
fakestack_enabled = 0;
kasan_enabled = 0;
quarantine_enabled = 0;
enabled_checks = 0;
}
static void NOINLINE
kasan_init_xnu_globals(void)
{
const char *seg = KASAN_GLOBAL_SEGNAME;
const char *sect = KASAN_GLOBAL_SECTNAME;
unsigned long _size;
vm_offset_t globals;
vm_size_t size;
kernel_mach_header_t *header = (kernel_mach_header_t *)&_mh_execute_header;
if (!header) {
printf("KASan: failed to find kernel mach header\n");
printf("KASan: redzones for globals not poisoned\n");
return;
}
globals = (vm_offset_t)getsectdatafromheader(header, seg, sect, &_size);
if (!globals) {
printf("KASan: failed to find segment %s section %s\n", seg, sect);
printf("KASan: redzones for globals not poisoned\n");
return;
}
size = (vm_size_t)_size;
printf("KASan: found (%s,%s) at %#lx + %lu\n", seg, sect, globals, size);
printf("KASan: poisoning redzone for %lu globals\n", size / sizeof(struct asan_global));
kasan_init_globals(globals, size);
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_late_init(void)
{
#if KASAN_DYNAMIC_BLACKLIST
kasan_init_dybl();
#endif
kasan_init_fakestack();
kasan_init_xnu_globals();
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_notify_stolen(vm_offset_t top)
{
kasan_map_shadow(kernel_vtop, top - kernel_vtop, false);
}
static void NOINLINE
kasan_debug_touch_mappings(vm_offset_t base, vm_size_t sz)
{
#if KASAN_DEBUG
vm_size_t i;
uint8_t tmp1, tmp2;
/* Hit every byte in the shadow map. Don't write due to the zero mappings. */
for (i = 0; i < sz; i += sizeof(uint64_t)) {
vm_offset_t addr = base + i;
uint8_t *x = SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(addr);
tmp1 = *x;
asm volatile("" ::: "memory");
tmp2 = *x;
asm volatile("" ::: "memory");
assert(tmp1 == tmp2);
}
#else
(void)base;
(void)sz;
#endif
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_init(void)
{
unsigned arg;
simple_lock_init(&kasan_vm_lock, 0);
/* Map all of the kernel text and data */
kasan_map_shadow(kernel_vbase, kernel_vtop - kernel_vbase, false);
kasan_arch_init();
/*
* handle KASan boot-args
*/
if (PE_parse_boot_argn("kasan.checks", &arg, sizeof(arg))) {
enabled_checks = arg;
}
if (PE_parse_boot_argn("kasan", &arg, sizeof(arg))) {
if (arg & KASAN_ARGS_FAKESTACK) {
fakestack_enabled = 1;
}
if (arg & KASAN_ARGS_REPORTIGNORED) {
report_ignored = 1;
}
if (arg & KASAN_ARGS_NODYCHECKS) {
enabled_checks &= ~TYPE_DYNAMIC;
}
if (arg & KASAN_ARGS_NOPOISON_HEAP) {
enabled_checks &= ~TYPE_POISON_HEAP;
}
if (arg & KASAN_ARGS_NOPOISON_GLOBAL) {
enabled_checks &= ~TYPE_POISON_GLOBAL;
}
}
if (PE_parse_boot_argn("kasan.free_yield_ms", &arg, sizeof(arg))) {
free_yield = arg;
}
/* kasan.bl boot-arg handled in kasan_init_dybl() */
quarantine_enabled = 1;
kasan_enabled = 1;
}
static void NOINLINE
kasan_notify_address_internal(vm_offset_t address, vm_size_t size, bool is_zero)
{
assert(address < VM_MAX_KERNEL_ADDRESS);
if (!kasan_enabled) {
return;
}
if (address < VM_MIN_KERNEL_AND_KEXT_ADDRESS) {
/* only map kernel addresses */
return;
}
if (!size) {
/* nothing to map */
return;
}
boolean_t flags;
kasan_lock(&flags);
kasan_map_shadow(address, size, is_zero);
kasan_unlock(flags);
kasan_debug_touch_mappings(address, size);
}
void
kasan_notify_address(vm_offset_t address, vm_size_t size)
{
kasan_notify_address_internal(address, size, false);
}
/*
* Allocate read-only, all-zeros shadow for memory that can never be poisoned
*/
void
kasan_notify_address_nopoison(vm_offset_t address, vm_size_t size)
{
kasan_notify_address_internal(address, size, true);
}
/*
*
* allocator hooks
*
*/
struct kasan_alloc_header {
uint16_t magic;
uint16_t crc;
uint32_t alloc_size;
uint32_t user_size;
struct {
uint32_t left_rz : 32 - BACKTRACE_BITS;
uint32_t frames : BACKTRACE_BITS;
};
};
_Static_assert(sizeof(struct kasan_alloc_header) <= KASAN_GUARD_SIZE, "kasan alloc header exceeds guard size");
struct kasan_alloc_footer {
uint32_t backtrace[0];
};
_Static_assert(sizeof(struct kasan_alloc_footer) <= KASAN_GUARD_SIZE, "kasan alloc footer exceeds guard size");
#define LIVE_XOR ((uint16_t)0x3a65)
#define FREE_XOR ((uint16_t)0xf233)
static uint16_t
magic_for_addr(vm_offset_t addr, uint16_t magic_xor)
{
uint16_t magic = addr & 0xFFFF;
magic ^= (addr >> 16) & 0xFFFF;
magic ^= (addr >> 32) & 0xFFFF;
magic ^= (addr >> 48) & 0xFFFF;
magic ^= magic_xor;
return magic;
}
static struct kasan_alloc_header *
header_for_user_addr(vm_offset_t addr)
{
return (void *)(addr - sizeof(struct kasan_alloc_header));
}
static struct kasan_alloc_footer *
footer_for_user_addr(vm_offset_t addr, vm_size_t *size)
{
struct kasan_alloc_header *h = header_for_user_addr(addr);
vm_size_t rightrz = h->alloc_size - h->user_size - h->left_rz;
*size = rightrz;
return (void *)(addr + h->user_size);
}
/*
* size: user-requested allocation size
* ret: minimum size for the real allocation
*/
vm_size_t
kasan_alloc_resize(vm_size_t size)
{
vm_size_t tmp;
if (os_add_overflow(size, 4 * PAGE_SIZE, &tmp)) {
panic("allocation size overflow (%lu)", size);
}
/* add left and right redzones */
size += KASAN_GUARD_PAD;
/* ensure the final allocation is an 8-byte multiple */
size += 8 - (size % 8);
return size;
}
extern vm_offset_t vm_kernel_slid_base;
static vm_size_t
kasan_alloc_bt(uint32_t *ptr, vm_size_t sz, vm_size_t skip)
{
uintptr_t buf[BACKTRACE_MAXFRAMES];
uintptr_t *bt = buf;
sz /= sizeof(uint32_t);
vm_size_t frames = sz;
if (frames > 0) {
frames = min(frames + skip, BACKTRACE_MAXFRAMES);
frames = backtrace(bt, frames);
while (frames > sz && skip > 0) {
bt++;
frames--;
skip--;
}
/* only store the offset from kernel base, and cram that into 32
* bits */
for (vm_size_t i = 0; i < frames; i++) {
ptr[i] = (uint32_t)(bt[i] - vm_kernel_slid_base);
}
}
return frames;
}
/* addr: user address of allocation */
static uint16_t
kasan_alloc_crc(vm_offset_t addr)
{
struct kasan_alloc_header *h = header_for_user_addr(addr);
vm_size_t rightrz = h->alloc_size - h->user_size - h->left_rz;
uint16_t crc_orig = h->crc;
h->crc = 0;
uint16_t crc = 0;
crc = __nosan_crc16(crc, (void *)(addr - h->left_rz), h->left_rz);
crc = __nosan_crc16(crc, (void *)(addr + h->user_size), rightrz);
h->crc = crc_orig;
return crc;
}
/*
* addr: base address of full allocation (including redzones)
* size: total size of allocation (include redzones)
* req: user-requested allocation size
* lrz: size of the left redzone in bytes
* ret: address of usable allocation
*/
vm_address_t
kasan_alloc(vm_offset_t addr, vm_size_t size, vm_size_t req, vm_size_t leftrz)
{
if (!addr) {
return 0;
}
assert(size > 0);
assert((addr % 8) == 0);
assert((size % 8) == 0);
vm_size_t rightrz = size - req - leftrz;
kasan_poison(addr, req, leftrz, rightrz, ASAN_HEAP_RZ);
kasan_rz_clobber(addr, req, leftrz, rightrz);
addr += leftrz;
/* stash the allocation sizes in the left redzone */
struct kasan_alloc_header *h = header_for_user_addr(addr);
h->magic = magic_for_addr(addr, LIVE_XOR);
h->left_rz = leftrz;
h->alloc_size = size;
h->user_size = req;
/* ... and a backtrace in the right redzone */
vm_size_t fsize;
struct kasan_alloc_footer *f = footer_for_user_addr(addr, &fsize);
h->frames = kasan_alloc_bt(f->backtrace, fsize, 2);
/* checksum the whole object, minus the user part */
h->crc = kasan_alloc_crc(addr);
return addr;
}
/*
* addr: user pointer
* size: returns full original allocation size
* ret: original allocation ptr
*/
vm_address_t
kasan_dealloc(vm_offset_t addr, vm_size_t *size)
{
assert(size && addr);
struct kasan_alloc_header *h = header_for_user_addr(addr);
*size = h->alloc_size;
return addr - h->left_rz;
}
/*
* return the original user-requested allocation size
* addr: user alloc pointer
*/
vm_size_t
kasan_user_size(vm_offset_t addr)
{
struct kasan_alloc_header *h = header_for_user_addr(addr);
assert(h->magic == magic_for_addr(addr, LIVE_XOR));
return h->user_size;
}
/*
* Verify that `addr' (user pointer) is a valid allocation of `type'
*/
void
kasan_check_free(vm_offset_t addr, vm_size_t size, unsigned heap_type)
{
struct kasan_alloc_header *h = header_for_user_addr(addr);
/* map heap type to an internal access type */
access_t type = heap_type == KASAN_HEAP_KALLOC ? TYPE_KFREE :
heap_type == KASAN_HEAP_ZALLOC ? TYPE_ZFREE :
heap_type == KASAN_HEAP_FAKESTACK ? TYPE_FSFREE : 0;
/* check the magic and crc match */
if (h->magic != magic_for_addr(addr, LIVE_XOR)) {
kasan_violation(addr, size, type, REASON_BAD_METADATA);
}
if (h->crc != kasan_alloc_crc(addr)) {
kasan_violation(addr, size, type, REASON_MOD_OOB);
}
/* check the freed size matches what we recorded at alloc time */
if (h->user_size != size) {
kasan_violation(addr, size, type, REASON_INVALID_SIZE);
}
vm_size_t rightrz_sz = h->alloc_size - h->left_rz - h->user_size;
/* Check that the redzones are valid */
if (!kasan_check_shadow(addr - h->left_rz, h->left_rz, ASAN_HEAP_LEFT_RZ) ||
!kasan_check_shadow(addr + h->user_size, rightrz_sz, ASAN_HEAP_RIGHT_RZ)) {
kasan_violation(addr, size, type, REASON_BAD_METADATA);
}
/* Check the allocated range is not poisoned */
kasan_check_range((void *)addr, size, type);
}
/*
*
* Quarantine
*
*/
struct freelist_entry {
uint16_t magic;
uint16_t crc;
STAILQ_ENTRY(freelist_entry) list;
union {
struct {
vm_size_t size : 28;
vm_size_t user_size : 28;
vm_size_t frames : BACKTRACE_BITS; /* number of frames in backtrace */
vm_size_t __unused : 8 - BACKTRACE_BITS;
};
uint64_t bits;
};
zone_t zone;
uint32_t backtrace[];
};
_Static_assert(sizeof(struct freelist_entry) <= KASAN_GUARD_PAD, "kasan freelist header exceeds padded size");
struct quarantine {
STAILQ_HEAD(freelist_head, freelist_entry) freelist;
unsigned long entries;
unsigned long max_entries;
vm_size_t size;
vm_size_t max_size;
};
struct quarantine quarantines[] = {
{ STAILQ_HEAD_INITIALIZER((quarantines[KASAN_HEAP_ZALLOC].freelist)), 0, QUARANTINE_ENTRIES, 0, QUARANTINE_MAXSIZE },
{ STAILQ_HEAD_INITIALIZER((quarantines[KASAN_HEAP_KALLOC].freelist)), 0, QUARANTINE_ENTRIES, 0, QUARANTINE_MAXSIZE },
{ STAILQ_HEAD_INITIALIZER((quarantines[KASAN_HEAP_FAKESTACK].freelist)), 0, QUARANTINE_ENTRIES, 0, QUARANTINE_MAXSIZE }
};
static uint16_t
fle_crc(struct freelist_entry *fle)
{
return __nosan_crc16(0, &fle->bits, fle->size - offsetof(struct freelist_entry, bits));
}
/*
* addr, sizep: pointer/size of full allocation including redzone
*/
void NOINLINE
kasan_free_internal(void **addrp, vm_size_t *sizep, int type,
zone_t *zone, vm_size_t user_size, int locked,
bool doquarantine)
{
vm_size_t size = *sizep;
vm_offset_t addr = *(vm_offset_t *)addrp;
assert(type >= 0 && type < KASAN_HEAP_TYPES);
if (type == KASAN_HEAP_KALLOC) {
/* zero-size kalloc allocations are allowed */
assert(!zone);
} else if (type == KASAN_HEAP_ZALLOC) {
assert(zone && user_size);
} else if (type == KASAN_HEAP_FAKESTACK) {
assert(zone && user_size);
}
/* clobber the entire freed region */
kasan_rz_clobber(addr, 0, size, 0);
if (!doquarantine || !quarantine_enabled) {
goto free_current;
}
/* poison the entire freed region */
uint8_t flags = (type == KASAN_HEAP_FAKESTACK) ? ASAN_STACK_FREED : ASAN_HEAP_FREED;
kasan_poison(addr, 0, size, 0, flags);
struct freelist_entry *fle, *tofree = NULL;
struct quarantine *q = &quarantines[type];
assert(size >= sizeof(struct freelist_entry));
/* create a new freelist entry */
fle = (struct freelist_entry *)addr;
fle->magic = magic_for_addr((vm_offset_t)fle, FREE_XOR);
fle->size = size;
fle->user_size = user_size;
fle->frames = 0;
fle->zone = ZONE_NULL;
if (zone) {
fle->zone = *zone;
}
if (type != KASAN_HEAP_FAKESTACK) {
/* don't do expensive things on the fakestack path */
fle->frames = kasan_alloc_bt(fle->backtrace, fle->size - sizeof(struct freelist_entry), 3);
fle->crc = fle_crc(fle);
}
boolean_t flg;
if (!locked) {
kasan_lock(&flg);
}
if (q->size + size > q->max_size) {
/*
* Adding this entry would put us over the max quarantine size. Free the
* larger of the current object and the quarantine head object.
*/
tofree = STAILQ_FIRST(&q->freelist);
if (fle->size > tofree->size) {
goto free_current_locked;
}
}
STAILQ_INSERT_TAIL(&q->freelist, fle, list);
q->entries++;
q->size += size;
/* free the oldest entry, if necessary */
if (tofree || q->entries > q->max_entries) {
tofree = STAILQ_FIRST(&q->freelist);
STAILQ_REMOVE_HEAD(&q->freelist, list);
assert(q->entries > 0 && q->size >= tofree->size);
q->entries--;
q->size -= tofree->size;
if (type != KASAN_HEAP_KALLOC) {
assert((vm_offset_t)zone >= VM_MIN_KERNEL_AND_KEXT_ADDRESS &&
(vm_offset_t)zone <= VM_MAX_KERNEL_ADDRESS);
*zone = tofree->zone;
}
size = tofree->size;
addr = (vm_offset_t)tofree;
/* check the magic and crc match */
if (tofree->magic != magic_for_addr(addr, FREE_XOR)) {
kasan_violation(addr, size, TYPE_UAF, REASON_MOD_AFTER_FREE);
}
if (type != KASAN_HEAP_FAKESTACK && tofree->crc != fle_crc(tofree)) {
kasan_violation(addr, size, TYPE_UAF, REASON_MOD_AFTER_FREE);
}
/* clobber the quarantine header */
__nosan_bzero((void *)addr, sizeof(struct freelist_entry));
} else {
/* quarantine is not full - don't really free anything */
addr = 0;
}
free_current_locked:
if (!locked) {
kasan_unlock(flg);
}
free_current:
*addrp = (void *)addr;
if (addr) {
kasan_unpoison((void *)addr, size);
*sizep = size;
}
}
void NOINLINE
kasan_free(void **addrp, vm_size_t *sizep, int type, zone_t *zone,
vm_size_t user_size, bool quarantine)
{
kasan_free_internal(addrp, sizep, type, zone, user_size, 0, quarantine);
if (free_yield) {
thread_yield_internal(free_yield);
}
}
uptr
__asan_load_cxx_array_cookie(uptr *p)
{
uint8_t *shadow = SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS((uptr)p);
if (*shadow == ASAN_ARRAY_COOKIE) {
return *p;
} else if (*shadow == ASAN_HEAP_FREED) {
return 0;
} else {
return *p;
}
}
void
__asan_poison_cxx_array_cookie(uptr p)
{
uint8_t *shadow = SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(p);
*shadow = ASAN_ARRAY_COOKIE;
}
#define ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(type, sz, access) \
void __asan_##type##sz(uptr addr) { \
kasan_check_range((const void *)addr, sz, access); \
} \
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_exp_##type##sz, uptr a, int32_t b);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(load, 1, TYPE_LOAD);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(load, 2, TYPE_LOAD);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(load, 4, TYPE_LOAD);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(load, 8, TYPE_LOAD);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(load, 16, TYPE_LOAD);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(store, 1, TYPE_STORE);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(store, 2, TYPE_STORE);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(store, 4, TYPE_STORE);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(store, 8, TYPE_STORE);
ACCESS_CHECK_DECLARE(store, 16, TYPE_STORE);
void
__asan_loadN(uptr addr, size_t sz)
{
kasan_check_range((const void *)addr, sz, TYPE_LOAD);
}
void
__asan_storeN(uptr addr, size_t sz)
{
kasan_check_range((const void *)addr, sz, TYPE_STORE);
}
static void
kasan_set_shadow(uptr addr, size_t sz, uint8_t val)
{
__nosan_memset((void *)addr, val, sz);
}
#define SET_SHADOW_DECLARE(val) \
void __asan_set_shadow_##val(uptr addr, size_t sz) { \
kasan_set_shadow(addr, sz, 0x##val); \
}
SET_SHADOW_DECLARE(00)
SET_SHADOW_DECLARE(f1)
SET_SHADOW_DECLARE(f2)
SET_SHADOW_DECLARE(f3)
SET_SHADOW_DECLARE(f5)
SET_SHADOW_DECLARE(f8)
/*
* Call 'cb' for each contiguous range of the shadow map. This could be more
* efficient by walking the page table directly.
*/
int
kasan_traverse_mappings(pmap_traverse_callback cb, void *ctx)
{
uintptr_t shadow_base = (uintptr_t)SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(VM_MIN_KERNEL_AND_KEXT_ADDRESS);
uintptr_t shadow_top = (uintptr_t)SHADOW_FOR_ADDRESS(VM_MAX_KERNEL_ADDRESS);
shadow_base = vm_map_trunc_page(shadow_base, HW_PAGE_MASK);
shadow_top = vm_map_round_page(shadow_top, HW_PAGE_MASK);
uintptr_t start = 0, end = 0;
for (uintptr_t addr = shadow_base; addr < shadow_top; addr += HW_PAGE_SIZE) {
if (kasan_is_shadow_mapped(addr)) {
if (start == 0) {
start = addr;
}
end = addr + HW_PAGE_SIZE;
} else if (start && end) {
cb(start, end, ctx);
start = end = 0;
}
}
if (start && end) {
cb(start, end, ctx);
}
return 0;
}
/*
* XXX: implement these
*/
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_alloca_poison, uptr addr, uptr size);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_allocas_unpoison, uptr top, uptr bottom);
UNUSED_ABI(__sanitizer_ptr_sub, uptr a, uptr b);
UNUSED_ABI(__sanitizer_ptr_cmp, uptr a, uptr b);
UNUSED_ABI(__sanitizer_annotate_contiguous_container, const void *a, const void *b, const void *c, const void *d);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_poison_stack_memory, uptr addr, size_t size);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_unpoison_stack_memory, uptr a, uptr b);
/*
* Miscellaneous unimplemented asan ABI
*/
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_init, void);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_register_image_globals, uptr a);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_unregister_image_globals, uptr a);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_before_dynamic_init, uptr a);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_after_dynamic_init, void);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_version_mismatch_check_v8, void);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_version_mismatch_check_apple_802, void);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_version_mismatch_check_apple_900, void);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_version_mismatch_check_apple_902, void);
UNUSED_ABI(__asan_version_mismatch_check_apple_1000, void);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_init_v5, void);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_register_globals, uptr a, uptr b);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_unregister_globals, uptr a, uptr b);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_register_elf_globals, uptr a, uptr b, uptr c);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_unregister_elf_globals, uptr a, uptr b, uptr c);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_exp_loadN, uptr addr, size_t sz, int32_t e);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_exp_storeN, uptr addr, size_t sz, int32_t e);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_report_exp_load_n, uptr addr, unsigned long b, int32_t c);
void UNSUPPORTED_API(__asan_report_exp_store_n, uptr addr, unsigned long b, int32_t c);
/*
*
* SYSCTL
*
*/
static int
sysctl_kasan_test(__unused struct sysctl_oid *oidp, __unused void *arg1, int arg2, struct sysctl_req *req)
{
int mask = 0;
int ch;
int err;
err = sysctl_io_number(req, 0, sizeof(int), &mask, &ch);
if (!err && mask) {
kasan_test(mask, arg2);
}
return err;
}
static int
sysctl_fakestack_enable(__unused struct sysctl_oid *oidp, __unused void *arg1, int __unused arg2, struct sysctl_req *req)
{
int ch, err, val;
err = sysctl_io_number(req, fakestack_enabled, sizeof(fakestack_enabled), &val, &ch);
if (err == 0 && ch) {
fakestack_enabled = !!val;
__asan_option_detect_stack_use_after_return = !!val;
}
return err;
}
SYSCTL_DECL(kasan);
SYSCTL_NODE(_kern, OID_AUTO, kasan, CTLFLAG_RW | CTLFLAG_LOCKED, 0, "");
SYSCTL_COMPAT_INT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, available, CTLFLAG_RD, NULL, KASAN, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, enabled, CTLFLAG_RD, &kasan_enabled, 0, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, checks, CTLFLAG_RW, &enabled_checks, 0, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, quarantine, CTLFLAG_RW, &quarantine_enabled, 0, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, report_ignored, CTLFLAG_RW, &report_ignored, 0, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, free_yield_ms, CTLFLAG_RW, &free_yield, 0, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, memused, CTLFLAG_RD, &shadow_pages_used, 0, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, memtotal, CTLFLAG_RD, &shadow_pages_total, 0, "");
SYSCTL_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, kexts, CTLFLAG_RD, &kexts_loaded, 0, "");
SYSCTL_COMPAT_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, debug, CTLFLAG_RD, NULL, KASAN_DEBUG, "");
SYSCTL_COMPAT_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, zalloc, CTLFLAG_RD, NULL, KASAN_ZALLOC, "");
SYSCTL_COMPAT_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, kalloc, CTLFLAG_RD, NULL, KASAN_KALLOC, "");
SYSCTL_COMPAT_UINT(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, dynamicbl, CTLFLAG_RD, NULL, KASAN_DYNAMIC_BLACKLIST, "");
SYSCTL_PROC(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, fakestack,
CTLTYPE_INT | CTLFLAG_RW | CTLFLAG_LOCKED,
0, 0, sysctl_fakestack_enable, "I", "");
SYSCTL_PROC(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, test,
CTLTYPE_INT | CTLFLAG_RW | CTLFLAG_LOCKED,
0, 0, sysctl_kasan_test, "I", "");
SYSCTL_PROC(_kern_kasan, OID_AUTO, fail,
CTLTYPE_INT | CTLFLAG_RW | CTLFLAG_LOCKED,
0, 1, sysctl_kasan_test, "I", "");
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Obesity Epidemic "Astronomical"
The prognosis for the nation is bad and getting worse as obesity takes its toll on the health of adults and children alike.
One of the biggest health stories of the year has been the rise in obesity among both adults and children in the U.S. We've all heard so much about the "obesity epidemic" that it's easy to think the story is being blown out of proportion. After all, people putting on a few pounds may not seem to warrant the proclamation of a national emergency.
But while obesity may not be the Black Death, it is a severe public health crisis. Experts agree that as more and more obese children become obese adults, the diseases associated with obesity, such as heart disease, cancer, and especially diabetes will surge. That will mean a lot of sick people.
According to Marion Nestle, PhD, MPH, chair of the department of nutrition and food studies at New York University, the costs of these illnesses will be "astronomical."
James O. Hill, PhD, agrees. Hill, director of the Center for Human Nutrition at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center, claims that at the rate we're going, obesity-related diabetes alone "will break the bank of our healthcare system."
So one has to wonder how obesity got so out of control that we reached this crisis. And more importantly, how do we stop it?
The Causes
So what's causing the epidemic? Not surprisingly, everyone agrees that it stems from two things: eating too much and exercising too little. The differences are in the specifics.
Although people may toss around the idea of genetics in obesity, genes can't really explain what's happening, Hill says. While a person may have a genetic predisposition toward a certain body type, the fact that each succeeding generation is heavier than the last proves that changes in our environment are playing the key role.
Hill believes the culprit may be a decrease in our physical activity, arguing that because of shifts in how we live and work, we don't get as much exercise as previous generations did.
Nestle agrees that exercise is important, but she lays more stress on eating habits. In her book Food Politics: How the Food Industry Influences Nutrition and Health, Nestle argues that recommendations about healthy eating are overwhelmed by the hundreds of billions of dollars worth of advertising for junk foods that we're subjected to at home and even in public schools. And as fast food companies and chains compete with one another by increasing portion sizes, our waists are increasing proportionately.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
AACTA nominee list sets the scene for awards season
Karl Quinn10 Jan 2013, 12:01 p.m.
The AACTA Awards have continued their bid to muscle in on the Oscars action, with three of the six best international picture nominees - announced on Wednesday - yet to open in Australia but likely to figure heavily in the Academy Awards next month.
THE AACTA Awards have continued their bid to muscle in on the Oscars action, with three of the six best international picture nominees - announced on Wednesday - yet to open in Australia but likely to figure heavily in the Academy Awards next month.
The Australian Academy of Cinema and Television Arts emerged in late 2011 from the Australian Film Institute - which remains its parent body - with the aim of putting Australia into ''the global conversation'' on film, which reaches its zenith in the awards season from November to February and includes the Golden Globes and the BAFTAs (the British Academy of Film and Television Arts), plus a host of lesser US awards.
There are five international categories in the AACTAs, presented in Sydney on January 30 before the BAFTAs on February 10 and the Oscars on February 24 (but after the Golden Globes, announced on Sunday night, US time).
They include awards for best screenplay, direction, actor, actress and film, with six nominees in each category.
Twelve films are up for awards, with David O. Russell's Silver Linings Playbook leading the field with five nominations and Steven Spielberg's Lincoln and Kathryn Bigelow's hunt-for-bin Laden thriller Zero Dark Thirty close behind with four each. At least seven films have an Australian connection, though in the case of Django Unchained - nominated for best screenplay - it is admittedly minor, with John Jarratt and director Quentin Tarantino making cameo appearances as a pair of transplanted 19th-century Australian cowboys in the deep south.
Naomi Watts (The Impossible), Nicole Kidman (The Paperboy) and Hugh Jackman (Les Miserables) figure in the acting nominations. Director Ben Lewin is also in the running for The Sessions.
The strong Australian presence could be read as an over-representation that raises thorny questions about how the nominations come about.
AACTA will not reveal who is on its jury of up to 12, including ''writers, directors actors and producers''. It is fair to assume its membership might feasibly include Kidman, Watts, Jackman, Russell Crowe and AACTA president Geoffrey Rush.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
{
"ver": "1.0.0",
"uuid": "eed9a428-cf88-4661-a46d-06c4e2a2da3d",
"type": "sprite",
"wrapMode": "clamp",
"filterMode": "bilinear",
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"ver": "1.0.3",
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{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Clozapine reduces severe self-mutilation and aggression in psychotic patients with borderline personality disorder.
Clozapine has been reported to be effective in diminishing violence toward others in psychotic patients. This article describes the impact of clozapine on severe self-mutilation among patients with the dual diagnoses of borderline personality disorder and persistent psychoses. Seven subjects known to the authors were selected for careful chart audits. These subjects had been admitted to 2 state psychiatric hospitals owing to severe self-mutilation and/or violence and subsequently treated with clozapine. A mirror-image design anchored to the start date of clozapine treatment and extending in either direction to a maximum of 1 year was used to extract data. Data extracted included incidents of self-mutilation (restraint), seclusion, the as and when needed (p.r.n.) use of medications, injuries to staff and peers, hospital privileges, and Global Assessment of Functioning (GAF) scores. The subjects were all white women with a mean age of 37 years. All subjects carried DSM-III-R or DSM-IV borderline personality disorder diagnoses and an Axis I disorder diagnosis. They had received trials of several psychotropic agents, often in combination and mostly without benefit. After clozapine treatment, there were statistically significant reductions in incidents of self-mutilation (restraint), seclusion, the use of p.r.n. antianxiety medications, and injuries to staff and peers. These subjects received higher levels of hospital privileges, and their GAF scores nearly doubled following clozapine treatment. Four subjects were subsequently discharged from hospital. These preliminary but nonetheless favorable results suggest that clozapine deserves careful consideration for a controlled study in patients with borderline personality disorder and psychoses, especially if the clinical issues include severe self-mutilation, aggression, and violence. Until such studies are done, the risk-to-benefit ratio of clozapine treatment needs to be carefully evaluated on an individualized basis in such subjects.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Q:
Regex captures don't live as long as I think they should
I'm trying to write a Rust function that takes a regex, and a string/str and returns a HashMap of all the named captures in that regex. Here's the code:
use std::collections::HashMap;
use regex::Regex;
fn get_matches<'a>(line: &'a str, re: &Regex) -> HashMap<&'a str, &'a str> {
let mut results = HashMap::new();
match re.captures(line) {
None => { return results; },
Some(caps) => {
for (name, value) in caps.iter_named() {
if let Some(value) = value {
results.insert(name, value);
}
}
}
}
results
}
And I get this compiler error (Rust 1.9.0):
error: `caps` does not live long enough
for (name, value) in caps.iter_named() {
^~~~
note: reference must be valid for the lifetime 'a as defined on the block at 6:79...
fn get_matches<'a>(line: &'a str, re: &Regex) -> HashMap<&'a str, &'a str> {
let mut results = HashMap::new();
match re.captures(line) {
None => { return results; },
Some(caps) => {
...
note: ...but borrowed value is only valid for the match at 9:8
match re.captures(line) {
None => { return results; },
Some(caps) => {
for (name, value) in caps.iter_named() {
if let Some(value) = value {
results.insert(name, value);
...
However, I don't understand. regex::Regex::captures return value has a lifetime of 't, which is the same lifetime as the string, in this case, that means 'a', the regex::Captures::iter_named returned value also has the same lifetime of 't, which is 'a in this case, and that means the (name, value) for that thing should also be 't, which in this case is 'a.
My function definition has a HashMap that uses that 'a lifetime, so shouldn't it all Just Work(tm)? I think I understand why you can't use a local variable, unless you return it, but in this case, I'm using references which should live long enough, right?
I suppose I could .clone() everything to String, but I'm curious if I can write this with just references. Isn't that supposed to be more efficient? I'm a little new to Rust, so I'm trying to grok things and do things in a proper, advanced way.
A:
Your reasoning is right, but you forgot a detail:
regex::Regex::captures return value has a lifetime of 't, which is the same lifetime as the string, in this case, that means 'a, the regex::Captures::iter_named* returned value also has the same lifetime of 't, which is 'a in this case, and that means the (name, value) for that thing should also be 't, which in this case is 'a.
* regex::Captures::iter_named also requires a &'t self, that is, &caps must have lifetime 't ('a in this case).
Note that the compiler is not complaining about results but about caps. regex::Regex::captures returns caps: Captures<'a>, that means that caps holds something with lifetime 'a. But to call regex::Captures::iter_named it is necessary to have a reference with lifetime 'a (iter_named parameter is &'a self = &'a Captures<'a>). Although caps holds something with lifetime 'a, it does not have lifetime 'a (the lifetime is only the Some arm).
I don't know how iter_named handle capture with empty names, but here is an implementation that returns only named captures:
extern crate regex;
use std::collections::HashMap;
use regex::Regex;
fn get_matches<'a>(line: &'a str, re: &'a Regex) -> HashMap<&'a str, &'a str> {
let mut results = HashMap::new();
match re.captures(line) {
None => {
return results;
}
Some(caps) => {
for name in re.capture_names() {
if let Some(name) = name {
if let Some(value) = caps.name(name) {
results.insert(name, value);
}
}
}
}
}
results
}
This maybe slower than iter_named.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Watsapp: Display Picture Privacy - idexterous
http://ganesshkumar.com/?p=33
======
idexterous
the link is broken. follow this <http://ganesshkumar.com/?p=123>
|
{
"pile_set_name": "HackerNews"
}
|
Flash memory has gained wide acceptance for its non-volatile storage, which is ideal for portable devices that may lose power, since the data is not lost when stored in the flash memory. Flash memories are constructed from electrically-erasable programmable read-only memory (EEPROM) cells.
Rather than use a randomly-addressable scheme such as is common with dynamic-random-access memory (DRAM), many flash memories use a block-based addressing where a command and an address are sent over the data bus and then a block of data is read or written. Since the data bus is also used to send commands and addresses, fewer pins are needed on the flash-memory chip, reducing cost. Thus flash memory is often used as a mass-storage device rather than a randomly-addressable device.
Universal-Serial-Bus (USB) has become a popular standard interface for connecting peripherals to a host such as a personal computer (PC). USB-based flash-memory storage devices or “drives” have been developed to transport data from one host to another, replacing floppy disks. While large external flash drives may be used, smaller USB flash drives known as key-chain or key drives have been a rapidly growing market.
A USB flash-memory device can be constructed from a microcontroller, a flash-memory controller or interface, and one or more flash-memory chips. A serial interface on the microcontroller connects to the USB bus to the host, and data from the serial interface is transferred through the microcontroller to the flash controller and then written to the flash-memory chips.
The microcontroller usually contains an internal ROM with a control program that is read by the internal central processing unit (CPU) of the microcontroller when the microcontroller is booted or powered up. Once initialized with the control program, the CPU can control data transfers between the serial interface and the flash controller.
Sometimes the user may desire to connect to more than one USB flash-memory device. The user can install a USB hub, and then plug the USB flash-memory devices into the USB hub's downstream ports. USB hubs allow one USB port on a host to fan out to multiple end USB devices or endpoints. A basic USB hub has a repeater that repeats data from the host to all down-stream devices, while more intelligent hubs based on the USB 2.0 standard can buffer data to different down-stream ports.
The parent application, now U.S. Pat. No. 7,103,684, disclosed a USB flash drive that did not need a read-only memory (ROM) for booting. The microcontroller in the USB flash drive was able to read boot code from the block-addressable flash memory and transfer the boot code to the microcontroller's RAM for execution.
Another popular bus standard is Multi-Media Card (MMC). An extension of MMC is known as Secure Digital (SD). MMC and SD flash devices are common today. It is desired to extend the ROM-less flash-memory-drive microcontroller of the parent application to MMC, SD, Memory Stick (MS) and other similar portable buses.
FIG. 1 shows a prior-art MMC flash controller that connects to multiple flash-memory devices. Host 10 includes MMC host controller 12 that generates transactions to MMC devices over MMC bus 18 using the MMC protocol. MMC controller 20 is connected to a cable containing MMC bus 18. MMC controller 20 fans out commands on MMC bus 18 to several downstream flash-memories that connect over additional bus segments.
Three flash-memory systems 14, 15, 16 are connected to MMC controller 20 by bus segments. Flash-memory system 14 can be accessed by MMC host controller 12 through MMC controller 20. Since MMC controller 20 passes all host transfers through to downstream devices, flash-memory system 15 is readable to host 10 as a second flash drive, while flash-memory system 16 is readable to the host as a third flash drive. Alternately, all three flash-memory systems 14, 15, 16 may appear to host 10 as a single memory.
Some board or device manufacturers may integrate MMC controller 20 together with flash-memory systems 14, 15, 16 on a single MMC flash card or box. However, this can be expensive when MMC flash-memory systems 14, 15, 16 are flash-memory chips, since each chip may have many pins. For example, a flash-memory chip with an 8-bit or 16-bit data bus may have 48 total pins. This can increase the size of the MMC flash device. Power consumption is higher due to the large number of data lines in the parallel buses to each flash-memory chip.
What is desired is to integrate a microcontroller with a flash-memory array. It is desired to have a wide internal bus from the microcontroller to the flash-memory array to improve the data bandwidth while having few external pins to reduce cost and required board space.
It is further desired to eliminate the internal ROM on the microcontroller. Instead of booting from the internal ROM, it is desired to use a control program stored in the flash-memory array. However, it is also desired to use a block-addressed rather than a randomly-addressable array for the flash storage.
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March 7, 2012
Velociraptors Didn’t Turn Down Free Meals
by editor
Scientists have found evidence that specialized predators, such as the velociraptor, may not have been willing to turn down a free meal. A bone from a pterosaur (or “Pterodactyl”) has reportedly been found in the gut of a velociraptor that lived in the Gobi desert of Magnolia more than 75 million years ago.
The scientists published their findings online in Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, and Palaeoecology. This discovery suggests that the velociraptor may not have only depended on what it was able to kill for itself for a meal.
The velociraptor wielded sickle-shaped talons on the second toe of each foot. Previous research has documented that velociraptors would use these vicious talons to slash their prey and prevent them from escaping. However, if hunting was scarce and the opportunity arose, this new find suggests that the velociraptor was willing to scavenge rather than hunt.
The velociraptor isn´t alone in being able consume and swallow large bones. Scientists point out that other non-avian dinosaurs have been found with large bones in their guts. Even modern day crocodiles have the ability to stomach such material.
The research team involved scientists from all over the globe including scientists from University College Dublin, Ireland; the Mongolian Academy of Sciences, Ulaanbaatr, Mongolia; the National Museum of Nature and Sciences, Tokyo, Japan; and the Museum of Natural Sciences, Okayama, Japan.
David Hone was at the University College Dublin´s School of Biology and Environmental Sciences when the remains were being examined. In the study, Dr Hone said: “It would be difficult and probably even dangerous for the small theropod dinosaur to target a pterosaur with a wingspan of 2 meters or more, unless the pterosaur was already ill or injured. So the pterosaur bone we've identified in the gut of the velociraptor was most likely scavenged from a carcass rather than the result of a predatory kill."
Just how small were velociraptors? According to Alok Jha of The Guardian, in 1998, paleontologist Mark Norell studied the fossilized forearms of velociraptors found in Mongolia. He found that the predator stood just one-meter tall. In the Journal Science, Norell stated “The more that we learn about these animals the more we find that there is basically no difference between birds and their closely related dinosaur ancestors like velociraptor.”
The vast difference in size provides more evidence that the velociraptor wouldn´t be likely to take down this giant flying dinosaur on its own.
The pterosaur´s bone in question is nearly 3 inches long and was lodged in the velociraptors ribcage, near where the stomach would have been located. After studying the bone, the researchers believe that the pterosaur may have been the velociraptors last meal.
"The surface of the bone is smooth and in good condition, with no unusual traces of marks or deformation that could be attributed to digestive acids. So it's likely that the Velociraptor itself died not long after ingesting the bone," said Dr Hone in a statement. In addition to the lodged pterosaur bone, the scientists noted online that they also found a broken rib with signs of regrowth. This suggests to the scientists that the predator was either injured or recovering from an injury whenever it died.
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A.J. Mahari | Counselor, Life/Mental Health Coach
Menu
Why the BPD or Narcissist Can’t Get To Accountability
People with Borderline Personality Disorder and/or Narcissistic Personality Disorder are not people with a fully developed “Self”. They are arrested emotionally at a very young age. They did not progress through the healthy stages of required childhood development which means…
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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<resources xmlns:android="http://schemas.android.com/apk/res/android"
xmlns:xliff="urn:oasis:names:tc:xliff:document:1.2">
<string name="common_google_play_services_install_title" msgid="26645092511305524">"Inštalovať služby Google Play"</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_install_text_phone" msgid="8685301130651051380">"Na spustenie tejto aplikácie sa vyžadujú služby Google Play, ktoré v telefóne nemáte."</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_install_text_tablet" msgid="1589957570365247855">"Na spustenie tejto aplikácie sa vyžadujú služby Google Play, ktoré v tablete nemáte."</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_install_button" msgid="8515591849428043265">"Inštalovať služby Google Play"</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_enable_title" msgid="529078775174559253">"Povoliť služby Google Play"</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_enable_text" msgid="7627896071867667758">"Táto aplikácia bude fungovať až po povolení služieb Google Play."</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_enable_button" msgid="4181637455539816337">"Povoliť služby Google Play"</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_update_title" msgid="6006316683626838685">"Aktualizovať služby Google Play"</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_update_text" msgid="448354684997260580">"Túto aplikáciu bude možné spustiť až po aktualizácii služieb Google Play."</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_unknown_issue" msgid="4762332809710093730">"Neznámy problém so službami Google Play."</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_unsupported_title" msgid="6334768798839376943">"Služby Google Play"</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_unsupported_text" msgid="3542578567569488671">"Niektoré vaše aplikácie vyžadujú služby Google Play, ktoré vo vašom zariadení nie sú podporované. Ak potrebujete pomoc, kontaktujte výrobcu."</string>
<string name="common_google_play_services_update_button" msgid="8932944190611227642">"Aktualizovať"</string>
<string name="common_signin_button_text" msgid="9071884888741449141">"Prihlásiť sa"</string>
<string name="common_signin_button_text_long" msgid="2429381841831957106">"Prihlásiť sa do účtu Google"</string>
<string name="auth_client_using_bad_version_title" msgid="2534454398764507874">"Aplikácia sa pokúsila použiť nesprávnu verziu služieb Google Play."</string>
<string name="auth_client_needs_enabling_title" msgid="3983201110833868073">"Aplikácia vyžaduje povolenie služieb Google Play."</string>
<string name="auth_client_needs_installation_title" msgid="7999585836145154206">"Aplikácia vyžaduje inštaláciu služieb Google Play."</string>
<string name="auth_client_needs_update_title" msgid="6488605506794595966">"Aplikácia vyžaduje aktualizáciu služieb Google Play."</string>
<string name="auth_client_play_services_err_notification_msg" msgid="3635065018897986478">"Chyba služieb Google Play"</string>
<string name="auth_client_requested_by_msg" msgid="6304135633531965756">"Vyžiadané aplikáciou <xliff:g id="APP_NAME">%1$s</xliff:g>"</string>
</resources>
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"pile_set_name": "Github"
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Timbers announce six local clubs for 2011 Adopt-a-Club program
PORTLAND, Ore. — At a luncheon today at JELD-WEN Field, the Portland Timbers introduced six local clubs as part of the team’s 2011 Adopt-a-Club program.
Through the program, clubs are assigned a Timbers player who will help mentor and coach the youth players at the club.
Timbers general manager/technical director Gavin Wilkinson spoke to representatives from the six selected clubs in the D.R. Horton Community Room at JELD-WEN Field this afternoon, introducing them to their Timbers players.
The participating clubs will also receive exclusive benefits throughout the season, including a private clinic from their Timbers mentor, fitness tips from Timbers strength & conditioning coach Karim Derqaoui, a private coaching session with Timbers community ambassador Scot Thompson, as well as on-field recognition for one youth player at a Timbers home game later this season.
Clubs were selected from a large number of applicants.
The following clubs were selected for this year’s Adopt-a-Club program:
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{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
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During an interview Ask how strict their sexual harassment policy is
228,782 shares
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{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
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britt,
will not be able to discuss your question about eric tan with commercial
people until monday as john chismar is traveling right now. however,
hopefully the testing will answer a lot of questions such that we may not
need his services after year end.
rgds
From: Britt Davis@ENRON on 12/07/2000 09:05 AM CST
To: Alan Aronowitz/HOU/ECT@ECT, Harry M Collins/HOU/ECT@ECT, Michael A
Robison/HOU/ECT@ECT, Richard B Sanders/HOU/ECT@ECT, Matthias Lee/SIN/ECT@ECT,
James P Studdert/HOU/ECT@ECT, david.best@clyde.co.uk, ngregson@wfw.com, Paul
Henking/SIN/ECT@ECT
cc:
Subject: In re M/V PACIFIC VIRGO
I am pleased to report that Mitsubishi has agreed to have the joint analysis
take place in the U.K. We have instructed our chemist to immediately arrange
for this. We still await Mitsubishi's response to our request that they
share the costs of transportation from Singapore to the U.K.
Paul, given that Eric Tan is apparently leaving very soon, would you let me
know whether (a) he still needs to be kept in the loop on this and (b)
whether some other business person in Singapore will be the liaison person?
David Best will shortly confirm the appointment of the arbitrator. Once
that is done, he will approach Mitsubishi's solicitors regarding the
without-prejudice payment of freight and demurrage. David has indicated that
he likes the time bar argument against Mitsubishi's demurrage claim and that
before offering to negotiate the demurrage claim at all, he will ask
Mitsubishi's solicitors how they would get around that problem, and see what
they say.
I will keep you advised.
Britt
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"pile_set_name": "Enron Emails"
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Q:
Truffle - deploy and interact with a contract locally from a script
I have created a contract, wrote a migration and a test. When I run truffle test the contract is deployed locally and then the tests are run against it. All is working fine.
I also added a function to the contract that looks like this (which I also call in the test):
function entryExists(uint256 id, string memory type)
public
view
returns (bool)
{
Now, I would like to locally deploy that contract (perhaps truffle develop could be of help?) and call that function from let's say a nodeJS script. How would I do that? I can't seem to find anything about that anywhere but it feels like such a basic thing.
Thanks in advance to anyone helping.
A:
When Ganache is running, your local testnet Ethereum node acts like any other Ethereum node. You can call JSON-RPC APIs against it as long as you know the TCP/IP port.
In this case the process would be
Write a JavaSCript file
Import web3.js
Make web3.js to connect HTTPProvider that is your testnet node running locally
Read ABI files that describe your Solidity contract
Import one of testnet accouts that has ETH on it
Create a web3.js Contract instance from ABI file and the deployed address
Use Contract instance to call your method from the testnet account with ETH on it
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{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Q:
Why [wordpress] tag on WordPress Answers?
Is there any special reason for its existence?
I can't think of any use for it. What do you think? Am I missing something?
https://wordpress.stackexchange.com/questions/tagged/wordpress
A:
Excellent point -- I deleted the tag and added it to the tag blacklist.
(we also ban the "apple" tag on apple.se and the "android" tag on android.se for similar reasons of redundancy)
However, there are now 23 questions tagged untagged which means wordpress was the only tag they had. We'll need some help retagging these.
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806 F.Supp.2d 201 (2011)
David JACKSON, Plaintiff,
v.
UNITED STATES PAROLE COMMISSION, et al., Defendants.
Civil Action No. 11-0474 (ESH).
United States District Court, District of Columbia.
August 30, 2011.
*203 Geoffrey Edward Gettinger, Cadwalader, Wickersham & Taft, Washington, DC, for Plaintiff.
Carl Ezekiel Ross, U.S. Attorney's Office, Washington, DC, for Defendant.
MEMORANDUM OPINION
ELLEN SEGAL HUVELLE, District Judge.
David Jackson has sued Isaac Fulwood, Jr., Cranston J. Mitchell, Patricia K. Cushwa, Patricia Wilson Smoot, Aprille Cole, and Jamie Brand in their official capacities, as well as the United States Parole Commission ("USPC"), alleging that the special restrictions imposed on his parole deprive him of his Fifth Amendment right to due process and his First Amendment right to freedom of speech and freedom of association, and that the imposition of these restrictions was arbitrary and capricious under the Administrative Procedure Act ("APA"). The USPC voluntarily withdrew the parole conditions Jackson complained of on March 30, 2011, and subsequently moved to dismiss the case under Fed.R.Civ.P. 12(b)(1), arguing that the Court lacks subject matter jurisdiction because Jackson's claims are moot. For the reasons stated herein, defendants' motion will be denied.
BACKGROUND
Jackson pled guilty to Attempted Carnal Knowledge, a misdemeanor, in Superior Court on September 25, 1981, and was sentenced to three years' probation. (Compl. ¶¶ 12-13, 18.) Jackson was not required to register as a sex offender. (Id. ¶ 15.) Jackson was subsequently incarcerated and, on January 3, 2005, was "released after serving time for a technical violation of the terms of his parole."[1] (Id. ¶ 17.) On January 19, 2005, the Court Services and Offender Supervision Agency ("CSOSA"), which provides "community supervision oversight for D.C. Code offenders," assigned Jackson to its Sex Offender Unit. (Id. ¶¶ 9, 18.) Jackson alleges that the CSOSA assigned him to that Unit because of his 1981 conviction. (Id. ¶ 18.) In 2007, a CSOSA officer ordered Jackson to participate in a six-month Sex Offender Treatment program. (Id. ¶ 20.) Jackson completed the program in November 2007, and was found to pose a "low risk for the recurrence of deviant sexual acts." (Id.)
In November 2009, Jackson was incarcerated for an "administrative violation" of his parole conditions and, on November 18, 2010, was again released. (Id. ¶ 21.) Upon Jackson's release, the USPC issued a Notice of Action that stated that Jackson *204 "need[ed] . . . substance abuse treatment," but that did not impose any sex offender monitoring. (Id. ¶ 22.) Nevertheless, CSOSA again assigned Jackson to supervision by the Sex Offender Unit. (Id. ¶ 23.) At some point between November 18 and November 30, Jamie Brand, a CSOSA officer, issued a notice of "Modification of Release Conditions" recommending that Jackson be subject to a number of "special conditions." (Id., Ex. 2, at 1.) The document stated: "[b]y copy of this proposal, NOTICE is hereby given to the releasee, who may object or comment to the Commission within ten days after he receives this NOTICE." (Id.) Although Jackson's complaint is ambiguous, he appears to allege that he never received this notice. (See id. ¶ 24.) On November 30, 2010, the USPC notified Jackson that it had adopted a Memorandum imposing special restrictions on his parole, including: (A) a required "mental health program with `special emphasis' on long-term sex offender testing and treatment"; (B) required evaluation for sex-offense treatment therapy and periodic, random physiological testing, to be paid for, in part, by Jackson himself; (C) restrictions on any contact with children under eighteen, including his own children and step-children, without prior written approval, and a requirement that he provide the "name, address, and phone number of anyone he `socialized with,'" if the person cared for a child under the age of eighteen; (D) restrictions on coming within 200 yards of "any place where children under age eighteen often gather" without prior written approval; (E) restrictions on owning or using any "device with access to any on-line computer service" without prior approval; (F) restrictions on owning any pornographic material; (G) required, annual polygraph examinations; (H) periodic, unannounced examinations of his computer; and (I) GPS monitoring. (Id. ¶ 24.) Jackson alleges that these restrictions were instituted "without prior notice, a hearing or individualized investigation," were unjustified, and were an "atypical and significant hardship." (Id. ¶ 25.)
On December 6, 2010, Jackson sent a letter to CSOSA formally challenging the restrictions, but was denied any relief. (Id. ¶ 26.) On March 4, 2011, he filed suit in this Court, seeking to enjoin the imposition of these conditions of his parole. (Id. ¶ 1.) On March 30, the parole provisions at issue "were lifted." (Defs.' Mem. of P. & A. In Supp. of Defs.' Mot. to Dismiss ("Defs.' Mot.") at 1.) On July 6, defendants moved to dismiss pursuant to Fed.R.Civ.P. 12(b)(1).
ANALYSIS
I. STANDARD OF REVIEW
On a motion to dismiss pursuant to Rule 12(b)(1), the plaintiff bears the burden of establishing by a preponderance of the evidence that the court has subject matter jurisdiction. See Lujan v. Defenders of Wildlife, 504 U.S. 555, 561, 112 S.Ct. 2130, 119 L.Ed.2d 351 (1992). The Court must accept all factual allegations in the complaint as true and give the plaintiff the benefit of all reasonable inferences from the facts alleged. See Jerome Stevens Pharms., Inc. v. FDA, 402 F.3d 1249, 1253-54 (D.C.Cir.2005). A court may dismiss for lack of subject matter jurisdiction only if "`it appears beyond doubt that the plaintiff can prove no set of facts in support of his claim which would entitle him to relief.'" Richardson v. United States, 193 F.3d 545, 549 (D.C.Cir.1999) (quoting Caribbean Broad. Sys., Ltd. v. Cable & Wireless PLC, 148 F.3d 1080, 1086 (D.C.Cir.1998)). Where a court's subject matter jurisdiction is called into question, it may consider matters outside the pleadings to ensure it has power of the case. *205 See Jerome Stevens Pharms., Inc., 402 F.3d at 1253.
II. MOOTNESS
Article III of the Constitution limits the Court to adjudication of "actual, ongoing controversies." Sierra Club v. Jackson, 648 F.3d 848, 852 (D.C.Cir.2011). Thus, if "an event occurs while a case is pending on appeal that makes it impossible for the court to grant `any effectual relief whatever' to a prevailing party, the appeal must be dismissed." Beethoven.com LLC v. Librarian of Cong., 394 F.3d 939, 950 (D.C.Cir.2005) (quoting Mills v. Green, 159 U.S. 651, 653, 16 S.Ct. 132, 40 L.Ed. 293 (1895)). However, in "at least two kinds of cases the fact that the specific conduct that gave rise to the case has ceased does not mean that the challenge to the legality of that conduct is moot." Del Monte Fresh Produce Co. v. United States, 570 F.3d 316, 321 (D.C.Cir.2009). A claim for declaratory relief will not be moot if the claim "fits the exception for cases that are capable of repetition, yet evading review, or falls within the voluntary cessation doctrine." City of Houston, Tex. v. Dep't of Housing & Urban Dev., 24 F.3d 1421, 1429 (D.C.Cir.1994) (internal citations and quotation marks omitted).
Defendants argue that the case is moot because the USPC has removed the parole conditions to which Jackson objected and, therefore, the violation Jackson alleged is no longer occurring. (Defs.' Mot. at 5-6.) Jackson concedes that the defendants have "removed the Special Restrictions" from his parole. (See Pl.'s Opp'n at 3.) Thus, the specific conduct giving rise to his lawsuit has ceased. Nevertheless, he argues that the case is not moot because the voluntary cessation doctrine applies (id. at 6-11), because his claim is capable of repetition, yet evading review (id. at 11-12), and because his complaint seeks nominal damages. (Id. at 12-13.) Because the Court agrees that the voluntary cessation doctrine applies, it need not determine whether Jackson's claim is capable of repetition, yet evading review.[2]
A. Voluntary Cessation
"As a general rule, `voluntary cessation of allegedly illegal conduct does not deprive the tribunal of power to hear and determine the case, i.e., does not make the case moot.'" Cnty. of Los Angeles v. Davis, 440 U.S. 625, 631, 99 S.Ct. 1379, 59 L.Ed.2d 642 (1979). Where a defendant voluntarily ceases allegedly unlawful activity, the case will only be moot if the defendant shows that there is "no reasonable expectation" that the violation will recur and "interim relief or events have completely and irrevocably eradicated the effects of the alleged violation." Larsen v. U.S. Navy, 525 F.3d 1, 4 (D.C.Cir.2008) (quoting Cnty. of Los Angeles, 440 U.S. at 631, 99 S.Ct. 1379). Defendants have the "heavy burden" of showing that "`subsequent events'" make it "`absolutely clear that the allegedly wrongful behavior could not reasonably be expected to recur.'"[3]*206 Parents Involved in Cmty. Sch. v. Seattle Sch. Dist. No. 1, 551 U.S. 701, 719, 127 S.Ct. 2738, 168 L.Ed.2d 508 (2007) (quoting Friends of the Earth, Inc. v. Laidlaw Envtl. Servs. (TOC), Inc., 528 U.S. 167, 189, 120 S.Ct. 693, 145 L.Ed.2d 610 (2000)).
Defendants point out that Jackson's parole restrictions have been completely withdrawn. (Defs.' Mot. at 9.) Therefore, they argue, the effects of the alleged violation have been "completely eradicated," and there is no reasonable expectation that the restrictions will be reimposed. (Defs.' Mot. at 9-10.) To support this claim, they have attached a declaration from Deirdre Jackson, a Case Services Administrator for the USPC.[4] (Defs.' Mot., Ex. 2, Decl. of Deirdre Jackson ("Jackson Decl.") at 1.) Ms. Jackson, whose duties include "making recommendations to the [USPC] concerning conditions of supervision for releasees," states:
because the United States Probation Office ["USPO"] for the Eastern District of Virginia . . . determined that [Jackson] was no longer in need of sex offender special conditions, and because he has not committed any sex-related offenses since that time, I do not expect that the USPO supervising Mr. Jackson will request any such conditions unless new sexual misconduct by Mr. Jackson were to raise a legitimate concern that such condition(s) have become newly necessary.
(Jackson Decl. ¶ 10.) Defendants suggest that a declaration that "it is unlikely that [Jackson] will be subjected to the conditions again" (Def.'s Mot. at 9) is sufficient to make it "absolutely clear that the allegedly wrongful behavior could not reasonable be expected to recur." Parents Involved in Cmty. Sch., 551 U.S. at 719, 127 S.Ct. 2738. Perhaps recognizing the weakness of this argument, defendants also argue that even if Jackson's parole officer were inclined to reimpose the restrictions, she could not do so without providing Jackson ten days to comment and, therefore, the wrongful behavior Jackson alleges cannot recur. (Defs.' Reply at 4.)
1. No Reasonable Expectation That Conduct Will Recur
"[T]he government cannot escape the pitfalls of litigation by simply giving in to a plaintiff's individual claim without renouncing the challenged policy, at least where there is a reasonable chance of the dispute arising again between the government and the same plaintiff." Legal Assistance for Vietnamese Asylum Seekers v. Dep't of State, Bureau of Consular Affairs, 74 F.3d 1308, 1311 (D.C.Cir.1996), vacated on other grounds, 519 U.S. 1, 117 S.Ct. 378, 136 L.Ed.2d 1 (1996). Thus, because defendants have merely withdrawn the special parole restrictions, without explanation, the voluntary cessation doctrine will apply if there is a reasonable chance the dispute could arise again. Jackson argues that the violations he allege could recur because he could be again imprisoned and again released on parole, because defendants could simply conduct a new review of his case, or because defendants could re-impose the restrictions if the supervision of his parole is transferred back to the District of Columbia or to another jurisdiction. (Pl.'s Opp'n at 7-9.)
Jackson's argument that the restrictions could be re-imposed "if he were found to have violated his parole, returned *207 to prison, and again released on parole" (Pl.'s Opp'n at 9) fails because Jackson himself is "ableand indeed required by lawto prevent such a possibility from occurring." Lane v. Williams, 455 U.S. 624, 632 n. 13, 102 S.Ct. 1322, 71 L.Ed.2d 508 (1982) (rejecting argument that case was not moot because a "possibility exists under state law that respondents' parole violation may be considered in a subsequent parole determination"). Indeed, the Supreme Court has "rejected analogous claims to Article III standing in other contexts." Spencer v. Kemna, 523 U.S. 1, 15, 118 S.Ct. 978, 140 L.Ed.2d 43 (1998) (citing O'Shea v. Littleton, 414 U.S. 488, 497, 94 S.Ct. 669, 38 L.Ed.2d 674 (1974) (no standing where threat of injury depended on plaintiffs being "prosecuted for violating valid criminal laws"); Los Angeles v. Lyons, 461 U.S. 95, 102-03, 103 S.Ct. 1660, 75 L.Ed.2d 675 (1983)). Courts are "reluctant to find a reasonable probability of repetition where the action will be repeated based on the petitioner's own wrongdoing." See Pierce v. Thomas, No. 08-705, 2009 WL 2476606, at *3 (D.Or. Aug. 10, 2009); cf. also Toor v. Holder, 717 F.Supp.2d 100, 106 (D.D.C.2010) (case was moot because it was "quite unlikely" that plaintiff would be "charged, convicted, and incarcerated in the United States for another crime and then appl[y] for transfer"). Thus, the possibility that Jackson could violate his parole, return to prison, and be paroled once again does not prevent the case from being moot.
Jackson's argument that his parole conditions may be reexamined at any time, or that the restrictions may be re-imposed if supervision of his parole is transferred to a different location, is more convincing. (Pl.'s Opp'n at 8-9.) In a similar case in which the plaintiff challenged "Special Conditions" on his parole, the Court found that the voluntary cessation doctrine applied. Goings v. Court Servs. & Offender Supervision Agency, 786 F.Supp.2d 48, 56-58 (D.D.C.2011). In that case, the government revoked two of the conditions plaintiff complained of, then argued that the case was moot. Id. at 62-63, at *10. Although the Court found that the case was not moot because only a "portion" of the conditions had been modified, id. at 61-62, at *9, it also found that, "even with respect to the modified conditions," the defendant's "subsequent modification of the conditions amounts to a voluntary cessation." Id. Specifically, the Court noted that CSOSA "remain[ed] free to re-impose conditions" on the plaintiff at any point, because the "conditions placed on the plaintiff's probation are assessed on `an ongoing basis.'" Id. at 63, at *11. Defendants attempt to distinguish Goings by pointing out that, in that case, the CSOSA had altered "some, but not all" of the conditions, while here, all of the conditions that Jackson objects to have been removed.[5] (Defs.' Reply at 5.) However, the Court in Goings was clear that even those conditions that had been altered could be "re-impose[d]," and, therefore, the defendants had failed to show that there was "no reasonable expectation that the alleged violation will recur." 786 F.Supp.2d at 63, 2011 WL 1837749, at *11.
The "rationale supporting" voluntary cessation "as an exception to mootness" is that, without an order from the Court preventing it from continuing the allegedly illegal practice, "the defendant is *208 `free to return to [its] old ways'thereby subjecting the plaintiff to the same harm but, at the same time, avoiding judicial review." Qassim v. Bush, 466 F.3d 1073, 1075 (D.C.Cir.2006) (quoting United States v. W.T. Grant Co., 345 U.S. 629, 632, 73 S.Ct. 894, 97 L.Ed. 1303 (1953)). This case illustrates the importance of this doctrine. Defendants do not allege that they have altered their procedures for imposing special parole restrictions or that the type of restrictions they impose have changed. Nor do they promise to refrain from imposing those restrictions on Jackson. All defendants offer is a declaration from a USPC administrator stating that she "does not expect" the parole officer supervising Jackson to request that the special parole restrictions be reimposed. (Jackson Decl. ¶ 10.) The declaration fails to even comment as to whether such a request would or could be approved. Because defendants remain free to "return to [their] old, allegedly illegal ways," the voluntary cessation doctrine will be applied. See Natural Law Party v. Fed. Election Comm'n, 111 F.Supp.2d 33, 40-41 (D.D.C.2000).
Defendants argue that even if there were a reasonable expectation that Jackson's parole officer would re-impose the special restrictions, it would be impossible for the precise legal wrong alleged by Jackson"the imposition of parole provisions without notice and an opportunity to be heard"to recur because USPC regulations prevent "amending or modifying parole conditions" without a ten-day notice and comment period. (Defs.' Reply at 2 (citing 28 C.F.R. § 2.204(c)(2)).) Because the "specific safeguards . . . governing the amendment of parole conditions" render defendants "incapable of re-imposing the provisions at issue without notice and opportunity to be heard," it is impossible for the alleged constitutional violations to recur. (Defs.' Reply at 2.) This argument fails for two reasons. First, defendants ignore the fact that the original notice of the restrictions "modify[ing] the conditions of release," which Jackson apparently never received (Compl. ¶ 24), offered him the opportunity to "object or comment to the Commission within ten days." (Compl. Ex. 2, at 1.) They do not attempt to explain why he was not sent the original notice and offer no assurances that they will notify him of proposed restrictions in the future. Second, and more importantly, Jackson's complaint does more than simply allege that he was denied "notice and opportunity to be heard,"it alleges that the process of imposing restrictions on his parole was deficient because there was no notice, hearing, or individualized investigation, and that the restrictions were "unjustified." (Compl. ¶ 25.) Moreover, it alleges that the USPC violated the APA by imposing the restrictions "without any findings that their imposition would benefit public safety or [Jackson's] rehabilitation." (Id. ¶ 40.) Defendants suggest that, by providing notice and ten days to comment on future restrictions, they have rendered Jackson's complaint moot because the legal wrong he complains of could not reasonably recur. To address this argument, the Court would need to find that the process offered by defendants is sufficient to satisfy the Fifth Amendment and the APA. This is not a mootness argument but, rather, an invitation to rule on the merits of Jackson's claim, "which is precisely the dispute that the Court is tasked with deciding." See Goings, 786 F.Supp.2d at 64, 2011 WL 1837749, at *12.
CONCLUSION
For the reasons stated herein, the Court concludes that defendants have failed to show that there is "no reasonable expectation" that the alleged violation will recur and, therefore, the voluntary cessation *209 doctrine applies.[6] Defendants' motion to dismiss for lack of subject matter jurisdiction will be denied, and a separate Order accompanies this Memorandum Opinion.
NOTES
[1] The Complaint and pleadings do not specify why Jackson was on parole or what "technical violation" he committed.
[2] Defendants argue in their reply that sovereign immunity bars Jackson from seeking nominal damages from the USPC or USPC and CSOSA officials in their official capacities. (Defs.' Reply at 6-7 (citing Fletcher v. Dist. of Columbia, 481 F.Supp.2d 156, 161-62 (D.D.C.2007)).) Because the Court finds that the voluntary cessation doctrine applies, and because defendants have not separately moved to dismiss this claim for damages, the Court need not address this argument.
[3] There is law in this Circuit suggesting that, at least when a plaintiff challenges an agency's policy, the burden may shift to plaintiff to point to "evidence indicating that the challenged [policy] will likely be reenacted." Larsen, 525 F.3d at 4 (quoting Nat'l Black Police Ass'n v. Dist. of Columbia, 108 F.3d 346, 349 (D.C.Cir. 1997)). Here, however, Jackson challenges specific action taken by defendants, not a general policy. Moreover, unlike in Larsen, Jackson has alleged that defendants are "likely to" reimpose the parole restrictions. See id.
[4] As noted above, the Court may consider materials outside of the pleadings in order to assure itself that it has subject matter jurisdiction. See supra, Part I.
[5] Defendants also observe that Jackson, unlike the plaintiff in Goings, raises a "general challenge to an alleged blanket failure to provide notice and an opportunity to be heard." (Defs.' Reply at 4-5.) Defendants do not explain how or why this should affect the Court's inquiry into the likelihood that the conditions on Jackson's parole may be reinstated.
[6] Because defendants have failed to show that there is no reasonable expectation that the conduct at issue will recur, the Court need not consider whether the effects of the violation have been "completely eradicated."
|
{
"pile_set_name": "FreeLaw"
}
|
Story highlights Quake struck in north of South Pacific island nation at a depth of 35 kilometers (22 miles)
Threat of tsunami has now largely passed, Pacific Tsunami Warning Center says
(CNN) A magnitude-6.9 earthquake struck the South Pacific island nation of Vanuatu on Sunday, according to the U.S. Geological Survey.
JUST WATCHED Go inside an exploding volcano on Vanuatu Replay More Videos ... MUST WATCH Go inside an exploding volcano on Vanuatu 01:30
The USGS said the quake hit at 7:23 p.m. local time (4.23 a.m. ET) off the island of Espiritu Santo, 407 kilometers (more than 250 miles) north-northwest of the capital, Port Vila.
It occurred about 81 kilometers (50 miles) north-northwest of the town of Port Olry at a depth of 35 kilometers (22 miles).
The Pacific Tsunami Warning Center initially warned of a potential tsunami but subsequently said the threat had "now largely passed."
Vanuatu is situated in one of the most seismically active areas in the world, and similarly sized temblors struck it in October and December.
Read More
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{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
A computer-generated illustration of a TAU/Plantware "home." Credit: AFTAU
A bus stop that grows its own foliage as shade? A children's playground, made entirely from trees? A shelter made from living tree roots that could provide natural protection against earthquakes in California?
"Eco-architecture" may sound like a Buck Rogers vision of an ecologically-sustainable future, but that future is now thanks to the guidance of Tel Aviv University Professors Yoav Waisel and Amram Eshel. The concept of shaping living trees into useful objects -- known as tree shaping, arborsculpture, living art or pooktre –– isn't new. But scientists are now ready to use this concept as the foundation of a new company that will roll out these structures worldwide.
Pilot projects now underway in the United States, Australia and Israel include park benches for hospitals, playground structures, streetlamps and gates. "The approach is a new application of the well-known botanical phenomenon of aerial root development," says Prof. Eshel. "Instead of using plant branches, this patented approach takes malleable roots and shapes them into useful objects for indoors and out."
A Scientific and Commercial Partnership
The original "root-breaking" research was conducted at the Sarah Racine Root Research Laboratory at Tel Aviv University, the first and largest aeroponics lab in the world. Founded by Prof. Waisel 20 years ago, the lab enables scientists to conduct future-forward and creative research that benefits mankind and the environment.
Commercial applications of the research are being developed by Plantware, a company founded in 2002. TAU and Plantware researchers working together found that certain species of trees grown aeroponically (in air instead of soil and water) do not harden. This developed into a new method for growing "soft roots," which could easily turn living trees into useful structures.
Completing the informal collaboration between Plantware founders and the university, the company's director of operations, Yaniv Naftaly, holds a degree in life sciences from TAU.
An Eco-Positive Abode
It's even possible that, in the near future, entire homes will be constructed with the eco-friendly technology. An engineer by trade, Plantware's CEO Gordon Glazer hopes the first home prototype will be ready in about a decade. While the method of "growing your own home" can take years, the result is long lasting and desirable especially in the emerging field of green architecture.
Prof. Eshel's team is also working on a number of other projects to save the planet's resources. They are currently investigating a latex-producing shrub, Euphoria tirucalii, which can be grown easily in the desert, as a source for biofuel; they are also genetically engineering plant roots to ensure "more crop per drop," an innovative approach to irrigation.
Source: Tel Aviv University
Explore further Secondary variant of Photorhabdus luminescens interacts with plant roots
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{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
In ventilation systems, the ventilation air is admitted to the room through openings in the wall or ceiling and such openings are fitted with a removable ventilation elements, normally air valves, diffusers or grilles for supplying and exhausting air. The conduits to which the elements are connected may be of varying widths or diameters and may even vary in type. Frequently the conduit is simply an opening in a concrete wall and such conduits are often uneven and include a great number of varying irregularities.
If the conduit embodies a standard piece of duct work or other pre-formed conduit, the ventilation element may be designed to mate with the pre-formed conduit and may be screwed in place or glued by suitable sealing cement. However, where it is desirable to permit ready removal and replacement of the ventilation element, it has been proposed to provide spring latches which releasably mount the ventilation element in the duct. Such devices are normally not suitable unless the ventilation element has a cylindrical portion which telescopically engages in the duct conduit to position the same. In such cases, the latch element may comprise a special expanding member on the cylindrical portion which springs out to engage the conduit and secure it in position.
In order to solve these problems, a mounting arrangement has been provided in which the ventilation element is provided with resilient brackets which may spring outwardly against or behind an irregularity or a shoulder. The resilient element then is designed either to pass "over-center", or to act as a cam element to resiliently cause the ventilation element to bear tightly against the wall surface surrounding the ventilation opening.
The foregoing mounting apparatuses are not entirely satisfactory, because of their complicated construction and assembly, their expense, and their inability to adapt to openings which are quite irregular.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "USPTO Backgrounds"
}
|
Q:
Class-level classmethod() can only be called on a method_descriptor or instance method
util.py:
import inspect
class Singleton(type):
_instances=[]
def __call__(cls, *args, **kwargs):
if cls not in cls._instances:
cls._instances[cls] = super(Singleton, cls).__call__(*args, **kwargs)
class MetaResult(Singleton):
def __getattribute__(cls, name):
return super().__getattribute__(name)
class Result(metaclass=MetaResult):
@staticmethod
def res_decorator(func):
def funcwrap(*args, **kwargs):
sig = inspect.signature(func)
bound_sig = sig.bind(*args, **kwargs)
bound_sig.apply_defaults()
#additional code to extract function arguments
return funcwrap
check_params.py
from util import Result as _Result
from abc import ABCMeta as _ABCMeta
class paramparse(metaclass=_ABCMeta)
@classmethod
@_Result.res_decorator
def parse_flash_params(cls, flash_config_path):
#some code
Now, I cythonize the file check_params.py with following setup :
cythonize.py
import os as _os
from pathlib import Path as _Path
from distutils.core import setup as _setup
from Cython.Distutils import build_ext as _build_ext
files_to_compile = []
def cython_build(source_path):
for dirpath, _, fnames in os.walk(source_path):
for fname in [x for x in fnames if f.endswith('.py'):
fname = _Path(fname)
files_to_compile.append(fname)
for e in files_to_compile:
e.cython_directives = {'binding':True, 'language_level':3}
_setup(name="Proj1",cmdclass={'build_ext':_build_ext}, ext_modules=files_to_compile)
cythonized as:
python cythonize.py --path C:\directory_where_check_params_exist
generates a pyd file on which the following unit tests were attempted to run:
Now, coming to the usage, in the unit tests:
unit_test_check_params.py
from check_params import * #getting error here , details outside the code
# unit tests written here
check_params.pyx:112: in init check_params
???
E
TypeError: Class-level classmethod() can only be called on a method_descriptor or instance method.
So when i debug this, the error appears as being caused because of the classmethod descriptor over decorator (def parse_flash_params) in check_params.py
Please let me know if you need more information.
A:
This still isn't a hugely helpful example in since the code you provide still doesn't actually work. However:
The case
@classmethod
@_Result.res_decorator
is definitely a Cython bug. In the function __Pyx_Method_ClassMethod Cython has a lot of type checks to ensure that the type is a method (a function defined in a class), while actually it only needs to be callable, and this should only really be checked at call time. As a quick workround you can edit the relevant internal Cython file (CythonFunction.c) to replace the lines
PyErr_SetString(PyExc_TypeError,
"Class-level classmethod() can only be called on "
"a method_descriptor or instance method.");
return NULL;
with
return PyClassMethod_New(method);
This seems to me closer to what Python does, where it accepts any object and only checks for callability when the function is actually called.
In the longer term you should report it as a bug in Cython with an example that actually works to demonstrate the problem. This way it can actually be fixed. I don't think you need Result and the staticclass bit - res_decorator as an isolated function should demonstrate the problem.
The second possible order
@_Result.res_decorator
@classmethod
doesn't work in unCythonized Python either since the direct result of a classmethod decorator isn't callable. It only becomes callable when it becomes a bound method, which happens later. Therefore this isn't a bug in Cython.
Final addendum:
A cleaner workaround is to force Cython to use the builtin classmethod, instead of its own version that's causing bugs
try:
myclassmethod = __builtins__.classmethod
except AttributeError:
myclassmethod = __builtins__['classmethod']
class paramparse(metaclass=_ABCMeta):
@myclassmethod
@_Result.res_decorator
def parse_flash_params(cls, flash_config_path):
pass
The try ... except block is because __builtins__ behaves slightly differently in Cython and in a Python module, which is fine because it's an implementation detail anyway.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
It's been 2 months that Silk Mandarin has been closed for Chinese New Year holidays and the subsequent COVID-19 outbreak afterwards.
We have decided to still stay closed for the time being, complying with the decision of the government about pausing all current off-line education to ensure safety.
Although the Shanghai government has lowered the signal of the emergency level, the city, as one of the biggest window cities in China, is still faced with high risks coming from overseas carriers.
But meanwhile, 16 provinces (out of 34 province-level administrations in China) such as Jiangsu and Yunnan have announced that school starts from the end of the month or April (updated on March 24th). We hope Shanghai will also confirm the date to resume all offline education very soon. We will also keep you updated on the situation via this WeChat account as soon as we have further news.
At the same time, it's exciting to see most of Silk's students are resuming Chinese learning via the online portal with their teachers. We believe the online platform has been benefiting their Chinese learning with its efficiency and consistency in the past 2 months.
Click the pic to know more about the details of online class
Even though the campuses are closed, Silk Mandarin team's work hasn't stopped. We are taking advantage of this special time to further develop the course so it can work perfectly both online and offline.
Silk Mandarin team is dedicated to developing video classes during this COVID-19 quarantine time and we hope to launch these video courses very soon!
We are also very sorry to see that the virus has caused a more serious worldwide epidemic during the last 3 weeks. Travelling around the world has become extremely difficult at the moment. The quarantine policy here in China has also maximized the challenge of returning.
All of Silk's friends, no matter where you are and how you are doing, if you need any help from us, feel free to let us know!
We miss all of you!
Take care and stay safe!
We all believe this is going to end eventually and we will see you again very soon!
HSK TEST UPDATE
(According to the official announcement in Chinese)
According to notices released from the official Chinese Test Center, the Chinese Proficiency Tests held in China on the 11th of April, for HSK, HSKK and BCT are cancelled.
If you have already registered for one of the tests above, then all the registrations will be rescheduled to the test dates later after the COVID-19's epidemic gets controlled.
Please directly contact the testing venue to which you have registered if you need any help. We will also keep you updated here once we get more information from the Chinese test office.
Click "Read more" to read the original notice
400 803 5300 / +8602162378028
[email protected]
Silkmandarin.cn
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
Sex and hemispheric differences for rapid auditory processing in normal adults.
Previous research suggests that left hemisphere specialisation for processing speech may specifically depend on rate-specific parameters, with rapidly successive or faster changing acoustic stimuli (e.g. stop consonant-vowel syllables) processed preferentially by the left hemisphere. The current study further investigates the involvement of the left hemisphere in processing rapidly changing auditory information, and examines the effects of sex on the organisation of this function. Twenty subjects participated in an auditory discrimination task involving the target identification of a two-tone sequence presented to one ear, paired with white noise to the contralateral ear. Analyses demonstrated a right ear advantage for males only at the shorter interstimulus interval durations (mean = 20 msec) whereas no ear advantage was observed for women. These results suggest that the male brain is more lateralised for the processing of rapidly presented auditory tones, specifically at shorter stimulus durations.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Q:
which is faster: i=i+2 or i+=2?
Consider the below code snippet:
for(i=0;i<10;i+=2) // 1
for(i=0;i<2;i=i+2) // 2
Which one will be better to use?
Does it make any difference in the performance?
A:
The following took 0.0260015 seconds
for (i = 0 ; i < 10000000 ; i += 2)
And this took 0.0170010
for (i = 0 ; i < 10000000 ; i = i + 2)
@MasterID is right though when I enabled 'optimize code' both reported 0.0150009 seconds
A:
There is no definite answer to your question. It depends on how smart your compiler is among other things (optimization level, ...) and on the target platform. This is not a C language question. The language is not more or less performant by itself. It just depends on what the compiler builds out of it. So test it for your use case if performance matters at all...
Otherwise my advice, just write it in the way you feel it more readable.
A:
The first option is as fast as the second, at least.
Although any compilation optimization would generate the same assembly code.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
ARLINGTON, TEXAS—What we learned while watching fourth-seeded Michigan pull out an incredible comeback in the final minutes of regulation and knock off top-seeded Kansas in overtime, 87-85, to advance to the Elite Eight for the first time since the Fab Five wore the Wolverines’ uniform.
It ain’t over …
Glenn Robinson III and the Michigan Wolverines upset Kansas in overtime to advance to the Elite Eight. (AP Photo)
The Jayhawks had the ball and a 10-point lead as the game clock wound under the 2:30 mark. The victory seemed almost certain.
Obviously, it wasn’t. There was the steal and dunk by Glenn Robinson III. The turnovers and missed shots by Kansas. The 3-pointers by Trey Burke.
Oh, the 3-pointers by Trey Burke.
The best point guard in the country knocked down a couple of them in the final two minutes, including one from nearby Rangers Ballpark with 4.2 seconds left to tie the game and send an already stunned Jayhawks fanbase into a near comatose state.
And then, Burke started the overtime session by scoring Michigan’s first five points. After a scoreless first half, he finished with 23 points and 10 assists.
The best player on the court Friday wasn’t first-team All-American Trey Burke. For the first 38 minutes, at least. Instead, it was the guy who would have been the first-team All-American if not for the random disappearance acts that dotted Ben McLemore’s redshirt freshman season at Kansas.
McLemore was overly underwhelming during the Jayhawks’ four most recent games heading into this Sweet 16 matchup with Michigan. In those four contests, he averaged just seven points and 6.5 shot attempts per game; for a player most project as a top-five NBA draft pick when he eventually decides to make the jump to the pros, that wasn’t acceptable.
And, yes, the Jayhawks won all four of those contests, but to advance past the Sweet 16, they would need
more from their could-be star. Friday night, McLemore delivered.
He had 10 points in the first half, including a monster alley-oop dunk off an inbounds pass from Naadir Tharpe with just under four minutes remaining before halftime. He saved his best stuff—his “This guy is going to be the No. 1 pick” stuff—for the second half.
McLemore scored 10 points during a 15-6 Kansas run that turned a two-point lead with 15:48 left in the game into an 11-point lead with just over 11 minutes left. He threw down a monstrous breakaway dunk, made a layup—off a great hustle play by Perry Ellis to save the possession—and knocked down a pair of 3-pointers.
Get to know this guy better
The best player wearing a retina-searing maize Michigan uniform wasn’t the first-team All-American, either. For the first 38 minutes of the game, at least.
That honor went to freshman Mitch McGary.
The 6-10, 250-pounder had his second consecutive NCAA Tournament game with at least 20 points and 10 rebounds; he had 21 and 14 against VCU to help lift the Wolverines into this Sweet 16 contest against Kansas.
When Trey Burke struggled in the first half, McGary was the reliable source of offense in the paint, despite being marked by big man Jeff Withey. McGary was 5-for-7 from the field in the first 20 minutes; the rest of the Wolverines were just 9-for-25.
McGary finished with 25 points and 14 rebounds, and was 12-of-17 from the field.
The bench matters
At times this season, relying on their bench has been a dicey proposition for the Jayhawks, but in the first 20 minutes the group of youngsters responded well.
Senior point guard Elijah Johnson picked up three fouls in just three first-half minutes, prompting this observation from coach Bill Self in his halftime interview with TBS: “It was bad. He made three boneheaded plays. Hopefully he’ll get his head right.”
So backup Naadir Tharpe, a sophomore who played limited minutes his first year, spent the other 17 first-half minutes on the court, and he played very well. Tharpe had just two points, but he had five assists and a plus-four rating.
Freshman big men Perry Ellis and Jamari Traylor played eight minutes total; they were 3-for-3 from the field combined, and Traylor had a pair of blocks in his two minutes.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
Q:
И снова частица НЕ
Предложение такое: "...иначе это будет не()удобочитаемо". Ворд мне подчеркивает оба варианты: и слитное написание "не" и раздельное. Я понимаю, что в зависимости от контекста, это слово может писать и слитно, и раздельно, но как быть в данном конкретном случае? Я написала раздельно, но потом засомневалась.
Заранее спасибо.
A:
Я понимаю, что в зависимости от
контекста, это слово может писать и
слитно, и раздельно, но как быть в
данном конкретном случае?
Да, зависит от контекста (нужен более широкий, чем у Вас приведён). Скорее всего, потребуется слитное написание.
Попробуйте воспользоваться этим правилом:
§ 148. С существительными, прилагательными, наречиями на -о
отрицание не пишется слитно в
следующих случаях. <...>
4. Если при прилагательном, а также при наречии на -о имеются слова
очень, крайне, весьма, чрезвычайно, явно, довольно (довольно-таки),
достаточно, вопиюще, исключительно, в
высшей степени — слова со значением
степени проявления признака,
подчеркивающие утверждение,
§ 149... При отсутствии в контексте слов, помогающих распознать
отрицание или утверждение и,
следовательно, отличить частицу
не от приставки не-, пишущий должен проверить, какие слова
— усиливающие отрицание или
подчеркивающие утверждение — возможны
по смыслу в данном контексте.
При возможности подстановки слов,
подчеркивающих утверждение (очень,
достаточно и др., см. § 148, п. 4),
не пишется слитно.
http://orthographia.ru/orfografia.php?sid=79#pp79
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Q:
I want to updatecomplex XML file attribute value on specific position
I want to update my XML on specific position. Please help. Today is my last date of project submission.
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<A>
<B>
<C>
<D>
Item1
</D>
<E>
<F type="id" text="Item type">
<E>
<G type="id" width="" text="Pen">
<image name="Pen1" url="www.mysite.com"></image>
</G>
</E>
<E>
<G type="id" width="" text="Pencil">
<image name="Pen1" url="www.mysite2.com"></image>
</G>
</E>
</F>
</E>
<D>
Item2
</D>
<E>
<F type="id" text="Item type">
<E>
<G type="id" width="" text="Book">
<image name="Pen1" url="www.mysite3.com"></image>
</G>
</E>
<E>
<G type="id" width="" text="Book2">
<image name="Pen1" url="www.mysite4.com"></image>
</G>
</E>
</F>
</E>
</C>
</B>
</A>
previously i know the D element vaue, F,G attribute Text value and need to update image URL.
Kindly help, I can't search exact url.
I used
XmlDocument doc = new XmlDocument();
doc.Load(xmlPath);
XmlNodeList elemList = doc.GetElementsByTagName("F");
XmlNodeList subelemlist = doc.GetElementsByTagName("G");
for (int i = 0; i < elemList.Count; i++)
{
string attrVal = elemList[i].Attributes["text"].Value;
if (attrVal == "Pen")
{
for (int j = i - 1; j < subelemlist.Count; j++)
{
string attrval2 = subelemlist[j].Attributes["URL"].Value;
subelemlist[j].Attributes["URL"].Value = colURL;
doc.Save(xmlPath);
break;
}
}
}
A:
If I understand your requirements, you are looking for an element that has a text property with Pen value.And you want to change image element's URL.If so, you can do the following with LINQ to XML:
var xDoc = XDocument.Load(xmlPath);
var elements = xDoc.Descendants()
.Where(x => (string)x.Attribute("text") == "Pen");
.ToList();
foreach(var item in elements)
{
var imageElement = item.Elements("image").FirstOrDefault();
if(imageElement != null)
{
imageElement.Attribute("url").Value = newUrl; // change the url value
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As optical radar apparatuses capable of setting a detection area in a widthwise direction of a road surface, there are apparatuses such as those disclosed in Japanese Utility Model Laid-Open Nos. 59-117980 and 59-117981.
In the apparatus disclosed in Japanese Utility Model Laid-Open No. 59-117980, shown in FIGS. 7A and 7B, light from a light source is condensed to some extent by a lens to obtain a first detection range .theta.T1, and the light source is suitably moved to obtain a second detection range .theta.T2 wider than the first detection range .theta.T1 in a widthwise direction of a road surface by changing the degree of condensing of the lens.
In the apparatus disclosed in Japanese Utility Model Laid-Open No. 59-117981, shown in FIG. 8, light from a light source traveling through a lens is diffused by a prism to increase an expansion angle in a road surface direction, thereby setting a detection range wide in a widthwise direction of a road surface.
In the apparatus disclosed in Japanese Utility Model Laid-Open No. 59-117980 among the above-described conventional apparatuses, shown in FIGS. 7A and 7B, however, light cannot be emitted simultaneously for the first detection range .theta.T1 and the second detection range .theta.T2, and the detection range is set one-sidedly, since the detection range is changed by moving the light source.
The apparatus disclosed in Japanese Utility Model Laid-Open No. 59-117981, shown in FIG. 8, entails the problem of a reduction in the maximum detection distance because light is uniformly diffused by the prism. Because of this problem, it is not possible to meet a demand heretofore made for widening the detection range in a widthwise direction of a road surface in a short-distance area without reducing the maximum detection distance when an optical radar apparatus is used for an inter-vehicle control or an obstacle detecting apparatus.
The present invention has been achieved in consideration of the above-described problems, and an object of the present invention is to provide an optical radar apparatus capable of increasing the expansion angle in a road surface direction in a short-distance range without setting the detection range one-sidedly and without sacrificing the maximum detection distance.
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Many of my issues with the “design” are related to pace of play and/or safety issues. Trees that needlessly block your view of an area, for example… stuff like that. Obviously, based on only one playing, and I’m only really highlighting the things I think could be better or that are negatives. I’m not including the positive aspects of the thing here (I’d rate the course as a 5.5/10 or 6/10 - it’s not worth two hours for me to drive, but it’s still a slightly better than average course). So, mostly just the negatives…: Why have rough there? There’s also a dense bunch of pines right that serve no real purpose. Thin them out and allow recovery shots as well as easier tracking of a ball hit into them. Mostly fine. Short right fwy bunker kinda useless. The fairway is 17 yards wide at 250 yards. Left is dead. Right is trees. Difficult holes are fine, but nobody is going to want to be in the valley left, so there are going to be a lot of people looking in the trees right. None of us hit the green from 210 yards, and we spent about six or seven minutes progressively looking for everyone’s balls. Total balls found: 13. Number that were ours? All four, eventually. Did we still wait on the next tee after playing out? Yes. Balls were embedded everywhere on this hole. No real issues here. The left fairway is again 17-18 yards wide, the right fairway is 22 and runs out after 260 yards. We were hit into on this hole even though we kept a cart in the left fairway plainly visible from the tee by someone who hit through the middle in the trees where three of our tee shots went (all but one ended up downhill to the right with a relatively clean angle to the green. I reached with a 6I). Pace of play nightmare type hole. Mostly fine. You can’t see that the water extends around the back as much as it does, and it’s almost the same yardage from every set of tees, which doesn’t make sense to me. I wonder how the front tee players play this hole. Great example here of some bad stuff, IMO. First, trees just off the tee block your sight line to the left rough, nearly hiding all of two bunkers that are left as well as the cart path (behind more trees) on a cart-path-only hole. Then up the right, there’s an elevated bunker that hides the pond behind it, with thick, soft rough that’s 50+ yards from the cart path. Flatten the hill where the bunker right is so you can see the pond. If you want a bunker there, put it down by the water to stop balls from rolling in, though honestly it’s just not necessary as players hitting bunker shots over a pond are going to chunk or blade them 90% of the time, leading to slower play. Thin the trees out so you can see up the left side of the hole, both for safety and pace of play reasons. The fairway is again 21 yards wide just before you get to the hazard, which is about 230 yards off the back of the long strip tee, and 260 off the black tees. Good hole, though the possibly blind second shot is a mild pace of play/safety issue. I say possibly because I was in the left rough, and hit a 7I over trees to 40 yards shy of the green. It appeared that it may be blind going up and over the hill, but maybe it’s not tall enough to actually be blind. If not, the hole is fine/good. Decent hole. Fine. Green has a good amount of slope for a 210-yard tee shot, not a big size. Good hole. Trees right by the tee block your view up the right-hand side if you hit a ball to the right edge of the fairway, let alone just into the rough. The cart path is up the right-hand side, too, making it a pace of play and a safety issue, especially as most players slice. Otherwise, a good hole. Generally I’m not a fan of massive features on a green when it’s a blind shot. The green has an odd shape, a big tier, and is completely blind (you can see the flagstick). “It’s only blind once” they say, but for a busy almost “destination” type course (I’m using the term loosely, for just folks within an hour or two), this is another place where a few minutes of pace could be saved. Decent hole otherwise. Another 19-yard wide fairway at 250 yards off the tee. We could barely see the top of the flagstick from where we were teeing off (fortunately it was toward the back). I love a good downhill island par three, but it’s generally good to be able to see where the ball lands. Otherwise much of the drama is gone, unless you want to run forward so you can see the green. A good hole with a poor choice of hole locations yesterday. And a minor safety issue, as three of us drove well over the hilltop. We waited long enough so we knew they’d moved on, but people could be hit into here. I think the course could be pretty darn good with a few changes, starting with firming up the conditions. Plugged balls in areas that are clearly too wet to mow very often (long rough) are a pace of play nightmare, and also just not fun golf. Firmer conditions would let better players hit 3W on some tees and still feed the ball into better areas instead of trying to hit driver into 20-yard-wide areas with a giant slope right and trees left (or vice versa). I played pretty well. Got boned once or twice, but that’s fine, and they weren’t even on the obvious holes (once I think was a bad yardage - I think he got the slope behind the green and not the flagstick). The greens, because of how soft they were, were beat to heck. So many ball marks, footprints, etc. Billy Horschel would have done his Chambers Bay wiggly snake hand motion a few times on putts.
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The present invention relates to an artificial cardiac valve.
Numerous artificial cardiac valves employing flap valve devices of the ball, disc or flap type in the form of a hemi-disc, already exist.
This is the case, for example, of the valves described in Patent Applications EP 0 176 337 (CARBOMEDICS INC.), EP 0 023 797 (HEMEX INC.), EP 0 039 217 (MITRAL MEDICAL INTERNATIONAL, INC. and EP 0 050 971 (HEMEX INC.).
Furthermore, GB 2 084 299 (HEMEX INC.) describes a cardiac valve comprising an annular element and a flap pivotally lodged inside said element as well as linking elements adapted to cooperate with guiding and restraining means provided on the internal lateral wall of the annular element.
These documents describe in particular valves of the type comprising a flap with single pivoting disc. The disc in question pivots by means of hinges in the form of protuberances disposed on the inner wall of the body of the valve and which, due to their configurations and arrangements, are capable of provoking phenomena of thrombosis.
Furthermore, these valves are in a position of complete opening only when the flap has pivoted through a certain angle which is always less than 90.degree. about an axis of rotation which merges with its diameter. In fact, the limited angle of 90.degree. does not allow passive closure of the valve. Consequently, in the position of opening, half of the disc constituting the flap is engaged in the aorta, which may raise problems of flow and/or space requirements.
Moreover, it is observed that these valves tend to oscillate due to the great distance between the axis of rotation and the most remote end of the flap.
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_For Karifa, because every father yearns
to be a hero for his son_.
#
'Men have died for this music.
You can't get more serious than that'
Dizzy Gillespie
# Contents
1 Body and Soul
2 The Spice of Life
3 A Long Drink of the Blues
4 One Tenth of My Ashes
5 The Night Gate
6 The Empress of Pleasure
7 Almost Like Being in Love
8 Smoke gets in Your Eyes
9 The Forcing House
10 Funland
11 These Foolish Things
12 It don't Mean a Thing
13 Autumn Leaves
14 I Woke Up this Morning
Historical Note
Acknowledgements
Copyright
#
# Body and Soul
It's a sad fact of modern life that if you drive long enough, sooner or later you must leave London behind. If you drive north-east up the A12 you eventually come to Colchester, Britain's first Roman capital and the first city to be burned down by that red-headed chavette from Norfolk known as Boudicca. I knew all this because I'd been reading the _Annals_ of Tacitus as part of my Latin training. He's surprisingly sympathetic to the revolting Brits, and scathing about the unpreparedness of the Roman generals who _thought more of what was agreeable than expedient_. The classically educated chinless wonders who run the British Army obviously took this admonition to heart because Colchester is now the home of their toughest soldiers, the Parachute Regiment. Having spent many a Saturday night as a probationary PC wrestling squaddies in Leicester Square, I made sure I stayed on the main road and bypassed the city altogether.
Beyond Colchester I turned south and, with the help of the GPS on my phone, got myself onto the B1029 heading down the wedged-shape bit of dry ground jammed between the River Colne and Flag Creek. At the end of the road lay Brightlingsea, lining the coast – so Lesley had always told me – like a collection of rubbish stranded at the high-water mark. Actually, I didn't think it was that bad. It had been raining in London but, after Colchester, I'd driven into clear blue skies and the sun lit up the rows of well-kept Victorian terraces that ran down to the sea.
Chez May was easy to spot: a 1970s brick-built fake-Edwardian cottage that had been carriage-lamped and pebble-dashed to within an inch of its life. The front door was flanked on one side by a hanging basket full of blue flowers, and on the other, the house number inscribed on a ceramic plate in the shape of a sailing yacht. I paused and checked the garden: there were gnomes loitering near the ornamental bird bath. I took a breath and rang the doorbell.
There was an immediate chorus of female yelling from inside. Through the reproduction stained-glass window in the front door, I could just make out blurry figures running back and forth at the far end of the hall. Somebody yelled, 'It's your boyfriend!' which earned a _Shush!_ and a sotto voce reprimand from someone else. A white blur marched up the hallway until it filled the view through the window from side to side. I took a step backwards and the door opened. It was Henry May – Lesley's father.
He was a large man, and driving big trucks and hauling heavy gear had given him broad shoulders and heavyset arms. Too many transport-café breakfasts and standing his round at the pub had put a tyre around his waist. He had a square face, and had dealt with a receding hairline by shaving his hair down to a brown fuzz. His eyes were blue and clever. Lesley had got her eyes from her dad.
Having four daughters meant that he had parental looming down to a fine art, and I fought the urge to ask whether Lesley could come out and play.
'Hello Peter,' he said.
'Mr May,' I said.
He made no effort to unblock the doorway, nor did he invite me in.
'Lesley will be out in a minute,' he said.
'She all right?' I asked. It was a stupid question, and Lesley's dad didn't embarrass either of us by trying to answer it. I heard someone coming down the stairs and braced myself.
There'd been severe damage to the maxilla, nasal spine, ramus and mandible, Dr Walid had said. And although the majority of the underlying muscle and tendons had survived, the surgeons at UCH had been unable to save much of the skin surface. They'd put in a temporary scaffold to allow her to breathe and ingest food, and there was a chance that she might benefit from a partial face transplant – if they could find a suitable donor. Given that what was left of her jaw was currently held together with a filigree of hypoallergenic metal, talking was out of the question. Dr Walid had said that once the bones were sufficiently fused, they might be able to restore enough functionality to the jaw to allow for speech. But it all sounded a bit conditional to me. Whatever you see, he'd said, take as long a look as you need to get used to it, to accept it, and then move on as if nothing has changed.
'Here she is,' said Lesley's dad, and turned sideways to allow a slim figure to squeeze past him. She wore a blue and white striped hoodie with the hood up, the drawstring pulled tight so that it hid her forehead and chin. The lower face was covered by a matching blue and white patterned scarf, and her eyes by a pair of unfashionably large sunglasses that I suspected had been looted from her mum's forgotten clothes drawer. I stared, but there was nothing to see.
'You should have said we were going out robbing,' I said. 'I'd have brought a balaclava.'
She gave me a disgusted look – I recognised it from the tilt of her head and the way she held her shoulders. I felt a stutter in my chest and took a deep breath.
'Fancy a walk, then?' I asked.
She nodded to her dad, took me firmly by the arm and led me away from the house.
I felt her dad's eyes on my back as we walked off.
If you don't count the boat-building and the light engineering, Brightlingsea is not a noisy town, even in the summer. Now, two weeks after the end of the school holidays, it was almost silent, just the occasional car and the sound of the gulls. I stayed quiet until we'd crossed the High Street, where Lesley pulled her police-issue notebook out of her bag, flipped it open to the last page and showed it to me.
_What have you been up to?_ was written in black Biro across the page.
'You don't want to know,' I said.
She made it clear through hand gestures that, yeah, she did want to know.
So I told her about the guy that had had his dick bitten off by a woman with teeth in her vagina, which seemed to amuse Lesley, and about the rumours that DCI Seawoll was being investigated by the IPCC about his conduct during the Covent Garden riots, which did not. I also didn't tell her that Terrence Pottsley, the only other victim to survive the magic that had damaged Lesley's face, had topped himself as soon as his family's backs were turned.
We didn't go straight to the seashore. Instead, Lesley led me the back way down Oyster Tank Road and through a grassy car park where rows of dinghies were parked on their trailers. A brisk wind from the sea moaned through the rigging and clonked the metal fittings together like cow bells. Hand in hand, we picked our way through the boats and out onto the windswept concrete esplanade. On one side, cement steps led down to a beach carved into narrow strips by rotting breakwaters; on the other side stood a line of brightly coloured huts. Most were closed up tight but I did see one family, determined to stretch the summer as far as it would go, the parents drinking tea in the shelter of their doorway while the kids kicked a football on the beach.
Between the end of the beach huts and the open-air swimming pool was a strip of grass and a shelter where we finally got to sit down. Erected in the 1930s, when people had realistic expectations of the British climate, it was brick built and solid enough to serve as a tank trap. We sat down out of the wind on the bench that ran along the back of the alcove. The inside had been decorated with a mural of the seafront: blue sky, white clouds, red sails. Some total wanker had graffiti'd 'BMX' across the sky, and there was a list of names crudely painted down the side wall – Brooke T., Emily B. and Lesley M. They were just in the right location to have been painted by a bored teenager slumped on the corner of the bench. You didn't need to be a copper to see that this was where the yoof of Brightlingsea came to hang out, in that difficult gap between the age of criminal responsibility and the legal drinking age.
Lesley pulled an iPad clone out of her bag and fired it up. Somebody in her family must have been computer-literate. I know it wasn't Lesley, because they'd installed a speech synthesiser. Lesley typed in keyboard mode and the iPad spoke. It was a basic model with an American accent that made her sound like an autistic surfer dude, but at least we could have an almost normal conversation.
She didn't bother with small talk. 'Can magic fix?' she asked.
'I thought Dr Walid had talked to you about that.' I'd been dreading this question.
'Want you say,' she said.
'What?'
Lesley leaned over her pad and stabbed deliberately at the screen with her finger. She typed several separate lines before hitting return. 'I want to hear it from you,' said the iPad.
'Why?'
Return again: 'Because I trust you.'
I took a breath. A pair of OAPs raced past the shelter on mobility scooters. 'As far as I can tell, magic works within the same framework of physical laws as everything else,' I said.
'What magic do,' said the iPad, 'magic can undo.'
'If you burn your hand with fire or electricity it's still a burn – you fix it with bandages and cream and stuff like that. You don't use more electricity or more fire. You...'
... had the skin and muscles of your face pulled out of shape by a fucking malevolent spirit – your jaw was all smashed up and the whole thing was held together with magic, and when that ran out your face fell off... your beautiful face. I was there; I watched it happen. And there was nothing I could do.
'Can't just wish it away,' I said.
'Know everything?' asked the iPad.
'No,' I said. 'And I don't think Nightingale does, either.'
She sat silent and unmoving for a long while. I wanted to put my arm around her but I didn't know how she'd react. I was just about to reach out when she nodded to herself and picked up the iPad again.
'Show me,' said the iPad.
'Lesley...'
'Show me,' she hit the repeat button several times. 'Show me, show me, show me...'
'Wait,' I said, and reached for her iPad, but she pulled it out of my reach.
'I have to take the batteries out,' I said, 'or the magic will blow the chips.'
Lesley flipped the iPad, cracked it open and pulled the battery. After going through five phones in a row I'd retrofitted my latest Samsung with a hardware cutoff which kept it safe but meant that the case was held together with elastic bands. Lesley shuddered when she saw it and made a snorting sound that I suspected was laughter.
I made the shape of the appropriate _forma_ in my mind, opened my hand and brought forth a werelight. Not a big one, but enough to cast a pale light that was reflected in Lesley's sunglasses. She stopped laughing. I closed my hand and the light went out.
Lesley stared at my hand for a moment and then made the same gesture, repeating it twice, slowly and methodically. When nothing happened she looked up at me and I knew, underneath the glasses and scarf, that she was frowning.
'It's not that easy,' I said. 'I practised every morning for four hours for a month and half before I could do that, and that's just the first thing you have to learn. Have I told you about the Latin, the Greek...?'
We sat in silence for a moment, then she poked me in the arm. I sighed and produced another werelight. I could practically do it in my sleep by this time. She copied the gesture and got nothing. I'm not joking about how long it takes to learn.
The OAPs on mobility scooters returned drag-racing past on the esplanade. I put the light out, but Lesley carried on making the gesture, the movements becoming more impatient with every try. I stood it as long as I could before I took her hand in mine and made her stop.
We walked back to her house soon afterwards. When we reached her porch she patted me on the arm, stepped inside and shut the door in my face. Through the stained glass I watched her blurry shape retreat quickly down the hallway, and then she was gone.
I was about to turn away when the door opened and Lesley's dad stepped out.
'Peter,' he said. Embarrassment doesn't come easily to men like Henry May, so they don't hide it well. 'I thought we might get a cup of tea – there's a café on the High Street.'
'Thanks,' I said, 'but I've got to get back to London.'
'Oh,' he said and stepped closer. 'She doesn't want you to see her with the mask off...' He waved his hands vaguely in the direction of the house. 'She knows if you come inside she's going to have to take it off, and she doesn't want you to see her. You can understand that, right?'
I nodded.
'She don't want you to see how bad it is,' he said.
'How bad is it?'
'About as bad as it could be,' said Henry.
'I'm sorry,' I said.
Henry shrugged. 'I just wanted you to know that you weren't being sent away,' he said. 'You weren't being punished or something.'
But I was being sent away, so I said goodbye, climbed back in the Jag and drove back to London.
I'd just managed to find my way back onto the A12 when Dr Walid called me and said he had a body he wanted me to look at. I put my foot down. It was work, and I was grateful to get it.
*
Every hospital I've ever been in has had the same smell – that whiff of disinfectant, vomit and mortality. UCH was brand new, less than ten years old, but the smell was already beginning to creep in at the edges except, ironically, downstairs in the basement where they kept the dead people. Down there the paint on the walls was still crisp and the pale blue lino still squeaky underfoot.
The mortuary entrance was halfway down a long corridor hung with framed pictures of the old Middlesex Hospital, from back in the days when doctors washing their hands between patients was the cutting edge of medical science. It was guarded by a pair of electronically locked fire doors with a sign saying No Unauthorised Access STOP Mortuary Staff Only. Another sign ordered me to press the buzzer on the entryphone, which I did. The speaker gave a squawk, and on the off-chance that this was a question, I told them it was Constable Peter Grant to see Dr Walid. It squawked again, I waited, and then Dr Abdul Haqq Walid, world-renowned gastroenterologist, cryptopathologist and practising Scot, opened the door.
'Peter,' he said. 'How was Lesley?'
'All right, I suppose,' I said.
Inside, the mortuary was much the same as the rest of the hospital, only with fewer people complaining about the state of the NHS. Dr Walid walked me past the security at reception and introduced me to today's dead body.
'Who is he?' I asked.
'Cyrus Wilkinson,' he said. 'He collapsed in a pub in Cambridge Circus day before yesterday, was ambulanced to Casualty, pronounced dead on arrival and sent down here for a routine post-mortem.'
Poor old Cyrus Wilkinson didn't look that bad apart from, of course, the Y-shaped incision that split him from chest to crotch. Thankfully, Dr Walid had finished rummaging around in his organs and zipped him up before I'd got there. He was a white guy in what looked like his well-preserved mid-forties with a bit of a beer belly but still some definition on his arms and legs. He looked like a jogger to me.
'And he's down here because...?'
'Well, there's evidence of gastritis, pancreatitis and cirrhosis of the liver,' said Dr Walid. The last one I recognised.
'He was a drinker?' I asked.
'Amongst other things,' said Dr Walid. 'He was severely anaemic, which might have been related to his liver problems, but it looks more like what I'd associate with a B12 deficiency.'
I glanced down at the body again for a moment. 'He's got good muscle tone,' I said.
'He used to be fit,' said Dr Walid. 'But recently he seems to have let himself go.'
'Drugs?'
'I've done all the quick checks, and nothing,' said Dr Walid. 'It'll be a couple of days before I get the results on the hair samples.'
'What was the cause of death?'
'Heart failure. I found indications of dilated cardiomyopathy,' said Dr Walid. 'That's when the heart becomes enlarged and can't do its job properly. But I think what did for him last night was an acute myocardial infarction.'
Another term I recognised from the 'what to do if your suspect keels over in custody' classes I'd taken at Hendon. In other words, a heart attack.
'Natural causes?' I asked.
'Superficially, yes,' said Dr Walid. 'But he really wasn't sick enough to just drop dead the way he did. Not that people don't just drop dead all the time, of course.'
'So how do you know this is one of ours?'
Dr Walid patted the corpse's shoulder and winked at me. 'You're going to have to get closer to find out.'
I don't really like getting close to corpses, even ones as unassuming as Cyrus Wilkinson, so I asked Dr Walid for a filter mask and some eye protectors. Once there was no chance of me touching the corpse by accident, I cautiously bent down until my face was close to his.
_Vestigia_ is the imprint magic leaves on physical objects. It's a lot like a sense impression, like the memory of a smell or a sound you once heard. You've probably felt it a hundred times a day, but it all get mixed up with memories, daydreams and even smells you're smelling and sounds you're hearing. Some things, stones, for example, sop up everything that happens around them even when it's barely magical at all – that's what gives an old house its character. Other things, like the human body, are terrible at retaining any _vestigia_ at all – it takes the magical equivalent of a grenade going off to imprint anything on a corpse.
Which was why I was a little bit surprised to hear the body of Cyrus Wilkinson playing a saxophone solo. The melody floated in from a time when all the radios were made of Bakelite and blown glass, and with it came a builder's-yard smell of cut wood and cement dust. I stayed there long enough to be sure I could identify the tune, and then I stepped away.
'How did you spot this?' I asked.
'I check all the sudden deaths,' said Dr Walid. 'Just on the off-chance. I thought it sounded like jazz.'
'Did you recognise the tune?'
'Not me. I'm strictly prog rock and the nineteenth-century romantics,' said Dr Walid. 'Did you?'
'It's "Body and Soul",' I said. 'It's from the 1930s.'
'Who played it?'
'Just about everybody. It's one of the great jazz classics.'
'You can't die of jazz,' said Dr Walid. 'Can you?'
I thought of Fats Navarro, Billie Holiday and Charlie Parker who, when he died, was mistaken by the coroner for a man twice his actual age.
'You know,' I said, 'I think you'll find you can.'
Jazz had certainly done its best to do for my father.
You don't get _vestigium_ on a body like that without some serious magic, which meant that either somebody did something magical to Cyrus Wilkinson, or he was a user himself. Nightingale called civilians that used magic 'practitioners'. According to him, a practitioner, even an amateur one, frequently leaves evidence of their 'practice' at their home, so I headed over the river to the address listed on Mr Wilkinson's driving licence to see whether there was anyone who loved him enough to kill him.
His house was a two-storey Edwardian terrace on the 'right' side of Tooting Bec Road. This was VW Golf country, with a couple of Audis and a BMW to raise the tone a little. I parked on a yellow line and walked up the street. A fluorescent-orange Honda Civic caught my eye – not only did it have the sad little 1.4 VTEC engine, but there was a woman in the driver's seat watching the address. I made a mental note of the car's Index before I opened the cast-iron gate, walked up the short path and rang the doorbell. For a moment I smelled broken wood and cement dust, but then the door opened and I lost interest in anything else.
She was unfashionably curvy, plump and sexy in a baggy sky-blue Shetland jumper. She had a pale, pretty face and a mess of brown hair that would have fallen halfway down her back if it hadn't been tied up in a crude bundle at the back of her head. Her eyes were chocolate-brown and her mouth was big, full-lipped, and turned down at the corners. She asked me who I was and I identified myself.
'And what can I do for you, Constable?' she asked. Her accent was cut-glass almost to the point of parody; when she spoke I expected a Spitfire to go zooming over our heads.
'Is this Cyrus Wilkinson's house?' I asked.
'I'm rather afraid it was, Constable,' she said.
I asked who she was – politely.
'Simone Fitzwilliam,' she said, and stuck out her hand. I took it automatically; her palm was soft, warm. I smelled honeysuckle. I asked if I could come in, and she stood aside to let me enter.
The house had been built for the aspirational lower middle class, so the hallway was narrow but well proportioned. It still had its original black and white tiles, though, and a scruffy but antique oak hall cupboard. Simone led me into the living room. I noticed that she had sturdy but well-shaped legs under the black leggings she wore. The house had undergone the standard gentrification package: front room knocked through into the dining room; original oak floorboards sanded down, varnished and covered in rugs. The furniture looked like John Lewis – expensive, comfortable and unimaginative. The plasma TV was conventionally large and hooked up to Sky and a Blu-ray player; the nearest shelves held DVDs, not books. A reproduction Monet hung over where the fireplace would have been if it hadn't been ripped out at some point in the last hundred years.
'What was your relationship with Mr Wilkinson?' I asked.
'He was my lover,' she said.
The stereo was a boring high-end Hitachi, strictly CD and solid state – no turntable at all. There were a couple of racks of CDs: Wes Montgomery, Dewey Redman, Stan Getz. The rest were a random selection of hits from the 1990s.
'I'm sorry for your loss,' I said. 'I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I can.'
'Is that entirely necessary, Constable?' she asked.
'We often investigate cases where the circumstances surrounding the death are unclear,' I said. Actually we, that is, the police, don't investigate unless foul play is bleeding obvious, or if the Home Office has recently issued a directive insisting we prioritise whatever the crime du jour is for the duration of the current news cycle.
'Are they unclear?' asked Simone. 'I understood poor Cyrus had a heart attack.' She sat down on a pastel-blue sofa and gestured for me to take my place on the matching armchair. 'Isn't that what they call natural causes?' Her eyes glistened, and she rubbed at them with the back of her hand. 'I'm sorry, Constable,' she said.
I told her to call me Peter, which you are just not supposed to do at this stage of an inquiry – I could practically hear Lesley yelling at me all the way from the Essex coast. She still didn't offer me a cup of tea, though – I guess it just wasn't my day.
Simone smiled. 'Thank you, Peter. You can ask your questions.'
'Cyrus was a musician?' I asked.
'He played the alto sax.'
'And he played jazz?'
Another brief smile. 'Is there any other kind of music?'
'Modal, bebop or mainstream?' I asked, showing off.
'West Coast cool,' she said. 'Although he wasn't averse to a bit of hard bop when the occasion called for it.'
'Do you play?'
'Lord, no,' she said. 'I couldn't possibly inflict my ghastly lack of talent upon an audience. One needs to know one's limitations. I am a keen listener, though – Cyrus appreciated that.'
'Were you listening that night?'
'Of course,' she said. 'Front-row seat, although that isn't hard in a tiny little place like The Spice of Life. They were playing "Midnight Sun". Cyrus finished his solo and just sat down on the monitor – I did think he was a bit flushed – and then he fell over on his side, and that's when we all realised that something was wrong.'
She stopped and looked away from me, her hands balling into fists. I waited a bit and asked some dull routine questions to centre her again – did she know what time he'd collapsed? Who'd called the ambulance? Did she stay with him the whole time? I jotted down the answers in my notebook.
'I wanted to go in the ambulance, I really did, but before I knew it they'd whisked him away. Jimmy gave me a lift to the hospital, but by the time I got there it was too late.'
'Jimmy?' I asked.
'Jimmy's the drummer, very nice man. Scottish, I think.'
'Can you give me his full name?' I asked.
'I don't think I can,' said Simone. 'Isn't that awful? I've just always thought of him as Jimmy the drummer.'
I asked who else was in the band, but she could only remember them as Max the bass and Danny the piano.
'You must think I'm an awful person,' she said. 'I'm certain I must know their names, but I just can't seem to recall them. Perhaps it's Cyrus dying like that, perhaps it's like shell shock.'
I asked whether Cyrus had suffered from any recent illnesses or health conditions. Simone said not. Nor did she know the name of his GP, although she assured me that she could dig it out of his papers if it was important. I made a note to ask Dr Walid to track it down for me.
I felt I'd asked enough questions to cover for my real reason for the visit, and then asked, as innocuously as I could, if I might have a quick look around the rest of the house. Normally the mere presence of a policeman is enough to make the most law-abiding citizen feel vaguely guilty and therefore reluctant to let you clomp around their home in your size elevens, so it was a bit of a surprise when Simone just waved at the hallway and told me to help myself.
Upstairs was pretty much what I'd expected – a master bedroom at the front, a second bedroom at the back that was being used, judging from the cleared floor and the music stands lined up against the wall, as a music room. They'd sacrificed the usual half-bedroom to extend the bathroom to allow for a bath, shower, bidet and toilet combo, all tiled with pale-blue ceramics with an embossed fleur-de-lis pattern. The bathroom cupboard was the standard one-quarter male/three-quarters female ratio. He favoured double-bladed disposables and after-shave gel; she did a lot of depilation and shopped at Superdrug. Nothing indicated that either of them was dabbling in the esoteric arts.
In the master bedroom, both fitted wardrobes were wide open and a trail of half-folded clothes led from these to where two suitcases lay open on the bed. Grief, like cancer, hits people at different rates, but even so I thought it was a bit early for her to be packing up her beloved Cyrus's things. Then I spotted a pair of hipsters that no self-respecting jazzman would wear, and I realised that Simone was packing her own things, which I found equally suspicious. I listened, to make sure she wasn't coming up the stairs, and had a poke through the underwear drawers but got nothing except a vague sense of being really unprofessional.
The music room at least had more character; there were framed posters of Miles Davis and Art Pepper on the walls, and shelves stuffed with sheet music. I'd saved the music room till last because I wanted a sense of what Nightingale called the house's _sensis illic_ , and what I called background _vestigium_ , before I entered what was clearly Cyrus Wilkinson's inner sanctum. I did get a flash of 'Body and Soul' and, mingled with Simone's honeysuckle perfume, the smell of dust and cut wood again, but it was muted and elusive. Unlike the rest of the house, the music room had bookshelves holding more than photographs and amusingly expensive mementos of foreign holidays. I figured that anyone looking to become a practitioner outside of official channels would have to work their way through a lot of occult rubbish before they stumbled on proper magic – if such a thing was possible. At least some of those books should have been on the shelves, but Cyrus had nothing like that on his, not even Aleister Crowley's _Book of Lies_ , which is always good for a laugh, if nothing else. In fact, they looked a lot like my dad's bookshelves: mainly jazz biographies – _Straight Life_ , _Bird Lives_ – with a few early Dick Francis novels thrown in for variety.
'Have you found something?' Simone was in the doorway.
'Not yet,' I said. I'd been too intent on the room to hear her coming up the stairs. Lesley said that the capacity not to notice a traditional Dutch folk-dancing band walk up behind you was not a survival characteristic in the complex, fast-paced world of the modern policing environment. I'd like to point out that I was trying to give directions to a slightly deaf tourist at the time, and anyway, it was a Swedish dance troupe.
'I don't wish to hurry you,' said Simone, 'only I'd already ordered a taxi before you came, and you know how these chaps hate to be kept waiting.'
'Where are you going?' I asked.
'Just to stay with my sisters,' she said, 'until I find my feet.'
I asked for her address, and wrote it down when she told me. Surprisingly, it was in Soho, on Berwick Street. 'I know,' she said when she saw my expression. 'They're rather Bohemian.'
'Did Cyrus have any other properties, a lock-up, an allotment, maybe?'
'Not that I know of,' she said, and then she laughed. 'Cyrus digging an allotment – what an extraordinary notion.'
I thanked her for her time and she saw me to the door.
'Thank you for everything, Peter,' she said. 'You've been most kind.'
There was enough of a reflection in the side window for me to see that the Honda Civic was still parked opposite the house, and that the woman driver was staring right at us. When I turned away from the door, she jerked her face around and pretended to be reading the stickers on the back of the car in front. She risked another glance, only to find me bearing down on her from across the street. I saw her panic in her embarrassment, and vacillate between starting the engine or getting out. When I knocked on the window, she flinched. I showed her my warrant card and she stared at it in confusion. You get that about half the time, mainly because most members of the public have never seen a warrant card close up and have no idea what the hell it is. Eventually she twigged and buzzed down her window.
'Could you step out of the car please, madam,' I asked.
She nodded and got out. She was short, slender, and well-dressed in an off-the-peg but good-quality turquoise skirt suit. An estate agent, I thought, or something customer-facing like PR or big-ticket retail. When dealing with the police, most people lean against their cars for moral support, but she didn't, although she did fiddle with the ring on her left hand and push her hair back behind her ears.
'I was just waiting in the car,' she said. 'Is there a problem?'
I asked for her driving licence and she surrendered it meekly. If you ask a random member of the public for their name and address, not only do they frequently lie to you, but they don't even have to give it unless you report them for an offence. _And_ you have to fill in a receipt to prove that you're not unfairly singling out blonde estate agents. If, however, you make them think it's a traffic stop, then they cheerfully hand over their driving licence which lists their name, including any embarrassing middle names, their address and their date of birth – all of which I noted down. Her name was Melinda Abbot, she was born in 1980 and her address was the one I'd just left.
'Is this your current address?' I asked as I handed back her licence.
'Sort of,' she said. 'It was, and as it happens I'm just waiting to get it back now. Why do you want to know?'
'It's part of an ongoing investigation,' I said. 'Do you happen to know a man called Cyrus Wilkinson?'
'He's my fiancé,' she said, and gave me a hard look. 'Has something happened to Cyrus?'
There are ACPO-approved guidelines for breaking bad news to loved ones, and they don't include blurting it out in the middle of the street. I asked if she'd like to sit in the car with me, but she wasn't having any of it.
'You'd better tell me now,' she said.
'I'm afraid I have some bad news,' I said.
Anybody who's ever watched _The Bill_ or _Casualty_ knows what _that_ means. Melinda started back, then caught herself. She nearly lost it, but then I saw it all being sucked back behind the mask of her face.
'When?' she asked.
'Two nights ago,' I said. 'It was a heart attack.'
She looked at me stupidly. 'A heart attack?'
'I'm afraid so.'
She nodded. 'Why are you here?' she asked.
I was saved from having to lie because a minicab pulled up outside the house and honked its horn. Melinda turned, stared at the front door and was rewarded when Simone emerged, carrying her two suitcases. The driver, showing an uncharacteristic level of chivalry, rushed smartly over to take the cases from her and loaded them into the back of his cab while she locked the front door – both the Yale and the Chubb, I noticed.
'You bitch,' shouted Melinda.
Simone ignored her and headed for the cab, which had exactly the effect on Melinda that I expected it to have. 'Yes, you,' she shouted, 'he's _dead_ , you bitch! And you couldn't even be fucking bothered to tell me. That's _my_ house, you fat slag.'
Simone looked up at that, and at first I didn't think she'd recognised who Melinda was, but then she nodded to herself and absently threw the house keys in our general direction. They landed at Melinda's feet.
I know ballistic when I see it coming, and so I already had my hand around her upper arm before she could rush across the street and try to kick the shit out of Simone. Maintaining the Queen's Peace – that's what it's all about. For a skinny little thing Melinda wasn't half strong, and I ended up having to use both hands as she screamed abuse over my shoulder, making my ears ring.
'Would you like me to arrest you?' I asked. That's an old police trick. If you just warn people they often simply ignore you, but if you ask them a question then they have to think about it. Once they start to think about the consequences they almost always calm down – unless they're drunk of course, or stoned, or aged between fourteen and twenty-one, or Glaswegian.
Fortunately it had the desired effect on Melinda, who paused in her screaming long enough for the minicab to drive away. Once I was sure she wasn't going to attack me out of frustration – an occupational hazard if you're the police – I bent down, retrieved the keys and put them in her hands.
'Is there someone you can call?' I asked. 'Someone who'll come round and stay with you for a bit?'
She shook her head. 'I'm just going to wait in my car,' she said. 'Thank you.'
Don't thank me, ma'am, I didn't say, I'm just doing... Who knew what I was doing? I doubted I could get anything useful from her that evening, so I left well enough alone.
Sometimes, after a hard day of graft, nothing will satisfy but a kebab. I stopped at a random Kurdish place on my way through Vauxhall and pulled up on the Albert Embankment to eat it – no kebab in the Jag, that's the rule. One side of the Embankment had suffered from an outbreak of modernism in the 1960s, but I kept my back to its dull concrete façades and instead watched the sun setting fire to the tops of Millbank Tower and the Palace of Westminster. The evening was still warm enough for shirtsleeves, and the city was clinging to summer like a WAG to a promising centre forward.
Officially I belong to ESC9, which stands for Economic and Specialist Crime Unit 9, otherwise known as 'The Folly', also known as the unit that nice, well-brought-up coppers don't talk about in polite company. There's no point trying to remember 'ESC9', because the Metropolitan Police has a reorganisation once every four years and all the names change. That's why the Commercial Robberies Unit of the Serious and Organised Crime Group has been called 'The Flying Squad' since its introduction in 1920, or 'The Sweeney' if you want to establish your Cockney geezer credentials. That's Sweeney Todd, Cockney rhyming slang for Flying Squad, in case you were wondering.
Unlike the Sweeney, the Folly is easy to overlook, partly because we do stuff nobody likes to talk about. But mostly because we have no discernible budget. No budget means no bureaucratic scrutiny, and therefore no paper trail. It also helps that up until January this year, it had a personnel complement of one: a certain Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale. Despite doubling the staffing levels when I joined, and catching up on a good ten years of unprocessed paperwork, we maintain a stealthy presence within the bureaucratic hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police. Thus we pass amongst the other coppers in a mysterious way, our duties to perform.
One of our duties is the investigation of unsanctioned wizards and other magical practitioners, but I didn't think that Cyrus Wilkinson had been a practitioner of anything except a superior saxophone. I also doubted he'd killed himself with the traditional jazz cocktail of drugs and drink, but confirmation of this would have to wait for the tox screen. Why would someone use magic to kill a jazz musician in the middle of his set? I mean, I have my problems with the New Thing and the rest of the atonal modernists, but I wouldn't kill someone for playing it – at least, not if I wasn't trapped in the same room.
Across the river, a catamaran pulled away from the Millbank Pier in a roar of diesel. I bundled up the kebab paper and dumped it in a rubbish bin. I climbed back into the Jag, started her up and pulled out into the twilight.
At some point I was going to have hit the library back at the Folly, and look for historical cases. Polidori was usually good for lurid stuff involving drink and debauchery. Probably from all the time he spent off his head with Byron and the Shelleys by Lake Geneva. If anyone knew about untimely and unnatural deaths it was Polidori, who literally wrote the book on the subject just before drinking cyanide – it's called _An Investigation Into Unnatural Deaths in London in the Years 1768–1810_ and it weighs over a kilogram – I just hoped that reading it didn't drive me to suicide too.
It was late evening by the time I reached the Folly and parked up the Jag in the coach house. Toby started barking as soon as I opened the back door, and he came skittering across the marble floor of the atrium to hurl himself at my shins. Molly glided in from the direction of the kitchens like the winner of the World All-Comers' Creepy Gothic Lolita Contest. I ignored Toby's yapping and asked whether Nightingale was awake. Molly gave me the slight head tilt that meant 'no', and then an inquiring look.
Molly served as the Folly's housekeeper, cook and rodent exterminator. She never speaks, has too many teeth and a taste for raw meat, but I try never to hold that against her or let her get between me and the exit.
'I'm knackered – I'm going straight to bed,' I said.
Molly glanced at Toby and then at me.
'I've been working all day,' I said.
Molly gave me the head tilt that meant, _I don't care, if you don't take the smelly little thing out for his walk you can be the one that cleans up after him_.
Toby paused in his barking long enough to give me a hopeful look.
'Where's his lead?' I asked.
#
# The Spice of Life
The general public have a warped view of the speed at which an investigation goes. They like to imagine tense conversations going on behind the Venetian blinds, and unshaven but ruggedly handsome detectives working themselves with single-minded devotion into the bottle and marital breakdown. The truth is that at the end of the day, unless you've generated some sort of urgent lead, you go home and get on with the important things in life – like drinking and sleeping and, if you're lucky, a relationship with someone of the gender and sexual orientation of your choice. And I would have been doing at least one of those things the next morning if I hadn't also been the last bleeding apprentice wizard in England. Which meant I spent my spare time learning theory, studying dead languages and reading books like _Essays on the Metaphysical_ by John 'never saw a polysyllabic word he didn't like' Cartwright.
And learning magic, of course – which is what makes the whole thing worthwhile.
This is a spell: _Lux iactus scindere_. Say it quietly, say it loudly, say it with conviction in the middle of a thunderstorm while striking a dramatic pose – nothing will happen. That's because the words are just labels for the _forma_ you make in your mind; _Lux_ to make the light and _Scindere_ to fix it in place. If you do this particular spell right, it creates a light source in a fixed position. If you do it wrong, it can burn a hole through a lab table.
'You know,' said Nightingale, 'I don't think I've ever seen that happen before.'
I gave the bench a last squirt with the CO2 extinguisher and bent down to see whether the floor under the table was still intact. There was a burn mark, but luckily no crater.
'It keeps getting away from me,' I said.
Nightingale stood up out of his wheelchair and had a look for himself. He moved carefully and favoured his right side. If he was still wearing bandages on his shoulder, they were hidden under a crisp lilac shirt that had last been fashionable during the Abdication Crisis. Molly was busily feeding him up, but to me he still looked pale and thin. He caught me staring,
'I wish you and Molly would stop watching me like that,' he said. 'I'm well on the road to recovery. I've been shot before, so I know what I'm talking about.'
'Shall I give it another go?'
'No,' said Nightingale. 'The problem is obviously with _Scindere_. I thought you'd progressed through that too swiftly. Tomorrow we're going to start to relearn that _forma_ , and then once I'm certain of your mastery we'll return to this spell.'
'Oh joy,' I said.
'This isn't unusual.' Nightingale's voice was low and reassuring. 'You have to get the foundations of the art right or everything you build on top will be crooked, not to mention unstable. There are no short cuts in wizardry, Peter. If there were, everyone would be doing it.'
Probably on _Britain's Got Talent_ , I thought, but you don't say these things to Nightingale because he doesn't have a sense of humour about the art, and only used the telly for watching rugby.
I assumed the attentive look of the dutiful apprentice, but Nightingale wasn't fooled.
'Tell me about your dead musician,' he said.
I laid out the facts, with emphasis on the intensity of the _vestigia_ me and Dr Walid had felt around the body.
'Did he feel it as strongly as you did?' asked Nightingale.
I shrugged. 'It's _vestigia_ , boss,' I said. 'It was strong enough for both of us to hear a melody. That's got to be suspicious.'
'It's suspicious,' he said, and settled back down in his wheelchair with a frown. 'But is it a crime?'
'The statute only says that you have to unlawfully kill someone under the Queen's Peace with malice aforethought. It doesn't say anything about how you do it.' I'd checked in _Blackstone's Police Manual_ before coming down for breakfast that morning.
'I'll be interested to see the Crown Prosecution Service argue that in front of a jury,' he said. 'In the first instance, you'll need to prove that he was killed by magic and then find out who was capable of doing it and making it look like natural causes.'
'Could you do it?' I asked.
Nightingale had to think about it. 'I think so,' he said. 'I'd have to spend a while in the library first. It would be a very powerful spell, and it's possible that the music you're hearing is a practitioner's _Signare_ – his involuntary signature.' Because, just as the old telegraph operators could identify each other from the way each one tapped their key, so every practitioner casts a spell in a style unique to themselves.
'Do I have a signature?' I asked.
'Yes,' said Nightingale. 'When you practise, things have an alarming tendency to catch fire.'
'Seriously, boss.'
'It's too early for you to have a _Signare_ , but another practitioner would certainly know that you were my apprentice,' said Nightingale. 'Assuming he'd ever seen my work, of course.'
'Are there other practitioners out there?' I asked.
Nightingale shifted in his wheelchair. 'There are some survivors from the pre-war mob,' he said. 'But apart from them, you and I are the last of the classically trained wizards. Or at least, you will be if you ever concentrate long enough to be trained.'
'Could it have been one of these survivors?'
'Not if jazz was part of the _Signare_.'
And therefore probably not one of their apprentices either – if they had apprentices.
'If it wasn't one of your mob...'
' _Our_ mob,' said Nightingale. 'You swore an oath, remember. That makes you one of us.'
'If it wasn't one of our mob, who else could do it?'
Nightingale smiled. 'One of your riverine friends would have the power,' he said.
That made me pause. There were two gods of the River Thames, and each of them had their own fractious children, one for each tributary. They certainly had power – I'd personally witnessed Beverley Brook flooding out Covent Garden, incidentally saving my life and that of a family of random German tourists in the process.
'But Father Thames wouldn't operate below Teddington Lock,' said Nightingale. 'And Mama Thames wouldn't risk the agreement with us. If Tyburn wanted you dead she'd do it through the courts. While Fleet would humiliate you to death in the media. And Brent is too young. Finally, leaving aside that Soho is on the wrong side of the river, if Effra was going to kill you with music, it wouldn't be jazz.'
Not when she's practically the patron saint of UK Grime, I thought. 'Are there other people?' I asked. 'Other things?'
'It's possible,' said Nightingale. 'But I'd concentrate on determining _how_ before I worried too much about _whom_.'
'Any advice?'
'You could start,' said Nightingale, 'by visiting the scene of the crime.'
Much to the frustration of the ruling class, who like their cities to be clean, ordered and to have good lines of fire, London has never responded well to grandiose planning projects, not even after it was razed to the ground in 1666. Mind you, this hasn't stopped people from trying, and in the 1880s the Metropolitan Board of Works constructed Charing Cross Road and Shaftesbury Avenue to facilitate better communications both north and south, east and west. That they eliminated the notorious Newport Market slums in the process, and thus reduced the number of unsightly poor people one might espy while perambulating about town was, I'm sure, purely serendipitous. Where the Road and the Avenue crossed became Cambridge Circus, and on the west side today stands the Palace Theatre, in all its late-Victorian gingerbread glory. Next to that, and built in the same style, stands what was once the George and Dragon Public House, but was now named The Spice of Life. According to its own publicity, it was London's premier spot for jazz.
Back when my old man was on the scene, The Spice of Life wasn't a happening place for jazz. It was, according to him, strictly for geezers in roll-neck jumpers and goatees reading poetry and listening to folk music. Bob Dylan played there a couple of times in the 1960s, and so did Mick Jagger. But none of that meant anything to my dad, who always said that rock 'n' roll was all right for those that needed help following a beat.
Up until that lunchtime, I'd never so much as been inside The Spice of Life. Before I was a copper, it wasn't the kind of pub I drank in, and after I was a copper it wasn't the kind of pub I arrested people in.
I'd timed my visit to avoid the lunchtime rush, which meant that the crowds milling around the Circus were mainly tourists. Inside, the pub was pleasantly cool, dim and empty, with just a whiff of cleaning products fighting with years of spilled beer. I wanted to get a feel for the place, and I decided the most natural way to do that was to stand at the bar and have a beer, but because I was on duty I kept it to a half. Unlike a lot of London pubs, The Spice of Life had managed to hang on to its brass and polished wood interior without slipping into kitsch. I stood drinking my half, and as I took my first sip I flashed on horse sweat and the sound of hammers ringing on an anvil, shouting and laughter, a distant woman's scream and the smell of tobacco – pretty standard for a central London pub.
The sons of Musa ibn Shakir were bright and bold, and if they hadn't been Muslims would probably have gone on to be the patron saints of techno-geeks. They're famous for their ninth-century Baghdad bestseller, a compendium of ingenious mechanical devices which they imaginatively titled _Kitab al-Hiyal_ or The Book of Ingenious Devices. In it they describe what is possibly the first practical device for measuring differential pressure, and that's where the problem really starts. In 1593, Galileo Galilei took time off from astronomy and promulgating heresy to invent a thermoscope for measuring heat. In 1833, Carl Friedrich Gauss invented a device to measure the strength of a magnetic field, and in 1908 Hans Geiger made a detector for ionising radiation. At this very moment astronomers are detecting planets around distant stars by measuring how much their orbits wibble, and the clever people at CERN are smashing particles together in the hope that Doctor Who will turn up and tell them to stop. The story of how we measure the physical universe _is_ the history of science itself.
And what do me and Nightingale have to measure _vestigia_ with? Sod all, and it's not even as if we know what we're trying to measure in the first place. No wonder the heirs of Isaac Newton kept magic safely under their periwigs. I had jokingly developed my own scale for _vestigia_ based on the amount of noise Toby made when he interacted with any residual magic, and called it a yap, one yap being enough _vestigia_ to be apparent even when I wasn't looking for it.
The yap would be an SI unit, of course, and thus the standard background ambiance of a central London pub was 0.2 of a yap (0.2Y) or 200 milliyaps (200mY). Having established that to my satisfaction, I finished the half-pint and headed downstairs to the basement, where they kept the jazz.
A set of creaky stairs led down to the Backstage Bar, which was a roughly octagonal room, low-ceilinged and punctuated with stout cream-coloured columns that had to be load-bearing because they certainly didn't add to the sightlines. As I stood in the doorway and tried to get a feel for any magical ambience, I realised that my own childhood was about to interfere with my investigation.
In 1986, Courtney Pine released _Journey to the Urge Within_ , and suddenly jazz was back in fashion and with it came my dad's third and last brush with fame and fortune. I never went to gigs, but during the school holidays he used to take me with him on visits to clubs and recording studios. Some things linger even from before conscious memory – old beer, tobacco smoke, the sound a trumpet makes when its player is just getting it warmed up. You could have 200 kiloyaps of _vestigia_ in that basement, and I wouldn't have been able to separate them from my own memories.
I should have brought Toby. He would have been more use. I stepped over to the stage in the hope that proximity might help.
My dad always said that a trumpet player likes to aim his weapon at the audience, but a sax man likes to cut a good profile and that they always have a favourite side. It being an article of faith with my dad that you don't even pick up a reed instrument unless you're vain about the shape your face makes when you're blowing down it. I stood on the stage and adopted some classic sax-player stances, and as I did, I began to feel something, stage front and right, a little tingle and the melody line of 'Body and Soul' played far away, piercing and bittersweet.
'Got you,' I said.
Since all I had to go on was the magical echo of one particular jazz tune, then I figured it was time to find out precisely which of several hundred cover versions of 'Body and Soul' it was. What I needed was a jazz expert so obsessive that the subject had consumed him to the point where he neglected his health, his marriage and his own children.
It was time to go see my old man.
Much as I love the Jag, it's too conspicuous for everyday police work. So that day I was driving a battered silver ex-Metropolitan Police Ford Asbo that, despite my best efforts, smelled vaguely of old stake-outs and wet dog. I had it stashed up Romilly Street, with my magic police-business talisman in the window to ward off traffic wardens. I'd taken the Asbo to a friend of mine who'd tuned up its Volvo engine and got me a satisfactory bit of zip, which came in handy dodging the bendy buses on Tottenham Court Road as I drove north for Kentish Town.
Every Londoner has their manor – a collection of bits of the city where they feel comfortable. Where you live, or went to college; where you work or your sports club; that particular bit of the West End where you go drinking or, if you're the police, the patrol area around your nick. If you're a native-born Londoner (and, contrary to what you've heard, we are the majority) then the strongest bit of your manor is where you grew up. There's a particular kind of safety that comes from being on the streets where you went to school, had your first snog, or drink, or threw up your first chicken vindaloo. I grew up in Kentish Town, which as an area would count as a leafy suburb if it was leafier and more suburban. And if it had fewer council estates. One such is the Peckwater Estate, my ancestral seat, which had been built just as architects were coming to terms with the idea that proles might enjoy indoor plumbing and the occasional bath, but before they realised that said proles might like to have more than one child per family. Perhaps they thought three bedrooms would only encourage breeding amongst the working class.
One advantage it did have was a courtyard that had been turned over to parking. There I found a clear bay between a Toyota Aygo and a battered secondhand Mercedes with a criminally mismatched side panel. I pulled in, got out, beeped the lock behind me and walked away, secure in the knowledge that because they knew me round here they weren't going to jack my car. That's what being on your manor is all about. Although, to be honest, I suspect the local roughnecks were much more scared of my mum than they were of me – the worst I could do was arrest them.
Strangely, I heard music when I opened the front door to my parent's flat: 'The Way You Look Tonight', played solo on a keyboard, coming from the main bedroom. My mum was lying on the good sofa in the living room. Her eyes were closed and she was still in her work clothes – jeans, grey sweatshirt, Paisley headscarf. I was shocked to see that the stereo was silent and even the TV was switched off. The TV in my parent's house is never switched off – not even for funerals. Especially not for funerals.
'Mum?'
Without opening her eyes, she put her finger to her lips and then pointed towards the bedroom.
'Is that Dad?' I asked.
My mum's lips curved up into a slow, blissful smile that was familiar to me only from old photographs. My dad's third and last revival in the early 1990s had ended when he'd blown out his teeth just before a live appearance on BBC 2, after which I didn't hear Mum speak more than two words to my dad for a year and a half. I think she took it personally. The only time I've seen her more upset was at Princess Diana's funeral, but I think she sort of enjoyed that, in a cathartic way.
The music continued, searching and heartfelt. I remember my mum, inspired by a repeat viewing of _The Buena Vista Social Club_ , buying Dad a keyboard, but I didn't remember him learning to play it.
I went into the narrow slot of a kitchen and made us a cup of tea as the tune concluded. I heard my mum shift on the sofa and sigh. I don't actually like jazz that much, but I spent enough of my childhood as my dad's vinyl-wallah, ferrying discs from his collection to his turntable when he wasn't well, to know the good stuff when I hear it. Dad was playing the good stuff, 'All Blues' now but not doing anything too smart-arse with it, just letting the melancholy beauty shine through. I went back through and put my mum's tea down on the simulated-walnut coffee table, then sat down to watch her listen to my dad's playing while it lasted.
It didn't last for ever, or even remotely long enough. How could it? We heard Dad slip off the line and then crash to a halt. Mum sighed and sat up.
'What are you doing here?' she asked.
'I've come to see Dad,' I said.
'Good.' She took a sip of her tea. 'This is cold,' she said, and thrust the mug in my direction. 'Make me another.'
My dad emerged while I was in the kitchen. I heard him greet Mum, and then a strange sucking sound that I realised with a start was the sound of them kissing. I almost spilled the tea.
'Stop it,' I heard my mum whisper. 'Peter is here.'
My dad stuck his head into the kitchen. 'This can't be good,' he said. 'Any chance of a cuppa too?'
I showed him that I already had another mug out.
'Outstanding,' he said.
When I had them both supplied with tea, Dad asked me why I'd come round. They had reason to be a bit cautious, because the last time I'd turned up unexpectedly I'd just burned down Covent Garden Market – sort of.
'I've got some jazz stuff I need your help with,' I said.
My dad gave me a pleased smile. 'Step into my office,' he said. 'The jazz doctor is in.'
If the living room belonged to my mum and her extended family, then the main bedroom belonged to my dad and his record collection. Family legend said that the walls had once been painted a creamy light brown, but now every centimetre had been colonised by Dad's steel-bracketed, stripped-pine shelves. Every shelf was filled with vinyl records, all carefully stored in vertical ranks out of the sunlight. Since I'd moved out, my mum's sprawling BHS wardrobe had migrated into my old room along with the bulk of her shoe collection. This left just enough room for the queen-sized bed, a full-size electric keyboard and my dad's stereo.
I told him what I was looking for and he started pulling out records. We began, as I knew we would, with Coleman Hawkins's famous 1938 take, on Bluebird. It was a waste of time, of course, because Hawkins barely goes near the actual melody. But I let my dad enjoy it all the way through before I pointed this out.
'It was old-school, Dad. The one I heard. It had a proper melody and everything.'
Dad grunted and dipped into a cardboard box full of 78s to pull out a plain brown cardboard sleeve repaired on three edges with masking tape, containing the Benny Goodman Trio on shellac, with a Victor black and gold label. He has a Garrard turntable which has a 78 setting, but you have to swap out the cartridge first – I laboriously removed the Ortofon and went looking for the Stanton. It was still kept where I remembered it, on the one clear bit of shelf behind the stereo, lying on its back to protect the stylus. While I fiddled with the tiny screwdriver and got the cartridge mounted, Dad carefully slipped the disc out and inspected it with a happy smile. He passed it to me. It had the surprising heft of a 78, much heavier than an LP – anyone weaned exclusively on CDs probably wouldn't have been able to lift it. I took the edges of the heavy black disc between my palms and placed it carefully on the turntable.
It hissed and popped as soon as the needle hit the groove, and through that I heard Goodman make his intro on the clarinet, and then Teddy Wilson soloed on piano, then Benny came in on clarinet again. Luckily, Krupa on drums kept a low profile. This was much closer to the tune poor dead Mr Wilkinson was playing.
'Later than that,' I said.
'That won't be difficult,' said Dad. 'This was only recorded five years after it was written.'
We sampled a couple more on 78, including a 1940 Billie Holiday take that we left on just because 'Lady Day' is one of the few things me and Dad truly have in common. It was beautiful and sad, and that helped me realise what I was missing.
'It's got to be more upbeat,' I said. 'It was a bigger combo, and it had more swing.'
'Swing?' asked my dad. 'This is "Body and Soul" we're talking about, it's never been noted for its swing.'
'Come on, Dad, someone must have done a more swinging version – if only for the white folks,' I said.
'Less of that, you cheeky bastard,' said Dad. 'Still, I think I know what we might be looking for.' He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a rectangle of plastic and glass.
'You've got an iPhone,' I said.
'iPod Touch, actually,' he said. 'It's not a bad sound.' This from a man who ran a fifty-year-old Quad amp because it had valves rather than transistors. He passed me the ear-buds and slid his finger around the screen like he'd been using touch controls all his life. 'Listen to this,' he said.
There it was, digitally remastered, but still with enough hiss and pop to keep the purists happy: 'Body and Soul', clear melody and just enough swing to make it danceable. If it wasn't what I'd heard off the body, then it was definitely played by the same band.
'Who is it?' I asked.
'Ken Johnson,' said Dad. 'Old Snakehips himself. This is off _Blitzkrieg Babies and Bands_ , some nice transfers from shellac. The liner notes say that it's "Jiver" Hutchinson on trumpet. But it's obviously Dave Wilkins, because the fingering's all different.'
'When was it recorded?'
'The original 78 was cut in 1939 at the Decca studios in West Hampstead,' said Dad. He looked at me keenly. 'Is this part of a case? Only, last time you came over you weren't half going on about some strange stuff.'
I wasn't going down that road. 'What's with the keyboard?'
'I'm revitalising my career,' he said. 'I plan to be the next Oscar Peterson.'
'Really?' That was unexpectedly cocky – even for my dad.
'Really,' he said, and shifted around on the bed until he could reach the keyboard. He played a couple of bars of 'Body and Soul', stating the melody before vamping and then taking the line in a direction that I've never been able to follow or appreciate. He looked disappointed at my reaction – he keeps hoping that I'll grow into it one day. On the other hand, my dad had an iPod, so who knows what might happen.
'What happened to Ken Johnson?'
'He was killed in the Blitz,' said Dad. 'Like Al Bowlly and Lorna Savage. Ted Heath told me that sometimes they thought Göring had it in for the jazzmen. Said he felt safer during the war doing tours in North Africa than he did playing gigs in London.'
I doubted I was searching for the vengeful spirit of Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, but it wouldn't hurt to check just in case.
Mum turfed us out of the bedroom so she could change. I made more tea, and we sat in the living room.
'Next thing I know,' said Dad, 'I'll be looking for gigs.'
'With you on keyboard?'
'The line is the line,' said Dad. 'The instrument is just the instrument.'
The jazzman lives to play.
My mum came out of the bedroom in a sleeveless yellow sundress and no headscarf. She had her hair quartered and twisted into the big plaits that made my dad grin. When I was a kid, Mum used to relax her hair every six weeks like clockwork. In fact, every weekend saw someone – an aunt, a cousin, a girl from down the road – sitting in the living room and chemically burning her hair straight. If I hadn't got off with Maggie Porter – whose dad was a dread and whose mum sold car insurance – who wore her hair in locks, at the Year Ten disco, I might have reached adulthood thinking that a black girl's hair naturally smelled of potassium hydroxide. Now personally, I'm like my dad – I fancy it au naturel, or in braids, but the first rule about a black woman's hair is you don't talk about a black woman's hair. And the second rule is you don't _ever_ touch a black woman's hair without getting written permission first. And that includes after sex, marriage or death, for that matter. Of course, this courtesy is not reciprocated.
'You need a haircut,' said Mum. And by haircut she meant, of course, shaved short enough for me to get a suntan. I promised her that I'd take care of it, and she stalked into the kitchen to make dinner.
'I was a war baby,' said Dad. 'Your nan was evacuated before she had me, and that's why my birth certificate says Cardiff. Luckily for you she unevacuated us back to Stepney before the end of the war.' Or we might have been Welsh – in my dad's eyes a fate worse than being Scottish.
He said that growing up in London in the late 1940s, it was like the war was still going on in people's heads, what with the bomb sites, the rationing and the patronising voices of the BBC Home Service. 'Minus the high explosives, of course,' said Dad. 'In them days people still talked about Bowlly getting blown up on Jermyn Street, or Glenn Miller's plane going missing in forty-four,' said Dad. 'Did you know he was a proper American Air Force major? To this day he's still listed as Missing in Action.'
But to be young and talented in the 1950s was to live on the cusp of change. 'First time I heard "Body and Soul" was at the Flamingo Club,' Dad said. 'It was being played by Ronnie Scott, just when he was becoming Ronnie Scott.' The Flamingo Club in the late 1950s was a magnet for black airmen down from Lakenheath and the other US bases.
'They wanted our women,' said Dad, 'and we wanted their records. They always had the latest stuff. It was a match made in heaven.'
Mum came in with dinner. We were always a two-pot family, one for Mum and a considerably less spicy pot for Dad. He also likes slices of white bread and marg rather than rice, which would be just asking for heart trouble if he wasn't as skinny as a rake to start with. I was a two-pot child, both rice and white bread, which explains my chiselled good looks and manly physique.
Mum's pot was cassava leaf, while Dad had lamb casserole. I opted for the lamb that evening because I've never liked cassava leaf, especially when Mum drowns it in palm oil. She uses so much pepper that her soup turns red, and I swear it's only a matter of time before one of her dinner guests spontaneously combusts. We ate off the big glass coffee table in the middle of the living room, with a plastic bottle of Highland Spring at its centre. There were pink paper napkins and bread-sticks in cellophane wrappers that Mum had swiped from her latest cleaning job. I marged up some bread for Dad.
As we ate, I caught my mum looking at me. 'What?' I asked.
'Why can't you play like your father?' she asked.
'Because I can sing like my mother,' I said. 'But fortunately I cook like Jamie Oliver.'
She gave me a smack on the leg. 'You're not so big I can't beat you,' she said.
'Yeah, but I'm so much faster than I used to be,' I said.
I actually don't remember the last time I sat down with Mum and Dad for a meal, at least not without half a dozen relatives present. I'm not even sure it happened that much when I was a kid. There was always an aunty, an uncle or an evil Lego-stealing younger cousin – not that I'm bitter – in the house.
When I brought this up, Mum pointed out that said Lego-stealing cousin had just commenced an engineering degree at Sussex. Good, I thought, she can jack somebody else's Lego. I pointed out that I was almost officially a full Constable now, and working for a hush-hush branch of the Metropolitan Police.
'What do you do there?' she asked.
'It's secret, Mum,' I said. 'If I tell you, I'll have to kill you.'
'He does magic,' said my dad.
'You shouldn't keep secrets from your mum,' she said.
'You don't believe in magic, do you, Mum?'
'You shouldn't make jokes about these things,' she said. 'Science doesn't have all the answers, you know.'
'It's got all the best questions, though,' I said.
'You are not doing these witchcraft things, are you?' Suddenly she was serious. 'I worry about you enough as it is.'
'I promise I am not consorting with any evil spirits, or any other kind of supernatural entity,' I said. Not least because the supernatural creature I'd have most liked to consort with was currently living in exile up the river at the court of Father Thames. It was one of those tragic relationships: I'm a junior policeman, she's the goddess of a suburban river in south London – it was never going to work out.
Once we were finished, I volunteered for the washing-up. While I was using half a bottle of Sainsbury's own-brand washing-up liquid to scrub off the palm oil, I could hear my parents talking in the next room. The TV was still off, and my mum hadn't spoken to anyone on the phone for over three hours – it was beginning to get a little bit _Fringe_. When I finished, I stepped out to find them sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands. I asked if they wanted more tea, but they said no, and gave me strange, identical, slightly distant smiles. I realised with a start that were dying for me to leave so that they could go to bed. I quickly grabbed my coat, kissed my mum goodbye and practically ran out of the house. There are some things a young man does not want to think about.
I was in the lift when I got a call from Dr Walid.
'Have you seen my email yet?' he asked.
I told him I'd been at my mum's house.
'I've been collating mortality statistics for jazz musicians in the London area,' he said. 'You'll want to have a look as soon as you can – phone me tomorrow once you've done that.'
'Is there something I should know now?'
The lift doors opened and I stepped out into the tiled lobby. The evening was warm enough to allow a couple of kids to loiter by the main doors. One of them tried to give me the eye, but I gave it right back and he looked away. Like I said, it's my manor. And besides, I used to be that boy.
'From the figures I have, I believe that two to three jazz musicians have died within twenty-four hours of playing a gig in the Greater London Area in the last year.'
'I take it that's statistically significant?'
'It's all in the email,' said Dr Walid.
We hung up just as I reached the Asbo.
To the tech cave, I thought.
The Folly, according to Nightingale, is secured by an interlocking series of magical protections. They were last renewed in 1940, to allow the Post Office to run in a then cutting-edge coaxial telephone cable to the main building, and the installation of a modern switchboard. I'd found that under a dust sheet in an alcove off the main entrance lobby, a beautiful glass and mahogany cabinet with brass fittings kept shiny by Molly's obsessive need to polish.
Nightingale says that these protections are vital, although he won't say why, and that he, acting on his own, is not capable of renewing them. Running a broadband cable into the building was out of the question, and it looked for a while like I was going to be firmly mired in the dark ages.
Fortunately, the Folly had been built in the Regency style, when it had become fashionable to build a separate mews at the back of a grand house, so that the horses and the smellier servants could be housed down-wind of their masters. This meant a coach house at the back, now used as a garage, and above that an attic conversion that had once accommodated servants and then served as a party space for the young bucks, back when the Folly had young bucks. Or at least, more than one. The magical 'protections' –Nightingale was not happy when I called them 'forcefields' – used to scare the horses, so they don't extend to the coach house. Which means I get to run in a broadband cable, and at last there is a corner of the Folly that is for ever in the twenty-first century.
The coach-house attic has a studio skylight at one end, an ottoman couch, a chaise longue, a plasma TV and an Ikea kitchen table that once took me and Molly three bloody hours to assemble. I'd used the Folly's status as an Operational Command Unit to get the Directorate of Information to cough up half a dozen Airwave handsets with charging rack, and a dedicated HOLMES2 terminal. I also had my laptop and my back-up laptop and my PlayStation – which I hadn't had a chance to get out of the box yet. Because of this, there is a big sign on the front door that says NO MAGIC ON PAIN OF PAIN. This is what I call the tech cave.
The first thing I got when I booted up was an email from Lesley with the header _Bored!_ , so I sent her Dr Walid's autopsy report to keep her occupied. Then I opened up PNC Xpress and ran a DVLA check on Melinda Abbot's car Index, and found that the listed information matched that on her driving licence. I ran Simone Fitzwilliam as well, but evidently she'd never applied for a licence, or owned a car. Nor had she committed, been the victim of, or reported a crime within the United Kingdom. Or possibly all that information had been lost, inaccurately entered into the databases, or she'd just changed her name recently. Information technology only gets you so far, which is why coppers still go round knocking on doors and writing things down in little black notebooks. I googled them both for good measure. Melinda Abbot had a Facebook page, as did a couple of people with the same name, but Simone Fitzwilliam had no obvious internet presence at all.
I worked my way through Dr Walid's list of dead jazz musicians – all men, I noticed – in much the same way. They're always doing clever cross-referencing stuff on the TV, and it's all perfectly possible, but what they never show is how sodding long it takes. It was pushing midnight by the time I got to the end of the list, and I still wasn't sure what I was looking at.
I took a Red Stripe from the fridge, opened the can and had a swig.
Definite fact number one: each year for the last five, two or three jazz musicians had died within 24 hours of playing at a gig in the Greater London Area. In each case, the coroner had ruled the deaths either 'accidental' by way of substance abuse, or 'natural causes' – mostly heart attacks, with a couple of aneurysms thrown in for a bit of variety.
Dr Walid had included a supplemental file listing every musician – defined as those who listed their profession as musician – between the ages of eighteen and fifty-four who'd died over the same period. Definite fact number two: while other London musicians dropped dead from 'natural causes' with depressing frequency, they didn't seem to die regularly just after gigs the way the jazzmen did.
Definite fact number three: Cyrus Wilkinson hadn't even listed his occupation as musician, but as an accountant. You never claim to be a freelance or artistic anything, unless you want a personal credit rating lower than an Irish bank's. Which led to definite fact number four: my statistical analysis was pretty much worthless.
And yet, three jazz musicians a year – I didn't believe it was a coincidence.
But Nightingale wasn't going to go for anything that flimsy. And he was still going to expect me to perfect _Scindere_ , starting the next morning. I shut everything down and turned it all off at the plugs. That's good for the environment, and, more importantly, stops all my expensive gear getting randomly fried by a surge in magic.
I let myself in through the kitchen. The waning moon lit the atrium through the skylight, so I left the lights off as I climbed the stairs to my floor. On the balcony opposite I glimpsed a pale figure silently gliding amongst the muffled shadows of the west reading room. It was just Molly, restlessly doing whatever it is she restlessly does at night. When I reached my landing, the musty carpet smell told me that Toby had once again fallen asleep against my door. The little dog lay on his back, his thin ribs rising and falling under his fur. He snuffled and kicked in his sleep, hind legs pawing the air, indicating at least 500 milliyaps of background magic. I let myself into my bedroom and carefully closed the door so as not to wake him.
I climbed into bed, and before I turned out the side lamp I texted Lesley – WTF DO NOW?
The next morning I got a text back. It read: GO TLK BAND – IDIOT!
#
# A Long Drink of the Blues
The band weren't that hard to find – The Spice of Life had their contact details, and they all agreed to meet me at French House on Dean Street, but it had to be in the evening because they all had day jobs. That suited me because I was still behind on my Latin vocab. I trolled over to Soho just after six, and found them all waiting for me, propping up a wall peppered with pictures of people who had been famous just at the time my dad hadn't.
The Spice of Life playbill listed my lot as the Better Quartet, but they didn't really look much like jazzmen to me. Bassists are famously steady, but Max – really Derek – Harwood was an average-looking white guy in his mid-thirties. He was even wearing a diamond-patterned M&S v-neck sweater under his jacket.
'We already had a Derek in the band before last,' said Max. 'So I went by Max to avoid confusion.' He took a subdued sip from his beer. I'd bought the first round, and was feeling suitably gouged. Max was an integrated systems specialist for London Underground – something to do with signalling systems, apparently.
The pianist, Daniel Hossack, was a classically trained music teacher at Westminster School for the terminally privileged. He had receding blond hair, round Trotsky glasses and the sort of sensible kindness that probably led to him being savagely lampooned by the spotty wits of the lower sixth – that's Year 12 in the new money.
'How did you guys meet?' I asked.
'I don't think we met as such,' said James Lochrane – the drummer. He was short, Scottish, belligerent and taught seventeenth-century French History at Queen Mary's College. 'It would be more accurate to say that we coalesced – about two years ago...'
'More like three,' said Max. 'At the Selkirk Pub. They have jazz on Sunday afternoons. Cy lives down there, so it's sort of his local.'
Daniel nervously tapped his fingers on his glass. 'We were all watching this terrible band who were making a fist of—' He stared off in the direction of the last decade. 'I can't remember what it was.'
'"Body and Soul"?' I asked.
'No,' said James. 'It was "Saint Thomas".'
'Which they were murdering,' said Daniel. 'And Cy said, loud enough for everyone, including the band, to hear, "I bet any of us could play better than this."'
'Which is not the done thing,' said Max. All three shared sly smiles at the transgression. 'The next thing I knew we were sharing a table, ordering rounds and talking jazz.'
'As I said,' said James. 'We coalesced.'
'Hence our name,' said Daniel. 'The Better Quartet.'
'Were you better?' I asked.
'Not noticeably,' said Max.
'Worse, in fact,' said Daniel.
'We did get better,' said Max, and laughed. 'We practised at Cy's place.'
'Practised a lot,' said Daniel, and drained his glass. 'Right, who wants what?'
They don't do pints at the French House, so James and Max split a bottle of the house red, I asked for a half a bitter – it had been a long day, and there's nothing like Latin declensions to give a man a thirst.
'Two, maybe three times a week,' said Max.
'So you were ambitious?' I asked.
'None of us was that serious really,' said James. 'It's not like we were kids and desperate to make it big.'
'That's still a lot of practice,' I said.
'Oh, we wanted to be better musicians,' said James.
'We're wannabe jazzmen,' said Max. 'You play the music to play the music, know what I mean?'
I nodded.
'Do you think he's gone across the river for those drinks?' asked James.
We craned our neck and looked over at the bar. Daniel was bobbing amid the crush, his hand raised with an optimistic twenty slipped between his fingers. On Friday night in Soho, going across the river might have been quicker.
'How serious was Cyrus?' I asked.
'He wasn't any more serious than we were,' said James.
'He was good, though,' said Max, and made fingering motions. 'He had that whole sax-player thing going.'
'Hence the women,' said James.
Max sighed.
'Melinda Abbot?' I asked.
'Oh, Melinda,' said Max.
'Melinda was just the one at home,' said James.
'Sally, Viv, Tolene,' said Max.
'Daria,' said James. 'Remember Daria?'
'Like I said,' said Max. 'The whole saxophone vibe.'
I spotted Daniel struggling back with the drinks, and got up to help him ferry them to the table. He gave me an appraising look, and I guessed that he didn't share Max and James's envy for the women. I gave him a politically correct grin and plonked the drinks down on the table. Max and James said cheers, and we all clinked glasses.
They'd obviously forgotten that I was a policeman, which was handy, so I phrased my next question with considerable care. 'So Melinda didn't mind?'
'Oh, Melinda minded, all right,' said James. 'But it didn't help that she never came to any of the gigs.'
'She wasn't a fan,' said Daniel.
'You know how it is with women,' said James. 'They don't like you to be doing anything they can't relate back to themselves.'
'She was into that New Age stuff, crystals and homeopathy,' said Max.
'She was always nice enough to us,' said Daniel. 'Made us coffee when we were rehearsing.'
'And biscuits,' said Max nostalgically.
'None of the others girls were serious,' said James. 'I'm not even sure there was ever any hanky-panky, as such. At least, not until Simone, anyway. Trouble with a capital T.'
Simone had been the first woman to come back to Cyrus's house to watch the rehearsals.
'She was so quiet that after a while you forgot she was there,' said Daniel.
Melinda Abbot didn't forget Simone Fitzwilliam was there, and I didn't blame her. I tried to imagine what would have happened had my dad brought a woman home to watch him rehearse. It wouldn't have ended well, I can tell you that. Tears would have been just the start of it.
Melinda, who obviously subscribed to notions of gentility unknown to my mother, did at least wait until everyone had left the house before metaphorically rolling up her sleeves and reaching for the rolling pin.
'After that, we were in a lock-up that Max blagged off Transport for London,' said James. 'It was draughty but a lot more relaxed.'
'Though terribly cold,' said Daniel.
'Then suddenly we're all back at Cy's place,' said James. 'Only it's not Melinda serving the coffee and biscuits any more, it's the gorgeous Simone.'
'When did this happen?'
'April, May, around that time,' said Max. 'Spring.'
'How did Melinda take it?' I asked.
'We don't know,' said James. 'We never saw that much of her, even when she was around.'
'I met her a couple of times,' said Daniel.
The others stared at him. 'You never said,' said James.
'She called me, said she wanted to talk – she was upset.'
'What did she say?' asked Max.
'I don't like to say,' said Daniel. 'It was private.'
And so it stayed. I managed to steer the conversation back round to Melinda Abbot's mystical hobbies, but the band hadn't really been paying attention. The French House began to get seriously crowded, and despite the prohibition on piped music I was having to shout to make myself heard. I suggested food.
'Is the Met going to be picking up the bill?' asked James.
'I think we could stretch to some expenses,' I said, 'as long as we don't go mad.'
The band all nodded their heads. Of course they did; when you're a musician, free is a magic number.
We ended up in Wong Kei on Wardour Street, where the food is reliable, the service is brusque and you can get a table at eleven thirty on a Friday night – if you don't mind sharing. I showed five fingers to the guy at the door and he waved us upstairs, where a stern-looking young woman in a red t-shirt directed us to one of the big round tables.
A pair of pale American students, who up till then had had the table to themselves, visibly cowered as we plonked ourselves down.
'Good evening,' said Daniel. 'Don't worry, we're perfectly harmless.'
Both American students were wearing neat red Adidas sweatshirts with MNU PIONEERS embroidered across the chest. They nodded their heads nervously. 'Hi,' one of them said. 'We're from Kansas.'
We waited politely for them to elaborate, but neither said another word to us for the ten minutes it took to finish their food, pay and bolt for the door.
'What's an MNU, anyway?' asked Max.
'Now he asks,' said James.
The waitress arrived and started slapping down the main course. I had shredded duck with fried ho fun, Daniel and Max split egg fried rice, chicken with cashews and sweet and sour pork, James had beef noodles. The band ordered another round of Tsingtao beers, but I stuck to the free green tea which came in a simple white ceramic teapot.
I asked the band whether they played The Spice of Life often, which made them laugh.
'We've played there a couple of times,' said Max. 'Usually the lunch spot on Monday.'
'Get much of a crowd?' I asked.
'We were getting there,' said James. 'We had gigs at the Bull's Head, the National Theatre foyer and Merlin's Cave in Chalfont St Giles.'
'Last Friday was the first evening slot we'd scored,' said Max.
'So what was next?' I asked. 'Record deal?'
'Cyrus would have left,' said Daniel.
Everybody stared at him for a moment.
'Come on guys, you know that's what would have happened,' said Daniel. 'We'd have done a few more gigs, somebody would have spotted him and it would be, "It's been fun, guys, let's not lose touch".'
'Was he that good?' I asked.
James scowled down at his noodles, then stabbed them a few times with his chopsticks in frustration. Then he chuckled. 'He was that good,' he said. 'And getting better.'
James raised his bottle of beer. 'To Cyrus the Sax,' he said. 'Because talent will out.'
We clinked our glasses.
'You know,' said James. 'Once we're done here, let's go find some jazz.'
Soho on a warm summer night is alive with conversation and tobacco smoke. Every pub spills out into the street, every café has its customers outside at tables perched on pavements that were originally built just wide enough to keep pedestrians out of the horse shit. On Old Compton Street, fit young men in tight white t-shirts and sprayed-on jeans admired each other and their reflections in the shop windows. I caught Daniel pinging his radar at a couple of tasty young men checking themselves out outside the Admiral Duncan, but they just ignored him. It was Friday night, and after all that gym time they weren't getting into bed for anything less than a ten.
A tangle of young women with regulation-length hair, desert tans and regional accents slid past – female squaddies heading for Chinatown and the clubs around Leicester Square.
Me and the band didn't so much proceed up Old Compton Street as ricochet from one clique to the next. James nearly tripped over as a pair of white girls ticked past in stilettos and pink knit miniskirt dresses. 'Fuck me,' he said as he recovered.
'Not going to happen,' said one of the girls as they walked away. But there was no malice in it.
James said he knew a place on Bateman Street, a little basement club in the grand tradition of the legendary Flamingo. 'Or Ronnie Scott's,' he said. 'Before it was Ronnie Scott's.'
It wasn't that long since I'd been patrolling these streets in uniform, and I had a horrible feeling I knew where he was going. My dad's been known to wax lyrical about a youth misspent in smoky basement bars full of sweat, music and girls in tight jumpers. He said that in the Flamingo, you basically had to pick a spot you were prepared to spend the night in, because once things kicked off it was impossible to move. The Mysterioso had been designed as a deliberate recreation of those days by a pair of likely lads who would have been the quintessential cheeky Cockney barrow-boy entrepreneurs, if they hadn't both been from Guildford. Their names were Don Blackwood and Stanley Gibbs, but they called themselves The Management. It had been a rare weekend shift when me and Lesley didn't end up on a shout to the street outside.
The trouble was never inside the club, though, because The Management hired the roughest bouncers they could find, strapped them into sharp suits and gave them carte blanche on the door entry policy. They were famously arbitrary in their exercise of power, and even at eleven forty-five there was a queue of hopefuls down the street.
There's always been a tradition of po-faced seriousness about the British jazz scene, and a kind of chin-stroking 'yes, I see' roll-neck-jumperness to the fans – my current company being a case in point. Judging from the punters in the queue, that old tradition was not The Management's target demographic. This was Armani-suit, dress-to-impress, bling-wearing, switchblade-carrying jazz, and I didn't think it likely that me and the band were going to make the cut.
Well, definitely not the band, anyway. And, to be honest, that suited me because whereas the band had grown on me, a night of semi-professional jazz has never been my idea of a good time. If it had been, my dad would have been a happier man.
Still, James, in the grand tradition of belligerent Scotsmen down the ages, was not prepared to give up without a struggle, so ignoring the queue he went immediately on the offensive.
'We're jazzmen,' he said to the bouncer. 'That's got to count for something.'
The bouncer, a side of meat that I knew for a fact had done time in Wandsworth for various crimes that started with the word 'aggravated', at least gave this some serious consideration. 'I've never heard of you,' he said.
'Maybe, maybe,' said James. 'But we are all part of the same community of spirit – yes? The same brotherhood of music.' Behind his back, Daniel and Max exchanged looks and shuffled back half a metre.
I stepped forward to head off the inevitable violence, and as I did I caught a flash of 'Body and Soul'. The _vestigia_ was subtle, but against the Soho ambience it stood out like a cool breeze on a hot night. And it was definitely coming from the club.
'Are you his friend?' asked the bouncer.
I could have shown my warrant card, but once that's out in the open all the useful witnesses have a tendency to melt away into the darkness and develop impressively detailed alibis.
'Go and tell Stan and Don that Lord Grant's son is waiting outside,' I said.
The bouncer scrutinised my face. 'Do I know you?' he asked.
No, I thought, but you might remember me from such Saturday-night hits as 'would you please put that punter down, I'd like to arrest him', and 'you can stop kicking him now, the ambulance has arrived', and the classic 'if you don't back off right now I'm going to nick you as well'.
'Lord Grant's son,' I repeated.
I heard James whisper behind me, 'What the fuck did he say?'
When my dad was twelve, his music teacher gave him a secondhand trumpet and paid, out of his own pocket, for Dad to have lessons. By the time he was fifteen he'd left school, got himself a job as a delivery boy in Soho and was spending his spare time hungrily looking for gigs. When he was eighteen, Ray Charles heard him playing at the Flamingo and said – loud enough for anyone who was important enough to hear – 'Lord, but that boy can play.' Tubby Hayes called my dad Lord Grant as a joke, and the nickname stuck from then on.
The bouncer tapped his Bluetooth and asked to speak to Stan and told him what I'd said. When he got a reply, I was impressed by the way his expression didn't change as he stepped aside and ushered us in.
'You never said your dad was Lord Grant,' said James.
'It's not the sort of thing you just drop into a conversation, is it?'
'I don't know,' said James. 'If my dad was a jazz legend I think I'd at least bring it up just a wee bit.'
'We're not worthy,' said Max as we descended into the club.
'You remember that,' I said.
If The Spice of Life was old wood and polished brass, The Mysterioso was cement floors and the kind of flock wallpaper that curry houses stripped off their walls in the late 1990s. As advertised, it was dark, crowded and surprisingly smoky. In its quest for authenticity, The Management was obviously turning a blind eye to the smoking of tobacco contrary to the provisions of the Health Act (2006). Not just tobacco, either, judging by the fruity tang drifting over the bobbing heads of the punters. My dad would have loved this place, even though the acoustics were rubbish. All it needed was an animatronic Charlie Parker shooting up in the corner, and it would be a perfect theme-park recreation.
James and the boys, in the grand tradition of musicians everywhere, headed straight for the bar. I let them go and moved closer to the band who, according to the front of the bass drum, were called the Funk Mechanics. True to their name, they were playing jazz funk on a stage that was barely raised above the floor. It was two white guys with a black guy on bass and a red-headed drummer with half a kilo of silver attached to various parts of her face. As I worked my way towards the stage, I realised that they were doing a funked-up version of 'Get Out of Town', but they'd given it a completely spurious Latin rhythm that pissed me off. Which struck me as strange, even then.
There were booths, upholstered in tatty red velvet, lining the walls, and people stared out onto the dance floor. Bottles crowded the tables and faces, mostly pale, nodded in time to the Funk Mechanics' butchering of a classic. There was a white couple snogging in a booth at the end. The man's hand was shoved down the front of the woman's dress, the outline of his fingers squeezing obscenely through the material. The sight made me feel sick and outraged, and that's when I realised that these emotions had nothing to do with me.
I've seen much worse in my travels, and I quite like jazz funk. I must have just walked through a _lacuna_ , a hotspot of residue magic. I'd been right: something was going down.
Lesley always complained that I was too easily distracted to be a good copper, but then she would have walked right through the _lacuna_ without giving it a second thought.
James and the band pushed through the crowd to surprise me with a bottle of beer. I took a swig and it was good. I checked the label and saw it was an expensive bottle of Schneider-Weisse. I looked over at the band, who held up their own bottles.
'It was on the house,' shouted Max, a bit excitedly.
I could feel James wanting to talk about my dad, but fortunately it was too loud and crowded for him to start.
'So this is the modern style,' shouted Daniel.
'So I've heard,' shouted James.
And then I had it, the _vestigia_ cool and distant amongst the heat of the dancing bodies. I realised that it was different from the residue of magic that had clung to Cyrus Wilkinson. This was fresher, crisper, and behind the solo there was a woman's voice singing – _My heart is sad and lonely_. Again, the smell of dust and burned and broken wood.
And something else – the _vestigia_ that clung to Cyrus had manifested itself like a saxophone, but what I was getting now was definitely a trombone. My dad was always sniffy about the 'bone. He said that it was all right in a brass section, but you could count the number of decent trombone soloists on the fingers of one foot. It's a difficult instrument to take seriously, but even my dad admitted that a man who could solo on a slide trombone had to be something special. Then he'd talk about Kai Winding, or J. J. Johnson. But the guys on stage were trumpet, electric bass and drums – no trombone.
I had a horrible feeling I'd turned up two coupons short of the pop-up toaster.
I let the _vestigia_ lead me through the crowd. There was a door to the left of the stage half hidden behind the speaker stacks with STAFF ONLY crookedly stencilled on it, yellow paint on black. It wasn't until I reached the door that I realised that the band had followed me over like lost sheep. I told them to stay outside – so of course, they followed me in.
The door opened straight into the green room/changing room/storage area, a long narrow space that looked to me like a converted coal bunker. The walls were plastered with ancient yellowing posters for bands and gigs. An old-fashioned theatrical dressing table with a horseshoe of bare bulbs was sandwiched between an American-sized fridge and a trestle table covered in a disposable tablecloth in Christmas green and red. A forest of beer bottles covered a coffee table, and a white woman in her early twenties was asleep on one of the two green leather sofas that filled the rest of the room.
'So this is how the other half lives,' said Daniel.
'Makes all those years of rehearsing seem almost worthwhile,' said Max.
The woman on the sofa sat up and stared at us. She was wearing dungarees that were loose to the waist and a yellow t-shirt with I SAID NO SO FUCK OFF printed across the chest.
'Can I help you?' she said. She was wearing dark purple lipstick that had got smeared across one cheek.
'I'm looking for the band,' I said.
'Aren't we all,' she said, and held out her hand. 'My name's Peggy.'
'The band?' I asked, ignoring her hand.
Peggy sighed and rolled the kinks out of her shoulders, which pushed out her chest and got everyone's attention – except for Daniel's, of course. 'Aren't they on stage?' she asked.
'The band before them,' I said.
'They've gone,' said Peggy. 'Oh, that bitch, she said she'd wake me up after the set. This really is too much.'
'What's the name of the band?' I asked.
Peggy rolled off the sofa and started looking for her shoes. 'Honestly,' she said. 'I don't remember. They were Cherry's band.'
'Did they have a trombone player?' I asked. 'A good one?'
Max found her shoes behind the other sofa. They were four-inch stilettos, open-toed strap sandals which I didn't really think went with the dungarees. 'I'll say so,' she said. 'That'll be Mickey. He's one in a million.'
'Do you know where they were going after the gig?'
'Sorry,' she said. 'I was just going with the groove.' In her heels she was almost as tall as I was. The dungarees gaped at the sides to reveal a strip of pale skin and a frilly line of scarlet silk knickers. I turned away – I'd lost the _vestigia_ when I entered the room, and Peggy wasn't helping my concentration. I got flashes of other stuff, the smell of lavender, of a car bonnet left out in the sun and a ringing sound like the silence that comes after a loud noise.
'Who are you?' asked Peggy.
'We're the jazz police,' said James.
'He's the jazz police,' said Max, meaning me, I suppose. 'We're more like the Old Compton Street irregulars.'
That made me laugh, which shows how drunk I'd got.
'Is Mickey in trouble?' asked Peggy.
'Only if he's been dripping his spit valve on someone's shoulder,' said Max.
I didn't have any more time for banter. There was a second door in the room, marked as a fire exit, so I headed for that. On the other side there was another short, bare grey-brick corridor half blocked with stacked furniture, crates and black plastic bags in spectacular contravention of Health and Safety regulations. Another fire door, this one with push bars, led to a staircase up to street level. The push bars on the door at the top of the stairs were illegally fastened with a bicycle lock.
Nightingale has this spell which can just pop a lock right out of its socket, but apparently I'm at least a year away from learning it. I had to improvise. I stopped a safe distance away and dropped one of my unsuccessful light bombs on the lock. What they lack in finesse they make up for in ferocity. I had to take a step back because of the heat and, squinting, I could see the lock sag within the little rippling globe. When I figured the lock was good and soft, I let go of the spell and the globe popped like a soap bubble. Then I made a nice basic _Impello forma_ in my mind. It was the second _forma_ I ever learned, so it's something I know I'm good at. _Impello_ moves things about, in this case the centre line of the double doors. It smacked the doors open, breaking the lock and slamming them hard enough to knock one off its hinges.
It was impressive stuff, even if I say so myself. And certainly the irregulars, who'd come up the stairs behind me, thought so.
'What the fuck was that?' asked James.
'Thermite chewing gum,' I said hopefully.
The fire alarm in the club went off – it was time to move on. Me and the irregulars did the fifty-metre nonchalant stroll round the corner onto Frith Street in Olympic qualifying time. It was late enough by then for the tourists to have gone back to their hotels, and the streets were noisy with lads and ladettes.
James got in front of me and made me stop walking.
'This has something to do with Cy's death, doesn't it?'
I was too knackered to argue. 'Maybe,' I said. 'I don't know.'
'Did someone do something to Cyrus?' he asked.
'I don't know,' I said. 'If you'd just finished a gig, where would you go?'
James looked confused. 'What?'
'Help me out, James. I'm trying to find this trombone player – where would you go?'
'The Potemkin has a late licence,' said Max.
That made sense. You could get food there, and more importantly alcohol, up until five o'clock in the morning. I headed down Frith Street with the irregulars in tow. They wanted to know what was going on – and so did I. James in particular was proving dangerously canny.
'Are you worried the same thing is going to happen to this trombone player?' he asked.
'Maybe,' I said. 'I don't know.'
We turned into Old Compton Street, and as soon as I saw the flashing blue light on the ambulance I knew I was too late. It was parked outside GAY, the back doors were open and, judging by the leisurely way the paramedics were moving about, either the victim was unharmed or very dead. I wasn't betting on unharmed. A desultory crowd of onlookers had gathered under the wary eye of a couple of PCSOs and a PC I recognised from my time at Charing Cross nick.
'Purdy,' I shouted, and he looked over. 'What's the griff?'
Purdy lumbered over. When you're wearing a stab vest, an equipment belt, extendable baton, nipple-shaped helmet, shoulder harness, Airwave radio, cuffs, pepper spray, notebook and emergency Mars Bar, lumber is what you do. Phillip Purdy had a bit of a reputation as a 'uniform-carrier': that's a copper who's not good for anything but wearing the uniform. But that was all to the good – I didn't want effective. Effective coppers ask too many questions.
'Ambulance pick-up,' said Purdy. 'Guy just dropped dead in the middle of the street.'
'Let's have a look?' I made it a question. It pays to be polite.
'Are you working?'
'I don't know until I have a look,' I said.
Purdy grunted and let me past.
The paramedics were just lifting the victim onto their trolley. He was younger than me, dark-skinned and African-featured – Nigerian or Ghanaian if I had to guess, or more likely had a parent from one of those places. He was dressed smart: khaki chinos, custom-made suit jacket. The paramedics had ripped open an expensive-looking white cotton shirt in order to use the defibrillator. His eyes were open, dark brown and empty. I didn't need to get any closer. If he'd been playing 'Body and Soul' any louder I could have roped off the street and sold tickets.
I asked the paramedics for a cause of death, but they shrugged and said heart failure.
'Is he dead?' I heard Max say behind me.
'No, he's just having a wee lie down,' said James.
I asked Purdy if he had any identification, and he held up a Ziploc bag with a wallet in it. 'This your shout?' he asked.
I nodded, took the bag and signed the paperwork carefully to ensure the chain of custody against any future legal proceedings, before stuffing the whole lot in my trouser pocket.
'Was there anyone with him?'
Purdy shook his head. 'Nobody that I saw.'
'Who made the 999 call?'
'Dunno,' said Purdy. 'Mobile, probably.'
It's officers like Purdy that give the Metropolitan Police its sterling reputation for customer service that makes us the envy of the civilised world.
As they loaded the trolley into the ambulance, I heard Max being noisily sick.
Purdy eyed Max with the particular interest of a copper who's facing a long Saturday-night shift, and who could easily make dropping a drunk-and-disorderly off at the cells last at least a couple of hours. Paperwork to be done in the canteen with a cup of tea and a sandwich – curse this bureaucratic red tape that keeps good police officers away from the front lines where the action is! I disappointed Purdy by saying I'd take care of it.
The paramedics said they wanted to be off, but I told them to wait. I didn't want to risk the body going astray before Dr Walid had a chance to look at it, but I needed to know whether this guy had been playing at The Mysterioso. Of the irregulars, Daniel looked the most upright.
'Daniel,' I asked, 'are you sober?'
'Yes,' he said. 'And getting soberer with every passing second.'
'I've got to go with the ambulance. Can you nip back to the club and get a copy of the playlist?' I gave him my card. 'Call me on the mobile when you've got it.'
'You think the same thing happened to him?' he said. 'As Cyrus, I mean.'
'I don't know,' I said. 'As soon as I know something I'll call you guys.'
The paramedics called over. 'You coming, or what?'
'You all right with this?'
Daniel gave me a grin. 'Jazzman, remember,' he said. I held up my fist, and after a moment of incomprehension, Daniel knocked knuckles with me.
I climbed into the ambulance and the paramedic pulled the door closed behind us.
'Are we going to UCH?' I asked.
'That's the general idea,' he said.
We didn't bother with the blues and twos.
You can't just deposit a body at the morgue. For a start, it has to be certified by a bona fide doctor. It doesn't matter how many bits the body is in; until your actual fully accredited member of the BMA says it's dead, it occupies, bureaucratically speaking, an indeterminate state just like an electron, an atomic cat-in-a-box, and my authority to conduct what was tantamount to a murder investigation on my own recognisance.
Early Sunday morning in Casualty is always a joy, what with the blood and the screaming and the recriminations as the booze wears off and the pain kicks in. Any police officer who's feeling public-spirited enough to show his face can get himself involved in half a dozen exciting altercations, often involving Ken and his best mate Ron, and _it weren't like we were doing anything, officer, honest, it was, like, totally unprovoked_. So I stayed in the treatment cubicle with my nice quiet dead body, thank you very much. I borrowed a pair of surgical gloves from a box in a drawer and went through his wallet.
Mickey the Bone's full name was, according to his driving licence, Michael Adjayi. So a Nigerian family, then, and according to his date of birth, Michael had just turned nineteen.
Your mum's going to be really pissed with you, I thought sadly.
He had a slew of cards: VISA, Mastercard, bank card and one for the Musicians Union. There were a couple of business cards, including one from an agent – I jotted the details down in my notebook. Then I carefully returned everything to the evidence bag.
It wasn't until a quarter to three that a junior doctor turned up and finally pronounced Michael Adjayi definitively dead. It took another two hours, once I'd declared the body a crime scene, to get the doctor's particulars, obtain copies of the relevant documentation, the paramedic's and the doctor's notes, and get the body downstairs and safely into the mortuary, there to await Dr Walid's tender ministrations. That just left me with the joyous last part, the bit where I contact the victim's loved ones and break the news to them. These days the easiest way to do that is to grab someone's mobile and see what comes up on the call log. Predictably, Mickey had had an iPhone. I found it in his jacket pocket, but the screen was blank and I didn't need to open it up to know that the chip would be trashed. I put it in a second evidence bag, but I didn't bother labelling it – it would be going back to the Folly with me. Once I was sure that nobody was going to interfere with the body, I called Dr Walid. I didn't see any reason to wake him, so I rang his office number and left a message for him to pick up in the morning.
If Mickey really was a second victim, then it meant that the magic jazzman killer – and I was going to have to think of a better name for him than that – had struck less than four days apart.
I wondered if there'd been a similar cluster amongst Dr Walid's lists of deaths. I'd have to check when I got back to the tech cave at the Folly. I was just debating whether to go home or fall asleep in the mortuary staff room, when my phone rang. I didn't recognise the number.
'Hello,' I said.
This is Stephanopoulos,' said Detective Sergeant Stephanopoulos. 'Your particular services are required.'
'Where?'
'Dean Street,' she said. Soho again. Of course, why not?
'Can I ask what the case is?'
'Murder most horrid,' she said. 'Bring a spare pair of shoes.'
Past a certain point, black coffee only gets you so far, and if hadn't been for the nasty smell of the air freshener my surly Latvian driver used, I might have fallen asleep in the back of his minicab.
Dean Street was sealed off, from the corner with Old Compton Street to where it met Meard Street. I counted at least two unmarked Sprinter vans and a bevy of silver Vauxhall Astras, which is a sure sign that a Major Investigation Team is on the scene.
A DC I recognised from the Belgravia Murder Team was waiting for me at the tape. A short way up Dean Street a forensics tent had been pitched over the entrance of the Groucho Club – it looked as inviting as something from a biological warfare exercise.
Stephanopoulos was waiting for me inside. She was a short, terrifying woman whose legendary capacity for revenge had earned her the title of the lesbian officer least likely to have a flippant remark made about her sexual orientation. She was stocky, and had a square face that wasn't helped by a Sheena Easton flat-top that you might have called ironic postmodern dyke chic, but only if you really craved suffering.
She was already wearing her blue disposable forensic overalls, and a facemask hung around her neck. Someone had liberated a pair of folding chairs from somewhere and laid out a forensic suit for me. We call them Noddy suits, and you sweat like anything when you wear them. I noticed there were smears of blood around Stephanopoulos's ankles on the plastic bag thingies that you cover your shoes with.
'How's your governor?' asked DS Stephanopoulos as I sat and started pulling on the suit.
'Fine,' I said. 'Yours?'
'Fine,' she said. 'He's back on duty next month.' Stephanopoulos knew the truth about the Folly. A surprisingly large number of senior police officers did; it just wasn't the sort of thing you talked about in polite conversation.
'Are you SIO on this, ma'am?' I asked. The Senior Investigating Officer on a serious crime was usually at the very least a detective inspector, not a sergeant.
'Of course not,' said Stephanopoulos. 'We have a DCI on loan from Havering CID, but he's adopted a loose collaborative management approach in which experienced officers undertake a lead role in areas where they have the greatest expertise.'
In other words, he'd locked himself in his office and let Stephanopoulos get on with it.
'It's always gratifying to see senior officers adopting a forward-looking posture in their vertical relationships,' I said, and was rewarded by something that was almost a smile.
'You ready?'
I pulled the hood over my head and tightened the drawstring. Stephanopoulos handed me a facemask, and I followed her into the club. The lobby had a white tile floor that, despite the obvious care taken, had smears of blood on it trailing through a pair of wooden trellis doors.
'The body's downstairs in the gents',' said Stephanopoulos.
The stairs down to the scene were so narrow that we had to wait for a herd of forensics types to come up before we could go down. There's no such thing as a full-service forensics team. It's very expensive, so you order bits of it up from the Home Office, like a Chinese takeaway. Judging by the number of Noddy suits filing past us, Stephanopoulos had gone for the super-deluxe meal for six with extra egg fried rice. I was, I guessed, the fortune cookie.
Like most toilets in the West End of London, the ones in the Groucho were cramped and low-ceilinged from being retrofitted into the basement of a townhouse. The management had lined them with alternating panels of brushed steel and cherry-red Perspex – it was like a particularly creepy level of _System Shock 2_. This was not helped by the bloody footsteps leading out.
'The cleaner found him,' said Stephanopoulos, which explained the footsteps.
On the left were square porcelain wash basins in front of a line of bog-standard urinals, and tucked away on the right, raised up a couple of steps, was the one and only toilet stall. The door was being held open with a couple of strips of masking tape. I didn't need to be told what was inside.
It's funny how the mind processes a crime scene. For the first few seconds your eye just slides away from the horror and fixes on the mundane. He was a middle-aged white guy, and he was sitting on the loo. His shoulders were slumped and his chin was resting on his chest, making it hard to see his face, but he had brown hair and the start of a bald patch at the crown of his head. He was wearing an expensive but worn tweed jacket that had been half pulled down his shoulders to reveal a rather nice blue and white pinstriped shirt. His trousers and pants were around his ankles, his thighs pale and hairy. His hands hung limply between his legs; I guessed he'd been clutching his groin right up until he'd lost consciousness. His palms were sticky with blood, the cuffs of his jacket and shirt soaked in it. I made myself look at the wound.
'Jesus fucking Christ,' I said.
Blood had poured into the toilet bowl, and I really didn't want to be the poor forensics sod who had to go fishing around in it later. Something had excised the man's penis, right at the root just above his bollocks and, unless I was mistaken, left him clutching what was left until he bled out.
It was horrible, but I doubted that Stephanopoulos had dragged me down here for a crash course in scene-of-crime theory. There had to be something more, so I made myself look at the wound again, and this time I saw the connection. I'm no expert, but judging by the ragged edge of the wound, I didn't think it had been done with a knife.
I stood up, and Stephanopoulos gave me an approving look. Presumably because I hadn't immediately clutched my groin and run whimpering from the crime scene.
'Does this look familiar to you?' she asked.
#
# One Tenth of My Ashes
The Groucho Club – the name intended to reflect his famous quote – was established around the same time I was born, to cater for the kind of artists and media professionals who could afford to buy in their ironic postmodernism. It generally went under the police radar because however trendily anti-establishment its patrons were, they generally didn't get into it on the street come Friday night. Or at least, not unless there was a chance of it making the papers the next day. Enough rehab-worthy celebrities went there to support a niche ecology of paparazzi on the pavement opposite the entrance. That explained why Stephanopoulos had sealed off the street. I imagined the photographers were as vexed as five-year-olds by now.
'You're thinking of St John Giles?' I asked.
'The MO's pretty distinctive,' said Stephanopoulos.
St John Giles was a putative Saturday-night date rapist whose career was, literally, cut short in a club when a woman, or at least something that looked like a woman, bit his penis off – with her vagina. _Vagina dentata_ , it's called, and no medically verified cases have ever been recorded. I know because Dr Walid and I trawled all the way the way back to the seventeenth century looking for one.
'Did you make any progress with the case?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'No,' I said. 'We have his description, his friend's descriptions and some fuzzy CCTV footage, and that's it.'
'At least we can start with a comparative victimology. I want you to call Belgravia, get the case number and port your nominals to our inquiry,' she said.
A 'nominal' is a person who has come to the attention of the investigation and been entered into the HOLMES major inquiry system. Witness statements, forensic evidence, a detective's notes on an interview, even CCTV footage are all grist for the inquiry's computerised mill. The original system was developed as a direct result of the Byford Inquiry into the Yorkshire Ripper case. The Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, was interviewed several times before he was caught, by accident, by a routine traffic stop. The police can live with looking corrupt, bullying or tyrannical, but looking stupid is intolerable. It has a tendency to undermine people's faith in the forces of law, and is deleterious to public order. Lacking any convenient scapegoats, the police were forced to professionalise a culture which had, up until then, prided itself on being composed of untalented amateurs. HOLMES was part of that process.
In order for the data to be useful, it had to be input in the right format and checked to make sure any relevant details had been highlighted and indexed. Needless to say, I hadn't done any of this on the St John Giles case yet. I was tempted to explain that I worked for a twoman department, one of whom had only just got the hang of cable TV, but of course Stephanopoulos already knew this.
'Yes, boss,' I said. 'What's this victim's name?'
'This is Jason Dunlop. Club member, freelance journalist. He was booked into one of the bedrooms upstairs. Last seen climbing the wooden steps to Bedfordshire just after twelve, and found here just after three by one of the late-night cleaning staff.'
'What was the time of death?' I asked.
'Between a quarter to one and half-two, give or take your usual margin of error.'
Until the pathologist opened him up, the margin of error could be anything up to an hour each way.
'Is there anything _special_ about him?' she asked.
I didn't need to ask what she meant by special. I sighed. I wasn't really that keen to get close again, but I squatted down and used it as an opportunity to have a good look at his face. His face was slack, but his mouth was held closed because of the way his chin rested on his chest. There wasn't any facial expression that I recognised, and I wondered how long he'd sat there clutching his groin before he'd died. At first I thought there were no _vestigia_ but then, very faintly, in the hundred-milliyap range, I caught the impression of port wine, treacle, the taste of suet and the smell of candles.
'Well?' she asked.
'Not really,' I said. 'If he was attacked by magic it wasn't directly.'
'I wish you wouldn't call it that,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Couldn't we call it "other means"?'
'If you like, boss,' I said. 'It's possible this attack had nothing to do with "other means".'
'No? A woman with teeth in her fanny? I'd have to say that was pretty "other", wouldn't you?'
Me and Nightingale had discussed this after the first attack. 'It's possible she was wearing a prosthetic, you know, like a set of dentures, only inserted... vertically. If a woman did that, don't you think she could...' I realised that I was making snapping movements with my hand, and stopped it.
'Well, I couldn't do that,' said Stephanopoulos. 'But thank you, Constable, for that fascinating bit of speculation. It's definitely going to keep me awake at night.'
'Not as badly as the men, boss,' I said, and really wished I hadn't.
Stephanopoulos gave me a strange look. 'You're a cheeky bugger, aren't you?' she said.
'Sorry, boss,' I said.
'Do you know what I like, Grant? A good Friday-night stabbing, some poor sod getting knifed because he looks funny at some other drunk bastard,' she said. 'It's a motive I can relate to.'
We both stood for a moment and contemplated the hazy, far-off days of yesterday evening.
'You're not officially part of this investigation,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Consider yourself as a consultant only. I'm the acting Senior Investigating Officer, and if I think I need you, I'll give you a shout. Understood?'
'Yes, boss,' I said. 'There are some leads I can follow, "other means" of pursuing the investigation.'
'Fair enough,' said Stephanopoulos. 'But any actions that you generate you're to clear through me first. Any normal leads you feed back through HOLMES, and in return I'll make sure any creepy stuff involves you. Is that clear?'
'Yes, guv,' I said.
'Good boy,' she said. I could tell she'd liked the 'guv'. 'Now fuck off and let's hope I don't have to see you again.'
I walked back up to the forensics tent and stripped off my Noddy suit, but carefully, to make sure I didn't get any blood on my clothes.
Stephanopoulos wanted my involvement to be low-profile. Given that the Covent Garden riots had put forty people in hospital, had seen the arrests of two hundred more, including most of the cast of _Billy Budd_ , had put a deputy assistant commissioner in hospital and then on disciplinary suspension and Stephanopoulos's own governor on medical leave after I'd stuck him with a syringe full of elephant tranquilliser (in my defence he had been trying to hang me at the time) – and that was before the Royal Opera House was trashed and the market burned down – low-profile was fine with me.
I arrived back at the Folly to find Nightingale in the breakfast room helping himself to kedgeree from one of the silver salvers that Molly insists on laying out on the buffet table every single morning. I lifted the lids on one of the others to reveal Cumberland sausage and poached eggs. Sometimes when you've been up all night you can substitute a good fry-up for sleep. It worked long enough for me to brief Nightingale on the body in the Groucho Club, although I steered clear of the Cumberland sausage, for some reason. Toby sat on his haunches by the table and gave me the alert stare of a dog who was ready for any meaty comestibles that life might throw him.
When the sadly penis-less St John Giles came to our attention, we'd drafted in a forensic dentist to confirm that teeth had done the damage rather than a knife or a miniature bear trap, or something. The dentist had run up a best-guess reconstruction of the configuration of the teeth. It looked remarkably like a human mouth, only shallower and with a vertical orientation. In his opinion, the canine and incisors were broadly similar to those in the human mouth, but the premolars and molars were unusually thin and sharp. 'More suggestive of a carnivore than an omnivore,' the dentist had said. He was a nice man and very professional, but I got the distinct impression he thought we were having him on.
This had led to a bizarre debate about the process of human digestion, which wasn't settled until I went out and bought some school biology text books and talked Nightingale through the stomach, the intestines, the small intestines and what they were for. When I asked him whether they had covered this at his old school, he said that they might have but that he hadn't been paying attention. When I asked him what had kept his attention, he said rugby and spells.
'Spells?' I asked. 'Are you saying you went to Hogwarts?'
Which led to me having to explain the Harry Potter books, after which he said that yes, he had been to a school for the sons of certain families with strong magical traditions, but it really hadn't been much like the school in the books. Although he did like the idea of Quidditch, they'd mostly played rugby, and using magic on the playing field was strictly outlawed.
'We did play our own version of squash,' he said, 'using the movement forms; that could get a bit lively.'
The school itself had been requisitioned by the military during World War Two, and by the time it was released back to civilian use in the early 1950s there hadn't been enough children to make it worthwhile. 'Or enough teachers,' Nightingale had said, and then fallen silent for a long while. I made a point of not bringing up the subject again.
We did spend quite a lot of time going through the library looking for references to _Vagina dentata_ , which led me to Wolfe's _Exotica_. What Polidori was to macabre death, Samuel Erasmus Wolfe was to weird fauna and what Dr Walid calls 'legitimate cryptozoology'. He was a contemporary of Huxley and Wilberforce, and bang up to date with the then latest theories of evolution. In his introduction to _The Role of Magic in Inducing Pseudo-Lamarckian Inheritance_ , he argues that exposure to magic could induce changes in an organism which could then be inherited by its offspring. Amongst modern biologists, this sort of thing is known as 'soft inheritance' and, if espoused, causes them to point and laugh. It sounded plausible, but unfortunately before he could complete the part of his book where he proved his theory, Wolfe was killed by a shark while taking the waters off Sidmouth.
I thought that, as a theory, it could explain the 'evolution' of many of the creatures detailed in the _Exotica_. Wolfe had avoided mention in his theory of the _genii locorum_ , the local gods, that most definitely existed. But I could see that if a person were to come under the influence of the vast and subtle magic that seemed to permeate certain localities, then perhaps they could be physically shaped by that magic. For example, Father Thames, Mama Thames and even Beverley Brook, who I'd kissed at Seven Dials.
Inherited by the offspring, I thought. Perhaps it was a good thing that Beverley Brook was safely out of temptation's reach.
'Assuming the forensic dentistry confirms that it's the same "creature",' I said, 'can we assume she's not natural? I mean, she's got to be magical in some way – right? Which means she must be leaving a trail of _vestigia_ wherever she goes.'
Nightingale poured more tea. 'You haven't picked up anything so far.'
'True,' I said. 'But if she's got a gaff, a nest where she spends most of her time, then the _vestigia_ will have had a chance to build up. That should make it easier to spot, and since both attacks were in Soho, the chances are that's where her lair is.'
'That's a bit of a stretch,' he said.
'It's a start,' I said, and flicked a sausage at Toby, who executed a neat standing jump to catch it. 'What we need is something that has a proven track record of hunting supernatural things.'
We both looked at Toby, who swallowed his sausage in a single gulp.
'Not Toby,' I said. 'Someone who owes me a favour.'
When I brokered a peace between the two halves of the River Thames, part of the deal involved an exchange of hostages. All very mediaeval, but the best I could come up with at the time. From the court of Mama Thames, the London contingent, I chose Beverley Brook, she of the dark brown eyes and cheeky face, and in exchange I got Ash, all film-star good looks and the greasy blond charisma of a travelling funfair. After a fairly disastrous stay at Mama Thames's home in Wapping, the eldest daughters had stashed him at the Generator, a student hostel that existed on the boundary where roughneck King's Cross became affluent Bloomsbury. It also put him just a short dash from the Folly, in case of emergencies.
The hostel was based near a courtyard mews off Tavistock Place. On the outside it was strictly English Heritage vanilla Georgian, but inside it was the kind of easy-to-clean primary colours that adorn the set of children's TV shows. The staff were decked out in blue and green t-shirts, baseball caps and mandatory happy smiles, which slipped a bit when they saw me.
'I'm just here to pick him up,' I told them, and their smiles returned to the regulation intensity.
It wasn't lost on me that despite the fact that I'd worked all night, had a kip, a shower and caught up on some paperwork, I still managed to arrive at Ash's room to find him just getting up. He opened the door wrapped in a grubby olive bath towel.
'Petey,' he said. 'Come in.'
The private rooms at the Generator are furnished with bunk beds, in order to retain that crucial youth hostel ambience. Technically, even when you rent a private room, you're required to share it with at least one other guest. Shortly after moving in, Ash, using an oxyacetylene torch liberated from God knows where, had reconfigured his bunk into a double bed. If anyone was going to be sharing a room with him, it was going to be under the same duvet. When the management complained, Mother Thames sent her daughter Tyburn to sort things out. And when Lady Ty puts the fix in, things stay fixed. To be fair to Ash, he rarely spends a night alone. Ty hates him, but since I was top of her shit list before Ash came along, I regarded that as a bonus.
Last night's young woman regarded me cautiously from the safety of the duvet. There wasn't anywhere else to sit but at the end of the bed, so I perched there and gave her a reassuring smile. She looked nervously after Ash as he headed up the corridor towards the communal showers.
'Afternoon,' I said, and she nodded back.
She was pretty in a calculated way: delicate cheekbones, olive skin and curly black hair that fell in ringlets to her shoulders. It wasn't until she'd relaxed enough to sit up and the duvet fell away to reveal a smooth, hairless and totally flat chest, that I twigged that he wasn't a she.
'Are you a guy?' I asked, just to show that the sensitivity training at Hendon hadn't been wasted.
'Only biologically,' he said. 'How about you?'
I was saved from having to answer that by Ash, who swept back into the room and, stark naked, hunted out a pair of faded jeans and a Bra Anancy t-shirt that just had to have come from Effra. Pausing only to French-kiss the young man in the bed, he pulled on a pair of DM boots and out we went.
I waited until we were out of the hostel and heading for the Ford Asbo before asking about the guy in his bed.
Ash shrugged. 'I didn't know he was a guy until we got back to the room,' he said. 'And I was having such a good time I thought, why not?'
For someone who'd never been in a built-up area larger than Cirencester all his life, Ash was turning out to be surprisingly metro.
'Where we going?' asked Ash as we got in the car.
'Your favourite part of town,' I said. 'Soho.'
'You going to buy me breakfast?' he asked.
'Lunch,' I said. 'Late lunch.'
We ended up eating fish and chips al fresco on Berwick Street, which has the offices of TV companies at one end, a street market in the middle and a little furtive knot of sex shops at the other. It also has some world-famous record stores, strictly vinyl only, the sort of places my dad would go to sell his collection – as if that was ever going to happen, this side of him being dead.
I told him what I wanted him to do.
'You want me to hang out in Soho?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'Going to pubs and clubs and meeting new people,' he said.
'Yep,' I said, 'and keeping your eye out for a psychotic, possibly supernatural, killer female.'
'So, go to clubs and look for dangerous women,' he said. 'What does she look like?'
'She looks like Molly, but she may have changed her hair a bit,' I said. 'I'm hoping she'll stand out, you know, to you in particular, in a spiritual way.'
I saw Ash translate that one in his head. 'Oh,' he said. 'Got you. What do I do if I spot her?'
'You call me and you don't get close,' I said. 'This is strictly surveillance, is that clear?'
'Crystal,' said Ash. 'What's in it for me?'
'I bought you chips, didn't I?'
'Tight arse,' he said. 'Beer money?'
'I'll reimburse you,' I said.
'You couldn't front me?'
We found a cashpoint, and I pulled a ton and a half for walking-around money and handed it over. 'I want receipts,' I said. 'Or I'm going to tell Tyburn what really happened that night in Mayfair.'
'It was just a cat,' said Ash.
'There are some things that shouldn't happen to anybody,' I said. 'Not even a cat.'
'It looked good shaved,' said Ash.
'I don't think Tyburn saw it that way,' I said.
'I think I shall start my reconnaissance at Endurance,' said Ash. 'Care to join me?'
'Can't, some of us have got to work for a living,' I said.
'So have I,' said Ash. 'I'm doing your job.'
'Just be careful,' I said.
'As if I were out poaching,' he said. 'On a beautiful moonlit night.'
I watched him pinch an apple off a market stand as he sauntered away.
The thing about Soho is that because it's a bugger to drive through, has no tube station or bus routes through it, you end up walking everywhere. And because you're walking, you run into people you might normally miss. I'd stashed the Asbo on Beak Street, and so turned down Broadwick, but before I could achieve Soho escape velocity I was intercepted on Lexington.
Despite the traffic, I heard the heels before I heard the voice.
'Constable Grant! You lied to me.'
I turned to find Simone Fitzwilliam high-heeling down the pavement towards me. A red cardigan was falling off her shoulders like a stole, over a peach-coloured blouse with its buttons under strain and black leggings to show off all that leg power. As she came close I smelled honeysuckle, rose and lavender, the scents of an English country garden.
'Miss Fitzwilliam,' I said, trying to keep it formal.
'You lied to me,' she said, and her wide red mouth stretched into a smile. 'Your father is Richard "Lord" Grant. I can't believe I didn't see it in your face. No wonder you knew what you were talking about. Does he still play?'
'How are you feeling?' I asked, feeling like a daytime TV presenter.
The smile wavered. 'Some days are better than others,' she said. 'You know what would cheer me up – something scrumptious.'
Scrumptious was not a word that I'd ever heard used by a real person before.
'Where do you want to go?' I asked.
The English have always brought out a strong missionary streak in the rest of the continent, and from time to time hardy individuals have braved the weather, the plumbing and the sarcasm to bring the finer things in life to this poor benighted island. One such pioneer, according to Simone, was Madame Valerie, who founded her patisserie on Frith Street and, after the Germans bombed it there, on Old Compton Street. I'd patrolled past it lots of times, but since it didn't serve alcohol I'd been rarely called to go in.
Simone grabbed my hand and practically dragged me inside, where the display cases glowed in the afternoon light. Ranks of confectionery were arrayed on cream-coloured doilies, pink and yellow, red and chocolate, as gaudy as any model army.
Simone had a favourite table by the stairs, just the other side of the cake displays. From there, she pointed out, you could watch people coming and going _and_ keep an eye on the cakes – just in case they tried to make a run for it. She seemed to know what she was doing, so I let her order. Hers was a deceptively compact sandwich of cream, pastry and icing; mine was essentially a chocolate cake with chocolate flourishes and whipped cream sprinkled with chocolate. I wondered if I was being seduced or driven into a diabetic coma.
'You must tell me what you've discovered,' she said. 'I heard you were at The Mysterioso last night with Jimmy and Max. Isn't it a frightfully wicked place? I'm sure you had to positively restrain yourself from arresting miscreants left, right and centre.'
I agreed that I had, indeed, visited the club, and that it was a den of iniquity, but I didn't tell her about Mickey the Bone who, even as we spoke, was waiting for Dr Walid in the mortuary at UCH. Instead I gave her some flannel about ongoing inquiries, and watched her eat her cake. She devoured it like an impatient but obedient child with quick, dainty bites, and still managed to get cream smeared around her lips. I watched as her tongue darted out to lick it off.
'You know who you should talk to,' she said, once all the cream had gone. 'You should talk to the Musicians Union. After all, isn't it their job to look after their members? If anybody should know what's going on, it should be them. Are you going to eat that?'
I offered her the rest of my cake, and she looked to either side like a guilty schoolgirl before sliding the plate over to her side of the table. 'I've never been very good curbing my appetite,' she said. 'I suppose I'm compensating rather for when I was younger – we were terribly short of all sorts of things back then.'
'Back when?'
'Back when I was young and foolish,' she said. There was a dab of chocolate on her cheek, and without thinking I wiped it off with my thumb. 'Thank you,' she said. 'You can never have enough cake.'
You certainly never have enough time. I paid the bill, and she walked me back to where I'd parked the Asbo. I asked her what she did for a living.
'I'm a journalist,' she said.
'Who with?' I asked.
'Oh, I'm freelance,' she said. 'Everybody is these days, apparently.'
'What do you write about?'
'Jazz, of course,' she said. 'The London scene, music, gossip, most of my work goes overseas. To the Japs mainly, very keen on jazz, the Japs are.' She explained that she suspected some subeditor in Tokyo translated her work into Japanese – her name being one of the things that got lost in translation.
We reached the corner.
'I'm staying just up there on Berwick Street,' she said.
'With your sisters,' I said.
'You remembered. Well, of course you did, you're a policeman. No doubt they train you to do such things. So if I tell you my address, you're sure to remember it.'
She told me her address and I pretended to memorise it – again.
'Au revoir,' she said. 'Until we meet again.'
I watched her walk away on her high heels, jaunty hips swaying back and forth.
Lesley was so going to kill me.
*
Back in the old days, my dad and his mates used to hang out on Archer Street, where the Musicians Union used to be, in the hope of getting work. I'd always imagined it as little knots of musicians dotted along the pavement. Then I saw a photograph which showed the street awash with men in pork-pie hats and Burton suits toting their instruments around like unemployed Mafiosi. It got so crowded and competitive, my dad said, that bands would have secret hand gestures to communicate across the crowd, sliding fist for a trombonist, flat hand, palm down, for a drummer, fluttering fingers for a cornet or a trumpet. That way you could stay friendly with your mates in the crowd even while undercutting them for a gig at the Savoy or the Café de Paris. My dad said you could have walked down Archer Street and assembled two full orchestras, a big band and still have enough bodies left for a couple of quartets and a soloist to tinkle the ivories at Lyon's Corner House.
These days the musicians text each other and arrange their gigs on the internet, and the Musicians Union has crossed the river to set up shop on the Clapham Road. It was a Sunday, but on the basis that music, like crime, never sleeps, I gave them a ring. A guy at the main office, once I'd convinced him this was a police matter, gave me the mobile number for Tista Ghosh, the Jazz Section's welfare officer. I rang her and left a message identifying myself and giving an impression of urgency without actually saying anything concrete. Never record anything you wouldn't want turning up on YouTube, is my motto. Ms Ghosh rang back just as I was reaching my car. She had the kind of precision-tooled middle-class accent that only comes from being taught English as a second language in the cradle. She asked me what I wanted, and I told her that I wanted to talk about unexpected deaths amongst her members.
'Does it have to be this evening?'she asked. Behind her I could hear a band playing 'Red Clay'.
I told her I'd try and keep the interview as short as possible. I love using the word 'interview', because members of the public see it as the first step up the legal staircase that goes from 'helping the police with their inquiries'to spending time at Her Majesty's pleasure locked in a small cell with a large sweaty man who insists on calling you Susan.
I asked her where she was currently.
'At The Hub in Regent's Park,' she said. 'It's the Jazz in the Open Air Festival.'
Actually, according to the poster I saw at the gate later, it was the _Last Chance for Jazz in the Open Air Festival_ sponsored by the company formerly known as Cadbury Schweppes.
Five hundred years ago, the notoriously savvy Henry VIII discovered an elegant way to solve both his theological problems and his personal liquidity crisis – he dissolved the monasteries and nicked all their land. Since the principle of any rich person who wants to stay rich is never give anything away unless you absolutely have to, the land has stayed with the crown ever since. Three hundred years later, the Prince Regent hired Nash to build him a big palace on the site with some elegant terraces that could be rented out and thus cover the Prince's heroic attempt to debauch himself to death. The palace was never built, but the terraces and debauchery remained – as did the park, which bears the Prince Regent's title. One end of the park, the Northern Parklands, is given over to playing fields and sports facilities, and at the centre of those sits The Hub, a large artificial hillock with a pavilion and changing rooms built into it. It has three main entrances built in the manner of aircraft dispersal pens that make it look like the ground-floor entrance to the lair of a super-villain. On top is a circular café, whose Perspex walls give a three-sixty panorama of the whole park where customers can sit, drink tea and plot world domination.
It was still sunny, but the air was taking on a warning chill. In August the crowd spread out in front of the temporary stage and, lounging on the concrete apron that surrounded the café, would have been half naked. But by mid-September sweatshirts had been unwrapped from around waists and sleeves pulled down. Still, there was enough golden sunlight to pretend, if only for another day, that London was a city of street cafés and jazz in the park.
The current band were playing something fusiony that even I wouldn't classify as jazz, so I wasn't surprised to find Tista Ghosh nursing a white wine beyond the refreshment tents where the noise would be muffled. I called her mobile and she guided me in.
'I hope you're buying,' she said when I found her. 'I can't make this Aussie fizz last much longer.'
Why not, I thought, I've been getting them in all week. Why stop now?
Ms Ghosh was a slender, light-skinned woman with a sharp nose who favoured long dangly earrings and kept her long black hair tied back in a pony tail. She wore white slacks and a purple blouse, and over that a gentrified biker's leather jacket that was at least five sizes too big for her. Perhaps she'd borrowed it against the chill.
'I know what you're thinking,' she said. 'What's a nice desi girl like me doing in the jazz scene?' Actually I was thinking where the hell had she got that leather jacket from and should she, for religious reasons, be wearing a leather jacket in the first place?
'My parents were deeply into jazz,' she said. 'They were from Calcutta, and there was this famous club called Trinca's on Park Street. You know, I visited there last September – there was a wedding. It's all changed now, but there used to be this great jazz scene, that's where they met. My parents, not the relatives who were getting married.'
The jacket had a line of crudely made badges down the left-hand lapel, the type you could stamp out with a hand press. I surreptitiously read them while Ms Ghosh expounded upon the innovative jazz scene that flourished in India after the war – Rock Against Racism, Anti-Nazi League, Don't Blame Me I Didn't Vote Tory – slogans from the 1980s, most from before I was born.
Ms Ghosh was just telling me about the time Duke Ellington played at the Winter Palace – the hotel in Calcutta, not the birthplace of the Russian revolution – when I decided it was time to put the conversation back on track. I asked whether she was aware of any sudden deaths amongst her members, particularly during or just after a gig.
Ms Ghosh gave me a long, sceptical look.
'Are you having me on?' she asked.
'We're looking into suspicious deaths amongst musicians,' I said. 'This is just a preliminary inquiry. The deaths might have looked like the result of exhaustion, or drug or alcohol abuse. Have you seen anything like that?'
'In jazz musicians,' she said. 'Are you kidding? If they haven't got at least one bad habit, we don't let them in the union.' She laughed, I didn't, she noticed and stopped. 'Are we talking murders here?'
'We don't know at this stage,' I said. 'We're just acting on information received.'
'I can't think of anyone off the top of my head,' she said. 'I can look up my records tomorrow, if you like.'
'That would be really helpful.' I gave her my card. 'Could you do it first thing?'
'Sure,' she said. 'Do you know those guys are staring at you?'
I turned to find The Irregulars watching me from the eaves of the beer tent. Max gave me a wave.
'You don't want to be talking to him, miss,' called James. 'He's the jazz police.'
I said goodbye to Ms Ghosh, and hoped that she still took me seriously enough to look up the information I wanted. To make it up to me, The Irregulars agreed to buy me a drink.
'What are you doing here?' I asked.
'Where the jazzman sups, there sup I,' said James.
'We were supposed to be playing the festival,' said Daniel. 'But without Cyrus...' He shrugged.
'You couldn't get anyone else?' I asked.
'Not without lowering our standards,' said James.
'Which admittedly were already pretty low,' said Max. 'I don't suppose you play?'
I shook my head.
'Pity,' he said. 'We were going to play the Arches next week.'
'We were actually second from the bottom of the bill,' said Daniel.
I asked Daniel whether he played anything other than piano.
'I do a mean Gibson electric,' he said.
'How would you like to play with a man who is almost a jazz legend?' I asked.
'How can you "almost" be a jazz legend?' asked Max.
'Shut up, Max,' said James. 'The man's talking about his father. You are talking about your father?'
There was a pause – it was common knowledge that my dad had lost his lip. It was Daniel who put it together. 'He's switched instruments, hasn't he?' he asked.
'Fender Rhodes,' I said.
'Is he any good?' asked Max.
'He's going to be better than me,' said Daniel.
'Lord Grant,' said James. 'How cool is that?'
'That's pretty cool,' said Max. 'Do you think he'll agree?'
'I'll find out,' I said. 'I don't see why not.'
'Thank you,' said Daniel
'Don't thank me, man,' I said. 'Just doing my job.'
So, the jazz police to the rescue. If my dad said yes – which I thought he probably would. The Arches Club was in Camden Lock, which is just down the road from my flat, so logistics would be easy. I decided to let Mum organise the rehearsals – she might enjoy that.
It was only after I'd agreed to see what I could sort out that I realised I'd never heard my father play to an audience before. The Irregulars were so pleased that James had been moved to offer to buy me a pint, several pints in fact, but I was driving so I stuck to just the one. It was just as well, because ten minutes later Stephanopoulos called me.
'We're turning over Jason Dunlop's flat,' she said. 'We've found some things I'd like you to take a look at.' She gave me the address. It was in Islington.
'I'll be there in half an hour,' I said.
Jason Dunlop lived in the half-basement flat of a converted early Victorian terrace on Barnsbury Road. In previous eras, the servants quarters would be fully underground but the Victorians, being the great social improvers they were, had decided that even the lowly should be able to see the feet of the people walking past the grand houses of their masters – hence the half-basement. That and the increased daylight saved on candles, a penny saved is a penny earned, and all that. The interior walls had been painted estate-agent white and were devoid of decoration: no framed photographs, no reproduction Monets, Klimts or poker-playing dogs. The kitchen units were low-end and brand new. I smelled buy-to-let and recently, too. Judging by the half-emptied packing cases in the living room, I didn't think Jason had lived there long.
'A messy divorce,' said Stephanopoulos as she showed me round.
'Has she got an alibi?'
'So far,' said Stephanopoulos. The joys of dealing with the bereaved when they're both victim and suspect – I was glad I wasn't doing _that_ bit of the investigation. The flat only had one bedroom, a pair of masculine suitcases pushed into the corner, a line of packing cases with fingerprint dust smeared on the lids. Stephanopoulos showed me where a pile of books had been carefully arranged on a plastic sheet by the bed.
'Have they been processed?' I asked.
Stephanopoulos said yes, but I put on gloves anyway. It's good practice when handling evidence, and I got a grunt of approval from the sergeant. I picked up the first book. It was old, a pre-war hardback that had been carefully wrapped in white tissue paper. I opened it and read the title: _Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Artes Magicis_ by Isaac Newton. I had a copy of the same edition on my desk, with a much bigger Latin dictionary sitting next to it.
'We saw this,' said Stephanopoulos, 'and we thought of you.'
'Are there any more?' I asked.
'We left the box for you,' she said. 'Just in case it was cursed or something.'
I hoped she was being sarcastic.
I inspected the book. Its cover was worn at the edges and warped with age. The edges of the pages had dents and smears from being handled. Whoever had owned this book hadn't left it on a shelf; this had been used. On a hunch I turned to page 27 and saw, just where I'd stuck in a Post-it note with a question mark on it, was the word, written in faded pencil, _quis?_. Somebody else who couldn't work out what the hell Isaac was going on about in the middle part of the introduction.
If someone were really studying the craft, then they'd need Cuthbertson's _A Modern Commentary on the Great Work_. It had been written in 1897 in English, thank God, and no doubt welcomed with open arms by every frustrated student who'd ever tried to light his room with a werelight. I looked in the box and found a copy of Cuthbertson right under a huge modern desk-top Latin dictionary and grammar – it was nice to know I wasn't the only one who needed help. The _Modern Commentary_ was, like the _Principia_ , old and well-used. I flicked through its pages and came across a faded stamp thirty pages in – an open book surrounded by three crowns and encircled by the words _Bibliotheca Bodleiana_. I checked the _Principia_ and found a different stamp, an old-fashioned drawing compass surrounded by the words SCIENTIA POTESTAS EST QMS. I turned to the frontispiece and found a faint rectangular discoloration. My dad had books with that same pattern, ones that he'd jacked from his school library when he was young. The mark was from the glue that once held a folder into which a library card would have fitted back in the day when dinosaurs roamed the earth and computers were the size of washing machines.
I carefully emptied the packing case. There were six more books, which I recognised as being authentically related to magic, all of them with the _Bibliotheca Bodleiana_ library stamp.
I assumed that stamp referred to the Bodleian Library, which I vaguely remembered was in Oxford, but while I didn't recognise the second stamp I recognised the motto. I dialled up the Folly. The phone rang several times before being picked up. 'It's Peter,' I said. There was silence at the other end. 'I need to speak to him right away.' I heard a clunk as the receiver was put down next to the phone. As I waited, I thought it was about time I bought Nightingale a proper phone.
When Nightingale picked up, I explained about the books. He made me list the titles and describe the stamps. Then he asked if Stephanopoulos was available.
I called her and offered her the phone. 'My governor wants a word,' I said.
While they talked I started bagging the books and filling out the evidence tags.
'And you think this makes it more likely?' she asked. 'Fair enough. I'll send the boy over with the books. I expect you to maintain a chain of custody.' Nightingale must have assured her that we would be as scrupulous as any Home Office lab, because she nodded and handed the phone back to me.
'I think,' said Nightingale, 'that we may be dealing with a black magician here.'
#
# The Night Gate
Black magic, as defined by Nightingale, was the use of magic in such a way as to cause a breach of the peace. I pointed out that a definition like that was so broad as to essentially include any use of magic outside of that authorised by the Folly. Nightingale indicated that he regarded that as a feature, not a bug.
'Black magic is the use of the art to cause injury to another person,' he'd then said. 'Do you like that definition better?'
'We don't have any evidence that Jason Dunlop ever did any injury to anyone through the use of black magic,' I said. We'd laid out the case files on a table in the breakfast room, along with the books I'd brought back from Dunlop's flat and the remains of Molly's eccentric stab in the direction of Eggs Benedict.
'I'd say we have a fairly clear indication that somebody did him injury,' said Nightingale. 'And strong evidence that he was a practitioner. Given the unusual nature of his assailant, I think it's a safe bet that magic was involved – don't you?'
'In that case, isn't it possible that the Jason Dunlop murder is related to my dead jazz musicians?'
'It's possible,' said Nightingale. 'But the MOs are very different. I think it's better to keep the two investigations distinct for the moment.' He reached out to where one of the Folly's monogrammed Sheffield steel forks was jammed upright into a poached egg and flicked it with his finger – it barely moved. 'Are you sure it's not stuck in the muffin?'
'No,' I said. 'It's being held in place by the egg alone.'
'Is that even possible?' asked Nightingale.
'With Molly's cooking, who knows?'
We both looked around to make sure Molly wasn't listening. Up until that morning Molly's repertoire had been strictly British public school: lots of beef, potatoes, treacle and industrial quantities of suet. Nightingale had explained once, when we were out having a Chinese, that he thought Molly was drawing her inspiration from the Folly itself. 'A sort of institutional memory,' he'd said. Either my arrival was beginning to change the 'institutional memory', or more likely she'd noticed me and Nightingale sloping off for illicit meals at restaurants.
The Eggs Benedict was her attempt to diversify the menu.
I picked up the fork and the egg, the muffin and what I assumed was the hollandaise sauce, all of which lifted off the plate in one rubbery mass. I offered it to Toby who sniffed it once, whined and then hid under the table.
There was no kedgeree that morning, or sausages, or any poached eggs not smothered in vulcanised hollandaise sauce, not even toast and marmalade. Obviously the culinary experimentation had so exhausted Molly that the rest of breakfast was off the menu. The coffee was still good, though, and when you're going over your case files, that's the important thing.
Murder investigations start with the victim, because usually in the first instance that's all you've got. The study of the victim is called victimology because everything sounds better with an 'ology' tacked on the end. To make sure you make a proper fist of this, the police have developed the world's most useless mnemonic – 5 × WH & H – otherwise known as Who? What? Where? When? Why? and How? Next time you watch a real murder investigation on the TV, and you see a group of serious-looking detectives standing around talking, remember that what they're actually doing is trying to work out what sodding order the mnemonic is supposed to go in. Once they've sorted that out, the exhausted officers will retire to the nearest watering hole for a drink and a bit of a breather.
Fortunately for us, on the first question, _Who is the victim?_ , Stephanopoulos and the Murder Team had done most of the heavy lifting. Jason Dunlop had been a successful freelance journalist, hence his membership of the Groucho Club. His late father had been a senior civil servant, and had sent the young Jason to a second-tier independent school in Harrogate. He'd read English at Magdalen College, Oxford, where he was an undistinguished student before graduating with a matching undistinguished second. Despite his unremarkable academic performance, he walked straight into a job at the BBC, where he was first a researcher and then a producer on _Panorama_. After a stint working for, of all things, Westminster Council in the 1980s, he moved back into journalism writing articles for _The Times_ , the _Mail_ and the _Independent_. I leafed through some of the clippings; lots of articles of the 'you send me on holiday and I'll write you a good review' variety. Family holidays with wife Mariana, a PR executive, and their two golden-haired kids. As Stephanopoulos had told me, the marriage had recently collapsed, lawyers had already been engaged and custody of the children was an issue.
'It would be nice to talk to the wife,' said Nightingale. 'See if she knows anything about his hobbies.'
I checked the transcripts of the interview with the wife, but there was nothing about an unwholesome interest in the occult or supernatural. I made a note to add this to the wife's nominal file on HOLMES, and suggest she be re-interviewed on that subject. I flagged it for Stephanopoulos, but she wasn't going to let us talk to the wife unless we came up with something serious.
'Very well,' said Nightingale, 'we'll leave all the mundane connections in the capable hands of the Detective Sergeant. I think our first move should be to track down the source of the book.'
'I figured Dunlop stole it from the Bodleian Library,' I said.
'That's why you shouldn't make assumptions,' said Nightingale. 'This is an old book. It could have been stolen prior to Dunlop arriving at Oxford and then come into his possession by some other route. Perhaps the person who trained him.'
'Assuming he was a practitioner,' I said.
Nightingale tapped his butter knife on the plastic-wrapped copy of the _Principia Artes Magicis_. 'Nobody carries this book by accident,' he said. 'Besides, I recognise the other library mark. It's from my old school.'
'Hogwarts?' I asked.
'I really wish you wouldn't call it that,' he said. 'We can drive up to Oxford this morning.'
'You're coming with me?' Dr Walid had been very clear about the whole taking-it-easy thing.
'You won't get access to the library without me,' he said. 'And it's time I started introducing you to people connected to the art.'
'I thought you were the last?'
'There's more to life than just London,' said Nightingale.
'People keep saying that,' I said. 'But I've never actually seen any proof.'
'We can take the dog,' he said. 'He'll enjoy the fresh air.'
'We won't,' I said, 'not if we take the dog.'
Fortunately, despite the overcast, the day was warm, so we could head up the A40 with the windows down to let out the smell. Truth be told, as a motorway car the Jag isn't that comfortable, but there was no way I was heading into Morse Central in the Ford Asbo – standards have to be maintained, even with Toby in the back seat.
'If Jason Dunlop was trained,' I said as we climbed on to the Great West Road, 'then who was his teacher?'
We'd discussed this before. Nightingale said it was impossible to pick up organised 'Newtonian' magic on your own. Without someone to teach you the difference, _vestigia_ are hard to distinguish from the random background noise of your own brain. The same was true of the _forma_ ; Nightingale always had to demonstrate the form to me before I could learn it. To teach them to yourself you'd have to be the kind of insane mono-maniac who'd deform his own eyeball to test his theories on optics – in short, someone like Isaac Newton.
'I don't know,' said Nightingale. 'After the war, there weren't that many of us left.'
'That should narrow down the suspects,' I said.
'Most of the survivors would be very old by now,' said Nightingale.
'What about other countries?' I asked.
'None of the continental powers came out of the war intact,' said Nightingale. 'The Nazis rounded up any practitioners they could find in the occupied countries, and killed any who refused to be coopted. Those who didn't die on their side mostly died fighting against them. The same is true of the French and the Italians. We always believed that there was a Scandinavian tradition, but they kept it very quiet.'
'What about the Americans?'
'There were volunteers right from the start of the war,' said Nightingale. 'The Virtuous Men, they called themselves – out of the University of Pennsylvania.' Others had arrived in the years following Pearl Harbor, and Nightingale had always had the impression that there was some deep animosity at work between them and the Virtuous Men. He thought it was doubtful that any of them could have returned to Britain after the war. 'They blamed us for Ettersberg,' he said. 'And there was an agreement.'
'Well, of course there was,' I said. There was always an agreement.
Nightingale claimed he'd have spotted them if they'd started practising in London. 'They were hardly what you'd call subtle,' he said.
I asked about other countries – China, Russia, India, the Middle East, Africa. I couldn't believe that they hadn't at least some kind of magic. Nightingale admitted that he didn't really know, but had the good grace to sound embarrassed.
'The world was different before the war,' he said. 'We didn't have this instantaneous access to information that your generation has. The world was a bigger, more mysterious place – we still dreamed of secret caves in the Mountains of the Moon, and tiger-hunting in the Punjab.'
When all the map was pink, I thought. When every boy expected his own adventure and girls had not yet been invented.
Toby barked as we overtook a juggernaut full of God-knows-what going God-knows-where.
'After the war it was as if I was waking up from a dream,' said Nightingale. 'There were space rockets and computers and jumbo jets, and it seemed like a "natural" thing that the magic would go away.'
'You mean, you didn't bother looking,' I said.
'It was just me,' he said, 'and I was responsible for the whole of London and the South-East. It never occurred to me that the old days might come back. Besides, we have Dunlop's books, so we know his teacher wasn't from some foreign tradition – this is a home-grown black magician.'
'You can't call them black magicians,' I said.
'You realise that we're using "black" in its metaphorical sense here,' said Nightingale.
'It doesn't matter,' I said. 'Words change what they mean, don't they? Some people would call me a black magician.'
'You're not a magician,' he said. 'You're barely even an apprentice.'
'You're changing the subject,' I said.
'What should we call them?' he asked patiently.
'Ethically challenged magical practitioners,' I said.
'Just to satisfy my curiosity, you understand,' said Nightingale, 'given that the only people ever likely to hear us say the words "black magician" are you, me and Dr Walid, why is changing them so important?'
'Because I don't think the old world's coming back any time soon,' I said. 'In fact, I think the new world might be arriving.'
Oxford is a strange place. As you go through the outskirts it could be any city in Britain, the same Edwardian suburban build, fading into Victorian, with the occasional mistake from the 1950s, and then you cross the Magdalen Bridge and suddenly you're in the biggest concentration of late-mediaeval architecture this side of the eighteenth century. Historically it's impressive, but from a traffic-management perspective it meant it took almost as long to thread our way through the narrow streets as it did to drive up from London.
John Radcliffe, Royal physician to William and Mary, was famous in his own time for reading very little and writing almost nothing. So it stands to reason that one of the most famous libraries in Oxford was his creation. The Radcliffe Science Library is housed in a circular domed building that looks like St Paul's with the extraneous religious bits cut off. Inside was a lot of smoothly carved stonework, old books, balconies and the strained hush of young people being unnaturally quiet. Our contact was waiting for us by a notice board just inside the entrance.
Outside the big cities, my very appearance can sometimes be enough to render certain people speechless. So it was with Harold Postmartin, D.Phil, FRS, Curator of Special Collections at the Bodleian Library, who had clearly been expecting Nightingale to introduce someone 'different' as the new apprentice. I could see him trying to parse the phrase _but he's coloured_ in a way that wouldn't cause offence, and failing. I put him out of his misery by shaking his hand; my rule of thumb is that if they don't physically flinch from touching you, then eventually they'll make the adjustment.
Postmartin was a stooped, white-haired gentleman who looked much older and frailer than my father but had a surprisingly firm handshake.
'So you're the new apprentice,' he said, and managed to avoid it sounding like an accusation. I knew then we were going to be fine.
Like all modern libraries, the visible bit of the Radcliffe was the tip of an iceberg, while the bulk of the actual collection was submerged under Radcliffe Square in chambers filled with books and the intrusive hum of modern climate control. Postmartin led us down a series of whitewashed brick passages to a no-nonsense metal security door marked NO ADMITTANCE. Postmartin used a swipe card on the security pad and punched in a combination. The door unlocked with a solid clunk, and we trooped in to find a chamber with exactly the same shelves and climate control as the rest of the collection. There was a single institutional desk with a top bare save for what looked like the product of a loveless marriage between an early Mac and an IBM PC.
'It's an Amstrad PCW,' said Postmartin. 'Before your time, I suppose.' He sat down on a purple moulded plastic chair and booted up the antique. 'No hardware connections, no USB ports, three-inch floppy disks that they don't make any more – this is security through obsolescence. Much like the Folly itself. They cannot hack, if I'm using the term correctly, what they cannot access.'
The screen was an alarming green colour, monochrome, I realised, like something from an old film. The three-inch disk actually clunked when the machine started to access it.
'Do you have the copy of the _Principia_?' asked Postmartin.
I handed it over and he started to leaf slowly through the pages. 'Every copy at the library was marked in a unique way,' he said, and stopped at a particular page and showed it to me. 'You see there, that word has been underlined.'
I looked; it was the word _regentis_. 'Is that significant?' I asked.
'We shall see,' he said. 'Perhaps you should write it down.'
I wrote the word in my police notebook, and as I did I noticed Postmartin furtively scribbling something on a pad which he thought was out of my sight. When I was done he flicked through the pages until he found another mark, and again I noted down the word, _pedem_ and again I saw him write something else on his pad. We repeated the process three more times, and then Postmartin asked me to read the words back.
' _Regentis, pedem, tolleret, loco, hostium_ ,' I said.
Postmartin regarded me over the rim of his glasses. 'And what do you think that signifies?' he asked.
'I think it signifies that the page numbers were more significant than the words,' I said.
Postmartin looked crestfallen. 'How did you know?'
'I can read your mind,' I said.
Postmartin looked to Nightingale. 'Can he?'
'No,' said Nightingale. 'He spotted you writing the numbers down.'
'You're a cruel man, Constable Grant,' said Post-martin. 'No doubt you shall go far. The actual words, as you surmised, are irrelevant, but if the page numbers are arranged as a single alphanumeric string they form a unique identification number. Which we can enter into our venerable friend here, and _voilà_...'
The PCW's screen displayed a page of ugly green text: title, author, publisher, shelving notation and a short list of the people who'd borrowed the book. The last person listed was Geoffrey Wheatcroft, who'd signed it out in July 1941 and never returned it.
'Oh,' said Postmartin in surprise. 'Geoffrey Wheatcroft? Hardly what I'd call a nefarious fellow. Not your criminal type at all, is he, Thomas?'
'You know him?'
'I knew him,' said Postmartin. 'He died last year – we were both at the funeral, although Thomas had to come as his own son to allay suspicions.'
'It was two years ago,' said Nightingale.
'Goodness, was it?' asked Postmartin. 'Not a very good turnout, if I remember.'
'Was he an active practitioner?' I asked.
'No,' said Nightingale. 'He got his staff in 1939, wasn't considered a wizard of the first rank, gave it up after the war and took up a position at Magdalen.'
'Teaching theology, of all things,' said Postmartin.
'Magdalen College?' I asked.
'Yes,' said Nightingale suddenly thinking.
I got there first. 'The same college as Jason Dunlop.'
Nightingale wanted to head straight for Magdalen, but Postmartin suggested a spot of lunch at the Eagle and Child. I thought a sit-down was a good idea because Nightingale was favouring his left side again and looking a bit peaky, to be honest. Nightingale compromised by suggesting we meet at the pub after visiting the college. Postmartin invited me to go with him so that he could fill me in on a few things on the way.
'If you think that's really necessary,' said Nightingale, before I could object.
'I believe it is,' said Postmartin.
'I see,' said Nightingale. 'Well, if you feel that's best...'
Postmartin said he thought it was capital, and so we accompanied him back to the car, where I introduced him to Toby who exited the vehicle in a cloud of smell. I suggested that Nightingale take the Jag – that way, we could drive back from the pub and he, at least, wouldn't be walking.
'So this is the famous ghost-hunting dog,' he said.
'I didn't know he was famous,' I said.
Postmartin led me down an alleyway so authentically late mediaeval that it still had a stone culver running down the middle to act as a sewer. 'Not that it's used for its original function,' said Postmartin.
It was busy with students and tourists, each doing their best to ignore the cyclists who tried to mow down both with gay abandon.
I asked Postmartin what role he played in the intricate network of mostly unwritten agreements that constituted English magical law enforcement.
'When you and Nightingale write reports, I'm the one who reads them,' he said. 'At least, those portions that are relevant.'
'So are you Nightingale's governor?' I asked.
Postmartin chuckled. 'No,' he said, 'I'm the archivist. I'm in charge of the great man's papers, and the papers of all lesser beings that have stood on his shoulders since. Even Nightingale and you.'
After all that history it was quite nice to turn onto Broad Street, which at least had a few Victorian terraces and an Oxfam.
'This way,' said Postmartin.
'Newton was a Cambridge man,' I said. 'Why are his papers here?'
'The same reason they didn't want his alchemist works there,' said Postmartin. 'Once he was safely dead, old Isaac became their shining star of science and reason. I doubt they wanted that picture complicated by what was, let's face it, a complicated man at the best of times.'
Oxford continued to be solidly Tudor, with sudden bursts of Georgian exuberance, until we reached the Eagle and Child pub on St Giles.
'Good,' said Postmartin as we sat down in what he called a 'nook'. 'Thomas isn't here yet. One finds it so much easier to have a certain kind of conversation with a sherry in one's hand.'
When you're a boy, your life can be measured out as a series of uncomfortable conversations reluctantly initiated by adults in an effort to tell you things that either you already know or really don't want to know.
He had his sherry, I had a lemonade.
'I take it you understand how unprecedented it was for Thomas to take on an apprentice?' asked Postmartin.
'People have made that pretty clear,' I said.
'I think perhaps he should have taken that step earlier,' said Postmartin. 'Once it was clear that reports of the death of magic had been greatly exaggerated.'
'What gave the magic away?'
'Thomas ageing backwards was a bit of a clue,' said Postmartin. 'I archive Dr Walid's reports, and the bits that I understand are... strange.'
'Should I be worried?' I asked. I'd only recently got used to the idea that my governor was born in 1900 and had, according to him, been getting young again since the early 1970s. Nightingale thought it might be linked to the general increase in magical activity since the 1960s, but didn't really want to look a gift horse in the mouth. I didn't blame him.
'I wish I knew,' said Postmartin. He reached into his pocket and handed me a card. It had Postmartin's number, email and, I was surprised to see, Twitter address. 'If you have any concerns, you can contact me.'
'And if I contact you,' I said, 'what will you do?'
'I'll listen to your concerns,' he said. 'And I'll be very sympathetic.'
It was at least another hour before Nightingale joined us, and I then got to watch him sink a pint of bitter while he outlined what he'd discovered. As far as Nightingale could determine, Jason Dunlop had no contact with Geoffrey Wheatcroft while at university.
Nightingale had thought to pick up a printout of every student and lecturer who'd been at Magdalen at the same time as our man Jason. Plus a list of every student who had ever attended a class by Geoffrey Wheatcroft. It added up to a stack of hard copy of just the right size and thickness for beating a suspect without leaving a bruise – if that's where you idea of law-enforcement took you. If the data was entered into HOLMES, it could be automatically cross-checked against any other names that came up during the mundane phase of the inquiry. The Murder Team under Stephanopoulos had three civilian workers minimum whose only job was to do that sort of tedious, time-consuming but totally vital work. What did the Folly have? You can guess what the Folly had, and he wasn't happy at the prospect.
Postmartin asked what Nightingale planned to do next.
Nightingale grimaced and took another pull on his pint. 'I thought I'd retrieve the remainder of the library cards from Ambrose House. It's time to see where the rest of the books came from.'
Nightingale told me to get off the motorway at Junction Five, and we drove through Stokenchurch, which appeared to me to be a hospital with a rather nice village attached, before turning left onto a B road, which quickly became a narrow lane that ran between the tall green walls of very old-fashioned hedgerows.
'A large part of the estate is rented to local farmers,' said Nightingale. 'The gate is coming up on your left.'
If he hadn't warned me I'd have overshot. The hedgerow abruptly became a high stone wall broken by a wide wrought-iron gate. I stopped the car while Nightingale got out, followed by Toby, and unlocked the gate with a big iron key. He opened the gates with a standard horror-movie creaking noise and waved me through, while Toby made a point of marking the gatepost. I stopped and waited for Nightingale to get back in, but he pointed to where the drive turned suddenly behind a stand of trees.
'Meet me round the corner,' he said. 'It's not far.'
He was right. I turned the corner and there was the main building of the school right in front of me. The Jag crunched to a halt on the gravel drive, and I got out to have a look.
It had been fifty years since it was occupied, you could tell that. The lawn and the formal beds had reverted to bramble, stinging nettles, toadflax and cow parsley – I learned those names later, in case you're wondering – and the house was a weathered grey colour, its large sash windows boarded shut. I'd been expecting something Gothic, but this was more like a Regency terrace that had escaped to the countryside and had shot out in all directions before some cruel architect could round it up and pen it back into its original narrow frontage. It was abandoned but not derelict. I could see the guttering was clear, and patches of roof had been retiled.
Toby came whirring past, yapped a couple of times to get my attention and then headed into a patch of overgrown woods to the left of the school. Clearly he was a country dog at heart. Nightingale arrived soon after.
'I expected it to have been redeveloped,' I said.
'As what?' asked Nightingale.
'I don't know. Country hotel and conference centre, health spa, celebrity rehab clinic?'
'No,' said Nightingale after I'd explained what a celebrity rehab clinic was. 'The Folly still owns the whole estate, and the rents from the farms pay for the maintenance.'
'Why wasn't it sold off?'
'There was a lot of confusion after the war,' said Nightingale. 'By the time it was all sorted out, I was the only person left with any kind of official standing. Selling off the school on my own recognisance seemed... presumptuous.'
'You thought the school might reopen?'
Nightingale winced. 'I was trying not to think about the school.'
'The land must be worth a packet now,' I said.
'Do you think it would be improved by becoming a celebrity rehab centre?'
I had to admit this was unlikely. I pointed to the main doors, firmly boarded up and secured with a heavy-duty padlock. 'Do you have keys for that?'
Nightingale grinned. 'This is where you watch and learn.'
We walked to a spot on the left of the stairs up to the main doors where, hidden by the long grass, a narrow flight of steps led down to a thick oak door that was, I noticed, free of any boarding or chains. It also lacked any visible door handles.
'Behold,' said Nightingale, 'the night gate. This was originally built so that the footmen could go straight from their quarters and hop onto the back of their master's carriage before he could get down the stairs.'
'How very eighteenth-century,' I said.
'Quite,' said Nightingale. 'But in my school days we used it for something else.' He placed his palm on the door, about where you'd expect the lock to be, and muttered something Latin under his breath. There was a click, followed by a scraping sound. Nightingale pushed and the door swung inwards.
'There used to be a curfew and we, being the dreadful young men that we were, wanted to go out drinking,' he said. 'It's not easy to beat a curfew when the masters can command the very spirits of the earth and air against you.'
'Really?' I asked. 'The spirits of the earth and air?'
'So they said,' said Nightingale. 'And I for one believed them.'
'So no drinking,' I said.
Nightingale made a werelight and stepped through the door. Not to be outdone, I made my own light and followed him inside. I heard Toby barking from outside, but he seemed reluctant to follow us in. Our werelights illuminated a short corridor of undressed brick that reminded me of the similar service corridors under the Folly.
'Not until you were in the sixth form,' he said. 'Once you were inducted into the common room, the upper sixth would teach you the spell for the night gate and you could go drinking. Unless you were Horace Green-way, who was unpopular with the prefects.'
We reached a T-junction and went right.
'What happened to him?'
'Died during the battle of Crete,' said Nightingale.
'I meant, how did he get to the pub?'
'One of us would open the door for him,' said Nightingale.
'And the teachers never twigged you were sneaking out?' I asked.
We reached a flight of wooden stairs leading up. They creaked alarmingly under our weight.
'The masters knew all about it,' said Nightingale. 'After all, they'd once been sixth-formers themselves.'
As we reached a short wood-panelled landing I caught a flash of _vestigia_ , lemon drops and sherbet, wet wool and the sound of running feet. I saw there were brass coat hooks lining both walls, and benches sized for adolescent boys to sit on and change their shoes. I brushed my fingertips on the wood, and felt instead the rough paper of the _Beano_ and the _Eagle_.
'Plenty of memories,' said Nightingale when he saw me pause.
Ghosts, I was thinking, memories – I wasn't sure there was a difference.
Nightingale opened a battered wooden door and we stepped out into the huge hall. The suddenly inadequate werelights revealed two massive staircases, and bare stone walls that still showed faded rectangles where framed paintings had once hung. With all the windows covered, we'd have been in pitch darkness if we weren't making our own lights.
'The great hall,' said Nightingale. 'The library's up the sinister staircase.'
I caught myself before I asked him why it was sinister, and then I realised that we were walking up the left-hand staircase. _Sinister_ is Latin for 'left', making it the sort of enjoyable schoolboy pun that is such an advert for mixed-gender education. Just imagine if one of their schoolfriends had had the misfortune to be called Dexter, I thought. How they must have laughed. As we ascended, I caught a glimpse of rows of names carved into the far wall but, before I could ask what they were about, Nightingale was on the landing and heading into the cool depths of the school.
The walls were mostly painted brick, with more pale rectangular patches to show where pictures had hung. I'd helped my mum to clean enough to offices to know that whoever Nightingale was contracting to maintain the house was using a big industrial Hoover to do the carpets – you could see the stripes, and judging from the dust it was at least two weeks since they'd been round.
Without books, stacks or furniture, the library looked like just another large room, made cavernous by the shifting illumination of our werelights. I recognised the card-file cabinets by their outline under the dust sheets. The mundane library at the Folly had two just like them. The school library had eight. Fortunately, Nightingale said only one of them had the cards for magical books. Nightingale provided the light while I pulled off the sheet and opened up the drawers. There was no dust, and surprisingly little _vestigia_.
'They were books about magic,' said Nightingale when I mentioned this. 'Not magical books.'
They were standard index cards with the name of the book and library number manually typed on at the top, and a handwritten list of names showing who had borrowed the book and when. We'd popped into Ryman before leaving Oxford and picked up a jumbo-sized pack of rubber bands so I could preserve the order the cards were in. It took me ages to process all the drawers, and I ended up with a black bin bag that wasn't really that much lighter to carry than the cabinet.
'We should have just taken the whole thing with us,' I said, but Nightingale pointed out that it had been screwed to the floorboards.
I slung the bin bag over my shoulder and, staggering a little, followed Nightingale back to the main hall. I took the opportunity to ask who the names on the wall were.
'Those,' said Nightingale, 'are the honoured dead.' He led me to the dexter staircase and floated his were-light up to show the first names. 'Peninsula Campaign,' he said. There were a handful of names. 'Waterloo Campaign,' just one name. Half-a-dozen for the Crimea, two for the Indian mutiny, maybe twenty more names scattered through a list of the colonial wars of the nineteenth century, more in total than the less than twenty dead in World War One.
'There was an agreement between the Germans and us not to involve magic,' said Nightingale. 'We sat that one out.'
'I bet that made you popular,' I said.
Nightingale floated his werelight along to reveal the honoured dead of World War Two.
'You see, there's Horace,' said Nightingale, illuminating the inscription: Horace Greenway, Kastelli, 21 May 1941. 'And there's Sandy and Champers and Pascal.' The werelight darted across the serried ranks of names, listed as fallen at Tobruk and Arnhem and other places that I dimly remembered from history. But most of them were listed as having died at a place called Ettersberg on 19 January 1945.
I put the bin bag down and made a werelight bright enough to see the whole of the room – the memorial covered two entire walls from top to bottom. There must have been thousands of names.
'There's Donny Shanks, who made it through the siege of Leningrad without a scratch and then got himself torpedoed, and Smithy at Dieppe and Rupert Dance, Lazy Arse Dance we used to call him,' Nightingale trailed off. I turned to see tears glinting on his cheeks, so I looked away.
'Some days it seems so long ago, and some days...' he said.
'How many?' I asked before I could stop myself.
'Two thousand, three hundred and ninety-six,' said Nightingale. 'Three out of five of every British wizard of military age. Many of those who survived were wounded or in such bad shape mentally that they never practised again.' He gestured and his werelight snapped back to hover over his hand. 'I think we've spent enough time in the past.'
I let my light die away, hefted the bin bag over my shoulder and followed. As we were leaving, I asked him who'd carved the names.
'I did it myself,' said Nightingale. 'The hospital encouraged us to take up a hobby. I chose woodcarving. I didn't tell them why.'
'Why not?'
We ducked back into the service corridors. 'The doctors were already worried that I was too morbid.'
'Why did you carve the names?'
'Oh, somebody had to do it, and as far as I could tell I was the only one still active. I also had this ridiculous notion that it might help.'
'Did it?'
'No,' he said, 'not really.'
We stepped out through the night gate and blinked in the evening light. I'd forgotten that it was still daytime outside the school. Nightingale pulled the gate closed behind us and followed me up the steps. Toby had gone to sleep on the sun-warmed bonnet of the Jag. You could see where he'd tracked mud across the paintwork. Nightingale frowned.
'Why do we have this dog?' he asked.
'He keeps Molly amused,' I said, and threw the card files into the back. Toby woke up at the sound of the door and dutifully made his own way to the back seat, where he promptly fell asleep. Me and Nightingale put our seat belts on and I started the car. I had a last look at the blind windows of the old school as I turned the Jag around before I put it behind me and we headed for London.
It was dark by the time we merged with the rush-hour traffic on the M25. Big grey rainclouds were sweeping in from the east, and soon raindrops were splattering on the windscreen. The Jag's old-fashioned handling stayed rock solid, but the wipers were a disgrace.
Nightingale spent the trip back with his face turned away, staring out the window. I didn't try and make conversation.
We were just hopping back onto the Westway when my phone rang. I put it on speaker – it was Ash.
'I can see her,' he shouted. Behind him I could hear crowd noises and a thumping beat.
'Where are you?'
'I'm at the Pulsar Club.'
'Are you sure it's her?' I asked.
'Tall, skinny, pale, long black hair. Smells like death,' said Ash. 'Who else could it be?'
I told him not to get any closer, and that I was on my way. Nightingale reached out in the rain and put the spinner on the roof and I started picking up speed.
Every male driver in the world thinks they're an excellent driver. Every copper who's ever had to pick an eyeball out of a puddle knows that most of them are kidding themselves. Driving in traffic is difficult and stressful and really sodding dangerous. Because of this, the Met has a world-famous driving school at Hendon where an integrated series of advanced driving courses is designed to train officers to the point where they can do a ton down a city street and keep the body count in single figures.
As I came off the Westway and into the heavy traffic on the Harrow Road, I really wished I'd been on one of them. Nightingale, as my senior officer, shouldn't have been letting me drive. But then he probably didn't even know there was such a thing as an advanced driving course. Or even, given that they only became compulsory in 1934, a driving test of any kind.
I turned into Edgware Road and found myself doing less then twenty, even with every driver with a guilty conscience scrambling to get out of my way. I took the opportunity to call Ash again. I told him we were less then ten minutes away.
'She's heading for the door,' said Ash.
'Is she with anyone?'
'She's taking some fella out with her,' said Ash.
Shit, shit, shit – so much for keeping it in the family. Nightingale was way ahead of me. He pulled an Airwave set out of the glove box and punched in a number – impressive, given that I'd only taught him how to do that a week ago.
'Follow her,' I said, 'but stay on the phone and don't take any risks.'
I risked waiting until Marble Arch to turn east – Oxford Street is restricted to buses and taxis only, and I was counting on it being quicker to go straight down it rather than ploughing through the weird one-way systems around Bond Street.
'Stephanopoulos is on her way,' said Nightingale.
I asked Ash where he was.
'I'm just coming out of the club,' he said. 'She's fifteen feet in front of me.'
'Heading which way?'
'Towards Piccadilly,' he said.
I worked out the location in my head. 'Sherwood Street,' I told Nightingale, who relayed it to Stephanopoulos. 'Going south.'
'What do I do if she starts in on her boyfriend?' asked Ash.
I swerved around a bus stalled in the road with its emergency lights flashing, my spinner bluing the faces of the downstairs passengers as they watched me slide past.
'Stay away from her,' I said. 'Wait for us.'
'Too late,' said Ash. 'I think she saw me.'
The instructors at the advanced driving school would not have been happy with the way I put the Jag through the lights at Oxford Circus and skidded into a right turn that had me going down Regent Street with blue smoke coming from my wheels.
'Steady on,' said Nightingale.
'The good news,' said Ash, 'is that she's let the poor guy go.'
'They're almost on Denham Street,' said Nightingale, meaning local plod. 'Stephanopoulos is telling them to secure a perimeter.'
I almost screamed when an obviously deaf and blind driver in a Ford Mondeo decided to pull out in front of me. What I shouted at him was fortunately lost in the sound of my siren.
'The bad news,' said Ash, 'is she's coming towards me.'
I told him to run.
'Too late,' he said.
I heard a hiss, a yell and the distinctive noise a mobile phone makes when it's hurled against a hard surface and breaks.
I did half a bootleg turn into Glasshouse Street, which I swear got me applause from the pedestrians and a startled yelp from Toby as he slammed into the passenger door. There was a reason the Jaguar Mk II was the favoured getaway car for blaggers and the Flying Squad, and Nightingale's Jag had definitely been modded for pursuit. Which is why, once her backside had stopped swinging, I could put my foot down and be doing sixty before I was level with the Leicester Arms on the corner.
Then what I thought was the reflection of our spinner turned out to be the emergency lights on an ambulance, and we all learned just how good the upgraded four-wheel disc brakes really were – the answer being good enough. If there'd been one installed, I'd have been eating the airbag. Instead, I had a savage bruise across my chest from the seat belt, but I didn't even notice that until later because I was out the door and running across the junction and up Sherwood Street fast enough to keep pace with the ambulance. It stopped, I didn't.
One side of Sherwood Street has an arcade in the rather sad 1950s ceramic tiled fashion that, having been designed to resemble a public convenience, was perhaps justifiably used by half-cut members of the public who got caught short late at night. As far as the Murder Team could reconstruct it later, it looked as if the penis-eater had been planning to take her latest victim into the shadows for an impromptu snog and vasectomy.
I found Ash prostrate in the centre of a circle of concerned citizens, two of whom were trying to comfort him while he writhed around on the pavement. There was blood on him, on the concerned citizens and on half a metre of iron spike that was stuck through his shoulder.
I got myself some room by shouting 'Police!' at people, and tried to get him into the recovery position.
'Ash,' I said, 'I told you to stay away from her.'
Ash stopped thrashing long enough to get a good look at me.
'Peter,' he said. 'The bitch stuck me with a railing.'
#
# The Empress of Pleasure
The men and women of the London Ambulance Service are not prone to hysterics, given that they spend their days scraping up the victims of fatal car accidents, suicide attempts both successful and botched and members of the public who've 'fallen' in front of a train. Those are called 'one-unders', incidentally. I once asked whether a couple under a train would be a 'two-under', but apparently that's a 'two-one-under'. Anyway, a daily routine consisting of pain and misfortune tends to breed steady and pragmatic personalities. In short, just the kind of person you want manning your ambulance in the middle of the night. The paramedic in the ambulance that picked up Ash was a middle-aged woman with short practical hair and a New Zealand accent. But a couple of minutes into the ride, I could see that her composure was beginning to slip.
'The bitch,' yelled Ash, 'the bitch stabbed me with a railing!'
About half a metre torn from a rather nice bit of Victorian wrought ironwork, judging by the precisely milled orthogonal cross-section. To my untrained eye it looked as if it had gone right through his heart. That hadn't stopped Ash from thrashing around and yelling.
'Hold him down,' shouted the paramedic.
I grabbed Ash's arm and tried to pin it to the trolley. 'Can't you give him something?' I asked.
The paramedic gave me a wild look. 'Give him something?' she said. 'He should be dead.'
Ash tore his arm from my grip and grabbed at the railing.
'Get it out,' screamed Ash, 'it's cold iron, _get it out_!'
'Can we pull it out?' I asked.
That was the last straw for the paramedic. 'Are you fucking crazy?'
'Cold iron,' he said. 'Killing me.'
'We'll take it out at the hospital,' I said.
'No hospital,' said Ash. 'I need the river.'
'Dr Walid will be there,' I said.
Ash stopped thrashing and grabbed my hand. He pulled me closer. 'Please, Peter,' he said, 'the river.'
Polidori talks about cold iron having a _deleterious effect upon the fae and their many cousins_ , but I assumed he was making it up or stating the bleeding obvious. Cold iron has a deleterious effect on anyone if you shove it right through their body.
'Please,' said Ash.
'I'm going to pull this out of him,' I said.
The paramedic expressed her opinion that she felt this would be a poor course of action and that, for even contemplating it, I was an anatomically incomplete person of low intelligence and with a penchant for self-abuse.
I got both hands on the railing. It was slippery with blood. Ash saw what I was doing and held himself rigid. It wasn't the ripping sound it made when it came out that bothered me – that was masked by Ash's screaming. It was feeling the vibrations as the bone scraped along the rough edge of the iron that I won't forget.
A jet of blood smacked me in the face. I smelled copper and, weirdly, a mixture of greasepaint and ozone. The paramedic shoved me out of the way and I fell backwards as the ambulance took a corner. She started slapping dressings on entry and exit wounds and taping them in place. The dressings were soaked red before she'd even finished. As she worked, she swore under her breath.
Ash had stopped thrashing and had gone silent. His face was pale and slack. I stumbled forward in the ambulance until I could stick my head into the driver's cab. We were heading up Tottenham Court Road – less than five minutes from the hospital.
The driver was my age, white, skinny and wore a skull-and-crossbones stud in his ear.
I told him to turn around, and he told me to fuck off.
'We can't take him to the hospital,' I said, 'he's booby-trapped.'
'What?' yelled the driver.
'He may be attached to a bomb,' I said.
He hit the brakes and I was thrown headfirst into the cab. I heard the paramedic in the back scream with frustration, and I looked up to find the driver's side door open and the driver legging it down the road.
It was a really good illustration of just why you shouldn't use the first lie that pops into your head. I climbed into his seat, closed the door, put the ambulance into gear and off we went.
The London Ambulance Service uses a fleet of Mercedes Sprinter vans, which are just like your standard Sprinter but with about two metric tons of stuff in the back and the kind of soft suspension designed to avoid killing the patient every time you go over a speed bump.
It's also got a load of extra LCD screens, buttons and switches that I, in the interests of simplicity, just ignored. Which was why we were still doing blues and twos as we sailed past the entrance to the UCH ambulance bay and headed down Gower Street towards the river.
It was about that time, according to the EOC call log, that the paramedic used her Airwave to report that her ambulance had been hijacked by an escaped mental patient masquerading as a police officer.
There's nothing quite like driving an emergency vehicle with a strip of spinners on its roof and a full-sized siren designed to cut through the iPod, car-stereo cocoon that most drivers live in and scare random pedestrians back onto the pavements. Moses parting the Red Sea must have felt like I did as I ploughed across the junction with High Holborn into Endell Street, with a brief moment of déjà vu as I shot down Bow Street and past the scaffolding that marked where they were still repairing the damage done to the Royal Opera House.
It's easy to get messed up trying to go south from Covent Garden. The roads have all been bollarded and blocked to stop them becoming traffic rat runs, but I'd spent two years patrolling out of Charing Cross nick so I knew where they were. I did a sharp right into Exeter Street and a sharp left down Burleigh Street, which caused the paramedic in the back to start screaming at me again. Which was uncalled for, since I felt I was finally getting on top of the ambulance's tricky handling.
'How's he doing?' I yelled over my shoulder.
'He's bleeding to death,' she yelled back.
I merged briefly with the cars on the Strand before cutting across the oncoming traffic and into Savoy Street, a narrow lane that runs straight down to the river just west of Waterloo Bridge. Parking spaces are hard to find in central London, and people tend to pack their cars onto streets with no thought that a vehicle of some width and heft might be driven past by someone with less than full confidence in his control. All told, the actual total damages came in at a tad under twenty thousand – mostly scraped paint, wing-mirrors, side panels and a pair of racing bikes that should never have been left secured to a roof rack in the first place. That's not counting the damage to the ambulance, which I'm sure was entirely superficial.
I bounced off the bottom of the street and out into the Embankment, swerved right and ran the ambulance up onto the pavement in front of the Savoy Pier. I scrambled out of the driver's seat and into the back of the ambulance, where the paramedic stared at me with stunned hatred.
Ash was barely breathing, and the dressing on his chest was completely soaked through with blood. When I asked the paramedic to open the door, I thought for a moment she was going to hit me, but she released the latches and threw them open. She wouldn't help me take Ash out, and I didn't have time to figure out how to work the trolley lift at the back, so I pulled him over my shoulder and staggered out into the drizzle.
I'd actually chosen the Savoy Pier for two reasons. It wasn't in use, so I wouldn't have to clamber over a boat to get to the river, and it had a nice gentle access ramp which would have been perfect to roll the trolley down had I managed to get the damn thing out of the ambulance. Instead, first I had to lumber up the ramp to the gate with Ash in a fireman's lift. He was a big healthy guy, and I suspected I was going to be a couple of centimetres shorter by the time I reached the Thames. There's a thing like an open telephone booth at the top end of the ramp, designed to stop tourists, drunks and the merely criminal from running out onto the pier.
I paused for breath and realised that over the yodel of the ambulance's own siren I could hear other sirens approaching. I looked up and down the Embankment, and saw flashing blue lights coming from both directions. A glance over the parapet revealed that the tide was out, and jumping down there would be a three-metre drop onto stones and mud. I looked at the booth. It had the metal lock I remembered. I had been planning something subtle, but since I didn't have time I blew the whole thing off its hinges.
As I ran down the ramp, I heard the Incident Response Vehicles skidding to a halt behind me and the medley of grunts, shouts and radio chatter that generally announce the Old Bill is here to sort you out. As I ran across the width of the pier something whacked me hard across the thighs. The safety railing, I realised too late, and I went headfirst into the Thames.
The Goddess of the River will proudly tell you that the Thames is officially the cleanest industrial river in Europe, but it is not so clean that you want to drink it. I came up spitting, with a metallic taste in my mouth.
A dark shape bobbed in the water a metre from me – Ash, floating on his back.
I wear a pair of Dr Marten's shoes for general detective work. They're smart, hard-wearing and, crucially, retain some of that horrorshow goodness for kicking that still makes DMs the footwear of choice for all right-thinking skinheads and football hooligans. On the other hand, they're heavy and you do not want to be wearing them while treading water. Once I had them off, I splashed forward to check on Ash – he appeared to be a lot more buoyant than I was. I could hear him breathing, and it sounded stronger than before.
'Ash,' I said, 'you feeling better?'
'Much better,' he said languidly. 'The water's a bit salty, but nice and warm.'
It was bloody freezing for me. I looked back at the pier to see my fellow policemen shining their torches across the water, but it was OK because the tide was still going out and me and Ash were already a couple of hundred metres downstream. Well, OK until we were both swept out into the North Sea, or I died of hypothermia or drowned – or mostly likely an exciting combination of all three.
The current took us under the arches of Waterloo Bridge.
'You never told me she was a pale lady,' said Ash.
'Who's the pale lady?' I asked.
'Lady of death,' he said, and then said something in a language that sounded a bit like Welsh but probably wasn't.
'Hey,' said a nearby voice. 'What are you doing in the river?' Young, female, middle-class but with the clipped vowel sounds that come from having parents who believe in education, or else... This would be one of Mama Thames's girls.
'That's a difficult question,' I sputtered. 'I was driving home from Oxford, Ash called me and it all went pear-shaped from there,' I said. 'What are you doing in the river?'
'It's our turn on the rota,' said a second voice as we emerged on the other side of the bridge.
Ash was floating happily, and I wondered if I was the only one finding it hard to maintain a conversation while treading water. Something warm brushed against my leg and I twisted in time to see a girl pop her head out of the water. With just the lights from the bank she was hard to see clearly, but I recognised the cat's curve to the corner of her eyes and her mother's strong chin.
'What are you? Lifeguards?' I asked.
'Not exactly,' she said. 'If you make it out of the river under your own steam, fair enough. If you don't, then you belong to Mama.'
The first girl surfaced again and rose out of the water until she was waist-deep and as steady as if she were standing on a box. I noticed she was wearing a black wetsuit with ORCA written across her chest. Enough light caught her face for me to recognise her as Olympia, aka Counter's Creek, one of the younger daughters of Mama Thames, which meant that the other was her twin sister, Chelsea.
'Do you like the suit?' Olympia asked. 'Neoprene. It's the best you can buy.'
'I thought you guys liked to skinny-dip,' I said. Their older sister Beverley had swum naked the last time I'd seen her in the water.
'In your dreams,' said Olympia.
Chelsea surfaced on the far side of Ash. 'I thought I smelled blood,' she said. 'How you doing, Ash?'
'Much better now,' he said drowsily.
'I think we need to get him back to Mama,' she said.
'He told me to get him in the river,' I said. My legs were getting really tired, and I looked around to find the shore a lot further away – I was being dragged out into the central channel.
'What do you want – a medal?' asked Chelsea.
'How about a tow back to shore,' I said.
'Doesn't work like that,' said Olympia.
'But don't worry,' said Chelsea. 'If you go under for the third time, we'll be waiting for you.'
And then, with an unremarkable plopping sound, they all vanished beneath the surface.
I swore at some length at that point, and would have sworn for longer except I was freezing to death. I tried to gauge which bank was closer. It was tricky because the combination of the tide and the current was sweeping me towards Blackfriars Bridge. The same bridge under which Roberto Calvi, God's own banker, got his neck stretched – not really a promising omen for me. I was freezing, and trying to remember the water survival training I did when I got my swimming certificate at primary school. My legs felt heavy and my arms ached and, as far as I could see, neither bank was closer.
It's remarkably easy to die in the Thames; lots of people manage it every year. I was beginning to worry I was going to be one of them.
I struck out for the south bank, on the basis that the Thames path ran along that side, so it was more likely there'd be members of the public able to render assistance. Plus the Oxo Tower made a convenient landmark. I didn't try to fight the current, and concentrated the last of my strength on getting closer to the bank.
I've never been what you'd call a strong swimmer, but if the alternative is being a statistic it's amazing what you can pull out of the reserves. The world contracted around me until there was nothing but the cold weight of my wet clothes, the pain in my arms and the occasional malicious slap in the face by a wave that would leave me gasping and spitting.
_Mama Thames_ , I prayed, _you owe me: get me to shore_.
I realised suddenly that my arms weren't really working properly, and that it was getting harder just to keep my face above the water.
_Mama Thames_ , I prayed again, _please_.
At some point the tide turned, and I found myself being washed back upstream until a random eddy caught me and gently shoved me onto the dirty mud of the Thames shore. I pulled myself slithering as far up the foreshore as I could manage, before rolling onto my back. I stared up at the rainclouds above, lit a dull sodium-red by the lights of the city, and thought that of the many things I never wanted to do again, this was near the top. I was so cold that my fingers and toes had gone numb, but I was shivering, which I took to be a good sign because I had this vague notion that it's when you stop shivering that you should be really worried. I decided that I could afford to stay where I was and catch my breath, or maybe some sleep – it had been a long day.
Contrary to what you might have been told, it is almost impossible to lie prostrate and groaning in a public place in London without attracting a crowd of putative good Samaritans – even when it's raining.
'Are you all right, mate?'
There were people on the parapet above me. I looked at their quizzical, upside-down faces from where I lay. Helpful people with mobile phones who would hopefully phone the police, who in turn would probably ask me to help them with their inquiries about a certain hijacked ambulance.
_Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards_ , I thought, _for theyare soggyand hard to light_.
I considered making a run for it, but the paramedic and the ambulance driver could both identify me, and in any case, I was just too knackered to move.
'You just hold on, mate,' said the voice from above. 'The police are on their way.'
It took the police at least five minutes to get there, which wasn't bad as response times go. I was duly wrapped in a blanket and put in the back of the IRV, where I told them I'd fallen in while pursuing a suspect and had ended up on the wrong side of the river. They didn't ask me any of the usual questions about my imaginary suspect, which I thought was odd, until the Jag pulled alongside the IRV and I realised that Nightingale had already put the fix in.
As we crossed back over Waterloo Bridge, he asked me whether Ash was all right.
'I think so,' I said. 'Chelsea and Olympia didn't seem worried.'
Nightingale nodded. 'Good work,' he said.
'I'm not in trouble?' I asked.
'You're in trouble,' he said. 'Just not with me.'
He still made me get up the next morning and do double practice – the bastard.
After practice, I took the hard copy from Oxford to the tech cave where I plonked it on the chaise longue and tried to pretend it didn't exist. Entering that much data was going to be a pig, and in fact probably not worth the time it would take me to do it. When I found Lesley had left me three emails expressing the unutterable boredom of a small seaside town off season, I had one of those really stupid clever ideas. I emailed her back and asked whether she wanted to do some tedious data entry. She said yes, and I called IPS and arranged to have the copy picked up and biked over. Since you can't ask someone like Lesley, no matter how bored she is, to do something that dull without an explanation, I gave her an outline of who Jason Dunlop was and how we were looking for connections to Geoffrey Wheatcroft.
_Lost books of magic_ , she wrote. _YFKM. Data entry. I'm so sad, me_.
_Keep busy_ , I wrote back. She didn't reply to that one.
Dr Walid had posted me some jpegs of what looked like thin slices of cauliflower but which the accompanying text assured me were thin sections of Michael 'the Bone' Adjayi's brain. When magnified, they displayed the tell-tale neurological damage that was indicative of hyperthaumaturgical degradation – which is what kills you if you do too much magic. And also, as we had learned on our last big case, what happens if some total bastard uses you to do magic by proxy. It's a truism in policing that witnesses and statements are fine, but nothing beats empirical physical evidence. Actually it isn't a truism because most policemen think the word 'empirical' is something to do with Darth Vader, but it damn well should be. To drive the point home, Dr Walid included slices from Cyrus Wilkinson's brain for comparison – the damage was identical.
This was proof that Mickey the Bone had been done in by the same method as Cyrus Wilkinson. If only I could figure out why.
I packaged up the lists for Lesley and gave them to Molly with strict instructions not to bite the courier when he came to call for them.
Back in the garage, there was a note folded under the Jag's windscreen wiper. It read, in Nightingale's surprisingly inelegant handwriting, _Unsupervised use ofthe Jaguar is suspended until such time as the appropriate driving certification is presented_. So Nightingale did know about the driving courses, after all.
I took the Asbo – it gets better mileage, anyhow.
Cheam is about as far south-west as you can get in London while officially staying in the capital. It's another typical outer London village which acquired, in short order, a railway station, some posh detached villas in the late Victorian style, and finally a smothering blanket of mock-Tudor semis built in the 1930s. Cheam is what the green belt was established to prevent happening to the rest of South-East England. Pictures of Cheam adorn the walls of planning offices of every Home County to serve as an awful warning. And that was _before_ any black people moved into the area.
Chez Adjayi was a big detached Edwardian villa along a road lined with variations on that theme. Apart from a token oval of greenery, the front garden had been paved with concrete, the better to park a couple of big German cars conveniently in front of the house. I could read the family history in that house. Father and mother had immigrated in the late 1960s, found jobs that they were wildly overqualified for and bought a run-down property in a relatively unfashionable area, and were now living off the fat of the property boom. Father would wear bespoke suits and be the man of the house, Mother would have a bedroom full of shoes and three mobile phones. The kids would be expected to become doctors, lawyers or engineers in descending order of preference.
A young woman around my age opened the door, I guessed she was a sister or close cousin. She had the same big forehead, high cheekbones and flat nose, although her face was plumper and rounder than Michael's and she wore half-moon reading glasses with black enamel frames. She smiled when she saw me, but the smile faded when I told her who I was. She was dressed in sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms. I smelled perspiration and furniture polish. When she let me in, I saw that the Hoover was sitting in the middle of the hallway and that the framed photographs that lined the walls had all been dusted and polished.
I asked her name.
'Martha,' she said, and she must have seen me wince because she chuckled. 'Yes, I know. I'm in the kitchen,' she said, and led the way. It was a big kitchen with an oak table that was European but held an array of large pots, ladles and plastic washing-up bowls full of cassava and stockfish that was pure West African.
I declined tea and biscuits, and we sat down at the far corner of the table.
'Mum's at the hospital,' said Martha. 'I'm just cleaning up.' She didn't need to explain to me. Enough of my mum's London family had died over the years for me to know the drill. Once word got out that Michael Adjayi was dead, the relatives would start coming around, and God help Martha if the house wasn't immaculate when they got there.
'Was he the eldest son?' I asked.
'Only son,' said Martha bitterly. 'I've got two other sisters. They don't live here any more.'
I nodded to show I understood. Favoured son, the girls work but the boy carries the name. 'How long had he been playing jazz?'
'Mickey? Since forever,' said Martha.
'Did you think he was good?'
'He was brilliant,' she said.
I asked if her parents minded that he was going to be a musician, but she said that Mickey had it covered. 'He had a place at Queen Mary's, reading law,' she said. 'He figured that would give him at least four years to become famous.'
And once he was famous, Mother and Father wouldn't care – as long as he was rich as well. Martha obviously thought it was a workable plan. I asked about his love life, and apparently that wasn't a problem either – at least, not as much of a problem as it might have been.
'White girl?' I asked.
'Yeah,' she said, 'but Cherie was really nice and a bit posh so, you know, that softened the blow for Mum and Dad.'
Martha didn't know the girlfriend's details, but she promised to ask her parents when they got back. She couldn't think of anybody who had it in for Mickey, or anything suspicious at all. 'He just went out one afternoon,' she said, 'and came back dead.'
On my way back from Cheam I got a call from Ms Ghosh at the Musicians Union. She wanted to tell me about the new wave of Anglo-Indian jazz that was coming out of Mumbai these days. I let her go on – it was better than the radio.
'Anyway,' she said eventually, 'there was one case. A member called Henry Bellrush, died suddenly just after a gig. The reason I remember is because I'd met him a couple of times and he always seemed so fit and healthy. London Marathon and all that... sort of thing.'
She gave me the address. It was in Wimbledon, and since I was still south of the river I headed over. Plus, I was pretty certain that sooner or later the whole hijacking-an-ambulance thing was going to land on my head. I wasn't in a hurry to rush back for that.
'I'm not sure,' said Mrs Bellrush as she offered me a cup of tea, 'that I quite understand what you're doing here.'
I took the cup and saucer – the visitors' china, I noticed – and cradled it in my lap. I didn't dare put it down on the immaculate mahogany coffee table, and resting it precariously on the arm of the sofa was out of the question.
'We periodically review non-hospital fatalities,' I said.
'Whatever for?' asked Mrs Bellrush, and seated herself opposite me, neatly tucking her legs to the left. Anita Bellrush, widow of Henry 'the Lips' Bellrush, was in her mid-fifties, dressed in mauve slacks and a carefully ironed white silk blouse. She had sandy-blond hair and narrow blue eyes. She lived in the kind of 1930s brick-built detached house with bay windows that you can find in the suburbs all over Britain, but in this case it was located in Wimbledon. It contained a lot of good solid oak furniture overlaid with a layer of doilies, flowery chair covers and Dresden pottery. It was chintz, but not the cat-lady chintz I was used to. Perhaps it was Mrs Bellrush's manner, or her steely blue eyes, but I got the distinct impression that this was aggressive chintz, warrior chintz, the kind of chintz that had gone out to conquer an Empire and still had the good taste to dress for dinner. Any Ikea flat-pack that showed its face round here was going to be kindling.
'Because of Harold Shipman,' I said. 'You remember him?'
'The doctor who killed his patients,' she said. 'Ah, I see. You do random checks of routine deaths in order to ensure that the reporting is accurate. Presumably you also apply pattern-recognition systems to see if you can spot any anomalous trends?'
It sounded like a great idea, but I suspected we didn't because one of the first rules of police work is that trouble will always come looking for you, so there's no point looking for it.
'I just do the leg-work,' I said.
'Somebody always has to do the leg-work,' she said. 'Biscuit?'
They were expensive ones, with the dark chocolate covering with the greater than five per cent cocoa solids.
Henry Bellrush had learned to play the cornet in the Army. He'd enlisted in the Corps of Royal Engineers, and had risen through the ranks to Major before taking early retirement at the turn of the century.
'We met in the Army,' said Mrs Bellrush. 'He was a dashing captain and so was I; it was very romantic. In those days, once you were married you were out, so I moved into Civvie Street.' And ironically found herself in the same line of work as she had been in the Army. 'Only much better paid, of course,' she said.
I asked what kind of work, but Mrs Bellrush said she couldn't tell me. 'All very hush-hush I'm afraid,' she said. 'Official Secrets Act and all that jazz.' She looked at me over the rim of her tea cup. 'Now what is it you want to know about my husband's death?'
If ever a man had enjoyed his retirement it had been Henry Bellrush, what with the garden, the grandchildren, the holidays abroad and, of course, his music. He and some friends used to play at the local pub – strictly for their own enjoyment.
'But he joined the Musicians Union,' I said.
'That was Henry,' said Mrs Bellrush. 'He came up from the ranks – never lost that sense of solidarity with the common man.'
'You didn't notice anything unusual in his behaviour?' It was a standard question.
'Such as what?' she asked, just a tad too defensively.
'Staying out late, unexplained absences, forgetfulness,' I said, all of which got nothing. 'Changes in spending habits, unusual receipts, credit-card bills.' That got a reaction.
Her eyes met mine and then she looked away.
'He'd been making regular purchases from a shop in Soho,' she said. 'He didn't try to hide it from me, and it was all there on his credit-card statement. After he died I found some receipts still in his wallet.'
I asked where they were from.
'A Glimpse of Stocking,' she said.
'The lingerie shop?'
'You know it?'
'I've walked past it,' I said. Actually I'd once spent about ten minutes looking in the window, but to be fair I was on patrol, it was three in the morning, and I was very bored. 'Are you sure he wasn't buying a present for you?'
'I'm sure I never received anything quite as daring as a scarlet Alloetta corset in raw silk with matching satin knickers,' she said. 'Not that I would have been averse. Shocked, perhaps, but not averse.'
People don't like to speak ill of the dead even when they're monsters, let alone when they're loved ones. People like to forget any bad things that someone did, and why should they remember? It's not like they're going to do it again. So I kept the next question as emotionally neutral as I could.
'Do you think he might have been having an affair?'
She stood and walked over to an antique folding desk and retrieved an envelope.
'Given the nature of the purchases,' she said, handing me the envelope, 'I can't think of an alternative explanation – can you?'
Inside the envelope were a sheaf of receipts, most of them of the kind printed out by a modern till, but a couple handwritten in what I suspected was a deliberately archaic fashion – these had _A Glimpse of Stocking_ printed at the top.
He might have been a transvestite, I thought, but I kept that to myself.
Giacomo Casanova, the original Italian stallion, arrived in London to find one of his ex-lovers and babymothers holed up in Carlisle House, the former residence of the Earl of Salisbury, which faced onto Soho Square. Her name was Theresa Cornelys and, for her services to dissipation, debauchery and the home-furnishing industry, she was once declared the Empress of Pleasure.
Carlisle House became London's first members-only club. For a modest subscription one could enjoy an evening of opera, good food and, it was rumoured, convivial intimate company. It was Theresa who established the time-honoured Soho tradition of packing them in, getting them drunk and fleecing them till they squeaked. Alas, she was a better hostess than a bookkeeper and eventually, after two decades, several bankruptcies and a comeback tour, she died alone and penniless in a debtors' prison.
The rise and fall of Theresa Cornelys proves three things: that the wages of sin are high, that you should 'just say no' to opera, and that it's always wise to diversify your investment portfolio. This was the advice followed by Gabriella Rossi, also Italian, who arrived in London as a child refugee in 1948. After a career in the rag trade, she opened her first branch of A Glimpse of Stocking in 1986, where she profited from the wages of sin, albeit tastefully, said no to opera, and made sure that her portfolio was suitably robust. When she died in 2003 it was as Dame Rossi, knighted for her services to naughtiness and leaving behind a small chain of lingerie shops.
The Soho branch was managed by a skinny blonde woman dressed in a no-nonsense trouser suit, but with no blouse and worryingly thin wrists. She seemed genuinely amused when I showed her my warrant card, and although she had no recollection of Henry Bellrush, she laughed out loud when I suggested that he might have been buying for himself.
'I doubt that,' she said. 'This particular type of corset has a "vintage" waist. It's designed to be ten inches smaller than the hips – I doubt a man could wear that.'
The shop was artfully cluttered with antique display racks and cabinets to give it a pleasantly retro feel, so that even the English could enjoy frilly underwear safe in the knowledge that it came wrapped up with an ironic, postmodern bow. On one wall there were framed photographs of women, all either monochrome or in the faded tones of 1960s colour photography. The women were mostly half-naked or dressed in corsets and the kind of frilly knickers that probably got my father in a twist. One was the famous Morley portrait of Christine Keeler sitting backwards on a rather uncomfortable-looking Scandinavian chair. Several had been autographed, and I recognised one of the names – Rusty Gaynor, the legendary queen of Soho strippers in the 1960s.
The manageress checked carefully through the receipts.
'Definitely not a man,' she said. 'Not in these sizes. Although judging from the rest of the items, we're talking about a big, healthy girl here. If I had to make a guess, I would say these were bought for a stage act.'
'What kind of act?'
'A burlesque dancer,' she said, 'without a doubt. Probably one of Alex's girls. Alexander Smith. Puts on shows down at the Purple Pussycat. Very tasteful.'
'A stripper, you mean?' I asked.
'Oh dear,' said the manageress, 'you mustn't call them that.'
The difference between stripping and burlesque, as far as I could tell, was class.
'We don't have poles on stage,' said Alexander Smith, burlesque impresario. He was a thin, fox-faced man in a fawn-coloured suit with 1970s lapels but not – because there are limits to decency – a kipper tie. Instead he wore a plum-coloured ascot with matching pocket handkerchief and, probably, silk socks. He was so completely camp that it didn't really come as too much of a surprise that he was married with grandchildren. No gay man would have to work that hard. Smith cheerfully showed me the photographs of 'her indoors' – his wife, and little Penelope and Esmeralda, and explained why poles were the work of the devil.
'Inventions of Beelzebub himself,' he said. 'Stripping is about getting your kit off in time to the music. There's no real eroticism to it; the punters want to see her minge and she wants to get paid. Wham, bam, no thank you ma'am.'
Over his shoulder I watched as a fit-looking white woman on the club's small stage rotated her hips to Lounge Against the Machine's cover of 'Baby's Got Back'. She was wearing a dancer's leotard and a baggy pink sweat top and I had to admit that, despite the lack of minge, I was suitably entranced. Smith turned to see what I was watching.
'It's about glamour,' he said, 'and the art of sensuality. The sort of show you could bring your mother to.'
Not _my_ mother, I thought. She doesn't do ironic postmodernism.
I showed Smith the picture of Henry Bellrush I'd got from his wife. 'That's Henry,' said Smith. 'Has something happened to him?'
'Was he a regular?' I asked, to move us on.
'He's an artiste,' said Smith. 'A musician. Beautiful, beautiful cornet player. He does this act with this lovely girl called Peggy. Very classy, just him on the cornet and her moving as he played. She could hold an audience transfixed just by taking her glove off. They used to sigh when she went topless 'cause they knew it was almost over.'
'And their relationship was strictly business?' I asked.
'You keep using the past tense,' said Smith. 'Something _has_ happened, hasn't it?'
I explained that Henry Bellrush was dead and that I was conducting routine inquiries.
'Well, that's a shame,' said Smith. 'I wondered why they hadn't turned up for a while. In answer to your question, those two were strictly professional: he liked playing and she liked dancing. I think that's as far as it went.'
He also liked buying her the costumes, too; or perhaps he saw it as an investment. I wondered whether I should tell his wife.
I asked if he had any publicity pictures of the mysterious Peggy, but although he was sure they existed, he didn't have any at the club.
I asked when their last gig was and he gave a date back at the start of the month, less than a day before Bellrush died. 'Was it here?' I asked. Fourteen days was a long time for transient _vestigia_ to be retained, but it was worth a try.
'No,' said Smith. 'Much more classy than this – it was part of our Summer Burlesque Festival at the Café de Paris. We hold one every year to raise awareness of burlesque amongst the public.'
I emerged blinking into weak afternoon sunlight, and before I could get my bearings I was ambushed by Simone Fitzwilliam.
'Constable,' she said brightly, and slipped her arm through mine, 'what brings you to my neighbourhood again?' Her arm was warm and soft against my side, and I smelled honeysuckle and caramel.
I told her I was still investigating some suspicious deaths.
'Including poor Cyrus?' she asked.
'I'm afraid so.'
'Well, I'm determined to put that behind me,' she said. 'Cyrus wouldn't have wanted me to mope. He believed in living in the moment and double-entry bookkeeping. But then, if we were all the same, where would be the fun in that? So where next will our sleuthing take us?'
'I need to check out the Café de Paris,' I said.
'Oh,' she said, 'I haven't been there for such a long time. You must take me, I could be your plucky side-kick.'
How could I argue with that?
I lied my way into the Café de Paris by claiming I was following up a spot check by Clubs and Vice and that I could be in and out in five minutes. The day manager either bought it or wasn't being paid enough money to care either way.
The interior was a riot of gold leaf, red velvet and royal-blue curtains. The main room was oval with a split staircase at one end and small stage at the other. A balcony swept around the circumference and it reminded me uneasily of the Royal Opera House.
'You can just feel the history,' said Simone, clutching my arm. 'The Prince of Wales used to come here regularly.'
'I hope the food is macrobiotic then,' I said.
'What in the world is macrobiotic?' asked Simone.
'You know, beans and rice,' I said, and stopped when I realised I didn't know what macrobiotic was either. 'Healthy food,' I said.
'That doesn't sound like the Prince,' she said. She skipped around to face me. 'We have to dance.'
'There's no music,' I said.
'We can hum,' she said. 'You do know how to hum, don't you?'
'I need to check the stage,' I said, trying to convince myself at the same time.
She pretended to pout, but the corner of her scarlet lips twitched and gave her away. 'When constabulary duty's to be done,' she said, 'a policeman's lot is not a happy one.'
The small stage had enough room for its in situ baby grand and maybe a trio, if the singers were thin. I couldn't see the buxom Peggy strutting her stuff, however tastefully, without falling off the edge. I said as much.
'Ahem,' said Simone. 'I think you'll find the stage can be extended forward to create more space. I believe theatrical people call it an "extendable stage". Mind you, I'm certain I remember the band being at the other end.'
I could feel them, layers of _vestigia_ etched into the walls of the Café de Paris, flashes of laughter, the smell of tea, snatches of music, a sudden sharp taste of blood on my tongue. It was like an old church far too entangled in too many lives and events to be able to pick out any one thread. Certainly nothing recent. A _vestigium_ isn't laid down like a groove in a record; it's not like a tape recording. It's more like the memory of a dream, and the harder you grasp at it the faster it melts away.
Another flash – brick dust and a ringing silence. I remembered; the Café de Paris had been hit during the Blitz, killing most of the musicians including the legendary bandleader Ken Johnson. That might explain the silence. Polidori once described a plague pit he investigated as being _an abyss of solitude_ – cheerful bugger that he was.
'You promised me a dance,' said Simone.
Actually I hadn't, but I took her in my arms and she pressed in closer. She started to hum as we artlessly swayed in a small circle. I didn't recognise the tune. Her grip on my waist tightened and I grew hard against her. 'You can do better than that,' she said.
I put some grind into the sway and for a moment I was back at the Brixton Academy with Lisa Pascal, who lived on the Stockwell Park Estate and seemed determined to be my first ever, although actually she ended up being violently sick on Astoria Park Walk and I slept on the sofa in her mum's front room.
Then I heard it: Johnny Green's opening bars but with a swing beat and a voice singing far away... _My heart is sad and lonely/For you I sigh, for you, dear, only_. Simone was short enough to rest her cheek against my chest, and it was only when I noticed that she was copying me that I realised I was humming the tune. Her perfume mingled with the _vestigia_ of dust and silence, and the words were clear enough for me to sing them softly. _Why haven't you seen it?/I'm all for you, body and soul_.
I felt Simone shudder and put her arm around my neck and pull me down until she could whisper in my ear. 'Take me home.'
We were practically running by the time we got to Berwick Street, and Simone had her keys out and ready for a front door that opened straight onto a steep staircase with dirty communal carpeting, forty-watt bulbs and those pop-out timer switches that never last long enough for you to get all the way to the top. Simone led me up a third flight of stairs that dog-legged around some bizarre retrofit put in back in the 1950s, when this was a flat for French Maids and 'Ring top bell for models'. It was a steep climb and I was beginning to flag, but the sway of her hips dragged me up the fourth and final flight and we burst out onto the roof. I managed to get brief impressions of iron railings, bushy green pot plants, a bar table with a furled white and blue sunshade and then we were kissing, her hands pushing down the back of my jeans, yanking me forward. And we went down onto a mattress.
Let's be honest here, there's no way to get out of a pair of tight jeans with any dignity, especially if a beautiful woman has one hand in your boxers and an arm wrapped around your waist. You always end up frantically kicking your legs in an effort to get the damned things past your ankles. I was a gentleman, though, and helped her off with her leggings – everything else we were wearing had to wait because Simone wasn't looking for a slow build-up. She pulled me between her thighs and having lined me up to her satisfaction, pulled me the rest of the way in. We went at it for ages, but finally I looked up to find her rearing above me with the waning moon watching us over her shoulder, her waist bucking under my palms. She threw her head back and bellowed and with that, we both came together.
She flopped down on top of me, her skin feverish and sweaty, her face buried in my shoulder.
'Fuck me,' I said.
'What, again?' she asked. 'There's no stopping you, is there?'
I was instantly hard again, because nothing gets a man going like a bit of flattery. Yes, when it comes to sex, we really are that shallow. It was chilly, and I shivered as I rolled her over onto her back. She opened her arms wide but I ignored them and let my lips trace a line down to her belly button. Her hands grabbed my head – urging me lower, but I stretched it out. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, that's my motto. I put my mouth where the money was and I didn't let up until her legs were pointing straight up in the air and her knees were locked. Then I climbed my slippery way back up and introduced myself once more. Simone's ankles locked behind my backside and her arms snaked round my shoulders and for quite a long period, coherent thought was something that happened to other people.
We came apart with a sticky pop, and for a moment we just lay there and steamed in the night air. Simone kissed me open-mouthed, hungry, for a long moment, and then levered herself off the mattress.
'I'll be back in a minute,' she said.
I watched the heavy sway of her pale buttocks as she padded across the roof and slipped in through the door. There was still enough moon and street light to see that the top of the terrace had been converted into a roof garden, and a good professional conversion it was too, with solid flags underfoot and waist-high iron railings. Wooden tubs stood at the four corners, each planted with something that was either a really big plant or a very small tree. The mattress I was lying on was actually a proper outdoor seating cushion with a water-resistant PVC covering. It was cooling off under my naked buttocks, and so was I.
From below came the muttering, shouting party noise of another Soho evening. I became very conscious of the fact that I was lying stark-bollock-naked on top of a roof in central London. I really hoped the guys at Air Support weren't called into patrol, otherwise I could end up on YouTube as that naked dickhead on the roof ROFL.
I was seriously considering looking for my clothes when Simone arrived back with a duvet and an old-fashioned picnic hamper with F&M stencilled on the side. She dropped the basket by the mattress and flung herself and the duvet around me.
'You're freezing,' she said.
'You left me on the roof,' I said. 'I nearly froze to death. They were scrambling the air-sea rescue helicopters and everything.'
She warmed me up for a bit, and then we investigated the hamper. It was a real Fortnum and Mason picnic hamper complete with stainless-steel flask of hot chocolate, a bottle of Hine cognac and a whole Battenberg cake wrapped in greaseproof paper. No wonder it took her so long to come back.
'You just had this lying about?' I asked.
'I like to be prepared,' she said.
'Did you know Casanova used to live around here when he was in London?' I said. 'When he went out for an assignation he used to carry a little valise with eggs, plates and a spirit stove in it.' I slipped my hand around the warm, heavy curve of her breast. 'That way, wherever he ended up he could still have a fried egg for breakfast.' I kissed her – she tasted of chocolate.
'I never knew Casanova was a Boy Scout,' she said.
We sat under the duvet and watched the moon setting behind the roofs of Soho. We ate Battenberg cake and listened to the police sirens whoop up and down Charing Cross Road and Oxford Street. When we were suitably refreshed, we had mad sex until what passes for the dawn chorus in Soho was welcoming the first blush of the new day.
I like to think old Giacomo would have approved.
#
# Almost Like Being in Love
Sir Robert Mark was commissioner of the Metropolitan Police from 1972 to 1977, and is famous for two things – the Goodyear tyre adverts where he said the words, 'I believe this to be a major contribution to road safety', and Operation Countryman, an investigation into corruption within his own force. Back in what the _DailyMail_ calls the good old days, a conscientious copper could triple his income just by sticking his hand out at the right moment, and an armed blagger could walk away from a collar for just a modest consideration. Though to be fair, they always tried to make sure that someone was charged with the offence so at least justice was seen to be done, and that's the main thing. Commissioner Mark, who took a dim view of this, initiated the most sweeping anti-corruption drive the Met had ever seen, which is why he's the figure that police parents use to keep their little baby police officers in line. Behave, or nasty Sir Robert Mark will come round and boot you off the force. This is probably why the current commissioner had a portrait of Mark hanging in the atrium of his office, strategically placed so that he faced the row of uncomfortable green faux-leather seats that me and Nightingale were forced to wait on.
When you're a lowly constable, nothing good can come of getting this close to the big man himself. Last time I'd been there I'd been sworn in as an apprentice wizard. This time, I suspected it was going to be mostly swearing. Next to me Nightingale seemed relaxed enough, reading the _Telegraph_ in a tan lightweight Davies & Son suit that was either brand new or, more likely, coming back into style from some earlier epoch. I was in my uniform because when confronted with authority a uniform is a constable's friend, especially when it has been ironed to razor sharpness by Molly, who seemed to regard a trouser crease as a conveniently located offensive weapon.
A secretary opened the door for us. 'The Commissioner will see you now,' she said, and we stood up and trooped off to face the music.
The Commissioner's office is not that impressive, and while the carpet wasn't too budget-conscious, no amount of wood panelling could disguise the dull grey mid-1960s concrete bones of the New Scotland Yard building. But the Metropolitan Police has over 50,000 personnel and a working budget of four and a half billion quid, and is responsible for everything from antisocial behaviour in Kingston to anti-terrorism in Whitehall, so the Commissioner's office doesn't really need to try that hard.
The Commissioner sat waiting for us. He was wearing his uniform cap, and that was when I truly knew we were in deep shit. We stopped in front of the desk and Nightingale actually twitched, as if suppressing the impulse to salute. The Commissioner stayed in his chair. No handshakes were offered, and we were not invited to sit.
'Chief Inspector Nightingale,' he said, 'I trust you've had a chance to acquaint yourself with the reports pertaining to the events of last Tuesday night.'
'Yes, sir,' said Nightingale.
'You are aware of the accusations levelled by members of the London Ambulance Service and the preliminary report by the DPS?'
'Yes, sir,' said Nightingale.
I flinched. The DPS is the Directorate of Professional Standards, fiends in human form that walk amongst us to keep the rank and file in fear and despondency. Should you feel the cold damp breath of the DPS on your collar, as I did then, the next thing you need to know is which bit is doing the breathing. I didn't think it would be the ACC, the Anti-Corruption Command or the IIC, the Internal Investigations Command, because hijacking an ambulance would best be categorised as criminally stupid rather than stupidly criminal. Or at least, I was hoping that's the way they would see it, and that I'd be done by the MCAV, the Misconduct Civil Actions and Vetting command, whose job it was to deal with those officers who have laid the Met open to being sued in the courts – by traumatised paramedics, for example.
'Do you stand by your assessment of Constable Grant's actions that night?'
'Yes sir,' said Nightingale. 'I believe that Constable Grant, faced with difficult circumstances, evaluated the situation correctly and took swift and decisive action to prevent the death of the individual known as Ash Thames. Had he not removed the cold iron from the wound or, having removed it, had not transported Ash to the river, I have no doubt that the victim would have died – from loss of blood at the very least.'
The Commissioner looked directly at me, and I actually found myself holding my breath until he looked back at Nightingale.
'You were left in a supervisory position despite your medical condition because I was assured that you remain the only officer qualified to handle "special" cases,' he said. 'Was this a mistake on my part?'
'No, sir,' said Nightingale. 'Until such time as Constable Grant is fully trained I remain the only suitably qualified officer currently serving in the Metropolitan Police. Believe me, sir, I am as alarmed at this prospect as much as you are.'
The Commissioner nodded. 'Since it appears that Grant had no choice but to act as he did, I am willing to chalk this up to a failure of supervision on your part. This will be considered a verbal reprimand, and a note will be entered into your record.' He turned to me and I kept my eye on a nice safe patch of the wall a couple centimetres to the left of his head.
'While I accept that you are inexperienced and being forced to use your own judgement in circumstances that lie...' the Commissioner paused to choose his words '... outside of conventional police work, I would like to remind you that you swore an oath both as a constable and as an apprentice. And you were warned when you did so that extraordinary things were expected of you. At this point, no disciplinary action will be taken and no note will be appended to your record. However, in future I wish to see you exercise more tact, more discretion and to try and keep the property damage to a bare minimum. Do you understand?'
'Yes sir,' I said.
'The property damage,' said the Commissioner, turning back to Nightingale, 'including that to the ambulance, will be paid for out of the Folly's budget, not the Met's general contingency fund. As will any legal costs and damages that arise out of civil litigation taken against the Metropolitan Police. Is that understood?'
'Yes, sir,' we both said.
I was sweating with relief. The only reason that I wasn't facing a serious disciplinary hearing was because the Commissioner probably didn't want to explain to the Metropolitan Police Authority why a lowly Constable was currently de facto head of an Operational Command Unit. Any advocate I called in from the Police Federation would have had a field day with my lack of effective supervision by a senior officer – Nightingale being on sick leave, remember. Not to mention the health and safety implications of being forced to jump into the Thames in the middle of the night.
I thought it was all over, but it wasn't. The Commissioner touched his intercom. 'You can send them in now, please.'
I recognised the guests; the first was a short, rangy middle-aged white man looking surprisingly dapper in an M&S ready-to-wear blue pinstriped suit. No tie, I noticed, and his hair was as resolutely comb-resistant as a hedgerow. Oxley Thames, wisest of the sons of Father Thames, his chief councillor, media guru and hatchet man. He gave me a wry look as he took the seat offered by the Commissioner to the right of his desk. The second was a handsome fair-skinned woman with a sharp nose and slanted eyes. She wore a black Chanel skirt suit that, had it been a car, would have done nought to sixty in less than 3.8 seconds. Lady Ty, Mama Thames's favourite daughter, Oxford graduate and ambitious fixer, she seemed pleased to see me, which didn't bode well. As she joined Oxley I realised that the bollocking wasn't over, and this was to be _The Bollocking 2: This Time It's Personal_.
'I believe you know Oxley and Lady Tyburn,' said the Commissioner. 'They've been asked by their "principals" to clarify their position with regard to Ash Thames.' He turned to Oxley and Ty and asked who wanted to go first.
Ty turned to the Commissioner. 'I have a question for Constable Grant. If I may?' she asked.
The Commissioner made a gesture that suggested I was all hers.
'At any point,' she said, 'did it cross your mind what would have happened to my sister had Ash been killed?'
'No, ma'am,' I said. It was the truth. It hadn't crossed my mind at all, and when it did, just then, it wasn't a comfortable feeling at all.
'Which is an interesting admission, given that you helped negotiate that agreement,' she said. 'Were you unaware of the exact nature of an exchange of hostages, perhaps? Or did you just forget that should death befall Ash while he was in our care, my sister's life would have been forfeit? You do know what the word "forfeit" means?'
I went cold, because I hadn't given it a thought, not when recruiting Ash for the surveillance job, or even when I was sailing down the Thames with him. If he'd been killed then Beverley Brook, Lady Ty's sister, would have faced the ultimate forfeit. Which meant I'd nearly killed two people that night.
I glanced at Nightingale, who frowned and nodded for me to reply.
'I do know what the word forfeit means,' I said. 'And in my defence, I'd like to say that I never expected Ash to put himself in harm's way. I considered him a sober and reliable figure, like all his brothers.'
Oxley snorted, which earned him a glare from Lady Ty.
'I hadn't counted on him being quite so brave or quick-witted,' I said, and got a look from Oxley that conveyed the notion that there's such a thing as laying the blarney on too thick. It didn't matter, because the reason you don't fight with Lady Ty is she just waits for you to finish dancing about and then gives you a smack.
'While I'm of course aware of the role played by Inspector Nightingale and Constable Grant in facilitating a conciliation framework,' said Lady Ty, 'I think it would be better, in light of recent events, if they took a less proactive stance with regards to matters relating to riverine diplomacy.'
I was moved almost to applause. The Commissioner nodded, which just proved that the fix was in – probably with the Greater London Police Authority and the Mayor's Office. He probably felt he had enough on his plate without us dishing out any more. He turned to Oxley and asked whether he had anything to add.
'Ash is a young man,' said Oxley, 'and it's well known that boys will be boys. Still, I don't think it would hurt if Constable Grant was to exercise a hair more responsibility when dealing with him.'
We waited a moment for more, but Oxley just looked blank. Lady Ty didn't look happy, so maybe the fix wasn't as firmly in place as she would like.
I gave her my secretive little-boy smirk, the one that I've been using to drive my mum berserk since I was eight. Her lips thinned, but she was obviously made of sterner stuff than my mum.
'That seems reasonable,' said Nightingale. 'As long as all parties stay within the agreement and the law, I'm sure we can give assent to a hands-off approach.'
'Good,' said the Commissioner. 'And while I'm always glad to have these little chats, let's try and keep them out of my office in future.'
With that, we were dismissed.
'That could have been worse,' I said as we walked past the eternal flame of remembrance that burns in the New Scotland Yard foyer. It's there to remember those brave men and women who have fallen while doing their duty and to remind us, the living, to be bloody careful.
'Tyburn's dangerous,' said Nightingale as we headed for the underground car park. 'She thinks she can define her role in the city through bureaucratic manoeuvring and office politics. Sooner or later she'll come into conflict with her own mother.'
'And if that happens?'
'The consequences could well be mythic,' said Nightingale. 'I think it would be in your interests not to be standing between them when that occurs.' He looked at me thoughtfully. 'Or anywhere within the Thames Valley, for that matter.'
Nightingale was due a check-up at UCH, so he dropped me off in Leicester Square and I called Simone.
'Give me an hour to clean up,' she said. 'And then come over.'
I was still in my uniform, which would have made drinking in a pub a bit of a problem, so I grabbed a coffee at the Italian place on Frith Street before proceeding at a leisurely pace up Old Compton Street. I was just thinking of picking up some cakes from Patisserie Valerie when my highly tuned copper's senses were irresistibly drawn, like those of a big-game hunter, by the subtle clues that something was amiss in Dean Street.
Plus the police tape, the forensics tent and the uniformed bodies who'd been given the exciting task of guarding the crime scene. My professional curiosity got the better of me, so I sidled up to have a look.
I spotted Stephanopoulos talking to a couple of other DSs from the Murder Team. You don't just step into someone else's crime scene without permission, so I paused at the tape and waited until I could catch Stephanopoulos's eye. She stamped over a minute later and clocked the uniform.
'Back on patrol with us mere mortals, are you?' she said. 'I think you got off lightly. The even money in the incident room was that you were going to be suspended with extreme prejudice.'
'Verbal warning,' I said.
Stephanopoulos looked incredulous. 'For hijacking an ambulance?' she said. 'You get a verbal warning? You're not making any friends amongst the rank and file, you know.'
'I know,' I said. 'Who's dead?'
'Nothing to do with you,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Construction foreman from Crossrail. Found this morning in one of his access shafts.' Although the bulk of new Crossrail stations were finished, the contractors still seemed intent on digging up the streets. 'Might just be an accident, anyway; health and safety on these sites is almost as bad as it is in the Met.'
Health and safety was the current obsession of the Police Federation. Last year it had been stab vests, but lately they felt that police officers were taking unnecessary safety risks while pursuing suspects. They wanted better H&S guidelines to prevent injury and, presumably, remote-controlled drones to do the actual chases.
'Did it happen in the dark?'
'No, at eight o'clock this morning in full daylight,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Which means he was probably pushed, but – and this is the important bit as far as you're concerned – there is definitely nothing remotely supernatural about the scene, thank God. So you can just bugger off.'
'Thanks, Sarge,' I said. 'I shall do that.'
'Wait,' said Stephanopoulos. 'I want you to check the follow-up interviews with Colin Sandbrow – they should be on the system by now.'
'Who's Colin Sandbrow?'
'The man who would have been the next victim if your weirdo friend hadn't got in the way,' she said. 'If you think you can do that without generating more property damage.'
I laughed to show that I was a good sport, but cop humour being what it is I knew I'd be carrying that ambulance around for the rest of my career. I left Stephanopoulos to impose her will on the crime scene, and slipped through St Anne's Court and D'Arblay Street to Berwick Street. Since I hadn't been paying attention the night before, I had to stop and get my bearings before I spotted the door – sandwiched between a chemist's and a record shop that specialised in vintage vinyl. The black paint was peeling and the little cards on the entryphone were either smudged or missing entirely. It didn't matter. I knew she was on the top floor.
'You wretch,' spluttered the entryphone. 'I'm not ready.'
'I can go round the block again,' I said.
The lock buzzed and I pushed the door open. The stairs didn't look any better in the daylight; the carpet was pale blue and worn through in places, and the walls showed stains from where people had put their hands out to balance themselves. On each floor there were blind doors which, in Soho, could lead anywhere from strict discipline at reasonable rates to a television production company. I paced myself so I wasn't panting when I reached the top floor, and knocked on the door.
When Simone opened it and saw me in my uniform, she skipped back a step and clapped her hands. 'Look at this,' she said. 'It's a strippergram.'
She'd been cleaning in a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms and a navy-blue sweatshirt that looked as if it had been cropped with a pair of nail scissors. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf in an English way that I'd only ever seen on _Coronation Street_. I stepped forward and grabbed her. She smelled of sweat and Domestos. It would have been straight onto the floor right then if she hadn't gasped out that the door was still open. We broke long enough to close the door and stumble to the bed. Only one bed, I noticed, but it was king-sized and we did our best to use every bit. At some point my uniform came off and we never did find out what happened to her sweatshirt – she left the scarf on, though, because something about it turned me on.
An hour and a bit later, I had a chance to look around the flat. The bed took up one whole corner of the main room and was, apart from one overstuffed leather armchair, the only thing to sit on. The only other furniture was a mismatched trio of wardrobes lining one wall and a solid oak chest of drawers that was so big the only way to get it into the room must have been to winch it in through the window. There was no TV that I could see, or a stereo, although a suitably small MP3 player might have vanished amongst the drifts of cloth that had colonised the room. I'm an only child, so I've only ever had to live with one woman at a time and so wasn't prepared for the sheer volume of clothes that could be generated by three sisters sharing one flat. The shoes were particularly pervasive; serried ranks of, to me, almost identical open-toed slingback stilettos. Tangles of sandals had been stuffed into random nooks, while boxes of court shoes filled the gaps between the wardrobes. Pairs of boots, from calf-length to thigh-high, hung from nails on the wall like rows of swords in a castle.
Simone saw me eyeing a pair of fetish boots with sixcentimetre spike heels and started to wriggle out of my arms. 'Want me to try them on?' she said.
I pulled her back against my chest and kissed her neck – I didn't want her going anywhere. She twisted in my arms and we kissed until she said she had to pee. Once your lover's gone you might as well get up, and so I folded myself into the bathroom, a tiny cubbyhole with just enough room for a surprisingly modern power shower, toilet and the kind of small, odd-shaped sink designed to fit into the space of last resort. While I was in there, my copper's instincts got the better of me and I rummaged through their medicine cabinet. Simone and her sisters were clearly in favour of the long-term storage of dangerous chemicals because there were strips of paracetamol and prescription sleeping tablets that dated back ten years.
'Are you going through my things?' asked Simone from the kitchen.
I asked how her and her sisters managed to get along with such a small bathroom.
'We all went to boarding school, darling,' said Simone. 'Survive that, and you can handle anything.'
When I came out she asked me if I wanted tea. I said why not, and we had a full English tea – on a tray with blue and gold Wedgwood crockery, blackberry jam and heavily buttered crumpets.
I liked looking at her naked, reclining on the bed like something out of the National Gallery with a cup of tea in one hand and a crumpet in the other. Given that we'd just had quite a good summer her skin was very pale, translucent almost. When I lifted my hand from her thigh a pink outline remained.
'Yes,' she said. 'Some of us don't tan very well – thank you for reminding me.'
I kissed the spot better by way of apology, and then the curve of her belly by way of invitation. She giggled and pushed me away.
'I'm ticklish,' she said. 'Finish your tea first, you savage. Have you no manners?'
I took up the willow-pattern tea cup and sipped the tea. It tasted different, exotic. A posh blend, I suspected, from another Fortnum and Mason hamper. She fed me some crumpet and I asked her why she didn't have a TV.
'We didn't have television when we were growing up,' she said. 'So we never got into the habit of watching. There's a radio somewhere for listening to _The Archers_. We never miss an episode of _The Archers_. Although I must admit, I can't always keep all the characters straight; they do seem to be always getting, married, having secret love affairs and as soon as I've grown familiar with them they die or leave Ambridge.' She looked at me over the rim of her teacup. 'Not a follower of _The Archers_ , are you?'
'Not really,' I said.
'We must seem like such Bohemians to you,' she said, finishing her tea. 'Living all higgledy-piggledy in one room, no television, in amongst the fleshpots of Soho.' She placed tea cup and tray on the floor by the bed before reaching out to pluck the empty cup from my fingers.
'I think you worry too much about what I think,' I said.
Simone removed the tea cup safely from the bed and kissed me on the knee.
'Do I?' she asked, and grabbed me with her hand.
'Definitely,' I said, trying not squeak as she kissed her way up my thigh.
Two hours later she threw me out of bed, but in the nicest possible way.
'My sisters will be back soon,' she said. 'We have rules. No men in the bed past ten o'clock.'
'There have been other men?' I said, while looking for my boxers.
'Of course not,' she said. 'You're my first.'
Simone was pulling on random items that she'd found on the floor, including a pair of satin knickers that fit her like a second skin. Watching them go on was almost as sexy as watching them come off would be. She caught me panting, and wagged her finger at me.
'No,' she said. 'If we start again we'll never stop.'
I could have lived with that, but a gentleman knows when to give in gracefully and depart the scene. Not without some serious snogging in the doorway first, though.
I walked back through Soho with the scent of honeysuckle in my nostrils and, according to subsequent records, helped officers from Charing Cross and West End Central break up two fights, a domestic and a hen party that had ended with an attempted sexual assault on a male stripper. But I don't remember any of that.
You practise _Scindere_ by levitating an apple with _Impello_ and then fixing it in place while your teacher tries to dislodge it with a cricket bat. The next morning I put up three in a row and they didn't so much as wobble when Nightingale smacked them. He hit them hard enough to pulp them, of course, but the bits just hung about like a food accident on a space station.
The first time Nightingale demonstrated the _forma_ , I'd asked how long the apples would stay fixed in place. He'd said that it depended on how much magic the apple had been imbued with. For most apprentices that meant anything up to half an hour. Such vagueness neatly summed up Nightingale's attitude to empiricism. I, on the other hand, was prepared this time. I'd brought a stopwatch, an antique clockwork one with a face as big as my palm, my notebook and the transcript of Colin Sandbrow's interview from the _Vagina dentata_ case notes. While Nightingale headed back upstairs, I sat down at a work desk and started in on the file.
Colin Sandbrow, jammy bastard, aged twenty-one, in from Ilford for a night on the tiles. Met what he thought was a Goth who didn't talk much but seemed amenable to a bit of outdoor knee-trembling action. Looks-wise Sandbrow was at least young and fit, but his face had a sort of routine sandy plainness – as if his creator had been working on him at the end of the day and was looking to make up a quota. This probably explained why he had been just as keen to leave the club.
'Didn't you think it was a little suspicious that she was so enthusiastic?' Stephanopoulos had asked.
Sandbrow indicated that he hadn't been inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth, although in future he would take a more cautious approach when dealing with members of the opposite sex.
It started raining apple pulp sixteen minutes and thirty-four seconds after I'd done the spell. I put aside the interview and made a note of the time. I'd taken the opportunity to put plastic bags underneath, so I didn't have to do much cleaning up. Both my textbooks and Nightingale were a bit vague about where the power that was holding the apple was coming from. If the magic was still being sucked out of my head, how many could I put up simultaneously before my brain shrivelled? And if it wasn't coming from me, where was the power coming from? I'm an old-fashioned copper – I don't believe in breaking the laws of thermodynamics.
I finished my notes and headed up and out to the coach house and the rudiments of twenty-first-century comfort – wide-screen TV, broadband and HOLMES. Which is how I came to catch Nightingale making himself comfortable on the sofa with a can of Nigerian Star Beer in one hand and the rugby on the TV. He had the grace to look embarrassed.
'I didn't think you'd mind,' he said. 'There're two more crates of this stuff in the corner.'
'Overspill,' I said. 'From when I propitiated Mama Thames with an artic full of booze.'
'That clarifies a great deal,' he said, and waved his can. 'Don't tell Molly about the beer. She's become a tad overprotective.'
I told him that his secret was safe with me. 'Who's playing?' I asked.
'Harlequins and Wasps,' he said.
I let him get on with it. I like a bit of football and a legitimate boxing match but, unlike my mum, who will watch anything involving a ball, even golf, I've never been that into rugby. So I sat down at my desk and fired up my second-best laptop which I use as a HOLMES terminal, and got stuck back into the case.
Stephanopoulos's people were very thorough. They'd spoken to all Sandbrow's friends and any random customers they could track down. The club bouncers were adamant that they hadn't seen the suspect enter, despite the fact that the CCTV footage clearly showed her walking right past them. The whole attack reminded me much more of the incident with St John Giles back in the summer than it did of the murder of Jason Dunlop – I was about to put a note pointing that out on the file when I noticed that Stephanopoulos had already spotted it.
I wondered how Lesley was doing. She hadn't answered any of my texts or emails, so I called her house and got one of her sisters.
'She's in London,' she said. 'Had an appointment with her specialist.'
'She never said.'
'Well she wouldn't, would she,' said her sister.
'Can you tell me what hospital?'
'Nope,' she said. 'If she wanted you to know she was in town, she'd have told you.'
I couldn't argue with that.
Nightingale's rugby finished and he thanked me for the beer and left. I switched over to the news to see whether a certain hijacked ambulance was still rotating around the twenty-four-hour news cycle but it had been knocked off by some serious flooding around Marlow. Lots of nice pictures of cars aquaplaning down rural roads, and pensioners being ferried about by the Fire Brigade. For a moment I had a horrible suspicion that the floods might have been a reaction by Father Thames to Ash being injured, but when I googled the details, I found that it had all kicked off during the following night when I'd been cavorting on the roof with Simone.
That was a relief. I was in enough trouble already, without inadvertently flooding part of the Thames Valley.
A woman from the Environment Agency was asked why they hadn't issued a flood warning, and she explained the Thames had a complex watershed made even more complicated by the interaction of human development.
'Sometimes the river can just surprise you,' she said. There'd been a second unexpected surge late the night before, and she was refusing to rule out a repeat later that day. Like most Londoners, my attitude was that only rich people could afford to live next to a river, so I could withstand their discomfort with fortitude.
I finished up on HOLMES and shut everything down. Stephanopoulos had found no connections between our two and a half victims. Worse, St John Giles and Sandbrow had visited on impulse the clubs where they met our mysterious killer. In her notes attached to the nominal reports Stephanopoulos argued, and I agreed, that two young men had been targeted at random, but that the attack on Jason Dunlop felt more like a hit. If only because the Pale Lady, as I now thought of her, had made contact with her victim in a public place and in front of potential witnesses. Maybe it was a work-life balance thing. Maybe the two nightclub boys were recreational and Jason Dunlop was work.
Mum phoned me, and reminded me that I was supposed to be introducing Dad to The Irregulars that afternoon. I pointed out that this was her third phone call to remind me, but, as is usual with my mum, she didn't take a blind bit of notice. I assured her I would be there. I considered calling Simone and inviting her along, but I decided that I was on to far too much of a good thing to want to risk having her meet the family – especially my mum.
I called her anyway, and she assured me she was languishing without me. I heard female laughter in the background, and some comments pitched too low for me to hear. Her sisters, I suspected.
'Definitely languishing,' she said. 'I don't suppose you could pop round later and ravish me at your convenience?'
'What happened to no men in the bed past ten?' I asked.
'I don't suppose you have a bed,' more laughter in the background, 'that you don't have to share?'
I wondered if I could sneak her into the Folly. Nightingale had never actually forbidden overnight visitors, but I wasn't sure how I'd bring it up in the conversation. I'd slept in the coach house myself, but the sofa would be cramped for two. Worth thinking about, though.
'I'll call you later,' I said, and idly looked up hotel prices in central London – but even with my healthy finances, it just wasn't going to happen.
It was only then that it occurred to me that less than two weeks ago she'd been the grieving lover of Cyrus Wilkinson, late of the very band my dad was rehearsing with that afternoon. All the more reason, I thought, for not inviting her along.
Just about every council estate I know has a set of communal rooms. There's something about stacking people up in egg boxes that makes architects and town planners believe that having a set of communal rooms will compensate for not having a garden or, in some of the flats, enough room to swing a cat. Perhaps they fondly imagine that the denizens of the estate will spontaneously gather for colourful proletarian festivals and cat-swinging contests. In truth, the rooms generally get used for two things – children's parties and tenants' meetings, but that afternoon we were going to shake things up and have a jazz rehearsal instead.
Since James was the drummer he was the one with a van, a suitably decrepit Transit that we could have left unlocked, with the keys in the ignition and a sign on the front windscreen saying 'Take me, I'm yours' and have no fears about it still being there when we came back out again. As I helped him carry his drum kit from the van to rehearsal room, he told me that it was totally deliberate.
'I'm from Glasgow,' he said, 'so there's bugger all London's got to teach me about personal safety.'
We had to do three more trips for the amps and the speakers, and it being school home time, we soon collected an audience of wannabe street urchins. Presumably the street urchins in Glasgow are bigger and tougher than the ones in London, because James paid them no mind. But I could see Daniel and Max were uncomfortable. Nobody does hostile curiosity like a bunch of thirteen-year-olds who are putting off doing their homework. One skinny mixed-race girl cocked her head and asked whether we were in a band.
'What's it look like?' I asked
'What kind of music do you play?' she asked. She had an entourage of little friends who giggled on cue. I'd gone to school with their elder brothers and sisters. They knew me, but I was still fair game.
'Jazz,' I said. 'You wouldn't like it.'
'Yeah,' she said. 'Swing, Latin or fusion?'
The entourage duly laughed and pointed. I gave her the eye, but she ignored me.
'We did jazz last term in music,' she said.
'I bet your mum's looking for you,' I said.
'No,' she said. 'Can we come and watch?'
'No,' I said.
'We'll be quiet,' she said.
'No, you won't.'
'How do you know?'
'I can see into the future,' I said.
'No you can't,' she said.
'Why not?'
''Cause that would be a violation of causticity,' she said.
'I blame _Doctor Who_ ,' said James.
'Causality,' I said.
'Whatever,' she said. 'Can we watch?'
So I let them watch and they lasted two minutes into 'Airegin', which was longer than I'd expected them to.
'That's your dad, innit,' she said helpfully when my dad put in an appearance. 'I didn't know he could play.'
It was weird, watching my dad sit down and play keyboard with a bunch of musicians. I'd never seen him play live, but my memories are full of black and white photographs and in those he always had his trumpet in his hand. Trying to hold it in the same way Miles Davis had, like a weapon, like a rifle at parade rest. He could play the keyboard, though. Even I could tell that. But it still felt like the wrong instrument to me.
It bothered me for the rest of the session, but I couldn't figure out why.
*
After the rehearsal I'd expected us to troop up Leverton Street for a pint at the Pineapple, but my mum invited everyone back to the flat. As we headed up the stairs, the mouthy girl from the rehearsal stopped me in the stairwell. This time without her posse.
'I heard you can do magic,' she said.
'Where did you hear that?'
'I got my sources,' she said. 'Is it true?'
'Yeah,' I said, because sometimes the truth shuts up kids faster than a clip round the ear, and has the added advantage of not being an assault on a minor in the eyes of the law. 'I can do magic. What about it?'
'Real magic,' she said. 'Not like tricks and stuff.'
'Real magic,' I said.
'Teach me,' she said.
'I'll tell you what,' I said. 'You get a GCSE in Latin and I'll teach you magic.'
'Deal,' she said, and stuck out her hand.
I shook. Her palm was small and dry in mine.
'You promise on your mum's life,' she said.
I hesitated, and she squeezed my hand as hard as she could.
'On your mum's life,' she said.
'I don't swear on my mum's life,' I said.
'OK' she said. 'But a deal's a deal – right?'
'Right,' I said. But I was suspicious by that point. 'Who are you?'
'I'm Abigail,' she said. 'I live up the road.'
'You really going to learn Latin?'
'Am now,' she said. 'Laters.' And she went skipping up the road.
I counted my fingers to make sure they were all there, and I didn't need Nightingale to tell me that I'd handled that one wrong. One thing was for certain, Abigail who lived up the road was going on my watch list. In fact, I was going to create a watch list just so I could put Abigail at the top of it.
By the time I got upstairs to the flat, the musicians had gravitated into the bedroom where they were cooing over my dad's record collection. My mum had obviously hit the snack freezer at Iceland pretty hard, and there were plates of mini-sausage rolls, mini-pizzas and bowls of hula hoops on the coffee table. Coke, tea, coffee and orange juice were available on demand. My mum was looking very pleased with herself.
'Do you know Abigail?' I asked.
'Of course,' she said. 'Her father is Adam Kamara.'
I vaguely recognised the name as being one of several dozen relations loosely defined as cousins – a relationship that could range from being the offspring of one of my uncles to the white guy from the Peace Corps who wandered into my grandad's compound in 1977 and never left.
'Did you tell her I could do magic?'
She shrugged. 'She was here with her father, she may have heard things.'
'So you talk about me when I'm not here?'
'You'd be surprised,' she said.
Yes I would, I thought, and helped myself to a handful of hula hoops.
At my mother's command, I stuck my head around the bedroom door to ask The Irregulars whether they wanted any snacks. My dad said they'd be out in a minute, no snacks allowed near the collection, obviously, and continued his discussion with Daniel and Max about the transition from Stan Kenton to the Third Stream. James was sitting on the bed with an LP in his hands, and he was caught in the terrible dilemma of the serious vinyl aficionado – he wanted to borrow it, but he knew that if it was his he'd never let it out of the house. He really was close to tears.
'I know it's unfashionable,' said James, after going on about Don Cherry for a while. 'But I've always had a soft spot for the cornet.' Which was when, had I been a cartoon character, a little light bulb would have gone 'ding' over my head.
I borrowed my dad's iPod and thumbed through his selections, looking for the track I wanted. I took it through to the kitchen and out onto the balcony with its unparalleled vista of the flats opposite. I found it – 'Body and Soul', off _Blitzkrieg Babies and Bands_ – Snakehips Johnson giving the tune such a danceable swing that Coleman Hawkins had to invent an entire new branch of jazz just to get it out of his head. It was also the version I'd heard in the Café de Paris while dancing with Simone.
The _vestigia_ left on the body of Mickey the Bone had sounded like a trombone. At Cyrus Wilkinson's demise it had been an alto sax – the instruments the musicians had played in life. Henry Bellrush had played the cornet, but I hadn't sensed a cornet at the Café de Paris.
I'd sensed Ken 'Snakehips' Johnson and his West Indian Orchestra, who had all died there, at the Café de Paris, more than seventy years ago.
That couldn't be a coincidence.
The next morning I talked myself out of practice and headed for Clerkenwell and the Metropolitan Archive. The Corporation of London, the organisation dedicated to ensuring that the City, the financial bit of London, is untainted by all this newfangled democracy that's been rearing its ugly head in the last two hundred years or so. If an oligarchy was good enough for Dick Whittington, they argue, then it's good enough for the heart of twenty-first-century London. After all, they say, it works in China.
They are also in charge of the archives of the London County Council, which are kept in a workmanlike but still elegant art deco building with white walls and grey carpet. I flashed my warrant card at one of the librarians, and she quickly pulled up a list of documents and showed me how to order.
She also suggested that she check the digital archive, to see if there were any images available. 'Is this a cold case?' she asked.
'A very cold case,' I said.
First up from the store room was LCC/CE/4/7, a cardboard box full of manila folders tied up with dirty white ribbons. I was looking for item No. 39, reports from 8 March 1941. The identification was handwritten in black ink, and I untied the folder to find the report printed in purple type on pale yellow paper, a sure-fire sign, said the librarian, that they'd been duplicated with a mimeograph. It was marked SECRET and dated 9 March 1941. Its title was SITUATION REPORT AS AT 0600 HOURS and it listed, in order of importance, damage to factories, railways, telecommunications, electricity supply, docks, roads, hospitals and public buildings. St Thomas's Babies' Hostel in Lambeth had been hit and, I was relieved to read, no casualties taken. I was oddly relieved, given that it had all happened half a century before I was born. I found what I was looking for halfway down the third page.
2140: HE Café de Paris, Coventry Street
Casualties – 34 killed, approximately 80 seriously injured
While I was waiting for the other files to be brought up, the librarian called me over to the information point to show me some of the pictures she'd found in the digital archive. Most of them came from the _Daily Mail_ , which must have had a photographer on the scene almost as soon as the bombs fell. In monochrome everything looked curiously bloodless. It wasn't until you realised that the light grey tube poking out from under a table was a woman's forearm and that you were looking at a charnel house. There were six more pictures of the interior of the nightclub, and several of casualties arriving at Charing Cross Hospital, pale faces and stunned expressions amongst the blankets and primitive equipment of a wartime hospital.
I almost missed it, but some flicker of recognition made me click back one and check.
The picture was confused, and I couldn't identify where it was taken, possibly the ambulance loading bay. A group of women were being led past the camera, all but one of them hunched over with blankets round their shoulders. One face was staring at the camera, the expression erased by shock into a smooth pale oval. A face that I recognised, and which I'd last seen in the green room at The Mysterioso the night Mickey the Bone had died.
She'd called herself Peggy – I wondered if that was her real name.
#
# Smoke gets in Your Eyes
The Café de Paris had been built twenty feet below ground level, and was considered safe by management and customers alike. Unless you took cover in the Underground system, no civilian shelter in London was built nearly as deep. Later, it was determined that two bombs penetrated the building above the nightclub – one failed to detonate, while the other dropped down an airshaft and exploded right in front of the band, killing the musicians and most of the dancers. Ken Johnson had his head blown clear off his shoulders, and there were reports of customers killed where they sat, remaining upright at their tables. Eyewitnesses remembered that there had been a great many Canadian nurses and servicemen in the club that night, but despite going down to the storage area with the librarian, I couldn't find anything that remotely resembled a casualty list. I found duplicates typed on paper as thin as tissue, concerning an exchange of correspondence dealing with complaints that ambulances hadn't arrived quickly enough to deal with the casualties, and a report on the shocking boldness of the looters who had steamed through the site nicking valuables.
There was nothing more on the mysterious Peggy who, if it were the same person, would have to be pushing a ninety, if not more. A year ago I would have considered that unlikely, but these days I was working with a guy who was born in 1900, and he wasn't even the oldest person I'd met. Oxley had been a mediaeval monk, and his 'father' dated back to the foundation of the City in the first century AD.
_Blackstone's Police Operational Handbook_ recommends the ABC of serious investigation: Assume nothing, Believe nothing and Check everything. But you've got to start somewhere, and I was going to start with Peggy.
The archive has a whitewashed room with lockers, two coffee makers and one of those machines that dispenses chocolate bars and stale snacks. I got a coffee and a Mars Bar and called in a PNC check on Peggy, female, IC1, eighteen to twenty-five. The civilian operator laughed at me down the line, and said she wasn't even going to tell me how big the set of nominals was that had been returned. I asked her to limit the area to Soho and go back as far as 1941. To her credit, she didn't ask me why.
'Not everything from that far back is on the system,' the operator said. She had a Scouse accent, so she managed to make it sound as if this was personally my fault. She hummed something from the late 1990s chart under her breath while she checked. 'I've got a load of nominals that fit those parameters,' she said. 'Mostly prostitution and drug arrests.' But nothing that stood out. I asked her to forward the nominal list to the HOLMES case file I'd been building. She was impressed – most coppers don't even know you can do that.
Peggy had been at The Mysterioso the night Mickey the Bone had died. She'd mentioned Cherry, who was probably Cherie, Mickey's bit of posh that his sister had talked about. In the old days I would have had to schlep back down to Cheam to show a picture to the sister, but all I had to do now was call her on her mobile and text it to her instead. I cropped the 1941 image until it was just the face, and sent that.
'She looks kind of familiar,' said Mickey's sister. In the background I could hear voices and music muffled by a firmly closed door – the wake for her brother was continuing.
'Do you have an address for Cherie?' I asked.
'She lived up in town,' said Mickey's sister. 'I don't know where.'
I asked if she had any pictures of Cherie; she said she thought she might, and promised to text them over if she found any. I thanked her, and asked how she was coping.
'OK I guess,' she said.
I told her to hang in there – what else could I say?
Thanks to the magic of science, I copied the rest of the pictures onto a flash drive which, thanks to the science of magic, I'd tested and found they didn't get messed up every time I did a spell. As far as I could determine, nearby use of magic only degraded chips that had power running through them at the time, but it frustrated me that I didn't even have a theory as to how magic actually worked. A little analytical voice in my head pointed out that any working hypothesis was probably going to involve quantum theory at some point – the part of physics that made my brain trickle out of my ears.
I arranged for the bombing reports and the other documents to be copied, and made sure to thank the librarian properly before heading to where I'd parked the Asbo that morning.
When I got back to the Folly, I found Dr Walid in the atrium talking to Molly.
'Ah, good, Peter,' he said. 'I'm glad you came back. Let's have some tea, shall we?'
Molly shot me a reproachful look and went gliding off towards the kitchen. Dr Walid led me over to a collection of overstuffed red armchairs and mahogany occasional tables that nestled under the overhang of the eastern balcony. I noticed he had his medical bag with him, a modern ballistic plastic case covered in burgundy leather whose one concession to tradition was the stethoscope wound round the handle.
'I'm concerned,' he said, 'that Thomas has been pushing himself too hard.'
'Is he all right?'
'He's picked up an infection and he's running a fever,' said Dr Walid.
'He was okay at breakfast,' I said.
'Man could be dead on his feet before he'd admit to it,' said Dr Walid. 'I don't want him disturbed for the next couple of days. He was shot through the chest, Peter, there's tissue damage there that will never fully heal and it will make him prone to chest infections like the one he's got now. I've put him on a course of antibiotics, which I expect Molly to make sure he completes.'
Molly arrived with the good Wedgwood tea set on a lacquered wooden tray. She poured for Dr Walid with quick dainty movements, and pointedly left without pouring mine. Obviously she blamed me for Nightingale's relapse – perhaps she knew about the beer.
Dr Walid poured my tea and helped himself to a Hobnob.
'I heard Lesley is in town for an operation,' I said.
'She's going to be fine,' said Dr Walid. 'You just need to make sure that when she asks for your help, you're ready to give it. How do you feel about her injuries?'
'It didn't happen to me,' I said. 'It happened to Lesley and Dr Framline, and that poor Hari Krishna sod and the others.'
'Do you feel guilty?'
'No,' I said. 'I didn't do it to them, and I did my best to stop it happening. But I feel guilty that I don't feel guilty, if that helps.'
'Not all my patients start off dead,' said Dr Walid, 'not in my medical practice, anyway. Sometimes, no matter what you do, the outcomes can be less than optimal. It's not whether you feel responsible, it's whether you don't shy away when she needs you.'
'The thought of her face scares me to death,' I said, before I could stop myself.
'Not as much as it scares her,' he said, and patted my arm. 'Not as much as the thought that you might reject her scares her. Make sure you are there when she needs you – that's your responsibility in this – your part of the job, if you like.'
We were way over our daily quota of emo, so I changed the subject.
'Do you know about the nest of vampires in Purley?' I asked.
'That was a nasty business.'
'Nightingale called what I felt there the _tactus disvitae_ , anti-life,' I said. 'He implied that the vampires sucked "life" from their environment.'
'As I understand it,' he said.
'Have you ever had a chance to section the brain of one of their victims?'
'Usually they're in an advanced state of desiccation when we get them,' said Dr Walid. 'But one or two of them have been fresh enough to get some useful results. I think I know where you're going with this.'
'Did the brain sections show signs of hyperthaumic degradation?'
'It's hyperthaumaturgical degradation,' said Dr Walid. 'And yes, they showed terminal levels of HTD, damage to at least ninety per cent of the brain.'
'Is it possible that "life" energy and magic are essentially the same thing?' I asked.
'That wouldn't contradict anything I've observed,' he said.
I told him about the experiments I'd run with pocket calculators, and about how the damage done to their microprocessors had resembled the damage done to the human brain by HTD.
'That would mean magic was affecting biological and non-biological constructions,' said Dr Walid. 'Which means it might be possible to develop some form of non-subjective instrumentality.' Dr Walid was just as frustrated as I was with the Toby the Dog method of magic detection. 'We have to replicate your experiments. This has to be documented.'
'We can do that later,' I said, 'but what I need to know now is about the effect this might have on life extension.'
Dr Walid gave me a sharp look. 'You're talking about Thomas,' he said.
'I'm talking about the vampires,' I said. 'I checked in Wolfe, and he lists at least three cases where it was confirmed that the vampires were at least two hundred years old.'
Dr Walid was too good a scientist to just accept the word of a natural philosopher from the early nineteenth century, but he conceded the evidence indicated that it was a possibility. Really, you'd expect a cryptopathologist to be a bit more credulous. Still, I wasn't going to let a little bit of scepticism get in the way of a perfectly good theory.
'Let's say for the moment that I'm right,' I said. 'Is it possible that all the creatures with extended lives, the _genii locorum_ – Nightingale, Molly, the vampires – isn't it possible that they're all drawing magic from the environment to keep themselves from ageing?'
'Life protects itself,' said Dr Walid. 'As far as we know, vampires are the only creatures that can take life, magic, whatever – directly from people.'
'Exactly,' I said. 'Let's forget about the gods, Molly and the other weirdoes for a moment and concentrate on the vampires. Would it be possible for there to be a vampire-like creature that fed off musicians – that the act of making music made them uniquely vulnerable?'
'You think there are vampires that feed off jazz?' he asked.
'Why not?'
'Jazz vampires?'
'If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck...' I said.
'Why jazz?'
'I don't know,' I said. My dad would've had an answer. He would have said it had to be jazz because that was the only proper music there was. 'I suppose we could line up different kind of musicians, expose them to our vampire and see which ones suffer brain damage.'
'I'm not sure that would meet the BMA's ethical guidelines on human experimentation,' he said, 'not to mention the difficulty of finding volunteers to be guinea pigs.'
'I don't know,' I said, 'musicians? If you offered them money. Free beer, even.'
'So this is your hypothesis for what happened to Cyrus Wilkinson?'
'It's more than that,' I said. 'I think I may have stumbled upon a sort of trigger event.' I explained about Peggy and Snakehips Johnson and the Café de Paris, and it all sounded thinner and thinner even as I was laying it out.
Dr Walid finished his tea as I wound down.
'We need to find this Peggy,' I said.
'That much is certain,' said Dr Walid.
I didn't feel like doing data entry, and I still couldn't get Lesley on the phone. So I cropped a high-resolution image of Peggy in 1941 and printed out a dozen copies on the laser printer. Armed with those, I headed into Soho to see if I could find anyone who remembered her, starting with Alexander Smith. After all, Peggy and Henry Bellrush were one of his top acts.
When he wasn't paying women to take off their clothes in an ironic, postmodern way, Alexander Smith operated out of a small office on the first floor above a former sex shop turned coffee bar on Greek Street. I buzzed the intercom and a voice asked who I was.
'PC Grant to see Alexander Smith,' I said.
'Who did you say you were?' asked the voice.
'PC Grant,' I said.
'What?'
'Police,' I said. 'Open the sodding door.'
The door buzzed and I stepped into another narrow communal Soho staircase with worn nylon carpet and handprints on the walls. A man was waiting for me on the landing at the top of the stairs. He seemed quite ordinary when I was at the bottom, but like one of those weird corridor illusions he got bigger and bigger the further up I got. By the time I reached the top he was ten centimetres taller than me, and appeared to fill the landing from one side to the other. He was wearing a navy-blue High and Mighty suit jacket over a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He also had no visible neck and probably a blackjack concealed up his sleeve. Staring up his hairy nostrils made me quite nostalgic. You don't get old-fashioned muscle like that in London any more. These days it was all whippet-thin white guys with mad eyes and hoodies. This was a villain my dad would have recognised, and I wanted to embrace him and kiss him firmly on both cheeks.
'What the fuck do you want?' he asked.
Or maybe not.
'I just want a word with Alexander,' I said.
'Busy,' said No-Neck.
There are a number of police options at this point. My training at Hendon Police College emphasised polite firmness – 'I'm afraid, sir, that I must ask you to stand aside' – while my street experience suggested that the best option would be to call in a van full of Tactical Support Group and have _them_ deal with the problem, using a taser if necessary. On top of that, generations of Cockney geezers on my dad's side were yelling at me that this was a diabolical liberty and he deserved a good kicking.
'Look, I'm the police,' I said. 'And we could, you know, do the whole thing, but you'd get arrested and blah, blah, blah and stuff, whereas I just want a chat. So what's the point of all... this?'
No-Neck thought about this for a moment, before grunting and shifting enough to let me squeeze past. That's how real men settle their differences, through reasoned discussion and a dispassionate analysis. He farted as I reached the inner door, a sign, I decided, of his respect.
Alexander Smith's office was surprisingly neat. A pair of self-assembly desks, two walls lined with bracket shelves covered with magazines, books, papers, overstuffed box files and DVDs. The windows had dusty cream blinds, one of which had got stuck halfway up some time around the turn of the century and hadn't been touched since. Smith had been working on a Power Book but closed it ostentatiously when I walked in. He was still a dandy in a lemon-yellow blazer and crimson ascot, but outside of the club he seemed smaller and meaner.
'Hello, Alexander,' I said, and threw myself into his visitor's chair. 'How's tricks?'
'Constable Grant,' he said, and I noticed that he'd picked up an involuntary leg tremor. He noticed me noticing and put his hand on his knee to stop it. 'What can I do you for?'
Definitely nervous about something. And even though it probably had nothing to do with my case, a little extra leverage never hurts.
'Have you got something you need to be doing?'
'Just the usual,' he said.
I asked him if his girls were all right, and he visibly relaxed. This was not the source of his nerves.
Bollocks, I thought. Now he knows I don't know.
To prove it, he offered me a cup of instant coffee, which I declined.
'Are you expecting company?' I asked.
'Eh?'
'What's with the gorilla on the door?'
'Oh,' said Smith, 'that's Tony. I inherited him from my brother. I mean, I couldn't get rid of him. He's practically a family retainer.'
'Isn't he expensive to feed?'
'The girls like to have him around,' said Smith. 'Is there anything particular that I can do for you?'
I pulled out one of my 1941 prints and handed it to Smith. 'Is that Peggy?'
'Looks like her,' he said. 'What about it?'
'Have you seen her recently?'
'Not since the gig at the Café de Paris,' he said. 'Which was spectacular. Did I tell you that? Fucking spectacular.'
And weirdly coincidental, but I wasn't going to tell Smith that.
'Do you have a home address?' I asked.
'No,' said Smith. 'This is a bit of a cash-only business. What the Revenue don't see, the Revenue don't worry about.'
'I wouldn't know,' I said. 'I'm PAYE myself.'
'That could change,' said Smith. 'Anything else you're interested in? Only some of us don't get paid by the hour.'
'You go back, don't you?' I asked.
'We all go back,' he said. 'Some of us go back further than others.'
'Was she around then?'
'Who?'
'Peggy,' I said. 'Was she dancing back in the nineties?'
'I generally get nervous when they're still at infant school,' he said.
'How about in the nineteen-eighties?'
'Now I know you're mucking me about,' he said, but he hesitated just a little bit too long.
'Maybe not her, then,' I said. 'Maybe it was her mum – same sort of look.'
'Sorry. I was abroad for most of the seventies and eighties,' he said. 'Although there was one bird used to do one of them fan dances at the Windmill Theatre, but that was 1962 – that would be a bit far back even for Peggy's mum.'
'Why'd you have to leave the country?'
'I didn't have to,' he said. 'But this place was a shithole, so I got out.'
'You came back, though.'
'I missed the jellied eels,' he said. But I didn't believe him.
I wasn't going to get anything else useful, but I made a note to look up Smith on the PNC once I'd got back to the tech cave. I gave No-Neck Tony a friendly pat on the shoulder as I squeezed past.
'You're a living treasure, my son,' I said.
He grunted and I was satisfied, as I went down the stairs, that we'd made a connection.
Anyway, confirmation – either Peggy's grandmother bore an uncanny resemblance to her granddaughter, or Peggy had been around since 1941 feeding on jazz musicians. So far, all my confirmed sightings of Peggy and all the recent deaths had taken place around Soho. So that seemed the place to start. It would also be useful to pin down some 'known associates', particularlyCherry or Cherie – Mickey the Bone's girlfriend. This is the point when somebody working on a proper investigation asks his governor for some bodies to do a door-to-door canvass, but there was only me. So I started at one end of Old Compton Street and worked my way down.
They didn't know her in The Spice of Life or Ed's Diner, or the other food places at the east end of the street. One of the ticket staff at GAY said she looked familiar, but that was it. A woman working in a corner newsagent-cum-mini-supermarket said that she thought she'd seen Peggy come in and buy cigarettes. I didn't get anything at the Admiral Duncan except a couple of offers to take me out to dinner. They knew her in Trashy Lingerie as 'that posh bird who comes in every so often and turns her nose up at our stock'. I was thinking it might be worth heading up to A Glimpse of Stocking, when a madwoman ran out of Patisserie Valerie calling my name.
It was Simone, high heels skidding on the pavement as she swerved to avoid a startled pedestrian. She was wearing a pair of faded stretch jeans and a burgundy cardigan that gaped open to reveal nothing but a crimson lace bra underneath – front catch, I noticed. She was waving and yelling, and I saw there was a smear of cream on her cheek.
Once she saw that I'd spotted her, she stopped shouting and self-consciously pulled the cardigan closed across her chest.
'Hello, Peter,' she said as I walked over. 'Fancy running into you like this.' She touched her face, found the cream, grimaced and tried to rub it off with her sleeve. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled my face down for a kiss.
'You must think me perfectly demented,' she said as we broke.
'Pretty demented,' I said.
She pulled my head down again and asked me in a whisper whether I was free that afternoon. 'You left me alone all yesterday,' she said. 'I think you owe me an afternoon of carnal pursuits at the very least.'
Given it was that, or several hours of door-to-door canvassing, I didn't really have to work that hard. Simone laughed, slipped her arm through mine and led me up the street. I waved a hand at the Patisserie Valerie. 'What about your bill?' I asked.
'You mustn't worry about the patisserie,' she said. 'I have an account.'
It started raining some time after lunch. I woke up in Simone's big bed to find the room filled with grey light and rain drumming against the window. Simone was pressed warmly up against me, her cheek against my shoulder, one arm flung possessively across my chest. After some manoeuvring, I managed to check my watch and found that it was past two o'clock. Simone's arm tightened around me, her eyes opened and she gave me a sly look before kissing the hollow of my neck. I decided that it was too wet for doing door-to-door anyway, and that I would compensate by doing all that boring data entry as soon as I got back to the Folly. My schedule suitably modified, I rolled Simone over on her back and set to seeing how worked up I could get her without using my hands. She sighed as my lips found her nipple, which wasn't the effect I was going for, and gently stroked my head.
'Come up here,' she said, and tugged at my shoulders, pulling me up and between her legs so that I slipped in without even trying and then, when she had me arranged to her satisfaction, she held me there, a look of contentment on her face.
My hips twitched.
'Wait,' she said.
'I can't help it,' I said.
'If you could just restrain yourself a moment,' she said, 'I'll make it worth your while.'
We stayed locked together. I felt a strange vibration in my chest and belly which I realised was Simone humming deep in her diaphragm, or whatever it is singers use. I couldn't quite make out the tune, but it made me think of smoky cafés and women in padded jackets and pillbox hats.
'Nobody makes me feel like you,' she said.
'I thought I was the first,' I said.
'Hypothetically,' she said. 'If there had been others, none of them would have made me feel the way you do.'
I twitched again, but this time she lifted her hips to meet me.
Afterwards we dozed again, sweaty and content and lying in each other's arms. I would have stayed there for ever if I hadn't been driven out of bed by my bladder, and a guilty sense that there were things that I needed to be getting on with – important things.
Simone lay sprawled naked and inviting across the bed and watched me getting dressed under deliberately heavy-lidded eyes.
'Come back to bed,' she said, and let her fingers drift idly around one erect nipple, then the other.
'I'm afraid the mighty army of justice that is the Metropolitan Police never sleeps,' I said.
'I don't want the mighty army of justice to sleep,' she said. 'On the contrary, I expect it to be most diligent in its dealings with me. I'm a bad girl, and I need to be held accountable for my actions.'
'Sorry,' I said.
'At least take me to your father's concert,' she said.
I'd told her about Dad's upcoming gig, but I hadn't told her that Cyrus Wilkinson's old band would be playing with him.
'I want to meet your mum and your dad and your friends,' she said. 'I'll be good.'
I knelt down by the bed and kissed her. She clutched at my arms and I thought, sod it – they're going to find out sooner or later. I told her she could come.
She finished our kiss and threw herself back on the bed.
'That is all I wanted,' she said, and waved her hand in a regal fashion. 'You may go about your duties, Constable, and I shall languish here until we meet again.'
The rain had slackened off to a light drizzle that, if you're a Londoner, barely counts as rain at all. Even so, I splashed out on a black cab to take me back to the Folly, where Molly served up steak and kidney pudding with roast potatoes, peas and carrots.
'She always does this when I'm ill,' said Nightingale. 'It'll be black pudding for breakfast tomorrow. Thickens the blood.'
We were eating dinner in the so-called Private Dining Room, which adjoined the English library on the first floor. Since the main dining room could sit sixty, we never used it in case Molly got it into her head to lay all the tables. Nonetheless me and Nightingale had dressed for dinner – we both have standards, and one of us had been exerting himself that afternoon.
I knew from experience that you didn't dive into one of Molly's steak and kidney puddings until some of the superheated steam had had a chance to dissipate, and the interior had ceased to be hot enough to fire pottery.
Nightingale swallowed a couple of pills with some water and asked about the case.
'Which one?' I asked.
'The jazz musicians first,' he said.
I filled him in on the Café de Paris bombing, and my search for Peggy and possibly Cherie.
'You think there's more than one,' he paused. 'What are you calling them?'
'Jazz vampires,' I said. 'But I don't think they're feeding on the music. I think that's just a side-effect, like the sound a generator makes when it's turned on.'
' _Tactus disvitae_ ,' said Nightingale. 'Another species of vampire – Wolfe would be pleased.'
The pudding was cool enough for me to dig in. An afternoon with Simone had left me starving and, according to Nightingale, Molly made her puddings with ox liver, which he said was the proper old-fashioned recipe.
'Why doesn't Molly go out to buy stuff?' I asked.
'Why do you ask?'
'Because she's different,' I said, 'like the jazz vampire and the Pale Lady. But, unlike them, we've had a chance to learn what makes her tick.'
Nightingale finished a mouthful and wiped his lips on his napkin.
'The Pale Lady?'
'That's what Ash called her,' I said.
'Interesting name,' said Nightingale. 'As to the food, as far as I know she has everything delivered.'
'She shops on the internet?'
'Good God no,' said Nightingale. 'There are still some establishments that do things the old-fashioned way, whose staff are still capable of reading a handwritten note.'
'Could she leave if she wanted to?' I asked.
'She's not a prisoner,' said Nightingale. 'Or a slave, if that's what you're alluding to.'
'So she could just walk out the door tomorrow?'
'If she so desired,' said Nightingale.
'What's stopping her?'
'Fear,' said Nightingale. 'I believe she's frightened of what's out there.'
'What is out there?' I asked.
'I'm not sure,' said Nightingale. 'She won't say.'
'You must have a theory,' I said.
Nightingale shrugged. 'Other creatures like Molly,' he said.
'Creatures?'
'People, if you prefer,' said Nightingale. 'People who, like Molly, are not the same as you or I or even the _genii locorum_. They were changed by magic, or they were born into lineages that have been changed. And as far as I know, this leaves them – incomplete.'
Nightingale, despite literally being a relic of a bygone age, had learned to modify his language around me because when I'd looked into the literature, the most common terms started with 'un-' – unfit, unsuited, undesirable – and behind them came the terms starting with 'sub-'. However, with a bit of running translation, it was clear that 'incomplete' people like Molly were vulnerable to abuse and exploitation by their more powerful supernatural brethren, and by practitioners with no moral scruples. Magicians, according to Nightingale, of the blackest hue.
'Sorry. Ethically challenged practitioners,' said Nightingale. 'My first "governor", Inspector Murville, had handled a notorious case in Limehouse in 1911. It involved a famous stage magician working under the name of Manchu the Magnificent, who had collected some very strange "people" and was using them to carry out his nefarious plans.'
'And his nefarious plans were what, exactly?' I asked.
Nothing less than the overthrow of the British Empire itself. Apparently Inspector Murville, as he set off on his crusade, had it on good authority that Manchu the Magnificent operated an opium den on the Limehouse Causeway. There, the yellow devil sat like a fat spider at the centre of a web of plots, white slavery being merely the start of it.
'What's white slavery when it's at home?' I asked.
Nightingale had to think about it for a bit, but apparently when he was young white slavery mostly referred to the trafficking of white women and children for the purposes of prostitution. The inscrutable Chinese were supposedly behind this dastardly trade in lily-white female flesh. I wondered if part of the outrage came from a guilty conscience. I said as much.
'There were established cases, Peter,' said Nightingale sharply. 'Women and children were bought and sold in beastly circumstances and suffered real hardship. I doubt they found the historical irony much of a comfort.'
Inspector Murville, convinced of the seriousness of the threat, organised a raid with half the available wizards in London and a mob of constables loaned to him by the Commissioner. Cue a great deal of banging down of doors and shouting of 'Hold still, you oriental devil' and then a certain amount of stunned silence.
'The great Manchu the Magnificent,' said Nightingale, 'was revealed to be a Canadian by the name of Henry Speltz, although he was married to a Chinese woman with whom he had five daughters, all of whom had acted as his beautiful assistant "Li Ping" at one time or another.'
Nothing was found at the house except for a strange young European girl who lived in the household and worked as a maid. Under caution, Speltz told Inspector Murville that the girl, whom nobody in the household had thought to name, had been found cowering in one of his disappearing cabinets at the end of a matinée performance at the Hackney Empire.
I mopped up the last of the onion gravy with the last bit of bread in the basket. Nightingale had left half his pudding untouched. 'Are you going to finish that?' I asked.
'Help yourself,' said Nightingale, and I did while he finished the story.
Some things never change, and a senior police officer doesn't organise a costly raid and admit to failure, or violating the Magna Carta, until he's done his best to convict someone of something. Had Speltz actually been Chinese, things might have gone very hard for him. But in the end he was formally charged with disturbing the peace and let go with a police caution.
'The girl was taken into protective custody,' said Nightingale. 'Even old Murville could sense there was something not quite right about her.' He looked quickly towards the doors. 'Have you finished?' he asked.
I said I had, and Nightingale grabbed the now empty plate and put it back in front of himself just in time for Molly to come drifting into the dining room pushing the sweet trolley. As she cleared the plates, she gave Nightingale a distinctly suspicious look. But she couldn't prove anything.
She scowled at us, and we smiled back.
'Very nice,' I said.
Molly laid out a custard tart and, with one last suspicious look aimed at me, silently left the dining room.
'What happened to the girl?' I asked as I served up the tart.
'She was brought here and examined,' said Nightingale. 'And found to be too abnormal to be fostered...'
'Or put into a workhouse,' I said. Under a thick layer of nutmeg, the custard was just as good as that of the Patisserie Valerie. I wondered if I could smuggle some out for Simone. Or, better yet, smuggle her in for dinner.
'It may put your mind at rest to know that we had an agreement with Corum's Foundling Hospital,' said Nightingale. 'She would have been placed there but for the unfortunate fact that once allowed into the Folly, she would not allow herself to be taken out.'
From under the table I could hear Toby looking for the last of the leftovers.
'This is Molly we're talking about,' I said.
'So she slept in the scullery and was raised by the staff,' he said.
I helped myself to another piece of tart.
'Postmartin was right,' said Nightingale. 'I let myself get too comfortable. And while I lived here with Molly, the world continued on without me.'
I was stuffed, but I forced myself over to the coach house to do some data entry. Once there, I was irresistibly drawn to the sofa and Arsenal v Tottenham. It was going badly for Spurs when my phone rang and a strange voice said, 'Hello, Peter.'
I checked the caller ID. 'Is that you, Lesley?'
I heard a rasping, breathy sound. 'No,' said Lesley, 'it's Darth Vader.'
I laughed. I didn't mean to, but I couldn't help myself.
'It's better than Stephen Hawking,' she said. It sounded like she was trying to talk with a plastic bottle in her mouth, and I got the strong impression that it was painful to do.
'You were in London for an operation,' I said. 'You could have told me.'
'They didn't know if it would work,' she said.
'Did it?'
'I'm talking, aren't I?' said Lesley. 'It bloody hurts, though.'
'Want to go back to text?'
'No,' she said. 'Sick of typing. Have you checked your cases on HOLMES yet?'
'Not yet,' I said. 'I've been doing door-to-door.'
'I went through the records you sent over, and Professor Geoffrey Wheatcroft didn't ever formally teach Jason Dunlop, but Dunlop did dedicate his first novel "For Master Geoffrey, from whom I gained my true education". Isn't that what you trainee wizards call your teachers?'
Not this apprentice. But 'Master' doesn't mean the same thing to white boys at Oxford. Given the books in Dunlop's flat, it had to mean, barring a really bizarre set of coincidences, that Geoffrey Wheatcroft had taught Dunlop formal Newtonian magic.
I said as much to Lesley.
'Thought so,' she said. 'Question is, was he the only one? And if he wasn't, how do we find out?'
'We need to check the Murder Team's files and see if known associates or nominals track back to Magdalen College around the time he was there.'
'I love it when you talk dirty,' she said. 'It makes you sound like a real copper.'
'Do you think you can do that?' I asked.
'Why not?' she said. 'It's not as if I have anything better to do. When are you coming up to see me?'
'Soon as I get a chance,' I said, lying.
'I've got to go,' she said. 'I'm not supposed to talk too much.'
'You take care,' I said.
'You too,' she said, and hung up.
How many apprentices could one master teach? You needed a trained wizard to act as what Nightingale called an 'exemplar', to demonstrate the form. But I didn't see why you couldn't do that with more than one person at a time. It would depend on how motivated your students were. At somewhere like Nightingale's old school you'd be dealing with your usual range of talent and enthusiasm. But university students learning magic for fun? Nightingale said it took ten years to be a proper wizard, but I'd managed to do quite a lot of damage within three months of starting training – I didn't think Jason Dunlop, or any fellow students, would be any different.
I fired up the HOLMES terminal and started looking for connections to Oxford University that had lasted beyond his time there. That got me a list of twenty-plus names, mostly former students, whose paths had crossed professionally or, as far as the Murder Team could tell, socially with Jason Dunlop.
In a major inquiry, a person who comes to the attention of the police as part of that inquiry is listed on HOLMES as a _nominal_. Any task that an investigating officer decides needs doing is called an _action_. Actions are prioritised and put on a list, and officers are assigned to carry them out. Actions lead to more nominals and more actions, and the whole investigation quickly becomes a whirling vortex of information from which there seems no escape. HOLMES lets you do word searches and comparison tests, but half the time that just leads to more actions and more nominals and more items of information. Deal with this for any length of time, and you start to get nostalgic for the good old days when you just found a suspect you thought looked a bit tasty and beat a confession out of them with a phone book.
Background checks on the Oxford University names had a low priority, so I started with the PNC to see if any of them at least had criminal records, and to nab likenesses from their driving licences. This was not a quick process, but at least it meant I was still awake and dressed when Stephanopoulos called me at one in the morning.
'Grab your overnight bag,' she said. 'I'll be picking you up in ten minutes.'
I didn't have an overnight bag, so I grabbed my gym bag and hoped that nobody asked me to a formal dinner while I was away. I bunged a spare Airwave in with my back-up laptop just to be on the safe side. To save time, I went out the side door and walked up Bedford Place to Russell Square. It was drizzling, and the moisture put yellow halos around the street lamps.
Stephanopoulos wouldn't have called me out of hours for anything less than another murder, and the overnight bag said it was out of London.
I heard it coming before I saw it, a black Jaguar XJ with twenty-inch wheels and, unmistakably from the sound, a supercharged V8 engine. From the way it pulled up, it was obvious that the driver had been on all the courses I hadn't been on and was authorised to drive insanely fast.
The back passenger door opened and I slipped into the smell of newly liveried leather seats to find Stephanopoulos waiting for me. The car took off as soon as the door closed, and I found myself slipping around on the back seat until I managed to wrestle my seat belt into place.
'Where are we going?' I asked.
'Norwich,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Our friend's been grazing again.'
'Dead?'
'Oh, yes,' said the man in the front passenger seat. 'Quite dead.' Stephanopoulos introduced him as Detective Chief Inspector Zachary Thompson.
'People call me Zack,' he said as he shook my hand.
And I shall call you Chief Inspector, is what I didn't say. Thompson was a tall man with a narrow face and an enormous beak-like nose. He had to be tougher than he sounded to get through life with a nose like that.
'Zack,' said Stephanopoulos, 'is the SIO on this case.'
'I'm her beard,' he said cheerfully.
Now, I'm not part of the Met's famous canteen culture. I do not mourn the good old days when coppers were real coppers, not least because that spares me from what would have been almost continuous racist abuse. But even I get nervous when senior officers tell me to call them by their first name – no good can come of that sort of thing.
'Is there anything unusual about this one?' I asked. 'I mean, more unusual than usual?'
'He's ex-job,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Detective Chief Inspector Jerry Johnson, retired from the Met in 1979.'
'Is there a connection to Jason Dunlop?'
'There's a notation in Dunlop's diary from March,' said DCI Thompson. '"Meet J. J. Norwich."' His credit-card trace shows that he bought a return ticket from Liverpool Street to Norwich on that day. We think Johnson might have been a source for a story Dunlop was working on.'
'If it's the same J. J.,' I said.
'You let us worry about that,' said Stephanopoulos. 'You're there to check for signs of black magic.'
To my amazement, we fell in behind a pair of motorcycle outriders, and by the time we hit the M11 we were doing over 120mph.
#
# The Forcing House
My dad says that being a Londoner has nothing to do with where you're born. He says that there are people who get off a jumbo jet at Heathrow, go through immigration waving any kind of passport, hop on the tube and by the time the train's pulled into Piccadilly Circus they've become a Londoner. He said there were others, some of whom were born within the sound of the Bow Bells, who spend their whole life dreaming of an escape. When they do go, they almost always head for Norfolk, where the skies are big, the land is flat and the demographics are full of creamy white goodness. It is, says my dad, the poor man's alternative to Australia, now that South Africa has gone all multicultural.
Jerry Johnson was one of the latter type of non-Londoner, born in Finchley in 1940 by the grace of God and died in a bungalow on the outskirts of Norwich with his penis bitten off. That last detail explaining why me and the scariest police officer in the Met, her beard and two motorcycle outriders were doing a steady ton plus change up the M11. It was two in the morning as we came off the motorway, so we filtered onto the A-road almost without slowing down. We reached the crime scene in under ninety minutes, which was impressive, only to find the Norfolk Constabulary had already taken the body away, which was not. Stephanopoulos stamped off with DCI Thompson to bite chunks out of the local plod, which left me to sidle up to the crime scene on my own.
'No sign of forced entry,' said DC Trollope.
Contrary to my dad's prejudices, the local plod were neither stupid nor noticeably inbred. If the kissing cousins of Norwich were getting it on, then at least their offspring weren't joining the police. Instead, DC David Trollope was the kind of sober, fit young man that would warm the heart of any back-seat home secretary in the land.
'Do you think he let his assailant in?' I asked.
'It seems that way,' he said. 'What do you think?' Police officers, like African matrons at a wedding, are acutely aware of the subtle and all but invisible gradations in status. We were the same rank and about the same age, but the disadvantage I suffered from being on his patch had to be balanced against the fact that I'd arrived in a Jaguar XJ V8 that had been borrowed from Diplomatic Protection. We settled for a kind of uneasy bonhomie and, like the African matrons, providing nobody had spiked the punch bowl, we'd probably get through the encounter without an embarrassing incident.
'Did he have an alarm system?' I asked.
'Yeah,' said Trollope. 'A good one.'
The bungalow was a hideous red-brick structure built, if I had to guess, in the early 1980s by some hack architect who'd been aiming at art deco and hit Tracy Emin instead. The interior was as characterless as the exterior: World of Leather sofa, generic flat-pack furniture, fitted kitchen. There were three separate bedrooms, which surprised me.
'Did he have a family?' I asked.
Trollope checked his notes. 'Ex-wife, daughter, grandchildren – all living in Melbourne, Australia.'
The two spare bedrooms looked as if they were last furnished in the 1980s and were neat, tidy and unlivedin. Trollope said that Johnson had a Polish woman who 'did' for him twice a week. 'It was her that found the body,' he said.
In the master bedroom, which was still off limits to people not wearing Noddy suits. I stood in the doorway and examined the bed as best as I could. The forensics team had removed the sheets and pillows, but the mattress was still in place with a reddish brown stain a third of the way up from the footboard. Too much blood had soaked in for it to dry out since the body had been removed, so I could still smell it as I walked away to check the other rooms. I'd brought my own gloves with me, but I asked Trollope if he had a spare pair to give him something to feel superior about.
If Johnson had died in his bedroom, then he'd spent most of his life in the living room. LCD wide-screen TV, DVD with the remotes still on the coffee table by a copy of the _Radio Times_. There was an antique fold-down writing desk that Trollope said hadn't been dusted yet, so we left it well alone. A couple of glass-fronted bookcases filled with paperbacks. Penguins, Corgis and Panthers from the 1960s and 1970s – Len Deighton, Ian Fleming and Clive Cussler. It looked like the fiction section of a charity shop. The bookshelves were the type that came in two parts, the bottom section acting as a pedestal for the top and being slightly deeper, and having opaque doors. Carefully, because they hadn't been dusted either, I opened the bottom sections to find them both empty except for a couple of scraps of paper – I left those for forensics as well.
There were a couple of surprisingly good hunting prints on the wall, as well as a framed photograph of his graduating class at Hendon. I couldn't work out which shiny young uniform he was. Beside it was a photo of him being handed a commendation by a senior officer who I later learned was Sir John Waldron, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police from 1968 to 1972, no less. There were family photographs on the mantelpiece, a wedding complete with unfortunate sideburns and flares, a pair of children, a boy and a girl, at various ages, toddler, infant school, on a pale yellow beach by a green ocean somewhere foreign. There were a couple taken outside the bungalow where the kids looked to be nine or ten – nothing after that. I did a quick mental calculation and guessed that the latest picture had been taken in the early 1980s. More than thirty years ago.
'The family in Australia are still alive, aren't they?' I asked. 'They weren't all tragically killed in a car crash, or something like that?'
'I'll have to find out,' said Trollope. 'Why?'
'Thirty years is a long time to go without any new photographs,' I said.
The last couple of pictures were in the second rank, half hidden by the wife and kids. More men in kipper ties, sideburns and embarrassingly wide lapels, photographed in a bar that looked familiar and which I suddenly recognised as the French House in Soho. I also realised I was looking at the young Alexander Smith, the nightclub owner, looking like a dandy even back then in a crushed-velvet smoking jacket and ruffled shirt.
'You didn't happen to get any details about his career, did you?' I asked.
Trollope checked his notebook again, but I knew even before he said it that the bulk of DCSI Johnson's career had been spent in and around Soho.
'He was CID at West End Central, and before that he was in something called the OPS,' he said. I asked the dates, and he said 1967 to 1975.
The OPS was the Obscene Publications Squad, the single most corrupt specialist unit of the most corrupt division of the Metropolitan Police. And Johnson had been a member during the most corrupt decade since London thief takers stopped being paid by the collar.
No wonder Alexander Smith was in the photograph. The OPS had run a protection racket for porno shops and strip clubs. You paid them so much cash a day and they made sure you didn't get raided. Or if you did, they made sure you'd get lots of warning, so you had a comfortable and civilised interval in which to move all the hardcore stuff somewhere else. As an added bonus, you could bung the boys in blue a 'drink' and they'd go round and raid your competitors, and then sell their confiscated stock to you out of the back of the evidence room at Holborn nick. It also explained how Johnson could afford to take early retirement, and probably why he'd had to take it.
Which made me look at the three remote controls casually left on the coffee table.
I squatted down by the TV stand. It was your typical grey laminated chipboard cheap piece of rubbish and quite difficult, because of the tangle of wires at the back, to clean the dust off effectively.
'Give me a hand over here, would you?' I asked Trollope, and explained what I wanted him to do. Carefully, so as not to disrupt any forensic evidence, we both took a side of the DVD player and lifted it up. Underneath there was a clear rectangle of light grey where something had protected the laminated surface from years of dust, something with a smaller footprint than the DVD player. I nodded and we gingerly put the player back down.
'What?' asked Trollope.
'He had a VHS player,' I said, and pointed at the remotes on the coffee table. One for the TV, one for the DVD and...
'Bugger,' said Trollope.
'You need to tell your scene-of-crime guys that somebody's stripped this house of VHS tapes,' I said.
'Why did he still have VHS?' asked Trollope. 'Do you know anyone who still has a VHS?'
'It has to be something he couldn't risk getting digitised,' I said.
'These days?' said Trollope. 'It would have to be something really disgusting or illegal. Child porn, or snuff movies or, I don't know, kitten-strangling.'
'The wife will have to interviewed,' I said. 'Maybe she knows something.'
'Maybe that's why she left,' said Trollope. 'Reckon there's a trip to Australia in it?'
'Not for us,' I said. 'They never send DCs abroad. It's always "experienced officers" who get the free trips.' We shared a moment of gloomy solidarity. 'If you had a bunch of stuff that you were desperate to keep hidden,' I said, 'where would you stash it?'
'Garden shed,' said Trollope.
'Really?'
'That's where my dad kept his grass,' said Trollope.
'Really?'
'Grow your own is a long tradition in these parts.'
'You ever been tempted to bust him for possession?'
'Only at Christmas,' he said.
Ideally we would have trooped out and had a look in the shed ourselves, but you don't do that on a modern crime scene without checking with forensics first, and they said we couldn't go out until they'd checked the lawn for footprints. And they couldn't do that until morning. Fair enough. So we went and reported unto Stephanopoulos, who was mightily pleased with both of us and bestowed her munificence in the form of sandwiches and coffee. Which we had to go and eat out in the road, so as not to get crumbs on the crime scene. It was surprisingly cold, but the Norfolk Constabulary had parked a couple of Transit vans outside so we sheltered in one of them. Even this close to Norwich, the sky was amazingly wide and full of stars. Stephanopoulos noticed me noticing. 'City boy,' she said.
I suggested that Johnson's ex-wife be interviewed in Australia and she agreed, although she felt the Victoria Police were more than capable of handling that without the need to send a British officer over, senior or otherwise. Trollope snorted.
'Something funny, Constable?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'No, ma'am,' he said.
The sandwiches were the kind that get stocked by the twenty-four-hour shops attached to petrol stations, and which managed the trick of being both soggy and stale. I think mine was ham salad, but I barely tasted it. Stephanopoulos put hers down after the first bite.
'We need to know what it was Johnson told Dunlop,' she said.
'I'll bet it had to do with the Obscene Publication Squad,' I said. 'What else would he have to talk about?'
'There's more to people than the job,' said Stephanopoulos.
'Not this man,' I said. 'If he had any special interests they were on the stolen tapes. I think he may have been killed, in part, in order to recover them.'
'I see it,' said Stephanopoulos. 'OPS plus videotapes, plus story to a journalist, some juicy scandal from the 1960s? Maybe somebody wanted to shut him up. If we find out what the story was, we'll find out who has a motive.'
I told her about Alexander Smith's presence in one of the photos on the mantelpiece.
'Who's he when he's at home?' she asked.
'Nightclub impresario,' I said. 'Goes all the way back to the sixties, had an extended vacation on the Costa del Sol in the seventies and eighties.'
'Is he a gangster?' asked Trollope.
'He's dodgy, is what he is,' I said.
'How did he come to your attention?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'During the course of another inquiry,' I said, and glanced at Trollope. I wasn't sure how much Stephanopoulos would want me to say outside of the Met.
'Do you think they're related?' she asked.
'I don't know,' I said. 'But it's definitely a place to start.'
Stephanopoulos nodded and pointed at me. 'You get some kip. I want you nice and fresh tomorrow,' she said, and then looked at Trollope. 'You – your boss has given you to me as my plaything, so I need you to run some errands for me – all right?'
'Yes ma'am,' said Trollope.
'What are we doing tomorrow?' I asked.
'We're going to have a nice long chat with one Alexander Smith,' she said.
I found it surprisingly easy to sleep across the back seat of the Transit, but I woke up to a clear and freezing morning and was really glad when DC Trollope turned up in an unmarked Mondeo to ferry me and Stephanopoulos to the train station. I swapped mobile numbers with Trollope because it never hurts to network, and headed inside in search of coffee. Norwich station was your standard late-Victorian brick, cast-iron and glass shed retrofitted with the bright moulded plastic of various fast-food franchises. I gratefully staggered in the direction of Upper Crust and considered asking if I could stick my head under their coffee spigot, but settled for a couple of double espressos and a chicken tikka masala baguette instead. Stephanopoulos didn't approve.
'The chicken in that is embalmed, dried and pressed very flat, and then sprinkled with extra chemicals,' she said.
'Too hungry to care,' I said.
We caught the express to Liverpool Street and Stephanopoulos got us a warrant-card upgrade to first class which, on a short route like that, meant slightly bigger seats and slightly fewer plebs. This suited Stephanopoulos because she was asleep before the train left the station.
There was no wifi on the train, so I booted up a PDF of _Latin for Dummies_ on my laptop and spent an hour and a half getting to grips with third-declension adjectives. We were twenty minutes out of Liverpool Street and the suburbs were a comforting rainy smear when Trollope called me.
'They let me into the shed,' he said. 'I was right. The door was forced.' The entry method had everyone puzzled because the lock and a small circle of the surrounding wood had been popped right out. 'Nobody can work out how it was done,' he said.
I knew. It was a spell. In fact, it was one I'd seen Nightingale use on the garden gate in Purley when we were dealing with the vampire nest. Either our black magician was getting careless, didn't know that there was anyone capable of hunting him, or just didn't care that we might be alerted to his presence.
According to Trollope, the shed had been the usual mess, gardening tools, flower pots, hose and bits of bicycle.
'I don't think we're ever going to find out if something was nicked or not,' he said. Forensics were dusting for fingerprints all the same. The details of that and the lock, along with the report on the two possible footprints found in the lawn, were being attached to the relevant nominal on HOLMES. I thanked Trollope and promised to let him know if anything exciting happened.
Stephanopoulos woke up with a snort just as we were pulling into the station, and gave me the briefest look of confusion before she got orientated. I filled her in on the lock in the shed and she nodded.
'Should we get your governor in?' she asked.
Dr Walid had been firm. 'Not yet,' I said. 'Let's see if I can't get confirmation from Alexander Smith first, before we get him out of bed.'
'Oh yes, Smith,' said Stephanopoulos as the train came to a stop. 'A villain of the old school. This should be a treat.'
Stephanopoulos decided to use West End Central for the interview. Built in the 1930s on Savile Row, it's a big square office block that's been clad in expensive Portland Stone in the hope that it will disguise its essential dullness. Just across Regent Street from Soho proper, it's the main base of operations for Clubs and Vice, and Stephanopoulos persuaded an old friend of hers who worked there to pick up Alexander Smith for us. The idea was to promote in his head that he was just small fry caught in a great big impersonal grinding machine. We were aiming for a cross between Kafka and Orwell, which just goes to show how dangerous it can be when your police officers are better read than you are. We let him marinate in the interview room for an hour and a bit while me and Stephanopoulos sat in the canteen drinking the bloody awful coffee, and sketching out our strategy for the coming interrogation. Well, actually, Stephanopoulos did the sketching while I sat there and filed it all away under best practice.
Alexander Smith had been abroad in the 1970s and 1980s all right – living near Marbella in southern Spain on the notorious Costa del Crime along with a lot of tough middle-aged men who sounded like Ray Winstone and had all the moral fibre of damp tissue paper. He was a villain of the old school, but a smart one because he never got caught or prosecuted. He'd owned a club but his main income had been from acting as a middleman between bent coppers and the porn barons of Soho. He literally knew where the bodies were buried, and would be expecting us to want to focus on that.
'But he's scared,' said Stephanopoulos. 'He hasn't asked for a brief or even a phone call – he actually _wants_ to be banged up.'
'Why not just ask for protection?'
'Villains like that don't ask for protection,' said Stephanopoulos. 'They don't talk to the police at all unless they're looking to buy you. But he's scared of something, and we need to find out what it is. When we do, we jam in the knife, give it a twist and he'll open up like a winkle.'
'Not an oyster, then?' I asked.
'You follow my lead,' said Stephanopoulos.
'What if we start getting into my area of expertise?' I asked.
Stephanopoulos snorted. 'In the event of us charting that small corner of a foreign field, you get to ask the questions you need to ask,' she said. 'But be sensible and be careful because I don't like to kick people under the table – it's unprofessional.'
We finished off our awful coffee and had a brief discussion about stack size. It's not unknown for police officers going into an interview to pad out their files with a few reams of fake paperwork, the better to convey the notion that we, the police, know everything already, so you might as well just save time and tell us what _you_ know. But Stephanopoulos felt that an old lag like Smith wasn't going to fall for that. And besides, we wanted to convey the idea that we weren't that bothered.
'He wants something from us,' said Stephanopoulos. 'He wants to be talked into giving it up. The more he thinks we don't care, the keener he'll be to talk.'
Smith was back in his blue blazer, but the carefully matching button-down shirt was open at the collar and his face was grey and unshaven. We made a big production of putting the tapes in the machine, introducing ourselves and advising him of his rights.
'You understand that you're not under arrest, and that you may terminate this interview at any point you wish.'
'No, really?' asked Smith.
'You're also entitled to a lawyer or some other representative of your choice.'
'Yeah, yeah,' said Smith. 'Can we just get on with it?'
'So you don't want a brief?' I asked.
'No, I do not want a sodding brief,' said Smith.
'You seem in a hurry. You've got somewhere to go?' asked Stephanopoulos. 'Somebody waiting for you, perhaps?'
'What is it you want?' asked Smith.
'The thing is, we want to clarify your involvement in a number of crimes,' said Stephanopoulos.
'What crimes?' asked Smith. 'I was a respectable businessman back then, I owned a club, that was it.'
'Back when?' I asked.
'The old days,' said Smith. 'Isn't that what you're asking about? Because I was a respectable businessman.'
'But Smithy,' said Stephanopoulos, 'I don't believe in respectable businessmen. I've been a copper for more than five minutes. And the constable here doesn't think you're respectable either, because it happens that he is a card-carrying member of the Workers Revolutionary Party and so regards all forms of property to be a crime against the proletariat.'
That one caught me by surprise, and the best I could manage was, 'Power to the people.'
Smith was staring at us as if we were both mad.
'So,' I said. 'You were involved in a lot of crime back then, Smithy?'
'I wasn't an angel,' he said. 'And I'll put my hand up to having to deal with some less than salubrious elements in my day. That's one of the reasons I moved abroad, to get away from all that.'
'Why did you come back?' I asked.
'I got a yen for dear old Blighty,' he said.
'Really?' I said. 'You told me that England was a shithole.'
'Well, at least it's an English-speaking shit-hole,' said Smith.
'He ran out of money,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Didn't you, Smithy?'
'Do me a favour,' he said. 'I could buy you and all the senior officers in this station and still have enough left over for a flat in Mayfair.'
'Make me an offer,' said Stephanopoulos. 'I could get a new chicken run. And her indoors is always asking for an extension to the conservatory.'
Smith, who wasn't about to say anything that could be misconstrued or digitally edited into an admission of guilt, gave us a suitably ironic smile.
'If it wasn't the money,' I said, 'why'd you come back?'
'I went to Marbella because I'd made my wedge,' he said. 'I'd retired. Got myself a nice villa for me and the wife, and I ain't going to kid you, life was sweet, away from the rain and all the shit. Everything was good until the fucking eighties, when the Russians started turning up. Once their snouts were in the trough, there was shootings and kneecappings and a man wasn't safe in his own home. I thought, if I'm going to put up with this bollocks I might as well do it back in London.'
'Marbella's loss is London's gain,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Isn't that so, Constable?'
'Definitely,' I said. 'You bring much-needed folkloric colour to the historic byways of London.'
We knew from reports that Stephanopoulos had wrangled out of the Serious and Organised Crime Agency that what had really brought Smith back to London was a series of drug deals that had gone bad. His product had been regularly confiscated in Spain and Amsterdam, and when he finally got on the plane to Gatwick all he left behind was debts and his wife, who'd subsequently moved in with a Brazilian dentist. That must have hurt.
'Where you from?' he asked me.
'Where do you think?' I said, because the cardinal unbreakable law of the police interview is never give information away – especially about yourself.
'I don't know,' he said. 'But I don't seem to know shit any more.'
'Do you know Jerry Johnson?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'Who the fuck's that?' he asked, but he'd flinched and he knew we'd seen it.
'Detective Chief Inspector Johnson,' I said, and pushed the photograph from Johnson's house in front of Smith. He looked surprised to see it.
'This is about Greasy Johnson?' asked Smith. 'That prick?'
'So you did know him?' I asked.
'He used to wander around Soho with his hand out,' said Smith. 'Just like the rest of the filth. Just like they do now, in fact. How is old Greasy? I heard he got the boot.'
I had a nice crime-scene photograph of Jerry Johnson lying naked on his bed minus his wedding tackle all ready to slide under Smith's nose, but Stephanopoulos tapped her finger once on the table, which meant _hold back_. I looked closely at Smith, and saw that his leg had picked up the same tremor I'd seen in his office. We wanted him scared, but we didn't want him so scared that he clammed up or tried to do a runner.
'He was murdered yesterday,' said Stephanopoulos. 'At his home in Norfolk.'
Smith's shoulders relaxed. Relief, defeat, despair? I couldn't tell.
'You knew about it in advance,' I said, 'didn't you?'
'Don't know what you're talking about.'
'Yesterday,' I said, 'when I came calling – that's why you had No-Neck on the door, that's why you were sweating.'
'I'd heard some whispers,' said Smith.
'What kind of whispers?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'That somebody I thought was dead might not be,' he said.
'This dead bloke got a name?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'Johnson was in with this strange bloke – like a magician, he was,' said Smith.
'Did card tricks, did he?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'Not that kind of magician,' said Smith. 'This was like real voodoo magic, only it was a white geezer.'
'You said it was like voodoo?' I asked. 'Did the man call on loas to possess him? Did he carry out rituals and sacrifices?'
'I don't know,' said Smith. 'I steered well clear.'
'But you thought he could do real magic?' I asked.
'I don't think,' he said. 'I saw it.'
'Saw what?'
'At least, I think I saw it,' said Smith, and he seemed shrink down into the collar of his shirt. 'You're not going to believe me.'
'I'm not going to believe you,' said Stephanopoulos. 'But Constable Grant here is actually paid to believe in this stuff. He also has to believe in faeries and wizards and hobgoblins.'
'And hobbitses,' I said.
Smith bristled. 'You think this is funny. Larry Piercingham, who they used to call Larry the Lark because he liked to do his rounds early. Remember him?'
'I'm not as old as I look,' said Stephanopoulos as I noted the name.
'I don't know the details, but he got on the wrong side of the magician...'
'Did he have a name?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'Who?'
'This magician, what was his name?'
'I don't know,' said Smith. 'When we talked about him he was just the Magician and mostly, all things being equal, we didn't talk about him at all.'
'So what happened to Larry the Lark?' I asked.
'Larry was in with a hard mob from Somers Town, blaggers and handle men and the like. The sort of people that used to do proper scores back in the old days. These were not people that you disrespected – you understand?' asked Smith.
We did. Somers Town used to be a concentrated block of villainy sandwiched between Euston and St Pancras stations. In the days before Rottweilers, it was the sort of place where people kept a sawn-off shotgun by the front door – in case of unwelcome guests or social workers.
Larry who, when he wasn't robbing security vans, worked as casual muscle for various porn-brokers, pimps and whatever, just went missing one day. His missus wandered around for a bit asking everyone whether they'd seen him, but nobody had.
'Not that anyone was actually looking for him,' said Smith.
A month later, there's a big sit-down celebration at the Acropolis on Frith Street. All the Somers Town gang are there, plus selected guests from the cream of the Soho underworld.
'What was it in aid of?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'I don't fucking remember,' said Smith. 'I don't think anyone there remembers what it was in aid of originally.'
It was a Greek Cypriot place, lots of grilled meat and fish and olives.
'Proper Greek nosh,' said Smith. 'None of that Kurdish stuff.'
'If this was proper villains,' said Stephanopoulos, 'why were you there?'
'I had an interest in some of their enterprises,' said Smith. 'But mainly I was there because they invited me, and when people like that invited you somewhere, you went.'
Smith didn't notice anything unusual until about two hours in, when most of the food was gone, and a pair of waiters came in with a large covered salver, cleared a space and plonked it down in the middle of the table.
'What's this, then?' asked Michael 'the Mick' McCullough who was, if not the undisputed governor of the mob, currently the least dead or banged-up. 'It's not my birthday.'
Somebody suggested that it might be the stripper.
'Bit of a midget stripper,' said McCullough, and reached out and pulled the lid off. Underneath was the head of Larry the Lark, as fresh-looking as the day it was cut off. Garnished with holly and mistletoe, no less. I made a note of that in case it was important.
The Somers Town mob were, by definition, hard men, and not averse to spilling a bit of claret themselves. They knew how to put the frighteners on people, and they weren't about to let themselves get discombobulated by something as routine as a head on a plate.
'That,' said McCullough, 'has got to be the ugliest stripper I've ever seen.'
That got a laugh from the mob, right up to the point where the head spoke.
'Help me,' it said.
The voice, according to Alexander Smith, sounded a bit like Larry the Lark's, but had a whistling quality as if his breath was being forced through a pipe. Well, this did put the frighteners on the Somers Town mob, who knocked over their chairs getting away from the table except for Michael McCullough, who wasn't a superstitious man.
'It's a trick, you stupid pillocks,' he'd shouted and, reaching out, flipped the salver over.
'I think he expected to find a hole in the table,' said Smith. 'To be honest, so did I, with Larry the Lark crouched down there having us on – having a laugh. Only there was no hole, no Larry. At least, no Larry's body.'
The head went bouncing across the table and onto the floor with all the hard men, all the blaggers and enforcers squealing like little girls and scrambling to get out of the way. Not McCullough, though, because one thing you could say about McCullough was that he was without fear. He stalks round the table and picks up the head by its hair and waves it at the rest of the guests.
'It's a fucking trick,' he shouted. 'I don't believe it – what a bunch of pansies.'
'Mickey,' said the head of Larry the Lark. 'For Christ's sake, help me.'
'What did McCullough say?' asked Stephanopoulos.
Smith's heel rat-tatted on the tiled floor of the interview room
'I don't know,' he said. 'Because like everyone else, I got the fuck out of there. After that, nobody talked about that night, nobody talked about Larry the Lark, and the restaurant closed. I kept my head down, made my money and left the country.'
'What did the Magician want from Detective Chief Inspector Johnson?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'The usual,' said Smith. 'He wanted to be protected from any undue interference by the forces of law and order.'
I asked what it was that needed protecting.
'A club,' he said. 'On Brewer Street.'
'There's no club on Brewer Street,' I said.
'It was very exclusive,' said Smith.
'What did Johnson get from the Magician?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'Greasy Johnson had needs,' said Smith. 'He was a very needy boy, he had special needs.'
'Like what?' asked Stephanopoulos. 'Drugs, gambling, booze, girls – what?'
'Sex,' said Smith.
'What kind of sex?' I asked. 'Boys, girls, short socks, sheep?'
'The last one,' said Smith.
'Sheep,' said Stephanopoulos. 'You're bloody kidding me.'
'I don't know if it was sheep exactly,' said Smith. 'But definitely animal-related. Do you know what a cat girl is?'
'From manga,' I said. 'Girls with cat ears and tails. They're called Neko-chan, I think.'
'Thank God for the Japanese, eh?' said Smith. 'Otherwise we wouldn't have names for all this stuff. That's what Greasy Johnson liked. Cat girls.'
'You mean, girls dressed up as cats,' said Stephanopoulos.
'Look,' said Smith, 'I didn't know about these things, and I made a point of not ever finding out about them but dressed up as cats? That's not what I heard. Freaks of nature, that's what I heard.'
'Was he still around?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'Who?' asked Smith.
'The Magician,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Was he still here when you got homesick and came home?'
'No, he wasn't,' said Smith. 'I made a special point of asking around – if he'd been here I'd have gone to Manchester instead.'
'Manchester,' I said. 'Really?'
'Blackpool, if Manchester wasn't far enough.'
'But he was gone?' I asked.
'Not a sniff,' he said.
Stephanopoulos took her cue. 'So who killed Jerry Johnson, then?'
'I don't know,' he said. The leg tremor was back with a vengeance.
'Was it the Magician?' she asked.
'I don't know.'
'Was it the fucking Magician?'
Smith's head twitched from side to side. 'You don't know what you're asking,' he said.
'We can protect you,' she said.
'What do you think you know about it, eh?' asked Smith. 'You don't know nothing.'
'Show him, Constable,' said Stephanopoulos.
I opened my hand and conjured up a werelight. I put a lot of red into it and some blur and flicker to make it look impressive.
Smith stared at it with a gratifying expression of stupefied surprise.
'We know what we're talking about,' I said. I'd been practising this variation as a low-energy demonstration piece in the hope that it would be less likely to blow out any local electronics. Even so, I gave the tape recorder a worried glance and shut it down quickly just to be on the safe side.
Smith stared at me. 'What's this?' he asked. 'We've got magic coppers now? Since when?'
'Since Bow Street,' I said.
'Yeah,' said Smith. 'Where was you lot when Larry the Lark got himself topped?'
That was a good question, and one I planned to ask Nightingale when I had a moment.
'That was the seventies,' I said. 'This is now.'
'Or you could always go back to Marbella,' added Stephanopoulos helpfully.
'Or Manchester,' I said.
'Or Blackpool,' said Stephanopoulos.
'Burlesque amongst the illuminations,' I said.
'There's another bloke,' said Smith suddenly. 'Another fucking magician, I don't know where he came from. One minute he wasn't there, and the next minute he was.'
'When did he appear?' I asked.
'In the summer,' said Smith. 'A couple of weeks after that fire at Covent Garden.'
'Did you see him?' I asked.
Smith shook his head. 'I never saw nothing,' he said. 'And nobody said nothing, neither.'
'Then how did you know he was there?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'You modern coppers think you've got it all sussed,' said Smith. 'This is Soho, this is my manor, this is my patch. I'm like a tiger. I know when something's changed in my patch. Fuck, I can tell when someone's opened a new Chinese takeaway, so yeah, so when something that evil creeps back in – I felt it.' He gave us a pitying look. 'An old-style copper would have felt it too, even a tosser like Johnson would have known something was up.'
'And gone round looking for a bung,' said Stephanopoulos.
Smith shrugged his shoulders. 'What else are they for?' he asked.
'So why didn't you scarper?' I asked.
'I don't dabble in anything I'm not supposed to these days, and I cater to a whole different set of punters now – I'm kosher,' he said. 'So why worry? Besides, everything I've got is invested in my business.'
'So what changed?' I asked.
'I reckon it was you,' he said. 'That first time, you were barely out the door when he comes waltzing in and sits down in the same chair.'
'Who did?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'That's just it,' said Smith. 'I don't know. I can remember his voice, what he said, but I can't remember his face.'
'How can you not remember his face?'
'You ever forget where you put your bleeding keys?' asked Smith. 'It's just like that, I know he was there, I know he sat in front me but, fuck me, I cannot remember what he looked like.'
'How do you know he was this new magician then?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'Are you deaf?' asked Smith. 'Do you think I'm demented, that I've got mad cow's disease? I don't remember the man's face – does that sound like a natural phenomenon to you?'
Stephanopoulos glanced at me but I could only shrug– magically speaking, this was getting way above my pay grade. I was also getting a cold feeling in my stomach about the way my two cases were beginning to merge.
'What did Mr Forgettable want?' I asked.
'He was asking after the same bird you were,' he said.
'Peggy?' I said.
He nodded. 'What did I know about her, what did I know about you, and hadn't I been one of the people at Larry the Lark's debut? That's what he called it – his debut.'
Stephanopoulos tensed. She wanted to know who Peggy was, but the second cardinal rule of an interview is that the police must maintain a united front at all times. You certainly don't ask each other questions in front of a suspect. Technically that's actually a breach of rule one; never give away information, but we're the police so we like to keep things simple.
'You're sure this was not the same man as the old Magician?' asked Stephanopoulos.
'What can I say?' said Smith. 'He was young and he was posh – that's all I know.'
'Where was the old Magician's club?' I asked.
'You really don't want to know,' said Smith.
'Yeah, Smithy,' I said. 'As it happens, I absolutely do want to know.'
Unless the wheels have come off big time, you don't just stroll round to a location and kick in the door. Apart from anything else, it's not that easy to kick in a door, and the last time I tried to do it I broke a toe. Commercial premises are usually harder to get into than private homes, so we first made sure that a specialist entry team was available and then booked them for later that afternoon. That left us enough time to apply for a search warrant under Section Eight of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, using carefully selected highlights from Alexander Smith's interview. I say 'us', but one of the advantages of working with a full Murder Team is that Stephanopoulos had lots of minions to do the paperwork for her. Meanwhile, me and her retired to the Burlington Arms for a stiff drink – we reckoned we'd earned it.
In the indifferent old days, a proper coppers' bar would have had a lino-covered floor, nicotine-stained wood panelling and brass furnishings that were antique only by virtue of the fact that nobody could be bothered to replace them. But times had changed, because now you could get a passable Cumberland sausage in onion gravy with chunky chips upstairs in the dining room, very nice with a Scrumpy Jack cider and just the thing after a hard morning's interrogation. Stephanopoulos had the leek soup with a side order of rocket and a single malt. I noticed a karaoke machine in the corner, and asked whether it got a lot of use.
'You should be here for competition nights,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Clubs and Vice versus Arts and Antiques gets very heated – they had to ban "I Will Survive" after there was a fight. Tell me about your investigation.'
So I told her about the dead jazzmen, and my efforts to track the person or persons unknown who seemed to be feeding off them.
'Jazz vampires,' said Stephanopoulos.
'I wish I hadn't started calling them that,' I said.
'What do you think the magician wants with them?' she asked.
'I don't know,' I said. 'To study enslavement, we need to know more.'
That was the cue for a minion, in the form of a rather sour-faced DC, to enter with the search warrant and present it to his boss. Stephanopoulos was careful to wait for him to leave before asking me how I thought we should handle the raid.
Unless you're going to knock and ask nicely, there are basically two ways to execute the search warrant. The first is the traditional rush, smash in the door and run in screaming 'police' and 'clear', giving a swift kicking to anyone who doesn't lie down on their face as soon as you tell them. The second likewise has no formal name, but involves sidling up to the front door in plain clothes, knocking it in and diving in like a posse of really persistent door-to-door salesmen. I suggested the latter, considering that we didn't know what we were blundering into.
'Keep some people on standby,' I said. 'Just in case.'
'Easy for you to say,' she said. 'It's not your overtime budget.' She finished her scotch. 'Who goes in first?'
'I do,' I said.
'Not going to happen.'
In the end, we compromised and both went first.
In the 1950s and 1960s property in Soho was cheap. After all, who wanted to live in the middle of smoky old London? The middle classes were all heading for the leafy suburbs, and the working class were being packed off to brand-new towns built in the wilds of Essex and Hertfordshire. They were called New Towns only because the term 'bantustan' hadn't been invented yet. The Regency terraces that made up the bulk of the surviving housing stock were subdivided into flats and shop fronts; basements were expanded to form clubs and bars. As property prices started rising, developers snatched up bombsites and derelict buildings and erected the shapeless concrete lumps that have made the 1970s the shining beacon of architectural splendour that it is. Unfortunately for the proponents of futurism, Soho was not to be overwhelmed so easily. A tangle of ownership, good old-fashioned stubbornness and outright corruption held development at bay until the strange urge to turn the historic centre of British cities into gigantic outdoor toilets had ebbed. Still, developers are a wily bunch and one scam, if you can afford it, is to leave the property vacant until it falls derelict and thus has to be demolished.
That's what our target looked like. Sandwiched between a Food City mini-market and a sex shop on Brewer Street, it was down and neglected compared to its neighbours. Dirty windows, blackened walls and peeling paint on the door frame. As part of the process of getting a search warrant, one of Stephanopoulos's minions had done a property search that uncovered a typical company shell game with regards to ownership – we couldn't wait for them to unpick it, so we got a warrant for the whole building.
We sat in an unmarked silver Astra and watched the place for an hour before going in, just to be on the safe side. Nobody went in or out, so after checking that all the teams were in position, Stephanopoulos gave the 'go' order.
We all piled out of the cars and did the hundred-metre sidle to the side door, where one of the entry team whipped out twenty kilograms of CQB ram and smacked it open with one practised swing. His mate went in first, holding a rectangular plastic shield ahead of him while a third entry-team guy stepped up behind him with a shotgun at the ready. The shotgun was in case the owner of the property had a dog, but we don't like to talk about that because it upsets people.
Me and Stephanopoulos went in behind them, which counts as going in first if you're not on the entry team, in case you were wondering, wearing our stab vests under our jackets and extendable batons on our belts. Beyond the door was a windowless hallway with a closed internal door on the left and a double stairway going down on the right. When I tried the light switch, we were rewarded with a dim light from an unshaded forty-watt bulb. Ancient flock wallpaper in gold and red covered the walls, peeling where it met the ceiling.
Stephanopoulos tapped one of the entry specialists on the shoulder and pointed at the door. The CQB swung again and the shield and shotgun team went up the stairs, followed by a mixed half-dozen from the Murder Team and the local Tactical Support Group. Their job would be to clear the top floors of the building while me and Stephanopoulos went downstairs.
I shone my torch down the shadowed depths of the staircase. They were carpeted with the kind of hard-wearing, short-haired nylon carpet that you find in cinemas and primary schools. It was red and gold, to match the flock wallpaper. I got a strong sense of foreboding, which could have been _vestigia_ or just a sensible reluctance to go down the creepy dark staircase.
We could hear the team working their way up through the building like a herd of baby elephants in a builders' merchant's. Stephanopoulos looked at me, I nodded and we started down the stairs. We'd borrowed a pair of heavy-duty torches from the TSG and their light illuminated a ticket office on the first landing. Beside it was an alcove with a counter, and behind that was a yawning darkness that I hoped was just the cloakroom.
I went down cautiously, hugging the wall so I could get the earliest view around the corner – I seriously didn't want anything springing out. The stairs doubled back, descending into more darkness and a door in the far side of the landing marked STAFF ONLY. I smelled mildew and rotting carpet, which was reassuring. I leaned over the cloakroom counter and shone my torch around the interior to reveal a shallow L-shaped room lined with rails and empty clothes hangers. I climbed over and checked inside. There were no coats or long-forgotten bags, but there were bits of paper on the floor – I picked one up. It was a ticket stub. I walked around to the staff door and opened it to find Stephanopoulos staring warily down the stairs.
'Anything?' she asked. I shook my head.
She clicked her fingers and a couple of Murder Team detectives came padding down the stairs with gloves and evidence bags. Stephanopoulos pointed at the staff door and they dutifully trooped past me to do a more thorough search of the cloakroom. One of them was a young Somali woman in a leather biker jacket and an expensive black silk hijab. She caught me looking and smiled.
'Muslim ninja,' she whispered.
Normally the police like to make a lot of noise going into a building because, unless you're dealing with a psycho, it's better to give any potential arrests a chance to carefully think through their options before they do something stupid. We were being quiet in this case – not something that came naturally – so that I could feel for any _vestigia_ as we went down the stairs. I'd tried explaining _vestigia_ to Stephanopoulos, but I don't think she really got it, although she seemed keen enough to let me go first.
I saw the base of the cabinet first, mahogany and brass caught in the beam of my torch, more coming into view as I descended the steps. There was a double reflection from the front and back of a glass case, and I realised I was looking at a fortune-telling machine parked incongruously in the centre of the entrance to the club proper. I flashed my torch around the room behind and caught glimpses of a bar, chairs stacked on tables the dark rectangles of doorways further in.
The _vestigia_ gave it away: a vivid flash of sunlight and cigarette smoke, petrol and expensive cologne, new leather seats and the Rolling Stones singing 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction'. I took a couple of quick steps back and shone my torch at the cabinet.
The manikin in the fortune-telling machine wasn't the usual head-and-shoulders model. Instead, the head rested directly on a pole of clear glass reinforced with bands of brass. Protruding from the truncated neck were two leathery bladders looking unpleasantly like lungs. The head itself was wearing the obligatory pantomime turban, but lacked the standard-issue spade-shaped beard and pencil moustache. The skin was waxy and the whole thing looked disturbingly real – because of course it was.
'Larry the Lark, I presume,' I said.
Stephanopoulos joined me. 'Oh, my God,' she said. She pulled a mug shot out of her pocket, an artefact, I assumed, from Larry the Lark's criminal career, and held it up for comparison.
'He looked better when he was alive,' I said.
I felt it just before it happened. It was weirdly like the sensation I got when Nightingale was demonstrating a _forma_ or a spell. The same catching at the corner of my mind. But this was different. It whirred and clanked as if made of clockwork.
And the real clockwork started as, with a dusty wheezing sound the bladders below Larry's neck inflated and his mouth opened to reveal disconcertingly white teeth. I saw the muscles in his throat ripple, and then he spoke.
'Welcome one and all,' he said, 'to the garden of unearthly delights. Where the weary pilgrim may cast off the cloak of puritanical reserve, unlace the corset of bourgeois morality and gorge himself on all that life may offer.'
The mouth remained open, as hidden machinery clanked and whirred to fill the bladders with air once more.
'Please, for Christ's sake kill me,' said Larry. 'Please, kill me.'
#
# Funland
Stephanopoulos put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me back to the base of the stairs.
'Call your boss,' she said.
Larry's bladders had inflated for a third time, but whether it was to plead for death or to remind us that delicious snacks were available at the concession stand, we never found out – as soon as we were more than a metre away his mouth closed and the bladders deflated with an unpleasant whistling sound.
'Peter,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Call your boss.'
I tried my Airwave – amazingly, it got a signal – and called the Folly. Nightingale picked up, and I described what I was looking at.
'I'm on my way,' he said. 'Don't go any further in – don't let anything out.'
I told him I understood, and he hung up.
'You all right down there, guv?' called a voice from upstairs. It was the constable with the headscarf – Somali Ninja Girl.
'I'm going to sort things out upstairs,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Will you be okay down here?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I'll be as happy as Larry.'
'Good man,' she said. She patted me on the shoulder and up she went.
'Try and get some lights down here,' I called after her.
'As soon as I can,' she called back.
I kept my torch on and angled slightly downward, to give me a reassuring wash of light as far as Larry's cabinet. Larry's face, thank God, was reduced to shadow. There was a glint of light from the darkness beyond. I shone my torch and caught a line of bottles along the back of the bar. I thought I heard breathing, but when I turned the torch back on Larry both he and his bladders were still.
Nightingale had said not to let anything out. I really wished he hadn't said that, or at least, that he had said what it was he thought might be in there.
I wondered how long magic could preserve dead flesh. Or had Larry's head been pickled and stuffed like a hunting trophy? Was there a brain inside? And if there was, how was it being supplied with nutrients? Dr Walid had once taken cell swabs and blood samples from Nightingale, but they had grown in culture exactly as you'd expect cells from a forty-year-old man to grow. When I asked whether he'd got cultures from any of the river gods, he laughed and told me that I was welcome to try and obtain some whenever I wanted. Neither of us even considered getting Molly to donate. Dr Walid's theory was that, however it worked, it worked at the level of the whole body. So once cells became physically detached from the body, they no longer retained whatever quality it was that was keeping them young.
'Or reducing replication errors,' Dr Walid had said. 'Or reversing entropy, for all I know. It's frustrating.'
Ash had been nearly dead when he'd gone into the Thames, and now I was reliably informed he was strolling around Chelsea and cutting a swathe through the green-welly brigade. Something had repaired the gross tissue damage in his chest, and if that was possible for him, then why not Lesley's face? Maybe she had been right – what magic had done, magic could undo.
I heard a noise from the darkness behind Larry's cabinet – a scrabbling sound that seemed too regular to be rats. I shone my torch in that direction, but all I caught was a tangle of shadows amongst the table legs. Larry's eyes glistened at me – they didn't look like glass.
I heard the scrabbling again.
I tried my Airwave, and asked Stephanopoulos whether she had an ETA on Nightingale or even the portable lights. As it's a digital system, you don't get the weird atmospherics of an analogue walkie-talkie. Instead, the person you're talking to drops out at random intervals. I think Stephanopoulos told me that 'something' was going to be ten minutes, and I was to stay where I was.
More scrabbling.
I took the batteries out of the Airwave, turned off my phone and conjured a nice bright werelight which I floated off into the foyer beyond Larry's cabinet. Once you've mastered the _Impello_ form, you learn to guide whatever it is you're moving about, but it's tricky. A bit like operating a remote-controlled plane with your toes. As the werelight curved around the cabinet, I noticed that Larry's eyes actually moved to follow the light. I tried to bring it around in a circle to check, but all I managed was to slow it down and make it wobble. I actually had to close my eyes and concentrate to get the thing to stay. But when I opened them, I had my first good look at the foyer.
More of the ubiquitous red and gold flock wallpaper, and heavy red velvet curtains framing archways further into the club. Dully gleaming stained-pine doors with brass plates marked GENTLEMEN and LADIES on the right. The bar had a mirrored back wall, which meant that I could see in the reflection that there was nothing lurking beneath the bar.
My dad had played in clubs that looked like this. I'd been clubbing in clubs like this – which made me realise how suspiciously unrotten the curtains were – despite the smell of mildew. Then I saw, hanging from a light fitting, the familiar folded-up neon shape of a compact fluorescent low-energy light bulb – definitely not commercially available in the 1970s. Somebody had been down here recently, and often enough to think it worth shelling out for some new bulbs.
This time, when the scrabbling came I saw movement at the far end of the foyer, where the curtains half hid the archway to the rest of the club. There was a strange kicking motion in the curtains. I managed to bob my werelight in the right general direction and saw two human legs, probably female, protruding from below them. They were dressed in stockings – the same rich red colour as the wallpaper. And one of the feet was still shod in a matching scarlet pointy-toe stiletto. As my light wobbled closer the legs began to kick, a spastic mechanical movement that reminded me horribly of early biological experiments with frogs. There were no human sounds apart from the heels drumming against the carpet. The curtains hid anything above the thighs – assuming there was anything above the thighs.
It was possible a human being was in distress, and I had a duty to check it out – if only I could make my feet take a step forward. The legs began to kick more violently, and I noticed that my werelight was beginning to dim and take on a redder hue. I was well practised at werelights by this point, and they never normally changed colour without me changing the _forma_. I'd seen this before when I'd 'fed' the ghost of Captain de Veil, and my best guess was that as the magic was drained off, the short-wavelength, higher-energy light dropped away first. Although saying it like that really doesn't convey how sodding sinister the effect was in real life.
The legs kicked faster, the remaining shoe coming loose and spinning off into the shadows. The light grew dimmer, and still I couldn't make myself go forward.
'Shut it down, Peter,' said Nightingale from behind me. I popped the werelight and immediately the legs stopped kicking. He'd arrived with a bunch of serious-looking forensics people in Noddy suits carrying their evidence collection kits in camera cases. At the back, a couple of Murder Team guys, including Somali Ninja Girl, were wrestling some portable floodlights down the last flight of stairs. Nightingale himself was in a Noddy suit, which despite being the most modern item of clothing I'd ever seen him wear still made him look like the lead from a 1950s black and white sci-fi classic. He had one of his silver-topped canes in his right hand and a coil of nylon rope slung over his shoulder.
'Do not feed the animals,' he said.
'You think there might be something alive in there?' I asked.
'That's something we're going to have discover for ourselves,' he said.
As the forensics people helped set up the lights, Nightingale stepped into a climber's harness, attached one end of the rope and handed the coil to me. He beckoned me closer and spoke quietly so the others wouldn't hear.
'There's a possibility there may be booby traps,' he said. 'If the rope goes slack, then you use it to haul me out. But under no circumstances are you to follow me in. Anything that is too much for me to handle will utterly destroy you – is that clear?'
'Crystal,' I said.
'There's also a small chance that something other than myself might try to escape out through here,' he said. 'It may look somewhat like me, it may even be wearing my body but I'm counting on you to know the difference. Understand?'
'And if that happens?'
'I'm trusting you to hold it back long enough for the others—' he nodded his head at the forensics team and other officers '—to escape. Hit it with everything you've got, but your best hope will probably be to try and bring the ceiling down on top of it.'
'Down on you, you mean.'
'It won't be me,' said Nightingale, 'so you needn't worry about hurting my feelings.'
'That's reassuring,' I said. 'Assuming I survive my heroic rearguard action, what then?'
Nightingale gave me a delighted grin. 'Remember the vampire nest in Purley?'
Where we'd bunged a couple of white phosphorus grenades into the basement where the vampires had been living, or undeading, or whatever it was they did. 'How could I forget?'
'A similar procedure to that,' said Nightingale. 'Only on a larger scale.'
'And after that?'
'That really won't be my problem,' he said cheerfully. 'Though you should go and see Postmartin as soon as you can.'
'Are you sure you're up to this?' I asked. 'If you have a relapse, Dr Walid will kill me.'
Just then, the portable floods kicked in and filled the foyer with a harsh white light. Larry the Lark's face was bleached as white as bone and the red stockings on the woman's legs became the colour of blood. Nightingale took a deep breath.
I turned to the people waiting by the floods. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I strongly advise that you shut down any laptops, iPads, iPhones, Airwave handsets – in fact anything you have that has a microprocessor in. Shut it down and take the battery out.'
The forensics techs looked at me blankly. One of them asked why. It was a good question, and I really didn't have time to answer it. 'We think there may be an experimental EMP device rigged further in,' I said. 'So just to be on the safe side...'
They weren't really convinced, but there were probably enough weird rumours about Nightingale to make them all comply.
'What's an EMP?' asked Nightingale.
'It's complicated, sir,' I said.
'Tell me later then,' he said. 'Everybody ready?'
Everybody was. Or at least, they said they were.
'Remember,' said Nightingale, 'you'll hardly be in a position to haul me to safety if you allow yourself to be caught by whatever caught me.' He turned, hefted his cane in his right hand and stepped forward. I paid out the rope as he gave the Cabinet of Larry a wide berth and headed for the curtained archway.
Somali Ninja Girl sidled over. 'What's going on?' she asked.
'Want to help?' I asked.
'Yeah,' she said.
'You can take notes,' I said.
She pulled a face.
'I'm serious,' I said.
'Oh,' she said, and pulled out her notebook and pen.
Through a gap in the curtains I saw Nightingale stop and kneel down by the women's legs. 'I've got a female cadaver here,' he called back, and Somali Ninja Girl started writing. 'Naked, mid-twenties, Caucasian, no visible injuries or rigor. What looks like a silver pin has been pushed into her right temple, the skin seems to have healed around the wound so I'm guessing this is either a decorative piercing or possibly a thaumatological device.'
Somali Ninja Girl paused in her writing and looked at me.
'Put magical,' I whispered. 'Magical device.'
Nightingale stood up and moved forward. Judging from the rope passing through my hands he went another three metres before stopping.
'This area has been extensively modified quite recently,' said Nightingale, his voice surprisingly clear. 'Metal cages have been fitted into what I can only assume were seating alcoves. Four on the left-hand side and four on my right. First cage on the left is empty, second contains the cadaver of... a monkey of some description, or ape, or possibly an adult male. The third cage contains what looks like the remains of a big cat, black fur, a panther or leopard at a guess. The last cage on the left is empty. I'm going to look at the right-hand cages now.'
I shifted position to the left, so as to keep the rope in a straight line while Nightingale moved to the right.
'First cage on the right contains the cadaver of a Caucasian female with some degree of hybridisation or surgical modification. The body is clothed in a tiger-striped leotard that has been altered to allow room for a tail – I can't tell whether it's prosthetic or natural.'
Cat girls, I thought queasily. Real cat girls.
'Cages two and three are empty,' said Nightingale. 'Thank God.'
He moved again, and another couple of metres of rope played out through my hands.
'I've found a booby trap.' This time Nightingale had to raise his voice for it to reach us. 'It looks like an improvised demon trap.'
I glanced at Somali Ninja Girl, who paused before writing the words 'demon trap'.
'It's of a German type,' shouted Nightingale. 'But judging from the components, it was manufactured quite recently. I'm going to attempt to disarm it, so Peter, I'd like you to stand by just in case.'
I shouted that I was ready.
The _vestigia_ that came before the blast was exactly like the sensation you get when cresting the highest rise on a roller coaster, the moment of terror and excitement before the plunge. And then a confused jumble of sensations, the feel of velvet on my cheek, the stink of formaldehyde and a sudden panting surge of sexual desire.
Then the physical blast wave hit us, a rolling wall of overpressure that was like having someone slap me in the ears from behind, and made me and everyone stagger backwards. I heard Somali Ninja Girl say something short and Coptic, and someone else behind me wanted to know what the fuck that was.
'Demon trap,' I said, trying to sound knowledgeable, and just in time for all the floodlights to blow simultaneously. Suddenly in the dark Larry the Lark's cabinet lit up with a gay sparkle of small coloured bulbs, the bladders filled with air and he opened his mouth and shouted 'At last!' With a choking rattle, the bladders of air emptied themselves for the last time. Then silence, and a clunk as Larry's jaw fell off his face and hit the base of the cabinet.
I fumbled in the dark for my torch, turned it on and quickly got it trained on the foyer. Other beams of light stabbed out of the darkness. Everyone else was as keen as I was to make sure that whatever came back through the foyer was somebody we knew.
The rope was slack in my hands.
'Inspector,' I called. 'Are you okay?'
Suddenly the rope went taut and I had to brace myself in order not to be pulled over.
'I'm quite all right,' said Nightingale. 'Thank you for asking.'
I coiled up the rope as he returned. His face was pale in the torchlight. I asked him again if he was all right, but he just gave me a strange grimace as if remembering some serious pain. Then he unclipped the rope and went over to talk to the head forensics guy. Whatever he said, the forensics guy wasn't happy. When Nightingale had finished, the man called over two of the younger-looking techs and told them something in a low voice.
One of the techs, a young man with Trotsky specs and an emo fringe, protested, but his boss shut him down and sent him and his mate packing up the stairs.
Nightingale came over and asked Somali Ninja Girl to run upstairs and tell Stephanopoulos that the building was secure, but that we hadn't found any suspects.
'A demon trap?' I asked.
'That's just a nickname,' said Nightingale. 'It's a booby trap; I suppose you could call it a magical land mine. I haven't seen one of those since 1946.'
'Shouldn't I know about these things?' I said.
'The list of things you need to know about, Peter, is extraordinarily long,' said Nightingale. 'And I have no doubt that you will eventually cover them all. But there's no point learning about demon traps until you've studied basic enchantment.' He held up his cane to show that the silver top was blackened and melted in places. Enchantment, I knew from my reading, was the process by which inanimate objects are imbued with magical qualities.
Nightingale examined the cane ruefully. 'Although I may be demonstrating how it's done in the next couple of months,' he said. 'That being the case, we may as well provide you with a training staff while we're at it.'
'The demon trap,' I said. 'Did you recognise the signature?'
'The _Signare_?' he asked. 'Not the individual, but I think I know who trained the vicious little so-and-so.'
'Geoffrey Wheatcroft?' I asked.
'The very same.'
'Could he have been the original magician?'
'That's something we're going to have to look into,' said Nightingale.
'He'd have to have schlepped back and forth between here and Oxford,' I said. 'If he was doing that, then he must have had an assistant.'
'One of his pupils?'
'Who might have gone on to be our new magician,' I said.
'This is all terribly speculative,' he said. 'We need to find the assistant.'
'We should start interviewing all the people who had contact with Geoffrey Wheatcroft or Jason Dunlop.'
There was an ironic cheer as one of the portable floodlights was restarted.
'That's an ambitious list of suspects,' said Nightingale.
'Then we start with the ones who knew both of them,' I said. 'We can do it under the pretext of investigating Jason Dunlop's murder.'
'First,' said Nightingale. 'I want you to go and secure Smith's office.'
'You don't need me here, then?' I asked.
'I'd rather you didn't see what's in there,' said Nightingale.
For a moment I thought I'd misheard him. 'What _is_ in there?' I asked.
'Some very beastly things,' said Nightingale. 'Dr Walid has people coming in who've handled this sort of situation before.'
'What sort of situation?' I said. 'What sort of people?'
'Forensic pathologists,' he said. 'People who've worked in Bosnia, Rwanda – that sort of situation.'
'Are we talking mass graves here?'
'Amongst other things,' he said.
'Shouldn't I—'
'No,' said Nightingale. 'There's nothing in there that it would profit you to see. Trust me in this, Peter, as master to apprentice, as a man who's sworn to protect and nurture you. I don't want you going in there.'
And I thought, do I really want to go in there?
'I can see whether No-Neck Tony knows anything while I'm at it,' I said.
Nightingale looked relieved. 'That is an excellent idea.'
Stephanopoulos lent me Somali Ninja Girl, who's name was Sahra Guleed and who turned out to be from Gospel Oak, which is just up the road from where I grew up – different school, though. When two ethnic officers meet for the first time, the first question you ask can be about anything but the second question is always, 'Why did you join?'
'Are you kidding?' said Guleed. 'You get to legally rough people up.'
The answer is nearly always a lie – I knew an idealist when I saw one. Despite the drizzle, the Saturday-night crowds were thick on Old Compton Street, and we had to dodge our fair share of drunks. I spotted my old mate PC Purdy loading a dazed-looking middle-aged man into the back of an IRV. The man was dressed in a pink tutu, and I was sure I knew him from somewhere. Purdy spotted me and gave me a cheery wave as he climbed into the front of the car – that was him out of the rain for the next couple of hours.
Since, with a bit of persuasion earlier, Alexander Smith had given permission for us to search his office, I had his keys. But when we got to the door on Greek Street, it was ajar. I looked at Guleed, who flicked out her extendable baton and gestured for me to take the lead.
'Ladies first,' I said.
'Age before beauty,' she said.
'I thought you liked roughing people up?'
'This is your case,' she said.
I extended my own baton and went up the stairs first. Guleed waited, and then came padding up a couple of metres behind me. When there's just two of you, it's always wise to maintain a decent interval. That way, should anything happen to the copper in front, the copper behind has time to react in a calm and rational manner. Or, more likely, run for help. When I got to the first landing, I found the interior door to Smith's office was open and the cheap plywood around the lock was splintered. I waited until Guleed had caught up, and then gently pushed the door open with my left hand.
The office had been ransacked. Every drawer had been pulled out, every box file emptied. The framed posters had been yanked off the walls and the backs slashed open. It looked messy, but very thorough and systematic. This being Soho, it's possible to make a lot of noise before somebody dials 999, but I did wonder where No-Neck had been while the office was getting trashed. I found out when I stepped on his leg. Stepping on some poor bastard has got to be about the worst way to discover a body. I backed off.
No-Neck had been half buried under a pile of papers and glossy magazines. All I could see was the leg I'd stepped on, and enough of his face to make the identification.
'Oh dear,' said Guleed when she saw the body. 'Is he dead?'
Carefully, so as not to disturb the crime scene, I squatted down and felt for a pulse where, on somebody normal-shaped, there'd be a neck – there was nothing. While Guleed called Stephanopoulos, I pulled on my gloves and checked to see if there was an obvious cause of death. There was. Two entry wounds on his chest, hard to spot because of the black t-shirt: they'd gone in just after the Z and the second P in _Zeppelin_. The wounds showed what might have been powder burns from a close-range discharge. But since this was my first possible gunshot victim, what did I know?
According to Guleed, the first thing we needed to do was get out of the office and stop contaminating the crime scene. Since she was a fully paid-up member of a Murder Team, I did what she said.
'We have to check upstairs,' she said. 'In case any suspects are still in the building.'
'Just the two of us?' I asked.
Guleed bit her lip. 'Good point,' she said. 'Let's stay where we are. That way we stop anyone trying to leave or get into the crime scene.'
'What if there's a fire escape at the back?'
'You just had to say that, didn't you?' She tapped her baton against her thigh and gave me a disgusted look. 'OK,' she said. 'You go and secure the fire escape, and I'll stay here and guard the scene.'
'On my own?' I asked. 'What if there isn't a fire escape?'
'You're taking the piss, aren't you?'
'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, I am.'
Her Airwave squelched. It was Stephanopoulos. 'Yes boss,' said Guleed.
'I'm coming up Greek Street,' said Stephanopoulos. 'Just the one body, then?'
'So far,' I said.
'So far,' said Guleed into the Airwave.
'Tell Grant that I'm going to ban him from Westminster,' said Stephanopoulos. 'I really don't need the overtime this badly. Whereabouts in the building are you?'
'We're on the first-floor landing.'
'Why isn't one of you covering the fire escape?' asked Stephanopoulos. 'If there is a fire escape.'
Me and Guleed engaged in one of those silent, pointing arguments that you have when you're trying to sort something out without alerting someone on the other end of the phone. I'd just emphatically mouthed _I'll go_ at Guleed, when we heard the front door being pushed open.
'Don't bother,' said Stephanopoulos. 'I'm already here.'
She stamped up the steps, pushed past us and had a look round from the doorway.
'What's his name?' asked Stephanopoulos.
I had to admit that all I knew was that his first name was Tony and that he worked for Alexander Smith as muscle and that he had no neck. Subtle clues in her manner told me that Stephanopoulos was less than impressed with my police work.
'You idiot, Peter,' she said. 'How could you not get his name? Everything, Peter, you have to nail down everything.'
I could hear Guleed not sniggering behind me – so could Stephanopoulos.
'I want you,' Stephanopoulos jabbed a finger at me, 'to go back to West End Central and re-interview Smith about who this guy is and what he knows about him.'
'Shall I tell him he's dead?'
'Do me a favour,' said Stephanopoulos wearily. 'Once he finds out about this he's going to shut the fuck right up, and I don't blame him.'
'Yes, guv,' I said.
Guleed asked if Stephanopoulos wanted her to go with me.
'Christ no,' she said. 'I don't want you picking up any more bad habits from him.' She looked at me again. 'Are you still here?'
It's a truism that in a secure building like a police station, once you're past the perimeter security you walk around unchallenged by adopting a purposeful stride and holding a clipboard. I don't recommend testing this, for two reasons: one, there's nothing worth nicking from a police station that you can't get easier from somewhere else, usually by bribing a police officer. Two, it's full of police officers, who are often suspicious to the point of clinical paranoia. Even an acclaimed uniform-carrier and all-round waste of space like PC John Purdy. This evening, he made a spectacular bid to get his name inscribed in the police Book of Remembrance. As events were reconstructed later, Purdy, having successfully navigated his tutu-wearing prisoner into the custody suite, was on his way to the canteen to do his 'paperwork' when he spotted an IC1 female walking up a side staircase in the direction of the CID interview rooms. On the CCTV footage from the stairwell, he's clearly seen calling after her and, when she fails to respond, he follows her up the stairs.
At just that moment, at least according to the time code from the CCTV camera in the foyer, yours truly was flashing his warrant card and getting buzzed into the building. I then head, with my Costa Coffee double macchiato in one hand and a cinnamon swirl in the other, for the central staircase and make my way up towards the same interview room – at this stage I'm one floor down.
Interview rooms used to be just ordinary offices fitted out with a table, a couple of chairs, good soundproofing and a place to leave the telephone books when you were finished. These days, a modern interview room has two camera positions, a tape recorder, a one-way mirror and a separate recording suite, from which an enterprising Senior Investigating Officer can monitor several interviews at once or have a bit of a kip. Since at West End Central all of this has to be shoehorned into the space designed in the 1930s as a modest open-plan office, it meant that the access corridor outside the interview rooms was a bit narrow. The single CCTV camera that covered the corridor began to malfunction at about the time I started up the steps, and none of the recording equipment in the interview rooms was turned on. This was all to the good for me, because it meant that when I came around the corner and found myself face to face with the Pale Lady, my thirty seconds of stunned indecision were not recorded for posterity.
Apart from her hair, which had been shorn off into a ragged pageboy, she looked exactly like the witness descriptions: white face, big eyes, disturbing mouth. She was dressed in grey joggers and a salmon-pink hoodie, and she didn't see me at first because she was attempting to shake PC John Purdy off her leg. He was stretched out on the floor with his left arm, broken in two places I learned later, dragging beside him and his right hand locked around the Pale Lady's surprisingly slender ankle. One of his eyes was beginning to swell shut and there was blood pouring from his nose.
I don't know if it was shock or the fact that I had a mouthful of cinnamon swirl, or just because I'd already had a day of weird shit and was getting a bit punch-drunk, but I just couldn't make myself move.
Purdy saw me, though. 'Help,' he croaked.
The Pale Lady looked at me and cocked her head to one side.
'Help,' said Purdy again.
I tried to tell him to let go and move away, but it came out muffled by a shower of cinnamon crumbs.
Without taking her eyes off me, the Pale Lady elegantly lifted one hand and then slammed it down on Purdy's wrist. I heard bones break, and Purdy whimpered and let go. She smiled, revealing far too many teeth – I'd faced a smile like that before. I knew what was coming next. She tensed, so did I, then she surged towards me with a terrifying burst of speed, head thrust forward, mouth open, teeth bared. As she sprang at me I threw my coffee in her face. I'd just bought it. It was very hot.
She screamed and I flung myself out of her way. But because the corridor was narrow, her shoulder slammed into mine, and the impact spun me around and dumped me on the floor. It was like being hit by a fast-moving cyclist. I rolled to avoid any follow-up and staggered to my feet, only to find that the Pale Lady was long gone. Each interview room has an alarm button by the door, and I slapped my palm on one as I stepped over Purdy and slammed into the room where we'd stashed Alexander Smith.
He was slumped back in his chair, head thrown back, mouth open, and what looked like a bullet hole in his chest with the same charring around the cloth of his shirt that I'd seen on No-Neck earlier.
A uniformed PC cautiously stuck her head round the door and pointed a taser at me. 'Who are you?' she asked.
'DC Grant,' I said. 'Suspect is an IC1 female, grey tracksuit bottoms, pink hoodie.' If I left it there some idiot was going to get himself gutted trying to tackle her. 'Psychiatric patient, very dangerous, possibly armed. Probably still in the building.'
The PC looked at me in astonishment. 'Yeah, right,' she said.
'Have you done the first aid course?' I asked.
'Last month,' she said.
'OK, give me the taser and you see to Purdy,' I said.
She handed me the taser. It was heavy, plastic and looked like something from _Doctor Who_. Even in her state of shock she could tell that Smith was dead, so she went off to get the first aid kit for Purdy.
I stepped back over Purdy and took a moment to check he was still alive. 'Help's on its way,' I told him. 'What the hell were you doing here?'
His face was white and sweaty with pain but he actually laughed – sort of. 'It's got a better canteen,' he said.
I told him to take it easy and headed for the stairs.
The thing about policing is that it's something you do out on the streets rather than inside the police station. During a normal working day, the civilian staff will outnumber your actual constables by a ratio of three to one. Which means that when there's a crisis at the local nick, everybody has to rush back to deal with it, and that takes time. Feral the Pale Lady might have been, but I didn't think she was stupid. Which meant she was going to go out by the fastest possible route, before all the police officers came rushing back in.
Since the IRA bombing campaigns started in the 1970s, police stations in London have developed a very clear idea of what constitutes inside and outside, and have placed a great deal of reinforced laminated Perspex between the two. West End Central was no exception. But the entrance also featured a marble-faced external staircase that had definitely been built with no concern for the needs of wheelchair-users, and so there's a second door, at pavement level and just to the left of the main entrance, knocked into the façade – conveniently located at the base of the stairwell so that you can wheel yourself straight into the lift. The designers weren't stupid, though. It was a very thick door, and alarmed in such a way that the desk sergeant in reception could check you over on CCTV before he buzzed you out. It would have been totally secure if a young Detective Constable hadn't been returning to the station with an arm full of Chinese takeaways and decided that it would serve as a useful short cut to the CID offices.
The Pale Lady hit him when he was halfway through the door. I came down the stairs just in time to see him go down in a spray of what turned out to be sweet and sour sauce.
'Call it in,' I yelled as I jumped over him and into the pouring rain.
I'd seen her veer right down Savile Row and charge down the middle of the road. A silver Mercedes Sl 500 swerved to avoid her and piled into the side of a parked Porsche Carrera, setting off car alarms along the whole street. I stayed in the road behind and concentrated on trying to close the distance – as far as I knew, I was the only officer with a visual on the suspect. It was Saturday night in the West End, and despite the weather the crowds were out. If I lost contact, she'd vanish without a trace.
I stuffed the taser into my jacket pocket and fumbled for my Airwave. I tried it a few times until I remembered that I'd neglected to put the batteries back in. The Pale Lady was running out of road as Savile Row made a T-junction with Vigo Street. She went left, towards Regent Street and Soho. I lost hold of the Airwave as I followed her around the corner, and it went spinning under a parked car.
Vigo Street was little more than an alleyway with pretensions, a narrow little road lined with coffee shops and sandwich bars that linked Savile Row with Regent Street. It was late enough for them to be closing, and the Pale Lady was having to dodge around pedestrians, presumably because running over them might slow her down even more. I managed to get my phone out of my pocket. Like every police officer under the age of forty I have the bypass number for Metcall on speed dial – that's a number that routes you directly through to a CAD operator without all that 'Which service do you require?' stuff.
When you're sprinting after a suspect through a narrow street in heavy rain, it's almost impossible to hear someone talking to you on your phone, so I waited a suitable interval and started breathlessly identifying myself and the suspect I was chasing. It's hard to talk and stay with a fleeing suspect, especially one that runs across a major thoroughfare without waiting for the lights to change.
Regent Street was a slow-moving river of wet metal, but I thought she might even make it until White Van Man came to my rescue and she went spinning off the front of a Ford Transit. She ricocheted off the back of a Citroën with a thin scream of rage and went staggering for the entrance to Glasshouse Street.
Fortunately for me, the river of metal ran itself aground on the rocks of potential insurance claims, and so the traffic had stopped moving by the time I followed her across. I was now less than five metres behind the Pale Lady, so I pulled out the taser and tried to remember what its effective range was. I also realised where she was heading – twenty metres further on Glasshouse Street branches left into Brewer Street. She was heading back to the club.
Then she just accelerated away. I'm a young man, I'm fit and I used to sprint at school. But she just left me standing like a fat kid on sports day. I came to a stop at the corner of Brewer and Glasshouse, put my hands on my knees and tried to catch my breath. The diehard smokers outside the Glassblower pub on the corner gave me an ironic cheer.
You bastards, I thought, I'd like to see _you_ run her down.
I heard a siren in the distance and looked up to see her running back towards me. Behind her I saw the flashing lightbars of at least two IRVs. When she saw me waiting for her, she gave me a look not of hatred or fear but a sort of weary disgust. As if I were a particularly persistent unwanted smell. I was somewhat insulted, so I shot her in the chest with my taser.
The Metropolitan Police uses an X26-model taser manufactured by the imaginatively titled Taser International Company. It uses a compressed nitrogen charge to fire two metal prongs into the suspect and then zap them with 50,000 volts. Which causes neuro-muscular incapacitation, which causes them to fall over. Which was why I was a tad disappointed when the Pale Lady just grunted, blinked and then tore the prongs out of her chest. She glared at me, I took an involuntary step backwards and she spun on her heel and shot off down Glasshouse Street, bowling over diehard smokers as she went.
I dropped the taser and rocked forward for a good start. Even though my shoes slipped on the wet road, I like to think I trimmed a bit of time off my start. If I could get close enough to give her a heel tap, I could bring her down long enough for me and half a van of TSG to land on top of her.
She tore down Glasshouse Street with what I realised were bare feet slapping on the road surface. I came after her, sweating and blowing. But, weirdly, either she was slowing down or I was warming up, because I was gaining. But where was she going? At the far end of Glasshouse Street was Piccadilly Circus, lots of traffic, lots of tourists to get lost in and a tube station. The tube. There were steps down to Piccadilly Circus station right where Glasshouse met the Circus.
I was right. As she reached the ugly pink façade of the doughnut shop, she started angling right for the station entrance. I dug for it, but I didn't have enough left to get me closer than two metres. Then she suddenly veered left again and started curving round past the big Boots and heading for Shaftesbury Avenue. I couldn't figure it out until I saw a pair of PCSOs idling in front of the steps down to the station – the Pale Lady must have thought they were after her.
She went across the traffic island, bounced off a hatchback and ran right over the bonnet of a Ford Mondeo before sprinting past the Rainforest Café, bowling tourists aside as she went. I went round the cars to a chorus of hooting and headed after her, but I groaned out loud when she did a sharp turn into the Trocadero Centre. The only way in was a set of escalators going up a floor. Chasing someone up stairs or escalators is always a nightmare because there's a chance they'll be waiting in the blind spot at the top to kick you back down again. But I couldn't risk losing the Pale Lady, so I ran up the down escalators on the assumption that if she were waiting for me it would be on the wrong side. It was a good theory, and had she been waiting for me I'd have been well pleased with myself.
The Trocadero was a five-storey bastard child of a building built in the baroque style in 1896, and sorely used over the centuries as everything from a music hall to a restaurant and a waxworks. In the mid-1980s the interior was completely gutted and replaced with the sets from _Logan's Run –_ or that might just be the way I remember it. It's got a cinema and a multi-level amusement arcade that I remember well, because my mum used to clean it. And one of my uncles knew a trick to blag free goes on _Street Fighter II_.
I caught a flash of salmon pink as I crested the escalator and saw the Pale Lady jump the short flight of steps that led down to the mezzanine level. A bunch of plump white girls in black hoodies scattered as she landed amongst them. As I chased her I was praying, 'Please God don't go into the cinema', because short of a minefield, a multiplex is the last place you want to chase a suspect. She skidded on the waxed floor and went left.
I yelled 'Police!' at the plump white girls who scattered again.
One of them yelled 'Wanker' as I jumped the stairs and followed the Pale Lady along the mezzanine. She went past a café with a drift of aluminium chairs and tables half blocking the way. Some poor sod stood up at the wrong moment and got the Pale Lady's forearm smashed into his head. He went down hard, upending a table and sending a tray spinning over the railings and down into the atrium three storeys below.
'Police,' I yelled again, which just got me bewildered looks from the bystanders. I really don't know why we don't just save our breath. Which I needed to save at that point, I can tell you.
The Pale Lady ran up another short flight of stairs and into a dark noisy cavern full of flashing lights. An electric-blue neon sign over the entrance said, _Welcome to Funland_.
It was packed, mostly teenagers and young men who were killing time before the clubs opened. They were playing slot machines and old-fashioned racing games that I remembered from ten years ago. If the Pale Lady had gone to ground amongst all those bodies I might have lost her, but either she was on a timetable or she was smart enough to know that the wrath of the Metropolitan Police was about to fall on her from a great height. Nobody kills a suspect in a police station and gets away with it – at least nobody without a warrant card.
Amongst the games and slot machines, two escalators led upward to the next floor. When I saw a teenaged boy pointing and his mate pulling his phone to film something out of my sight, I knew the Pale Lady was going up that way. I'd already spotted that if I jumped onto the skittles machine I could jump again, high enough to grab the escalator rail and vault onto the steps. I landed just short of the Pale Lady riding up, lying flat on her back to stay hidden. She hissed and lashed her foot out at my face, but I got out of the way in time to hear her heel go past my ear with a sound like ripping silk. I reared back and tried to stamp on her other knee, but she scrambled back and tried to kick me in the bollocks. I twisted and her kick grazed off my thigh, but hard enough to stagger me. She was just about to kick me again when we reached the top of the escalator.
She screamed and I realised that her hair, as short as it was, had caught in the metal teeth at the top of the escalator. She thrashed, did a sort of roll and then a desperate headstand to pull it clear. I grabbed my baton, extended it and lashed down as hard as I could. I didn't think I'd get a second chance like this.
They train us to use our batons, you know. They don't just issue them to us and say _Try not to kill anyone_. There are light taps for warnings, a full arm swing that's deliberately slow to make your suspect flinch back, the sneaky slap to the thigh that isn't easy to see on the news footage. But the basic principle is always that the amount of force is always controlled and appropriate. This is why I lunged forward while she was upside down and hit the Pale Lady in the hip with everything I had. Something crunched under the baton and she howled loud enough to cut through all the music and sound effects. Then she kicked me in the cheek.
It wasn't her best effort, but it was hard enough to snap my head back so that I didn't see the end of the escalator and stumbled off while she flipped herself backwards, twisted and tried to crawl away. I wasn't having that, so I threw myself on her back. I fell heavy, to try and drive the air out of her. But in an astonishingly fluid motion she arched her back and flung me into the side of a Spinna Winna machine. My elbow smashed into the glass, and I felt a sensation that told me I was on the numb-now, pain-later plan. I straightened up just in time to see her fist coming for my face. She must have been slowing down, because this time I got safely out of the way and her hand splintered into the glass and through. I whirled round and brought my baton down on her wrist just as hard as I could. Again a crack, and a spray of blood as the glass cut her skin. She let out a wet gasp and turned her head to stare at me.
'Give it up,' I said.
There was pain in her face and anger, and the sort of self-pity you see on the face of thwarted bullies. She bared her teeth in a snarl of defiance and wrenched her hand out of the Spinna Winna machine, a curl of blood splattering my face. I lunged forward with my head down and got my shoulder jammed into her chest. She hammered at my shoulders while I drove her back towards the balcony railing. She was unnaturally strong, but I was still bigger and heavier than her. And if I could stay inside her reach, I might be able to pin her down long enough for back-up to arrive.
Surely back-up should be arriving soon.
Her back hit the barrier and we came to a shuddering halt. I made a grab for her knee to see if I could trip her up, but she caught me a stunning blow on the side of the head and then threw me hard enough that I fetched up on my side three metres away. I shook my head and looked up to see the Pale Lady charging towards me with blood staining her clothes and murder in her eyes. She could have at least tried to make her escape – I wasn't going to follow her any more. But I think she knew she was going down and was planning to make somebody pay before she went. That somebody being me.
I didn't have time to shout a warning, I just made the correct shape in my head and shouted, louder than I had intended, ' _Impello_.'
The spell picked her up and slammed her back against the railing and then, horrifyingly, she toppled backwards and was gone.
#
# These Foolish Things
The central atrium at the Trocadero Centre is four storeys high, with an open basement that added another storey to the fall. The space is criss-crossed at random intervals by escalators, presumably because the architects felt that disorientation and an inability to find the toilets were an integral part of the shopping experience. I was told much later that the Pale Lady had bounced off the side of one of the escalators on her way down, that she may even have been angling to try and land on it but couldn't quite make the distance. That impact broke her back in two places, but she was still alive when she hit the basement floor head first.
Instantaneous, said Dr Walid.
A thirty-metre drop at 9.8 metres per second per second – I make that about two and a half seconds to watch the ground coming up to meet you. That's not what I call instantaneous.
Back-up was less than a minute away. They saw her fall. They were on hand to seal off the floor and take witness statements. I gave a brief statement to Stephanopoulos, before Nightingale insisted that we go to Casualty. The next thing I knew, we were in the Casualty unit at UCH, and Dr Walid was hovering in the background and making the F2 junior doctor who was treating me nervous. Then Dr Walid noticed that Nightingale was a bit pale and unsteady, and forced him to lie down in an adjacent treatment cubicle. The junior doctor visibly relaxed and started chatting to me as he checked my various scrapes and bruises, but I don't remember what he was talking about. Then he bustled off to arrange some X-rays and left me with a redheaded Australian nurse who I recognised from the Punchinello case. She winked at me as she cleaned the blood off my face and glued a cut on my cheek that I wasn't even aware I had.
'May the blessings of the river be upon you,' said the nurse as they wheeled me off to X-ray and zapped me a couple of times, before wheeling me back to my cubicle to lounge around in a draughty hospital gown for an hour or so. It may have been longer because I think I dozed off. Being Saturday night, there was a lot of drunken shouting and moaning and the sound of my fellow members of the constabulary telling people to 'calm down' or asking them what had happened. Dr Walid popped his head in to say that he was keeping Nightingale in overnight. I asked for some water, he felt my forehead and then vanished.
Somebody with a Scouse accent a couple of cubicles down said that he just wanted to go home. The doctor told him that they had to reset his leg first. The Scouser insisted he felt fine, and the doctor explained that they had to wait for the drink to wear off so they could anaesthetise him.
'I want to go home,' said the Scouser.
'As soon as you're fixed up,' said the doctor.
'Not home _here_ ,' said the Scouser mournfully. 'I want to go back to Liverpool.'
I wanted the fluorescent lights to stop giving me a headache.
Dr Walid came back with water and a couple of Nurofen tablets. He couldn't stay because he had a brand-new body to look at. After some more time, the junior doctor came back.
'You can go home now,' he said. 'Nothing is broken.'
I think I walked back to the Folly – it's not that far.
I woke up the next morning to find that breakfast hadn't been served. When I went down to the kitchen to find out why, I discovered Molly sitting on the table with her back to the door. Toby was sitting beside her, but at least he looked up when I came in.
'Is something wrong?' I asked.
She didn't move. Toby whined.
'I'll just go and have breakfast out,' I said. 'In the park.'
That seemed fine with Molly.
Toby jumped up and followed me out.
'You are so mercenary,' I told him.
He yapped. I guess from Toby's point of view a sausage is a sausage.
The Folly sits on the south side of Russell Square, the centre of which is occupied by a park with fixed gravel paths, big trees which I didn't know the names of, a fountain that was specifically designed to get children and small dogs soaking wet and on the north side, a café which does a decent double sausage, bacon, black pudding, egg and chips. It was actually quite sunny, so I sat on the terrace outside the café and mechanically shovelled the food into my face. It really didn't taste of anything, and in the end I put my plate on the floor and let Toby finish it off.
I walked back to the Folly and in through the main door, where there was a drift of junk mail. I scooped it up. It was mostly flyers for local pizza joints and kebab houses, although there was one crudely designed leaflet from a Ghanaian fortune-teller who felt we could only benefit from his insight into future events. I dropped the lot into the magazine rack that Molly leaves in the atrium for that purpose.
I felt a bit queasy, so I went into the toilet and threw up my breakfast and then climbed back into my bed and went to sleep.
I woke up again in the late afternoon, sticky and with the discombobulated feeling you get when you sleep through the day for no good reason. I went down the corridor and ran a bath in the claw-footed enamel monstrosity that we have instead of a proper shower. I got it as scalding as I could take, yelped when it lapped against the bruises on my thigh and stayed in there until my muscles had relaxed and I'd got bored of impersonating Louis Armstrong singing 'Ain't Misbehaving'. I couldn't shave because of the cut on my cheek, so I left my chin with manly stubble and went to look for some clean clothes.
When I was growing up, the only way to keep my mum out of my room would have been to install steel security doors, and probably not even that would have helped. It did mean that I've never been precious about people coming into my bedroom, especially if all they're going to do is clean it and do the laundry. I put on khaki chinos, the quality button-down shirt and my good shoes. I looked in the mirror – Miles Davis would have been proud of me – all I needed was a trumpet. There's only one thing you can do when you look that good, so I picked up my mobile and called Simone.
It didn't work – I'd blown the chip when I used magic on the Pale Lady.
I took one of my back-up phones from the drawer in my desk, a crappy two-year-old Nokia with a pay-as-you go SIM card. It already had my standard numbers saved, so I added Simone's and called her.
'Hi baby,' I said. 'Want to go out?'
When she stopped laughing, she said that she'd be delighted to.
Only students and people from Basildon go clubbing on a Sunday, so we went to the Renoir to see _Spirit of the Escalator, un film de_ Dominique Baudis which turned out, despite the subtitles, to be a romantic comedy. The Renoir is an art cinema that sits underneath the Brunswick Centre, a cream-coloured shopping centre and housing development that reminded me of an Aztec pyramid turned inside out. It's less than two minutes' walk from the Folly, so it was convenient. It's also still got the old-fashioned seats where you can snuggle up to your girlfriend without injuring yourself on a cup holder. She asked me about the cut on my cheek, and I told her I'd been in a scuffle.
Afterwards we had supper at YO! Sushi, which Simone had never eaten at before, despite there being a branch practically outside her front door.
'I'm terribly loyal to the Patisserie Valerie,' she said by way of explanation.
She loved the little coloured bowls trundling around the conveyor belt, and was soon piling empty ones up by her plate like so many mounds of skulls. She was actually quite a dainty eater, but steady and determined. I picked at a bowl of spicy salmon rice. My stomach still wasn't really settled, but it was a pleasure to watch the obvious delight she got from each dish. Fortunately YO! Sushi closed before she exceeded my credit-card limit, and we tumbled out of the Brunswick Centre and walked back along Bernard Street towards Russell Square tube station. It had rained while we were in the cinema, and the streets were slick and fresh. Simone stopped walking and dragged my head down so she could kiss me. She tasted of soy sauce.
'I don't want to go home,' she said.
'How about my place?' I said.
'Your place?'
'Sort of,' I said.
The coach house is not the perfect crash pad, but I certainly didn't want Simone meeting Molly when she was in one of her moods. Simone blew right past my two grand's worth of consumer electronics and went straight to the studio under the skylight.
'Who's this?' she asked. She'd found the portrait of Molly reclining nude while eating cherries.
'Somebody who used to work here years ago,' I said.
She gave me a sly look. 'Turn around,' she said. 'And close your eyes.'
I did as I was told. Behind me I heard the stealthy rustle of clothes, a suppressed curse followed by a zip unfastening, the thump of her boots hitting the floor, the whisper of silk as it slipped over her skin. There was a long pause, and then I heard the creak of antique furniture as she made herself comfortable.
She made me wait a little bit longer.
'You can turn around now,' she said.
She was reclining, nude and beautiful, on the chaise longue. She didn't have a bowl of cherries, so she'd let her fingers drift down to twist in the brown curls of her hair. She was so delicious I didn't know where to start.
Then I saw it, a blotch like a port-wine birthmark in the corner of her mouth. I thought it was a smear of something she'd been eating, but then it ripped while I was staring at it. With a hideous crunch her jaw splintered as a crude triangle of skin peeled back from her face. I saw muscle, tendon and bone stretch and pop, and her jaw hung slack like that of a cut puppet.
'What's wrong?' asked Simone.
Nothing. Her face was back as it had been, wide, beautiful, the arc of her smile fading as I staggered backwards.
'Peter?'
'Sorry,' I said. 'I don't know what happened there.' I knelt down by the chaise longue and cupped her cheek in my hand – the bones beneath her skin were reassuringly solid. I kissed her but, after a moment, she pushed my face away.
'Has something happened?'
'I was involved in an incident,' I said. 'Somebody died.'
'Oh,' she said and put her arms around me. 'What happened?'
'I'm not really supposed to talk about it,' I said, and slipped my hand down her hip in the hope that it would distract her.
'But if you could talk about it,' she said, 'you'd talk about it with me?'
'Sure,' I said. But I was lying.
'Poor thing,' she said, and kissed me.
I found that if I held her close, I didn't have any more nightmares. At one point in the proceedings the chaise longue shifted alarmingly and I heard the crack of splintering wood. We hurriedly separated just long enough for me to put a few cushions on the floor and throw a blanket over them. She pushed me onto my back, straddled me and it all got wonderfully strenuous and sweaty until finally she flopped down on me as boneless and as slippery as a fish.
'It's peculiar,' she said after she'd caught her breath. 'I used to always want to go out. But with you I just want to stay in all the time.'
She rolled off and slid her hand down my stomach to cup my balls. 'Do you know what I'd really like now?' she asked.
'There's cakes in the fridge,' I said.
I was hard again, and slipped her hand up to grab hold.
'You're a terrible man,' she said. She gave me a quick shake as if judging my readiness and then, pausing briefly to kiss it on the head, got up and made her way to the fridge. 'That Jap food's all very well,' she said. 'But I don't think they know how to make decent patisserie.'
Later, exhausted but unable to sleep, I lay with her under the skylight and watched the rain rippling down the panes. Again Simone slept with her head on my shoulder, a leg slung possessively across my thighs and her arm draped around my waist – as if making sure I couldn't slink away in the middle of the night.
I'm not a player, but I'd never had a girlfriend who'd lasted more than three months. Lesley said that my exes knew that past a certain point I'd lost interest, and that's why they always packed me in first. That's not the way I remember it, but Lesley swore she could have constructed a calendar based on my love life. A cyclical one, she said, like the Maya – counting down to disaster. Lesley could be surprisingly erudite sometimes.
On the other hand, I thought as Simone snuggled up against me, even in the worst-case scenario there's at least another two months left to run. Then, of course, that corner of my brain that is for ever a policeman wanted to know whether I was sure Simone wasn't involved in the case of the dying jazzmen. After all, she'd been living with Cyrus Wilkinson. But then Henry Bellrush was still living with his wife when he died. More tellingly, if Simone was really a creature of the night who seduced and then sucked the life out of jazz musicians, why was she sleeping with me – who had utterly failed to inherit his father's talent or even his taste for music? Nor had her face appeared in any of the pictures from 1941.
You actually get a lecture on this during training, which I admit most of us snoozed through because it wasn't associated with any tests or essay-writing. I did remember the lecturer warning that a copper's natural instincts could quickly spill over into unwarranted paranoia. Life is unbelievably messy, the lecturer said, and coincidences happen all the time. If you're still suspicious in the morning, I told myself, you can check her alibi against suspicious deaths last year, because nothing builds a healthy relationship like the third degree over the breakfast table.
Having thought that just before I drifted off, I hoped it wasn't a bad omen when I woke to find that Simone had slipped out at the crack of dawn and left me sleeping.
I was summoned that morning to the John Peel Centre in Hendon, where I was 'debriefed' by a couple of officers from the Directorate of Professional Standards. This took place in a conference room with tea, coffee, Sainsbury's Value digestive biscuits and was all very civilised. After establishing that I had a legitimate reason to be on that floor of West End Central, they asked me about the chase to the Trocadero Centre and the consequent death of the suspect in a fall from the upper balcony. Apparently the CCTV footage was very clear – I was nowhere near the suspect when she went over the railing, therefore I could not have pushed her, nor could I reasonably have been expected to reach her in time to stop the fall. They seemed satisfied that I should return to duty, although they warned me that this was just the start of their investigation.
'We may have more questions for you later,' they said.
I'm fairly certain they were supposed to offer me psychological counselling at that point, but they didn't. Which was a pity, because I would have rather liked it. Sadly, the rules are very clear. As a red-blooded police officer, you can only accept counselling when it is foisted on you by _Guardian_ -reading social-worker types. I don't need it, you protest to your mates, but you know these touchy-feely jobsworth types. Then you down your pint and soldier on, dignity intact.
As well as the statement to the DPS, I had to generate my own report for the files, which I did from the safety of the coach house, sending them off to be vetted by Lesley before I submitted them. She suggested I make a couple of deliberate mistakes because nothing says 'cover-up' like perfectly consistent statements, so I pretended that I was a member of the public and misremembered some stuff. She also made it clear that rushing into the Trocadero Centre without back-up had been foolish and, worse, unprofessional. She was sorry to say that I was clearly deteriorating badly without her there to curb my bad habits. I let her go on at me for some time, not least because she seemed to enjoy it so.
I promised to be more careful in future.
Dr Walid released Nightingale from hospital that afternoon, and he returned to the Folly long enough to change his clothes before heading back to supervise the forensic work at the club. I asked if he needed me, but he said no and gave me a reading list, one of which was a gloss by Bartholomew that was in Latin. I think he was hoping I'd spend all day with the text in one hand and a dictionary in the other, but I just typed the relevant sections into an online Latin translator and then tried to interpret the gibberish that came out the other end.
I think Bartholomew was conjecturing that it might be possible to use magic to combine the characteristics of two creatures in _violation of the great chain of being_ , that great hierarchy of creatures, slime at the bottom and angels at the top, ordained by God. Somebody had annotated my copy by writing in the margin in very small capitals something in Latin that my web translator rendered as: _People are made nature and vice-versa_.
Real cat girls, I thought. The Strip Club of Doctor Moreau. I wondered what it would be like to sleep with something as sleek and furry as a tiger. Whoever was running the club would have a made a fortune. The old ethically challenged magical practitioner had Chief Inspector Johnson to help keep it quiet but the new guy, his possible apprentice, the Faceless One, how had he planned to keep it secret?
The next morning, Nightingale took me for a tour of the Strip Club of Dr Moreau. The landing and cloakroom area had been turned, appropriately enough, into a changing room for personnel to get in and out of their Noddy suits. Dr Walid was waiting for us and warned us to watch our feet. Lengths of cable had been run down the stairs and neatly secured against the walls with gaffer tape.
'We wanted to avoid activating any electric circuits in the club itself,' said Dr Walid. 'Just in case.'
He led me down to the foyer, where I noticed that the Cabinet of Larry had been removed completely, as had the kicking legs. 'I've had to lease extra space at UCH,' said Dr Walid. 'I've never had this much material before.'
The curtains in the foyer had been taken down, and we stepped through into the next room which proved to be the club proper, where the dance floor and stage would have been if cages hadn't been bolted to the floor. They looked brand new, and similar to the cages that labs keep their animals in.
'Exactly the same,' said Dr Walid when I pointed this out. 'Bollingtek Animal Containment Systems – we use them at the hospital. They were installed some time this year.'
'Stephanopoulos has her people tracing the serial numbers,' said Nightingale.
The cages were empty, but I could smell the bitter tang of animal shit. I saw fingerprint powder dusted around the locks and any other surface that a keeper might have put their hand on while looking after the inmates.
'How many were there?' I asked.
'Five in the cages,' said Dr Walid. 'I'm still doing tests, but they all seem to be chimeras.'
That was a term I'd had to look up the night before when translating Bartholomew. It means a creature that has some cells with one set of DNA and other cells with another set of DNA. It's vanishingly rare in mammals, and usually happens when two eggs are fertilised by different sperm and then merge before going on to grow into a foetus. Not that Bartholomew knew what tetragametic chimerism was – the fathers of genetics, Crick and Watson, weren't even a gleam in their grandfathers' eyes when he'd been writing. Bartholomew had described chimeras as the degenerate product of unnatural unions created through the foulest and blackest magic. But I had a horrible feeling that both definitions might fit.
'Were any of them alive?' I asked.
Dr Walid looked uncomfortably at Nightingale, who shook his head.
'One of them was still alive,' said Nightingale. 'But it died after we moved it.'
'Did it say anything?' I asked.
'It never regained consciousness,' said Dr Walid.
We agreed that, given the newness of the cages, they must have been the work of the New Magician rather than the Old. 'Do we think Geoffrey Wheatcroft is the Old Magician?' I asked.
'We don't have any link between him and this place,' said Nightingale. 'In addition, I find it somewhat unlikely that he could pursue an academic career and maintain a double life as a nightclub impresario.'
'But he definitely trained the New Magician?' I asked. 'The Faceless One?'
'Oh, without doubt,' said Nightingale. 'I'm quite certain of that.'
'I like "Faceless One",' said Dr Walid. 'Did you come up with that?'
'He could have had accomplices,' I said. 'Another practitioner who handled the London end. That's possible, isn't it?'
'Quite possible,' said Nightingale. 'Good thinking.'
'Or more than one partner. There could be – what do you call a group of magicians?' I asked. 'A gang, a coven?'
'An argument,' said Dr Walid. 'It's an argument of wizards.'
We both looked at Dr Walid, who shrugged.
'You both need to read more widely,' he said. This from a man who did peer review for the _European Journal of Gastroenterology and Hepatology_.
'A cabal,' said Nightingale. 'It's called a cabal of magicians.'
'Operating under our noses since the sixties,' said Dr Walid.
'Just to add salt to the wound,' said Nightingale.
'I should start running down the names that we got from Oxford and cross-referencing them with known associates of the Soho gangs,' I said.
'Not before I show you something else,' he said.
I actually went cold when he said that – I'd been very happy to find that everything had been cleaned out, and I really wasn't that keen to see anything else. Nightingale led me further into the club. Beyond the cages, there was another STAFF ONLY door that took us to a short corridor and a suite of rooms that might once have been offices or storage. They were all largely the same, grubby mattresses on the floor, a loose collection of clothes and shoes stuffed into cardboard boxes, a DVD player and an old-fashioned electron-gun TV, a few pathetic attempts to brighten up the walls, a picture of kittens and a Justin Timberlake poster. It was depressingly familiar to anyone who has ever helped raid a safe house used by human traffickers.
'How many?' I asked.
'We found plenty of DNA evidence,' said Dr Walid. 'Blood, semen, hair follicles. So far we've identified eight individuals – all chimerae.'
'Oh, God,' I said.
'He must have another safe house,' said Nightingale. 'But it could be anywhere.'
It wasn't all bad news. Lesley called later with a whole new way for me to dig myself into a hole. She'd discovered it while trawling through the records from Oxford University. She hadn't found any obvious connections between Wheatcroft and Alexander, but...
'Guess whose name I did come across?' she asked.
'Prince Harry?'
'Don't be silly,' said Lesley. 'Harry went to Sandhurst. No, a certain other undergraduate going by the name of Cecelia Tyburn Thames.'
'Lady Ty knew Wheatcroft?' I asked.
'No, you idiot,' said Lesley. 'But—' She broke off to cough some more. She moved the phone away from her mouth, but I could hear her coughing and swearing. Then a pause as she drank some water.
I asked if she was okay, and she said she was. There was going to be a second operation some time towards the end of the year to see if they could restore greater functionality to her voice box.
'But,' she said, 'the point is that Tyburn was at Oxford at roughly the same time as Jason Dunlop, and you once told me that one of her sisters could smell the magic on you.'
'That was Brent,' I said. 'She's four years old.'
'That just means a natural ability,' said Lesley.
I said it was unlikely that Tyburn, even if she had spotted any magic at Oxford, was going to tell me.
'You just don't want to see Tyburn again,' said Lesley.
Damn right I didn't want to see Tyburn again. I'd humiliated her in front of her mother, which meant I could have whipped her naked down Kensington High Street and she would have been less pissed off with me. But I only ever argue with Lesley about two things, and neither of those have anything to do with police work. It had to be worth a try.
I knew Tyburn had a house in Hampstead. I'd blown up a particularly rare fountain the last time I'd visited – although in my defence she had been trying to mind-control me at the time. But that was just the source of her river. I'd heard that she actually lived somewhere in Mayfair. The very rich and the very poor have one thing in common: they both generate a great deal of information – the rich in the media and the poor on the vast and unwieldy databases of the state. The rich, provided they avoid celebrity, can take steps to preserve their anonymity – Lady Ty's Wikipedia page read as if it was produced by a PR flack because no doubt Lady Ty had hired a PR flack to ensure it stayed the way she wanted it. Or, more likely, one of Lady Ty's 'people' had hired a PR company who'd hired a freelancer who'd knocked it out in half an hour, the better to focus on the novel he was writing. It did reveal that Lady Ty was married – to a civil engineer, no less – and that they had two beautiful children, one of whom, the boy, was eighteen years old. Old enough to drive, but young enough to still be living at home.
The thing about being a policeman is you get to cheat. You get to look things up on the PNC, things that even the richest and most influential person has to provide accurate information about – in this case, driving tests. Stephen George McAllister-Thames passed his in January, and the address of the record was Chesterfield Hill, Mayfair.
It was the kind of perfect Regency terrace with a rusticated façade and decorative ironwork that causes grown estate agents to break down and weep with joy. It was located less than half a kilometre to the west of the Trocadero Centre, on streets that would have been much nicer if all the character hadn't been stripped off them by decades of money.
The door was opened by a tall, mixed-race young man whom I recognised from the picture on his driving licence. He'd inherited an unfortunate pair of ears, and what my mum would have described as 'better' hair from his dad, but he had his grandmother's cat-shaped eyes. That wasn't all he'd inherited.
'Mum,' he called back into the depths of the house. 'There's a wizard here to see you.' And then, just in case I hadn't realised he was a teenager, he slouched off back to whatever it was he'd been doing before I so rudely interrupted him. His mother passed him in the hallway, and came and stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. She let me stew for a good ten seconds before asking what I wanted.
'I was wondering if you could help me with my inquiries,' I said.
She took me through into a kitchen furnished in French oak and cool green tile. She offered me tea which, just to be on the safe side, I refused. She poured herself a white wine.
'What inquiries are these?' she asked.
I asked her to cast her mind back to her days as an undergraduate at Oxford University.
'Where I gained my double first,' she said. 'Not that I think that was an achievement. Being less important than the mere act of being born within the sound of the Bow Bells.' She finished her glass and refilled.
'While you were at Oxford,' I said, 'did you notice anyone practising magic, perhaps clandestinely?'
'Does this have something to do with the altercation at the Trocadero Centre?' she asked.
'It's related, yes,' I said. 'And to the attack on Ash.'
'I'm curious,' she said. 'What makes you think I should tell you?'
'So you were aware of magic being practised,' I said.
'What makes you think that?'
'Because you think you have something to withhold,' I said.
'I'll admit it's a trifle irrational, but I still find myself minded to tell you to piss off,' she said. 'Why should I help you?'
'If you tell me what you know, I promise I'll go away,' I said.
'Tempting,' she said.
'And because we think there's an evil magician operating in London, and we think he may have been at Oxford – at the same time you were.' I looked at her. 'You may even know him.'
'No. I would have smelled him,' she said. 'Even as I can smell you now.'
'So what do I smell like?'
'Ambition, vanity, pride,' she shrugged. 'Fried plantain and honeysuckle. Don't ask me why.'
'Who were they?' I asked. 'The practitioners at Oxford – I know you know.'
She tried to stop herself, but in the end there are some varieties of information that are only fun if you tell them to someone else.
'There was a dining club. Do you know what that is?' she asked.
An excuse for students to gather together and get pissed, as far as I knew. The membership criteria were set at varying levels of exclusivity and expense. I doubted Tyburn had joined one and, had I gone to Oxford, I'm not sure I could have joined one if I'd wanted to.
It was called the Little Crocodiles, she told me. And it was boys only, and while it wasn't exclusive to any one college it was mostly a Magdalen crowd. They were considered to be very dull, not aristocratic enough for the social climbers and not riotous enough for the aristos.
'Not my cup of tea,' said Tyburn. 'But I remember running into a couple of members once at a party and catching that whiff.' She waved her hand in front of her nose. 'Like I said, ambition, sweaty, like somebody who's working too hard.'
'Do you remember their names?' I asked.
She did, because remembering who was who was part of who she was. She also had half a dozen other names of possible Little Crocodiles.
'And you're sure the dining club were actively training?' I asked.
'I made a point of getting close enough to smell any member I could find,' she said. 'I thought they were somehow related to Professor Postmartin and your boss. I assumed that this was their attempt to expand the influence of the Folly.'
She shook her wine bottle and poured the remaining half-measure into her glass.
I judged that now would be an opportune moment to depart, so I thanked her, put away my notebook and stood up.
'For fifty years they do nothing and then suddenly there's you,' she said. 'How did that happen?'
'You know what you smell like to me, Ty,' I said. 'Brandy and cigars and old rope.'
'They hung Jonathan Wild at Tyburn,' she said. 'For all that he thought himself the Thief Taker General of Great Britain.'
I didn't answer that one, because I felt getting out the front door intact was more important.
*
I told Nightingale what I'd learned over breakfast the next morning, and he insisted we go down to the firing range in the basement and blow the shit out of some targets. To be fair, I think he'd been planning a training session for some time – he also didn't swear.
Several months of random fire by me had depleted our stock of World War Two vintage silhouettes, so I'd bought some 1960s NATO standard-issue targets off the internet. Gone were the coal-scuttle helmets and rampaging Hun, to be replaced by snarling figures carefully stripped of any national or ethnic identity. NATO, these figures implied, was ready to take on paper soldiers from anywhere.
Nightingale put three fireballs in the centre mass of the left-hand target.
'What made you think Ty would tell you?' asked Nightingale.
'She couldn't help herself,' I said. 'First law of gossip – there's no point knowing something if somebody else doesn't know you know it. Besides, I think she has such a low opinion of us that she thinks it's only a matter of time until we... mess up and she can sweep in like the cavalry.'
'Given our track record so far,' said Nightingale, 'that's hardly prescient.'
'A Ministry of Magic,' I said. 'Is that what she really wants?'
'Deep breath,' said Nightingale. 'And _loose_!'
The trick behind an effective fireball is that it becomes an ingrained _forma_. A spell you don't have to think about to perform. I loosed a trio of fireballs which you could see moving, which was bad, but at least I hit the target – or _a_ target, at any rate. I also forgot to release them immediately, which meant that they sat there and fizzed a bit before exploding.
'Have you been practising at all?' asked Nightingale.
'Of course I have, boss. Watch this,' I said, and threw a 'skinny grenade' down the range, which stuck right in the centre mass of the target.
'Your aim is getting better,' said Nightingale. 'It's a pity about the release...'
The grenade detonated and cut the target in half.
'And what was that?' asked Nightingale. He didn't always approve of me departing from the strict forms he laid down for spells. His motto was that bad habits now could get you killed later.
'Skinny grenade,' I said. 'You use _Scindere_ like you do with _Lux impello scindere_ , except instead of a light in a fixed place you get a bomb.'
'Skinny grenade?'
'From _Scindere_ ,' I said. Nightingale shook his head.
'How are you managing the timing?' he asked
'That's a bit hit and miss,' I said. 'I did some tests, and it's anywhere between ten seconds to five minutes.'
'So you don't know when it's going to explode?'
'Not really,' I said.
'Is there anything I could say that would stop you from doing all this unauthorised experimentation?' he asked.
'Honestly,' I said. 'Probably not.'
'I have to ask,' he said. 'Why did you use _Impello_ at the Trocadero Centre – why not a fireball?'
'I didn't want to kill her,' I said. 'And I'm still more confident with _Impello_ than I am with anything else.'
'You realise she was just a diversion,' said Nightingale. 'Alexander Smith was shot in the chest with a couple of narrow-gauge fireballs.'
'I thought it was a gunshot wound,' I said.
'That's why he used a narrow-gauge fireball. To disguise the wound.'
'Forensic countermeasure,' I said. 'This guy is way too fucking clever.'
'He probably walked out the back while you were chasing the Pale Lady out the front.'
I cut a target in half with my next fireball.
'That's much better,' said Nightingale. 'They need to go faster. If the enemy can see them coming, you might as well just carry a gun and shoot them with that instead.'
'Why don't we just carry guns?' I asked. 'I know you've got a room full of them.'
'Well, for one thing,' said Nightingale, 'the paperwork has become very tiresome, then there's care, maintenance and trying to ensure one doesn't leave it on the Underground by mistake. Plus a fireball is more versatile, and can pack more of a punch than any calibre pistol I'd be happy to carry.'
'Really?' I asked. 'More than a point-four-four magnum?'
'Indubitably,' he said.
'What's the biggest thing you've zapped with a fireball?' I asked.
'That would be a tiger,' said Nightingale.
'Well don't tell Greenpeace,' I said. 'They're an endangered species.'
'Not that sort of tiger,' said Nightingale. 'A Panzer-kampfwagen sechs Ausf E.'
I stared at him. 'You knocked out a Tiger tank with a fireball?'
'Actually I knocked out two,' said Nightingale. 'I have to admit that the first one took three shots, one to disable the tracks, one through the driver's eye slot and one down the commander's hatch – brewed up rather nicely.'
'And the second Tiger?'
'I didn't have time to be so clever with that one,' said Nightingale. 'Straight frontal shot into the weak spot where the turret meets the hull. Must have caught the ammo store because it went up like a firework factory. The turret blew right off.'
'This was at Ettersberg, wasn't it?'
'This was the final act at Ettersberg,' he said. 'We were trying to pull out when a platoon of Tigers just came crawling out of the treeline. We didn't expect the Germans to have anything but rear-echelon troops, so it caught us on the hop, I can tell you. I was the rearguard, so I had to deal with them.'
'Lucky you,' I said. But my brain was still trying to get round the idea that Nightingale could put a hole in ten centimetres of steel armour, when I still sometimes had trouble getting through the paper of the targets.
'Practice and training,' said Nightingale. 'Not luck.'
We kept it up until lunch, and after that there was exciting paperwork including a surprisingly long form in which I explained how I'd managed to lose an expensive X-26 taser pistol and reduce the working insides of an Airwave handset to sand. Coming up with a plausible explanation for both kept me busy until late afternoon, when Simone phoned.
'I've found us a hotel room,' she said, and gave me an address off Argyle Square.
'When shall we meet?' I asked.
'I'm already there,' she said. 'Naked and decorated with whipped cream.'
'Really?'
'Actually,' she said. 'I've eaten the whipped cream, but it's the thought that counts.'
Argyle Square is about fifteen minutes' walk from the Folly. Twenty if you stop off at the mini-market to pick up a couple of cans of aerosol whipped cream – it always pays to be prepared.
It was only a two-star hotel but the sheets were clean, the bed was sturdy and it had a tiny en suite toilet and shower. The walls were a bit thin, but we only found that out when next door banged on the wall for us to be quiet. We did our best that one last time which, and I'm guessing here, lasted a couple of hours and resulted in both of us walking funny the next morning.
Then we got to stay in our sturdy yet comfortable bed and fall asleep to the London lullaby of police sirens, shunting trains and cat fights.
'Peter,' she said, 'you haven't changed your mind about tomorrow, have you?'
'What about tomorrow?'
'Your dad's gig,' she said. 'You said I could come, you promised.'
'You can meet me there,' I said.
'Good,' she said, and fell asleep in my arms.
The important thing about Camden Market is that nobody planned it. Before London swallowed it whole, Camden Town was the fork in the road best known for a coaching inn called the Mother Red Cap. It served as a last-chance stop for beer, highway robbery and gonorrhoea before heading north into the wilds of Middlesex. In the early nineteenth century, men in frock coats and serious mutton-chop sideburns built the eastward branch of Regents Canal just to the north of the coaching inn. I say they built it, but the actual work was done by a couple of thousand strapping Irish fellers who came to be known, because of their canal work, as 'inland navigators' or navvies.
They and the navvies who came after them would go on to build the three main phases of infrastructure development that characterise the history of the industrial revolution: the canals, the railways and the motor-ways. I know this because I built a model of the area in junior school and got a gold star, a commendation and the enduring hatred of Barry Sedgeworth, playground bully and poor loser. A couple of serious canal locks were built next to the Chalk Farm Road, from whence the market gets its name – Camden Lock. There were extensive warehouses along the canal, and a large timber merchant.
In the 1960s the planning department of the London County Council, whose unofficial motto was _Finishing What the Luftwaffe Started_ , decided that what London really needed was a series of orbital motorways driven through its heart. The planning blight caused by these schemes meant that what should have been lucrative land to be developed into multi-storey car parks or municipal rabbit hutches was instead leased to a trio of London wide-boys dressed in Afghan coats. These likely lads set up craft workshops in the old timber yard and on the weekends held a market where the products could be sold. By the mid-1980s the market had spread up Chalk Farm Road and down to the Electric Ballroom, and Camden Council finally stopped trying to put it out of business. It's currently the second most-visited tourist attraction in London and home to the Arches jazz club, where my dad was going to make his comeback gig with The Irregulars.
The Irregulars were surprisingly nervous, but my dad was remarkably unfazed.
'I've played bigger gigs,' he said. 'I once played with Joe Harriott in a basement in Catford. After having to go on with him, I never got stage fright again.'
The Arches jazz club had, in the early days of Camden Lock, been a disreputable dive located in a former lockup under a brick railway arch – hence the name. As the market prospered, the club had moved to one of the units in the west yard just short of the horse bridge, so that while waiting for a gig, a punter could sit outside at a café table and have a drink while enjoying the view across the lock basin. These days, my dad assured me, you almost never found dead dogs floating in the canal.
Lord Grant and The Irregulars were due to go on first, in support of the main act. On stage Daniel and Max were setting up the instruments and doing sound checks. There weren't that many punters in yet. They were mostly outside, having a crafty fag or sneaking a drink. I asked where James was.
'Throwing up in the toilet,' said Daniel. 'He's that nervous.'
I looked over to where my mum was standing in her Sunday best, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She gave me a little wave, and I indicated that I was going outside to wait for Simone. She nodded and followed me out.
That late in September it was getting dark before seven, but the clouds had held off and the last of the sunshine painted the brick front of the lock a golden orange. I saw Simone step down from Chalk Farm Road, wave happily and then sashay over on a pair of high-heeled slingbacks, the sort that my mum buys occasionally but never wears. It was obviously 1980s night because her hair was piled up under a broad-brimmed hat, and the transparent top she was wearing was only street legal because she had her jacket buttoned up.
I turned to my mum. 'Mum, this is Simone.'
She said nothing, which wasn't what I expected. Then she balled her fists and strode past me.
'Get away, you bitch,' she screamed.
Simone skittered to a halt, stared at Mum bearing down at her, and then at me. Before I could move, my mum reached her and fetched Simone such a tremendous open-hand slap that she went reeling backwards.
'Get away,' shouted my mum.
Simone stepped back, shock and outrage on her face, a pale hand covering the cheek where she'd been struck. I rushed forward to stop Mum, but before I could reach her she'd grabbed Simone's hair with her left hand and was yanking at her jacket with her right. Simone was screaming and flailing, trying to get away as my mum shredded the gauze top with her fingers.
You don't just hit your mum, even when she's attacking your girlfriend. And you don't rugby-tackle her, knock her to the floor or put her in an armlock or any of the various techniques I was trained to use on violent suspects. I settled for grabbing her by the wrists and yelling 'stop' in her ear as loud as I could.
She let go of Simone, who staggered to safety, and whirled to face me.
'What are you doing?' my mum demanded, and shook my hands free of her wrists. Then she reached up and slapped me round the face. 'I said, what are you doing?'
'What am _I_ doing?' I asked. 'What the fuck are _you_ doing?'
That got me another slap, but this one was perfunctory and didn't make my ears ring. 'How dare you bring that witch here,' she said.
I looked around, but Simone had sensibly scarpered by that point.
'Mum,' I shouted, 'Mum, what's going on?'
She spat something in Krio, using words that I'd certainly never heard before. Then she drew herself up and spat on the ground. 'Stay away from her,' she said. 'She is a witch. She was after your father, and now she is after you.'
'What do you mean, "after my father"?' I asked. 'After Dad – what?'
My mum gave me the same look she always gives me when I ask what she considers to be a blindingly obvious question. Now that Simone was out of sight, Mum seemed to be calming down.
'She was after your father when I met him,' she said.
'Met him where?'
'When I met him,' she said slowly. 'Before you were a baby.'
'Mum,' I said, 'she's the same age as I am. How could she possibly have been around when you met Dad?'
'This is what I am trying to tell you,' said my mum, matter-of-factly. 'She is an evil witch.'
#
# It don't Mean a Thing
I found her sitting on the pavement outside the piercing shop that's next to the KFC. She must have seen me coming, because she leaped to her feet, hesitated for a moment, then spun and started walking away. In those heels it wasn't hard for me to catch her up. I called her name.
'Stop looking at me,' she said.
'I can't stop myself.'
She halted and, before she could protest, I put my arms around her. She hugged me back and pressed her face against my chest. She sobbed once, caught herself, and took a deep breath.
'What on earth was all that about?' she asked.
'That was my mum,' I said. 'She can get a little bit excitable.'
She pulled back and looked up at me. 'But the things she said... I don't understand how could she think I was... What did she think I was doing?'
'She's on medication,' I said.
'I don't understand,' said Simone. 'What does that mean?'
'She's not well,' I said.
'Are you saying she's mad?' she asked.
I looked appropriately stricken. 'Oh,' said Simone. 'Poor thing, poor you. I don't suppose we can go back.'
I realised that people were watching us from inside the KFC. Perhaps they thought we were street theatre.
'And I was so looking forward to hearing your dad play,' she said.
'There'll be other gigs,' I said. 'Let me offer you an evening's entertainment at chez Peter.'
'Not the chaise longue again,' she said. 'I've still got a crick in my back.'
'I've laid in some cake.'
'That's suspicious,' she said. 'Almost as if you were expecting company after the gig. Who were you planning to take home?'
I kept my arm around her shoulders and guided her down the road towards Camden Town. 'I don't care for your tone, young lady,' I said.
'Where did you get the cake?' she asked. 'Tesco?'
'Marks and Spencer,' I said.
She sighed, and her arm tightened around my waist. 'You know me so well,' she said.
I hailed a black cab to take us back to the Folly. It seemed the safest thing to do.
When we got back to the coach house, she took a moment to fix her face in my emergency shaving mirror.
'Do I look frightful?' she said. 'I simply can't tell with this teeny-weeny mirror.'
I said she looked beautiful, which she did. The imprint of my mother's hand, which had still been a livid red on her cheek in the cab, was beginning to fade and she'd reapplied her lipstick. There was enough left of the transparent top she was wearing to make me want to tear it off, and my desire was making me hot and queasy. I concentrated on cueing up the right playlist on my iPod and making sure that it was plugged into the speakers.
'I promised you cake,' I said, as she advanced on me
Simone wasn't to be distracted that easily. 'Cake later,' she said, and slipped her arms around my waist, one hand sliding under my shirt. I reached out and pressed play on the iPod.
'What's this?' she asked as the music began to play.
'Coleman Hawkins,' I said. '"Body and Soul".' It was the wrong first track. It was supposed to be Billie Holiday.
'Is it?' she asked. 'You see, it just doesn't sound real when it's recorded.'
I slipped my hand under her jacket and pulled her against me. The skin of her back felt feverish under my palm. 'This is better,' she said, and then she leaned forward and bit the top button right off the front of my shirt.
'Hey,' I said.
'Fair's fair,' she said.
'Did you ever hear him play?' I asked. 'Coleman?'
'Oh, yes,' she breathed. 'People always wanted this song – it used to make him quite cross.' She pinged off another button and kissed my bared chest; I felt her tongue trace a line down my breastbone.
I smelled it then. The scent of honeysuckle, and behind that, broken brick and smashed wood. How could I ever have thought it was her perfume?
'Did Cyrus play "Body and Soul"?' I asked.
'Who's Cyrus?' she said, and bit off a third button. I was running out of buttons.
'You used to go out with him,' I said. 'You used to live at his house.'
'Did I? It seems so long ago,' she said, and kissed my chest. 'I used to love watching them play.'
'Who are they?'
'All my lovely jazzmen,' she said. 'I was happiest when they were playing. I liked the sex and the company, but I was really happiest when they were playing.'
I groaned as the next track on the iPod turned out to be John Coltrane. Had I put it on shuffle by accident? It's impossible to slow-dance to his version of 'Body and Soul' – for a start, he never actually stays with the melody for more than three notes, and after a couple of bars he goes to the wild musical place that only people like my dad can follow. I steered us over to the fridge so that I could surreptitiously press the 'next track' button on the iPod. It was Nina Simone, thank God, a young Nina with a voice that could melt an ice sculpture at a Scottish banker's convention.
'What about Lord Grant?' I had to ask.
'The one that got away,' she said. 'They said he was going to be an English Clifford Brown, but he kept on leaving the scene. Cherie was so cross. You see, she had rather set her cap at him. She claimed once that she'd caught him, but then he'd got away.' She smiled at the memory. 'I rather think I was more his type, and who knows what might have happened, except that he had this fearsome wife.'
'How fearsome?'
'Oh, terrifying,' she said. 'But you should know. She's your—' Simone froze in my arms and frowned up at me, but I rocked her back into the dance. In her eyes I could actually see the memory slipping away.
'Did you always love jazz?' I asked.
'Always,' she said.
'Even when you were at school?'
'We had the strangest music mistress at school,' said Simone. 'Her name was Miss Patternost. She used to have her favourites round for tea – there, she would play us records and encourage us to "commune" with the music.'
'Were you one of her favourites?'
'Of course I was,' she said, and slipped her hand inside my shirt again. 'I was everybody's favourite. Am I not your favourite, as well?'
'Definitely,' I said. 'Were Cherie and Peggy favourites too?'
'Yes, they were,' said Simone. 'We practically used to live in Patternost's room.'
'So you and your sisters all went to the same school?'
'They're not really my sisters,' she said. 'They're like my sisters, like the sisters I never had. We met at school.'
'What was the name of the school?' If I had the school, then I could probably track all three of their identities.
'Cosgrove Hall,' said Simone. 'It was just outside Hastings.'
'Nice school?'
'It was perfectly all right, I suppose,' said Simone. 'The masters weren't too beastly to us, and it had its own riding stable and Miss Patternost – I mustn't forget her. She was very taken with Elisabeth Welch. "Stormy Weather", that was her favourite. She used to make us lie on the carpet – she had a lovely oriental carpet, from Persia I think – and make pictures in our minds.'
I asked what kind of records, and Simone said that it was nearly always jazz: Fletcher Henderson, Duke Ellington, Fats Waller and, of course, Billie Holiday. Miss Patternost told the girls that jazz was the Negro's great contribution to world culture, and that as far as she was concerned, they could eat as many missionaries as they wanted, as long as they continued to produce such beautiful music. After all, said Miss Patternost, the various societies were churning out hundreds of missionaries every week, but there was only one Louis Armstrong.
I knew from my own dad's collection that some of those discs would have been hard to get on the right side of the pond. When I asked where they came from, Simone told me about Sadie, Miss Patternost's woman friend.
'Did she have a surname?'
Simone stopped pulling my shirt out of my trousers. 'Why do you want to know?' she asked.
'I'm a policeman,' I said. 'We're born curious.'
Simone said that as far as she, and any of the other girls knew, Miss Patternost's friend Sadie was always just called 'Sadie'.
'That's how Miss Patternost used to introduce her,' she said.
It was never divulged what it was Sadie did, but the girls deduced from hints dropped in conversation that she worked in the movies in Hollywood, and that she and Miss Patternost had been engaged in a passionate correspondence for over fifteen years. Every month or so, in addition to the almost daily letters, a package would arrive wrapped in brown paper and strong twine and marked HANDLE WITH CARE. These were the precious records on Vocalion, Okeh and Gennett. Once a year Sadie would arrive, always just before the Easter hols, and ensconce herself in Miss Patternost's rooms, and there would be much playing of jazz records until the wee small hours of the morning. It was a scandal, said the girls of the lower sixth. But Simone, Peggy and Cherie didn't care.
'Crushed beetles,' said Simone suddenly.
'What about them?' I asked. I was wishing I hadn't blown out my iPhone because the recording app would have come in very handy right now.
'The icing on my birthday cake,' said Simone. It seemed that the big treat on a girl's birthday at Cosgrove Hall was that you got to choose the colour of the icing on your cake. It was a matter of honour that the birthday girl would try to come up with the most unlikely colour of icing they could think of, violet and orange being popular, with blue spots. The kitchen always managed to provide the colour, and the girls were convinced that they did it by grinding up beetles as colouring.
Back in the days before E-numbers and food technologists, I thought. Which was, as it happened, about where I wanted to be. Luckily the iPod chose that moment to play the last track on the playlist – Ken 'Snakehips' Johnson's very own version of 'Body and Soul'. I don't care what purists like my dad think. If you want to dance, you can't beat a touch of swing. Simone certainly thought so, because she stopped trying to strip me and instead started to pull me around the coach house in tight little circles. She was leading but I didn't mind – that was all part of the plan.
'Did you ever hear him play live?' I asked as casually as could. 'Ken Johnson?'
'Just the once,' said Simone.
In March 1941, of course.
'It was our last day of freedom,' she said. 'We'd all joined up as soon as we were old enough.' She told me that Cherie joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service and Peggy was in the Women's Royal Naval Service. But Simone had chosen the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, because somebody had said there was a chance she might fly.
'Or at least, meet a handsome pilot who'd take me up in his crate,' she said. It was Peggy's Canadian uncle who'd got them into the Café de Paris, and Cherie had said that they'd be fine, money-wise, provided they didn't order any food or have more than one drink.
Simone pressed her cheek against my chest and I stroked her hair.
'Our table could have been better, perhaps,' said Simone. 'It was surprisingly small, and not at all conveniently placed.
'If the band were at six o'clock, we were sort of half-past-one,' she said.
The club was full of handsome Canadian officers, one of whom sent over a bottle of champagne to their table, sparking a spirited discussion about how appropriate it would be for them to accept it, which ended only when Peggy downed her glass in one gulp. This led to another discussion about whether they could get a second bottle out of the Canadians and what, Cherie asked darkly, might they expect in return?
Peggy said that as far as she was concerned, the Canadians could have whatever they liked. In fact, she was of the opinion that it was their patriotic duty to make the brave soldiers of the Commonwealth welcome, and she was perfectly prepared to do her duty and think of England.
But they never got their second bottle of champagne, and the Canadians didn't get their just deserts. Because at that point the band struck up 'Body and Soul', and the girls only had eyes for Ken Johnson.
'Nobody had ever told me,' said Simone, 'that a coloured man could be so beautiful. And the way he moved – no wonder they called him Snakehips.' She frowned up at me. 'You haven't kissed me for ever such a long time.'
She pouted, so I kissed her. It was the single most stupid thing I've ever done, and that includes running into a tower block thirty seconds before it was due to be demolished.
_Vestigia_ are usually hard to spot. It's the uneasy feeling you have in a graveyard, the half-memory of children laughing in a playground, or a familiar face in the corner of your eye. What I got from that kiss was a full-on, high-definition quality reproduction of the last moments of Ken Johnson and forty-odd others at the Café de Paris. I didn't get to enjoy the ambience much. Laughter, uniforms, a live swing orchestra at the height of its powers and then – silence.
During the Renaissance, when there was a flowering of art, culture and almost continuous bloody warfare, some particularly foolhardy engineers would break sieges by rushing up to the castle and attaching a primitive shaped-charge to the gate. Sometimes, because fuses were more of an art than a science in those days, the charge would go off before the luckless engineer had got clear and he would be blown, or 'hoisted', through the air – often in bits. The French, with that subtle rapier wit that has made them famous, nicknamed the bombs 'petards', or farts. People still use the term 'hoisted by his own petard' to refer to a situation where one is damaged by one's own scheme. Which is what happened to me when I guided Simone back into her memories, and she proceeded to suck my brains out.
You don't experience a bomb blast so much as remember it afterwards. It's like a bad edit or a record jumping a groove. On one side of the moment there is music and laughter and romance, and on the other – not pain, that comes later – but a stunned incomprehension. A tangle of dust and splintered wood, a splash of white and red that becomes a man's dress shirt, tables overturned to reveal bodiless legs and headless bodies, a trombone minus its slide standing upright on a table as if left there by a musician, while two men in khaki uniforms stare blindly at it – killed by the blast wave.
And then noise and shouting and the taste of blood in Simone's mouth.
My blood, I realised – I'd bitten my lip.
It was Simone who pushed me away.
'How old am I?' she asked.
'I make it a shade short of ninety,' I said, because there's just no stopping my mouth sometimes.
'Your mother was right,' she said. 'I am a witch.'
I found I was swaying and my hand was shaking. I held it up in front of my face.
'She was right,' she said. 'I'm not a person, I'm a creature, an abomination.'
I tried to tell her that she was definitely a human being, and that some of my best friends were functionally immortal. I wanted to say that we could work it out, but it came out as a series of _wah-wah-wah_ sounds, like Charlie Brown's teacher.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I have to go and talk to my sisters.' She gave a bitter little laugh. 'Only they're not my sisters, are they? I'm Lucy, we're all Lucy Westenra.'
She turned and ran out of the coach house. I heard her heels clanging down the spiral staircase. I tried to follow, but toppled slowly onto my face instead.
*
'That was not the most intelligent thing you've ever done,' said Nightingale as Dr Walid shone a light in my eyes to make sure my brains were intact. I'm not sure how long I'd flopped around on the floor of the coach house, but as soon as I'd got enough muscle control to use a phone, I'd called Dr Walid. He was calling it an _atonic seizure_ because, even if he didn't know why it had happened, it was important to give it a cool name. I'd been hoping that I'd have a chance to come up with a plausible explanation before Nightingale arrived, but he came in just behind Dr Walid.
'I had to be sure she was related to the Café de Paris case, and not the Strip Club of Dr Moreau,' I said. 'I mean, she's not a chimera like the Pale Lady. In fact, I think she's an accident.' I explained about Miss Patternost and her musical shapes.
'You think that their "shapes" acted like _forma_?' asked Nightingale.
'Why not?' I asked. 'I used to make shapes when I was going to sleep when I was a kid, or listening to music. Everyone does it, and amongst billions of people, no matter how unlikely something is, if you repeat the action enough times there's a result – there's magic. How else could Newton have stumbled onto the principle in the first place? They were the wrong girls doing the wrong thing in the wrong place, and...'
'And what?' asked Dr Walid.
'I think they survived the blast at the Café de Paris because they channelled magic, or life energy, or whatever this stuff is, through the _forma_ in their minds. We know that magic can be released at the point of death – hence sacrifices.'
'Hence vampires,' said Nightingale.
'Not vampires,' I said. I'd been studying my Wolfe. ' _Tactus disvitae_ , the anti-life, is the mark of the vampire. This is more like alcohol or drug dependency: the damage is an unintended consequence, like cirrhosis of the liver or gout.'
'Human beings are not bottles of brandy,' said Nightingale. 'And Wolfe always was too keen on categorising and subcategorising everything. A rose by any other name, and all that. Still – where would she have gone?'
'Most likely the flat on Berwick Street,' I said.
'Back to the nest,' said Nightingale. And I didn't like way he said it.
Dr Walid handed me a couple of painkillers and a half a bottle of Diet Pepsi he must have found in the fridge. There was no fizz when I unscrewed the top, and it tasted flat when I swallowed the tablets – it must have been in there for ages.
He sat down next to me on the sofa and put his hand on my arm. 'If your father really did have a close encounter with Simone at some point in the past, we may be able to find evidence of that. So I want you to bring your father to the UCH tomorrow at eleven,' he said, and then pointed at Nightingale. 'You I want in bed in the next half-hour with a hot milk and a sleeping tablet.'
'There's—' said Nightingale, but Dr Walid didn't give him a chance to start, let alone finish.
'If you don't follow my instructions, I swear on my father's life that I'll have you both put on medical leave,' he said. 'Do you both ken me on this?' We nodded obediently.
'Good,' he said. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
Later, while we were wrangling hot drinks out of Molly in her kitchen, Nightingale asked me if I thought Dr Walid actually had the authority to carry out his threat. 'I think so,' I said. 'He's down on paper as our OCU's registered medical adviser. If we had any cells here he'd be the one we called in if our prisoners needed medical attention. Do we have any cells?'
'Not any more,' said Nightingale. 'They were all bricked up after the war.'
'In any case,' I said, 'I vote we don't push to find out how far his authority extends.'
'Why does he want to see your father?' asked Nightingale.
'I'm guessing, but I think he probably wants to know whether my dad's close encounter with Simone's sister left any physical traces,' I said.
'Oh,' said Nightingale. 'That's very clever of him.' Molly reverentially handed a mug of hot chocolate to Nightingale. 'Thank you,' he said.
'What about mine?' I asked.
Molly held up Toby's lead and wagged it at me.
'Not me again.'
'I'm on bed rest,' said Nightingale. 'Doctor's orders.'
I looked down at Toby, who was crouched half hidden behind Molly's skirts. He gave me an experimental yap.
'You're not making any friends round here, you know,' I said.
*
Dr Walid let me watch while he fed my father into the MRI scanner at UCH. He said it was a 3.0 Tesla machine, which was good, but that really the hospital could do with another one to cope with the demand.
There's a microphone inside the tube so you can hear if the patient's in distress – I could hear my dad humming.
'What's that sound?' asked Dr Walid.
'Dad,' I said. 'He's singing "Ain't Misbehaving".'
Dr Walid sat down at a control desk complicated enough to launch a satellite into low earth orbit or mix a top-twenty hit. The magnetic drum in the scanner started to rotate with the sort of banging sound that makes you drive your car into the nearest garage. It didn't seem to bother my dad, who carried on humming, although I noticed he did shift his rhythm to match the machine.
The scans went on for a long time, and after a while the microphone picked up my dad's gentle snoring.
Dr Walid looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
'If you can go to sleep while my mum's on the phone,' I said, 'you can pretty much sleep through anything.'
When they'd finished with my dad, Dr Walid turned to me and told me to strip off and get in the machine myself.
'What?'
'Simone was probably feeding off you too,' he said.
'But I don't play jazz,' I said. 'I don't even like it that much.'
'You're making assumptions, Peter. The whole jazz aspect may just be a boundary effect. If your lady friend is an uncharacterised category of thaumovore, then we can't know what the mechanism is. We need more data, so I need you to stick your head in the MRI machine.' He put his hand on my shoulder. 'It's for science,' he said.
There's something uniquely claustrophobic about sliding into an MRI scanner. The rotating magnets are on an industrial scale and generate a magnetic field 60,000 times that of the earth's. And they feed you into it wearing nothing but a hospital gown that lets a breeze flap around your privates.
At least Dr Walid didn't make me wait around for the results.
'This is your dad's,' he said. He pointed to a couple of dark grey smudges. 'Those look like minor lesions, probably hyperthaumaturgical degradation. I'll have to refine the image further and make some comparisons to be sure. This is your brain, which is not only pristine and unsullied by thought, but also showing no sign of any lesions.'
'So she wasn't feeding off me. Then why did I pass out?'
'I'd bet she was feeding off you,' he said. 'Just not enough yet for it to damage your brain.'
'She was doing it while we were having sex,' I said. 'She practically told me that herself. Do we know what she's actually feeding off, exactly?'
'The damage I'm looking at is consistent with the early stages of hyperthaumaturgical degradation.'
'She's a vampire,' I said. 'A jazz vampire.'
'Jazz may just be the flavouring,' said Dr Walid. 'What's being consumed is magic.'
'Which is what, exactly?'
'We don't know, as well you know,' he said, and sent me off to get changed.
'Is it brain cancer, then?' asked my dad as we got dressed.
'No, they just wanted to record your empty head for posterity,' I said.
'You've never been very lucky with birds, have you?' he said. It's weird watching an elderly parent when they're half naked. You find yourself staring in fascination at the slack skin, the wrinkles and the liver spots and thinking, _one day all that will be yours_. Or at least it will be, if you can avoid getting killed or falling in love with vampires.
'Apart from the thing with Mum, how did the gig go?'
'Not bad at all,' he said. 'We could have done with a bit more rehearsal, but then you always can.'
Even with sterile needles supplied on the NHS my dad had still collapsed the veins on his arms, and I'd assumed he'd been injecting into his legs. But looking now I couldn't see any tracks.
'When was the last time you had your medicine?' I asked.
'I'm temporarily off the gear,' he said.
'Since when?' I asked.
'Since the summer,' he said. 'I thought your mum had told you.'
'She said you'd quit smoking,' I said.
'And the rest.' My dad slipped into his rifle-green shirt with the button-down collar and shook his arm in the approved Cockney Geezer manner. 'Got off both horses,' he said. 'And to be honest, giving up the fags was the hardest of the two.'
I offered to take him home, but he said that not only was he all right, but he was looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet. Still, the sun was going down, so I waited with him at the stop until his bus came, and then I walked back to Russell Square.
I'm used to having the Folly to myself, so it was a bit of a shock to wander into the atrium and find half a dozen guys making themselves comfortable in the armchairs. I recognised one of them, a stocky man with a broken nose, as Frank Caffrey, our contact in the Fire Brigade and reservist for the Parachute Regiment. He stood up and shook my hand.
'These are me mates,' he said.
I gave them a nod. They were all fit-looking middle-aged men with short haircuts, and while they were dressed in a variety of civvies, their manner suggested that uniforms were a very real possibility. Molly had supplied them with afternoon tea, but slung under the occasional tables and stacked beside their armchairs the men had sturdy black nylon carryalls. The ones with the reinforced straps and handles allowing one to carry small, heavy metal objects around in safety and relative comfort.
I asked where Nightingale was.
'On the phone to the Commissioner,' he said. 'We're just waiting for the word.'
The 'word' made me cold and sweaty. I doubted this word was to extend Simone and her sisters an invitation to tea. I managed to keep the fear off my face, gave Caffrey's mates a cheery wave and headed through the back door and across the yard and out the coach house gate. I reckoned that I had at least ten minutes before Nightingale figured out I'd gone, twenty if I left the car in the garage. He knew me well enough to know what I was going to do next. He'd probably thought he was trying to protect me from myself, which was ironic because I thought I was trying to protect him from himself.
Twenty minutes to notice I was gone, ten minutes to tool up and pile into whatever nondescript van the Paras had brought with them, ten minutes to reach Berwick Street. Forty minutes, tops.
A black cab was turning the corner as I stepped out on the pavement and shouted 'taxi'. I stuck my hand out, but the bastard pretended he hadn't seen and cruised right past me. I swore and memorised his index in case an opportunity for petty but deeply satisfying vengeance came along later. Fortunately, a second cab came around the corner immediately and dropped off some tourists outside one of the hotels on Southampton Row, and I slipped in before the driver could experience any problems with his night vision. He had the cropped hair of a man too proud to cover his bald patch with a comb-over. Just to make his day I showed my warrant card.
'Get me to Berwick Street in under ten minutes and I'll give you a free pass for the rest of the year,' I said.
'And the wife's car?' he asked.
'Same deal,' I said, and gave him my card.
'Done,' he said, and demonstrated the amazing turning circle of the London black cab by doing an illegal u-turn that threw me into the side door and accelerated down Bedford Place. Either he was insane or his wife really needed help with the traffic tickets, because we did it in less than five minutes. I was so impressed I even paid him the fare as well.
Friday night on Berwick Street, and the punters were quietly slipping in and out of the sex shops at the corner with Peter Street. The market had closed but the pubs and the record shops were still open, and a steady stream of media workers were threading their way home through the tourists. I took some time to check the front of Simone's house – up on the fifth floor the light was on.
I didn't like the idea of Simone and her sisters just disappearing at the hands of Caffrey and his lads. I believe in the rule of law and this was, however weird, a police matter and I was a sworn constable who was about to exercise his discretion to resolve a breach of the Queen's Peace.
Or, as Lesley would have it, I was out of my fucking mind.
I pressed random buttons on the intercom until someone answered.
'Come to read the meter, love,' I said, and they buzzed me in. I made a mental note to pass the number of the building to West End Central's crime-prevention team for a stern lecture, and started up the stairs.
They hadn't got any less steep. No wonder Simone and her sisters had to suck the life force out of people.
I was just catching a breather in front of their door when somebody grabbed me from behind and held a knife to my throat.
'It's him,' she hissed. 'Open the door.'
Because of the height difference, she had to reach up under my armpit to get her blade, an old kitchen knife I thought, against my neck. She would really have been better off threatening my back or stomach. If I'd been desperate I could have chopped down with my arm and forced her hand away. It would have depended on how fast she was and how willing to kill.
The door opened and Simone looked out.
'Hello Simone,' I said. 'We need to have a chat.'
She looked stricken to see me.
The woman with the knife pushed me and I edged carefully into the room. Peggy was in there too, still dressed in dungarees, hair still spiky, face pale and scared. That meant Cherie was the one with the knife. Simone closed the door behind us.
'Get his handcuffs,' said Cherie.
Peggy groped me around the waist. 'He hasn't got any.'
'Why haven't you brought your handcuffs?' said Simone. 'I told them you'd have handcuffs.'
'I'm not here to arrest anyone,' I said.
'We know,' hissed Cherie. 'You're here to kill us.'
'What, just me on my own?' I asked, but I was thinking of Caffrey and his posse drinking tea back at the Folly. Only by now they'd have finished their tea and were probably in a van, a nondescript Ford Transit most likely, doing last-minute checks on their weapons and night-vision equipment.
'I'm not here to kill anyone,' I said.
'Liar,' said Cherie. 'He said you'd disappear us.'
'Perhaps we should let them,' said Peggy.
'We haven't done anything wrong,' said Cherie, and her knife nicked my throat by accident – thank God it wasn't sharp.
'Yes, we have,' said Simone. There were tears on her face, and when she saw me looking at her she turned away.
'Who said we would kill you?' I asked.
'This man,' said Cherie.
'Did you meet him in a pub?' I asked. 'What man? Can you remember what he looked like?'
Cherie hesitated, and that's when I knew.
'I can't remember,' she said. 'It's not important what he looks like. He said that you worked for the government, and all the government was interested in was eliminating anybody who isn't normal.'
What could I say? I was pretty much here to tell them the same thing.
'What colour were his eyes?' I asked. 'Was he white, black, something else?'
'Why do you care?' shouted Cherie.
'Why can't you remember?' I asked.
'I don't know,' said Cherie, and relaxed her grip.
I didn't wait for her to remember she was supposed to be holding me hostage. I grabbed her wrist and twisted her knife hand up and away. The rule for fighting a person with a knife is to start off by making it point away from you and then ensuring that it hurts too much to hold onto. I felt something crack under my grip, Cherie screamed and dropped the knife. Peggy tried to hit me but I was already twisting away and she ended up smacking Cherie in the face.
'Stop it,' yelled Simone.
I shoved Cherie over towards her sisters. She stumbled into Peggy, and they both tripped on the edge of the mattress and went down. Peggy came up spitting like a cat.
'Wait a minute,' I said. 'I'm trying to do you a favour here. There's a real evil man out there that you don't want to be messing with.'
'You should know,' spat Peggy. 'You work for him.'
'It's not our fault,' said Cherie dejectedly. Simone sat down beside her and put her arm around her sister.
'I get that,' I said. 'I really do. But whatever you think about my governor, there's another total evil bastard out there, and by the way – why the fuck are you still here? Everyone knows where you live.'
I figured I might just have another ten minutes before Nightingale and Caffrey turned up to demonstrate the military version of the hard-target entry, followed up by a unique close-up view of their search-and-destroy procedures.
'He's right,' said Peggy. 'We can't stay here.'
'Where can we go?' asked Cherie.
'I'll get you into a hotel,' I said. 'Then we can talk about what to do next.' I concentrated on Simone, who was looking at me with a kind of sick longing. 'Simone, we don't have much time.'
She nodded. 'He's right,' she said. 'I think we should leave immediately and never return.'
'But what about my things?' wailed Cherie.
'We'll get you more things,' said Peggy, hauling Cherie to her feet.
'I'll check the coast is clear,' I said. I stepped out onto the landing and pressed the pop-in switch thingy that turned on the miserly forty-watt bulb.
There was a crash downstairs, the distinctive double bang of a heavy door being smashed open and the rebounding off a side wall. It's no joke, that rebound. There have been plenty of instances where the first bastard through the door has been knocked right back out on his arse again.
I was too late. I didn't know if it was Nightingale with Caffrey in support, or a CO19 armed-response team sent in by Stephanopoulos. Either way, I had to deescalate the situation before they reached the top of the house. I told Simone and the others to stay in the room.
'Officer on the scene,' I shouted. 'No weapons, no hostages. I repeat, no weapons, no hostages.'
I paused to listen. From down below I thought I heard someone sniggering and then a deep voice with a lisp said, 'Excellent.' Then I definitely heard feet running up the lower staircases. I held up my hands at chest level, palms out to show I was unarmed. It wasn't an easy thing to do – one of the reasons the Met has to train its officers in conflict resolution is to overcome our natural London urge to get our retaliation in first.
The push-in light switch popped out again and it suddenly went dark. I frantically slapped at the switch to get it on again – anything that can go wrong with armed men in the light can go twice as wrong in the dark.
The footsteps reached the landing below me and a figure came bounding around the corner and up the stairs.
And that's when my brain let me down. Whatever you've been told, seeing is not believing. Your brain does a great deal of interpretation before it deigns to let your consciousness know what the hell is going on. If we're suddenly exposed to something unfamiliar, a damaged human face, a car flying through the air towards us, something that looks almost but not quite human, it can take time, sometimes even seconds for our minds to react. And those seconds can be crucial.
As when a chimera is racing up the staircase to reach you.
He was male, muscular and stripped to the waist to reveal that he was covered in short russet fur. His hair was black and cut long and shaggy. His nose was all wrong, as black and glossy as a healthy cat's. As he bounded up the stairs towards me his mouth opened wide to reveal sharp white teeth and a lolling pink tongue. None of this registered until he was almost on top of me, and I didn't have time to do anything but scramble back and lash out with my foot.
Doc Martens, patented acid-resistant soled, reinforced leather shoes, as recommended by police officers and skinheads everywhere – when you absolutely, positively have to kick someone down the stairs.
Predictably, Tiger Boy landed like a cat, twisting his spine as he dropped to fall into a crouch on the landing below.
'Get up on the roof,' I shouted through the door.
Tiger Boy took a moment out to shake his head and give me a big feline grin. His eyes were quite beautiful, amber-coloured and slotted like a cat's and obviously adapted for hunting at night.
I heard the door open and Peggy and Simone dragging a still whimpering Cherie out of the room and onto the stairs up to the roof. I didn't dare take my eyes off Tiger Boy – he was just waiting for me to lose concentration.
'Who the hell is that?' asked Simone.
'Nobody you want to know,' I said.
Tiger Boy hissed. I saw his tail twitch, and found myself wondering whether he cut a hole in the back of his Y-fronts to let it out.
'Little mousy,' lisped Tiger Boy. 'Why don't you jump about? It's more fun when you jump about.'
The pop-in light switch popped out, it went dark and Tiger Boy leaped towards me.
I put a werelight in his face.
I'd been practising, and had managed to produce one that burned as brightly as a magnesium flare. I'd closed my eyes and it still lit up the inside of my eyelids, so it must have hit Tiger Boy right in his specially low-light adapted eyes.
He howled, I jumped and this time managed to get both size elevens in contact with his body. He probably outweighed me but Isaac Newton was on my side, and we went down the stairs together, only he was hitting all the steps and I was surfing down on top of him. At least, that was the theory.
We hit the landing harder and faster than I expected. I heard a snap under my feet and there was a stabbing pain in my left knee. I yelled and he yowled.
'You're right,' I said. 'It is more fun when you jump about.'
I didn't have any cuffs or rope to secure him, so I settled for scrambling back up the stairs, ignoring the shooting pain in my knee as I went. Behind me, Tiger Boy wailed pathetically and, more importantly, stayed where he was. Iran through the roof door, ducked under a clumsy swing from Peggy and slammed it shut behind me.
'I beg your pardon,' said Peggy. 'I thought you were him.'
I looked at the three women. They were clutching each other for support and had the dazed, unfocused look that people get after bombing incidents and motorway pile-ups.
I pointed north. 'Climb over the railing, go that way across the roof,' I said. 'Go to the right. There's a fire escape down to Duck Lane.' I'd spotted it during my night of passion with Simone as a possible access point for burglars. Which proves, if nothing else, that a police constable is never off duty, even when he's not wearing his underpants.
They didn't move; it was strange, they were acting so slow and dull. As if they were drugged or distracted.
'Come on,' I said. 'We've got to get out of here.'
'Will you be quiet,' said Peggy. 'We're talking to someone.'
I turned around to find that an evil magician had been standing behind me.
#
# Autumn Leaves
He was standing at the far end of the roof garden, leaning nonchalantly against the railing. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored dark suit, a pale silk cravat and was carrying a cane topped with a mother-of-pearl handle. The witnesses had been right about his face. Even as I concentrated on his features, I found myself noticing the gleam of his gold cufflinks, the scarlet triangle of his pocket handkerchief, anything except his face. This was him – the Faceless One.
'Oi,' I shouted, 'just what do you think you're doing?'
'Do you mind?' said Faceless. 'I'm trying to talk to the ladies here.' His accent was generic posh, public-school, Oxbridge – which fitted the profile and endeared him to my proletarian soul not at all.
'Well, you can talk to me first,' I said, 'or you can go to hospital.'
'On the other hand,' said Faceless, 'you could just take a quick jump off the parapet.'
His tone was so reasonable I actually took three steps towards the railing before I could stop myself. It was _Seducere_ , of course, the glamour, and it might have worked on me if I hadn't spent the year having various demi-gods and nature spirits trying to mess with my mind. Nothing gives you mental toughness like having Lady Tyburn trying to make you her house slave. I kept heading for the railing, though, because there's no point giving away an advantage, and I was curious to know what he wanted from Simone and her sisters.
'Ladies,' he said, 'I realise your true nature may have come as a shock, and right now you're a little confused.' He was speaking softly, but I heard his words with unnatural clarity. Part of the _Seducere_? I wondered – me and Nightingale were going to have to have a long chat about this sometime soon.
I'd reached the edge of the roof, so I turned and put my foot up on the railing as if I was about to climb over sideways before plunging to a horrible death. It also gave me an opportunity to see what Faceless was up to.
He was still chatting up the girls. 'I know you believe that you are cursed,' he said, 'forced to satiate your unnatural appetites by draining the life force of others. But I want you to think outside of the box.'
I still couldn't see his face, but I'd done a bit of reading since Alexander Smith had given us the description of his face or, more accurately, hadn't. Victor Bartholomew, possibly the most boring magician that ever lived, named it as _Vultus occulto_ , which even I knew was pig Latin, and had devoted an entire chapter on the subject of countermeasures which, typically for Bartholomew, I could boil down to one sentence: _Keep looking really hard and sooner or later you'll see through it_. So that's what I did.
'What if,' said Faceless, 'and I throw this out to you as a hypothetical, what if it was all right to feed on people? What is feeding off people anyway, but good old exploitation? And we're perfectly happy to exploit people, aren't we?'
I glanced over at Simone. She and her sisters had stopped holding each other and were regarding Faceless with the same polite interest one might give to a visiting dignitary in the hope that he gets on with it and shuts up soon.
Ha, I thought. Tyburn would have had them genuflecting by now.
'This notion that we're all equal is so intellectually bankrupt, anyway.' As he spoke I blinked a couple of times, and suddenly I could see his face. Or rather I couldn't, because his face was hidden by a plain beige-coloured mask that covered his whole head. It made him look like an unusually tasteful Mexican wrestler. I think he may have sensed that I'd pushed through the disguise, because he turned to look at me.
'Are you still here?' he asked.
'I wasn't sure whether I should go head first or feet first,' I said.
'Do you think it will make a difference?'
'Statistically, you're more likely to survive if you go feet-first.'
'Why don't you jump?' he said. 'And then we can see.'
I felt it then, the _Seducere_ , stronger this time and bringing with it the smell of roast pork, freshly mown grass, the stink of unwashed bodies and a metallic taste, like iron, in my mouth. I turned to the railings, paused and then turned back.
'What did you say your name was again?' I asked.
'Jump,' barked Faceless.
He gave me his full attention, but _Seducere_ never seems to work twice, and while he was using it on me, he wasn't using it on Simone.
'Run!' I yelled.
I saw Simone snap out of it first and pull at Peggy's arm. They both shot me scared looks and then, thank God, grabbed Cherie and started climbing the parapet where it separated the roof garden from next door. I glanced back at Faceless just in time to see the swing of his shoulders as he threw out his arm in my direction. I recognised the gesture – I'd been practising it myself for the last six months. This saved my life because I was already diving to the left when something bright and hot zipped past my shoulder and melted a half-metre hole in the railings, just about where my stomach would have been if I hadn't moved.
I flipped a couple of skinny grenades at him even as I was flying through the air, which would have been way more impressive if I hadn't been trying for a straight fireball. As I skidded along the floor another chunk of railing melted behind me, and I saw that one of my skinny mines had popped harmlessly in mid-air, and the other fell out of the air and bounced to a stop at Faceless's feet. He looked down, and through pure luck it chose that moment to explode. The blast staggered him backwards and twisted him around. I used the time to scramble to my feet and face him.
'Armed police,' I shouted. 'Stand still and put your hands on your head.' This time I knew I had the right spell lined up.
He turned and stared at me. Despite the mask, I could tell he was incredulous.
'You're the police?' he asked.
'Armed police,' I said. 'Turn around and put your hands on your head.'
I risked a glance to check that Simone and her sisters were off the roof.
'Oh, don't worry about them,' said the man. 'I've found something far more interesting than them. After all, I can always make more people like them.'
'Armed police,' I shouted again. 'Turn around and put your hands on your head.' They make this very clear at Hendon: if you're going to put the boot in, there must be no doubt that you identified yourself and that the suspect heard you.
'If you're going to shoot,' he said, 'then shoot.'
So I shot him. It was worth it just for the obvious outrage it caused him, and I enjoyed it right up until the point where he caught the bloody fireball. Just snatched it out of the air and held it, Yorick-like, in front of his face.
I'd released it as soon as it got near him but it hadn't exploded. He twisted it this way and that, as if examining it like a connoisseur, which perhaps he was. I figured he wanted me to lob another one at him so he could catch it, or deflect it, or do something else with annoying insouciance. So I didn't. Besides, the more time he spent taunting me, the further away Simone could get.
'You know,' he said, 'when I first saw you I thought you were with the Thames girls, or a new sort of fae, or something really outlandish like a witch doctor or an American.' The man popped the fireball like a soap bubble, and rubbed his thumb and finger under his nose. 'Who trained you?' he asked. 'Not Jeffers, that's for certain. Not that he was without skill, but you've got spirit. Was it Gripper? He's just the kind to bleat about what he's doing. Have you noticed that about journalists? All they really want to talk about is themselves.'
Gripper was obviously Jason Dunlop. Dunlop tyres, grip, Gripper – which gives you an indication of the lively wit promoted by our elite educational institutions. And Gripper obviously wasn't the only one who wanted to talk. It's no fun looking down on people if you can't let them know you're above them.
Come on you bastard, I thought. Drop a few more names.
'You talk too little,' he said. 'I don't trust you.'
Suddenly the world was flooded with light, and the massive downdraft from a helicopter blew dust and rubbish around our faces. He threw a fireball at me. I threw a chimney stack at him – that's the London way.
I'd been working on loosening up the chimney stack with what I call _Impello vibrato_ but which Nightingale calls _will you stop messing about and pay attention_ , while Faceless had been chatting. When the Nightsun searchlight from the police helicopter hit him in the face I created as pure an _Impello_ form as Nightingale could wish for and aimed it straight at the bastard. I knew he'd try and zap me, so I threw myself to the right and his fireball sizzled past my shoulder. I was hoping his gaze would automatically track me and not spot the quarter of a ton of brick and terracotta coming at him from the other direction, but he must have glimpsed it from the corner of his eye because he flung up his hand and the chimney stack disintegrated half a metre short of his palm.
I didn't get much more than a fleeting look as bits of brick, cement dust and sand flowed around him, as if sliding across an invisible sphere, because I was too busy closing the distance between us. If we stuck to magic it was obvious he was going to bounce me around the rooftops, so I ran at him in the hope of getting close enough to smack him in the face.
I was close too, less than a metre away, but the fucker turned and stuck his palm at me and I ran smack into whatever it was he had used on the chimney. It wasn't like hitting a Perspex wall. Instead it was slippery, like the wobbly, sliding feeling you get when you try to push two magnets together. I went spinning onto my back and he strode towards me. I didn't wait to find out whether he was planning to gloat or just kill me. Instead I reached out with _Impello_ to grab the cheap plastic garden table behind Faceless and slammed it into the back of his legs. He pitched forward and met both of my feet coming the other way.
'Fuck!' he yelled, loud enough to be heard over the helicopter.
I was up now, and managed to get in one good punch to the face before something snarling and covered in fur barrelled into me from the right. It was Tiger Boy, who'd evidently kicked his way out through the roof door to reach us. We slammed into the parapet railing, and it was only because I got a solid lock on a bar with my right hand that I didn't go over and fall to my death. I rocked myself back onto the safety of the roof and looked up to see Tiger Boy drawing back one heavily muscled arm ready to strike. He had claws on the ends of his fingers – what are you supposed to do against somebody with claws?
What with the noise of the helicopter, and my own fear, I didn't hear the shot. I saw Tiger Boy's head jerk backwards, and behind him a spray of red was caught in the glare of the helicopter searchlight.
The cavalry had arrived, although I couldn't tell whether it was Caffrey and his ex-paratroopers or a sniper from CO19, the armed wing of the Metropolitan Police. I made a pistol shape with my hand and jabbed it in the direction of Faceless. I hoped that the sniper was one of Caffrey's mob, because a CO19 officer probably wouldn't shoot an apparently unarmed civilian at my mimed suggestion without proper authorisation. Nine times out of ten, anyway.
Faceless wasn't stupid. He could see the odds had shifted. He threw one more fireball and I ducked – but it wasn't aimed at me. It went up, and a moment later the searchlight went out. I made a lunge for Faceless's last known position but he was no longer there, and by the time my eyes readjusted to the gloom I saw he was gone from the roof. Above me, the helicopter made a stuttering, clanking noise. It's not the sort of sound you want to hear a helicopter making, especially when it's right over your head.
I watched it as it lurched sideways over the street, wobbling as the pilot fought to get it under control. I should have been getting off the roof, but I couldn't take my eyes off it – Soho is as high-density urban as you can get. If it came down here, the death toll would be in the hundreds. I heard the engine change pitch as the pilot pushed up the throttle and fought to gain altitude. There were screams and yells from the street below as people saw what was happening. There would be lots of phone-camera footage on the news that night from people with more media-savvy than brains.
I decided that the lack of brains included me when the helicopter lurched back towards me and I realised that my face was level with the landing skids. I ducked as they swept over my head in a blast of downwash that brought the smell of overheated oil. I could see where flying debris had dinged the paintwork on the underside of the fuselage, and where Cape-wearing Boy had blown a hole the size of my fist through the housing of the sensor bubble on the nose. Then, with a clattering roar, the helicopter laboured upwards and away as the pilot went looking for somewhere safe to put down.
Apart from the approaching police sirens, it was suddenly much quieter. I sat down on what I still liked to think of as me and Simone's mattress, caught my breath and waited for more trouble to arrive.
First through the roof door was Thomas 'Tiger Tank' Nightingale. He saw me and gestured at his eyes and then at the blind spot behind the stairwell. I shook my head, pointed at the body of Tiger Boy and then made a walking motion with my fingers. Nightingale looked puzzled.
'He ran away,' I shouted.
Nightingale stepped out of cover and did a three-sixty just to be on the safe side. Frank Caffrey and a couple of mates followed him out. I'd expected the paras to be dressed in full-on ninja-commando rigs, but of course they were still in their street clothes. If they hadn't been armed with their service rifles, I wouldn't have given them a second look.
Two peeled off to check on Tiger Boy, who stayed stubbornly dead even when one of them kicked him in the ribs.
Once Nightingale was sure that the roof was secure, he came over and I got up to meet him – after all, no one likes to get bollocked sitting down.
'Was that him?' asked Nightingale.
'That was the Faceless One,' I said. 'Although I noticed he was wearing a mask.'
'It's part of the spell,' said Nightingale. 'Are you hurt?'
I checked. 'Just bruises, and twisted my knee.'
Nightingale pointed at the remains of the chimney stack. 'Did you do that?'
'That was me. Didn't work, though. He had a sort of force-field thing going on.'
The police sirens reached the street outside, and we heard the thump-thump of police officers slamming their car doors.
Nightingale turned to Caffrey. 'Frank, you and your lads had better pull back to the van,' he said. 'We'll join you once we've sorted out the locals.'
The paras loped off across the roofs towards the fire escape down to Duck Lane. I hoped that Simone and her sisters had been sensible enough to keep moving after they'd escaped.
'A full shield,' said Nightingale, returning to our earlier discussion.
'And he caught my fireball,' I said. 'Did I mention that? Just plucked it out of the air.'
'This man has been trained by a master,' said Nightingale. 'Have you any idea how many years it takes to practise at that level? The dedication and self-discipline he would have needed? You've just met one of the most dangerous men in the world.' He clapped me on the shoulder. 'And you're still alive. Now that's impressive.'
For a terrifying moment I thought he was going to hug me, but fortunately we both remembered we were English just in time. Still, it was a close call.
From deep inside the house we heard the distinctive rumble of police feet running up the stairs.
I pointed at the late Tiger Boy. 'What do I tell them about him?'
'You don't know who shot him,' said Nightingale. 'You thought it might have been a police sniper. Isn't that right?'
I nodded. It's always better to tell a half-truth than a half-lie. This is London, guv, we don't have no paramilitary-style death squads here. 'We need to talk about this,' I said. 'Before we do anything else.'
'Yes,' said Nightingale grimly. 'I believe we do.'
Nightingale strode over to the door and called down that he was in charge, and that the roof was a crime scene and that unless they were members of Murder Team they had better stay clear if they knew what was good for them.
'I am the bloody Murder Team,' shouted Stephanopoulos from below. Five flights of stairs hadn't improved her mood, and she emerged onto the roof like an overdue tax demand. She glared at Nightingale and then, stepping carefully so as to preserve the scene, she walked over to where Tiger Boy lay sprawled on the flagstones. Blood had pooled under his head, slick and black in the reflected street light.
Stephanopoulos looked over at the body and then back at me. 'Not another one,' she said wearily. 'You want to watch it, son. At the rate you're going the Department of Professional Standards is going to have your number on speed dial.' She narrowed her eyes at Nightingale. 'What's your opinion, sir?' she asked.
Nightingale indicated the body with his cane. 'Clearly shot by person or persons unknown, Sergeant.' He shifted the cane to point across the road. 'I'd say the shots were fired from the roof or top floor of that building over there.'
Stephanopoulos didn't even bother to look. 'Any idea who he is?'
'None whatsoever, I'm afraid,' said Nightingale. 'But I doubt he has any friends or family.'
Which meant no one to raise a fuss at the inquest, no one to claim the body. Which meant, if I was to guess, that a fairly large percentage of him would end up in Dr Walid's freezer.
It took me an hour to get off that roof, and once again I had to surrender my top layer of clothes to forensics who now had, I calculated, more pairs of my shoes than I did. They swabbed mine and Nightingale's hands for gunshot residue, and we both went downstairs to separate cars to give preliminary statements. It was three in the morning by the time Stephanopoulos released us on our own recognisance and by that time, even Soho was feeling jaded.
Caffrey and the paratroopers had holed up in a side road off Broadwick Street. I'd been right about the Transit van, which was white and fitted with patently false number plates. 'We don't like paying the congestion charge,' Caffrey said when I asked about them. 'The van's kosher, though – belongs to the brother-in-law.' Between them, the paras managed to furnish me with a pair of black jeans, a charcoal-grey hoodie with AGRO stencilled across the front and a pair of generic trainers so I could get out of the Noddy suit forensics had given me. I caught a whiff of gun oil lingering in the fabric of the jeans, and I had a strong suspicion that they and the sweatshirt had been in the gun bags to muffle the clank of the rifles.
Nightingale waited patiently in the drizzle while I got dressed. Before I could join him, Caffrey stopped me with his hand on my arm. 'We don't want to be here when it gets light,' he said.
'Don't worry,' I said. 'This won't take long.'
Nightingale looked gaunt and colourless under the sodium lights, there were smudges under his eyes and, while he tried to hide it, I saw the occasional shiver. He kept his expression bland.
'Would you like to go first, sir?' I said.
He nodded, but gave me a long cool look before finally he sighed. 'When I took you on as my apprentice, I thought I could protect you from having to make certain "choices". I see now that I was wrong, and for that I apologise. That said, what the hell did you think you were trying to achieve?'
'I was trying to do my duty as a sworn constable under the Human Rights Act,' I said. 'To wit, the right to life under article two, which mandates that any use of force must be absolutely necessary, and that any poor bastard we kill had better have it coming good and proper.'
'Assuming that you expand the definition of human being to vampires and chimerae,' said Nightingale.
'Then let's get a judgement from the courts, or better still, have Parliament clarify the law,' I said. 'But it's not our place to make that decision, sir – is it? We're just coppers.'
'If they were ugly, Peter, would you care half so much?' asked Nightingale. 'There are some hideous things out there that can talk and reason, and I wonder if you would be quite so quick to rush to their defence.'
'Maybe not,' I said. 'But that just makes me shallow, it doesn't make me wrong.'
'I estimate that between them, Simone and her sisters have killed or mutilated almost two hundred and twenty people since 1941,' said Nightingale. 'These people also had their human rights.'
'I'm saying that we just can't pretend the law doesn't exist,' I said.
'Very well,' said Nightingale. 'Let's assume that we arrest them and, God knows how, try and convict them for...'
'Manslaughter by gross negligence, sir,' I said. 'I think it would have been reasonable to expect them, after twenty years or so, to notice that they weren't getting any older and that their boyfriends were regularly kicking the bucket.'
'They're going to say they didn't remember,' said Nightingale.
'I believe them, sir,' I said. 'Which means they are suffering from a mental disorder as defined by the Mental Health Act 1983, and since they are an obvious threat to members of the public we can detain them under Section 135 of the aforesaid act, and remove them to a place of safety for care and evaluation.'
'And when they get hungry?' he asked. 'Do you think starving them to death is more humane?'
'We don't know they'd die,' I said. 'Perhaps their metabolism will revert, and if all else fails, we can feed them. They were taking less than a victim a year – they can't need that much.'
'And you want to spend the rest of your life doing that?'
'You just can't off someone simply because it's more convenient,' I said. 'What did all your friends die for, all those names on the wall, what did they die for if not for that?'
He recoiled. 'I don't know what they died for,' he said. 'I didn't know then and I still don't know now.'
'Well I do,' I said. 'Even if you've forgotten. They died because they thought there was a better way of doing things, even if they were still arguing about what it was.'
I saw it in his eyes – he wanted so badly to believe.
'It's nothing we can't handle,' I said. 'Are you really telling me that between you, me and Dr Walid we can't work something out? Maybe I can find a way to feed them pocket calculators and mobile phones. Maybe if we can fix them we can fix the others. Wouldn't that be better than just dropping a phosphorus grenade on them – really? Besides, Molly might like the company.'
'You want to keep them in the Folly?'
'Initially,' I said, 'until we can figure out how far they can be trusted. Once we've got them stabilised we could set up a halfway house. Preferably somewhere where there's no jazz scene.'
'This is mad,' said Nightingale.
'And they could take Toby for walks,' I said.
'Oh, well, in that case, why don't we throw our doors open to all and sundry,' he said, and I knew I had him.
'I don't know, sir,' I said. 'Wouldn't a pilot project be more sensible in the first instance?'
'We still don't know where they've gone,' he said.
'I know where they've gone.'
We moved the Transit van to Great Windmill Street and parked next to the McDonald's, and left the private army inside while we went to check out the staff entrance to the Café de Paris. 'Why don't we send Frank home?' I asked.
'We may need him if that bastard black magician turns up again,' he said.
'Are you saying you can't take him?'
'Fortune favours the prepared,' said Nightingale.
The entrance door was ajar, which not only meant that Simone was probably inside but also that we had reasonable cause to enter the premises without a search warrant under Section 17 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984. There was broken glass in the kitchen. They'd evidently helped themselves to a midnight snack. The door to the champagne cooler had been left open, and the hum of its compressor followed us back out into the service corridor.
'They must be in the ballroom,' I said, and Nightingale nodded. 'Give me five minutes to calm them down and then come in.'
'Be careful,' he said.
The service corridor dog-legged and ended in a door that led me out onto the landing that overlooked the length of the ballroom. Unlike the last time I'd visited, the tables had been laid out in an oval around the dance floor and covered in crisp white cloths.
I knew as soon as I saw them sitting at their old table, surprisingly small and situated at half past one in relation to the band. There was a trio of bottles arrayed on it – one each. I had a pit in my chest and a ringing in my ears, but I made myself go down the stairs to check. They were still in the clothes they'd been wearing when they'd left, but they'd done their best with lipstick and mascara to make themselves look presentable. Later tests by Dr Walid indicated that they'd done the deed with alcohol and Phenobarbital, the formulation matching the empty tablet strips found neatly stowed in Peggy's handbag.
Suicides are rarely pretty, but the sisters had managed to avoid slumping or lolling or dribbling vomit down their fronts. I think they would have been satisfied with the tableau they'd created – three bright young things caught just on the cusp of their futures. I was so angry I had to force myself to stop and breathe deeply before I could carry on.
Simone's eyes were open. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and I had to brush it back so I could put my fingers on her throat. Her skin was only slightly cool, and time of death was later determined to have been approximately twenty minutes before I'd arrived – about when I was discussing comparative ethics with Nightingale. This close to her, I could smell honeysuckle and brick dust. But the music, which I only now realised had been there all the time, had gone.
I didn't kiss her, or anything like that.
I didn't want to contaminate the crime scene.
#
# I Woke Up this Morning
This is how you get out of bed the next day. You push off your duvet, rotate your body, put your feet on the floor and stand up. Then it's have a wee, have a bath, get dressed, go downstairs, eat breakfast, talk to your boss, practise your _forma_ , eat lunch, smack the shit out of the punchbag at the gym, shower, get dressed, get in the Ford Asbo and head into town to make sure that your face is being seen. You do this because it is your job, because it's necessary and because, if you're honest, you love it. Repeat this process until the bad dreams stop or you just get used to them – whichever comes first.
There was a coroner's report into their deaths, which ruled that they had committed suicide, and so the sisters won a brief moment of fame as a suicide pact. But nobody in the media was so interested that they did any investigation beyond that. Nightingale handled the follow-up inquiry with the aid of a couple of detective constables on loan from Westminster CID, one of them my favourite Somali Ninja Girl. They couldn't be told that the victims were immortal jazz vampires, so it was down to me to take the story back to the war.
Simone Fitzwilliam, Cherie Mensier and Margaret 'Peggy' Brown were reported missing by their parents in 1941, and although the police carried out an investigation it had been cursory at best – and why not? The city was in flames at the time. I considered tracking down their closest relatives, but what would I tell them? That some half-forgotten great-aunt had died in the famous bombing at the Café de Paris, but managed to have a pretty enjoyable afterlife all the same? Right up until I came along and got them killed, again?
I did track down their teacher, Miss Patternost, who had crossed the Atlantic after the war and moved in with one Sadie Weintroub, a production secretary at Warner Brothers, at her rather nice ranch-style bungalow in Glendale.
I found people who grew up in Soho after the war, and they remembered the three girls who lived on Berwick Street. Some thought they were tarts, others that they were dykes, but the majority paid them no real attention – Soho was like that, back in the day.
I found enough evidence to tie them into fifteen others deaths, all jazz musicians, as well as another ninety-six cases where they probably contributed to chronic ill health and career collapse, my dad being one of them. Nothing I've discovered has convinced me that Simone and her 'sisters' had the faintest idea of the pain and suffering they left behind. Dr Walid made a half-arsed attempt to persuade me that it was possible that Simone had been entirely cognisant of her actions, and that I had fallen for the clumsy deception of a diseased sociopathic monster. But I knew he was just trying to make me feel better.
I wrote out the narrative of the case with footnotes, printed it, appended the supporting documentation, put it in a box file and put the lot in the secure filing section of the mundane library. I then erased everything off my computer and modified the case identification number on HOLMES and the PNC so that it would raise a flag if anyone came looking for it. It's possible that some particularly gifted investigative journalist might notice that there are a number of disparate coroners' verdicts with the same Metropolitan Police case-reference tags, but given that no footballers, pop stars or royals were involved it's not something I worry about.
I do worry about the Faceless One, the man in the mask, who could catch fireballs and deflect flying chimney stacks. The only thing that worried me more than the idea of a fully trained wizard with a deranged taste for experimenting on human beings was the thought that Geoffrey Wheatcroft probably trained more than one at his little magic club. How many Little Crocodiles were out there, I wondered, and how many of them were evil fuckers like the Faceless One? I know Nightingale worries about this too, because we spend way more time on the firing range than we used to.
On the first Monday in October, my dad and The Irregulars played their first official gig under their new name. It was at the Round Midnight on Chapel Market in Islington. My dad sailed through a two-hour set without faltering once, and there was a moment, during the famous solo in 'Love for Sale' when the look on his face was so transcendent that I wondered whether there was a connection between music and magic, that perhaps jazz really was life.
He was knackered after the gig, for all that he tried to hide it, so I put him and Mum in a cab, tipped the driver and flashed my warrant card to ensure a bit of due diligence at the other end of the journey. Then I went back for a celebratory drink with Max, Daniel and James, but the Round Midnight's a bit pricey so we slunk off up the road to the Alma, where the beer was cheaper and they had the football on pay-per-view.
'They've asked us back,' said James.
'That's because we drive their customers to drink,' said Max. 'It's good for business.'
'Music is always good for business,' said James.
'Congratulations,' I said. 'You guys are a proper band, and strange people will actually pay money to see you play.'
'Thanks to your dad,' said Max.
'And Cyrus,' said Daniel.
'To Cyrus,' said Max, and we drank a solemn toast.
'Did you ever find out happened?' asked James. 'To Cyrus, I mean.'
'No, mate,' I said. 'The investigation was "inconclusive".'
'Here's to the unsolved mysteries of the Jazz Constabulary,' he said.
We toasted that.
'And Lord Grant's Irregulars,' I said, and we toasted that.
We toasted our way through three rounds, then we went for a curry and then we went home.
I don't really have nightmares. I sleep quite well, considering, but I do have memories as vivid as _vestigia_. The smell of honeysuckle, the snorting sound she made when she laughed, the roundness of her when she lay in my arms. Sometimes they keep me awake into the early hours of the morning.
So I'd been sleeping with a jazz vampire. It made a kind of weird sense. Goddess of a small river in south London, Soho jazz vampire, what was next? A Chelsea werewolf, a succubus from Sydenham? I decided to invent some rules just so I could add a new rule to the rules; never diss somebody's mum, never play chess with the Kurdish mafia and never lie down with a woman who's more magical than you are.
It was a cold miserable day in October when I headed out of London. As I crawled out of town in the rush-hour traffic, I had time to watch people heading into work, coats on, shoulders hunched, heads down – summer was over, and the promising centre-forward was on a plane to Rio with a beautician from Malaga.
But London didn't care. She never does when you leave her, because she knows for every one that leaves another two arrive. Besides, she was too busy painting on her neon lipstick and dolling herself up in red and gold. _Don't you know, darling, footballers are so last season. The theatre's where the action is now_. She was looking for a Hollywood star out to prove his acting chops in the West End.
I bypassed Colchester again, and this time I phoned ahead so that Lesley would know I was coming. As I approached an iron-grey horizon, Brightlingsea accumulated around my car like granite pack ice under an overcast sky. When I drew up outside her dad's house, Lesley was waiting for me under the carriage lamp. In deference to the weather, she was in a blue waterproof hoodie and had ditched the rock-star scarf and sunglasses for an NHS-issue face mask made of pink hypoallergenic plastic. When she spoke, it was still with somebody else's voice.
'I've got something to show you,' she said.
On the way through the slick streets we met a couple of locals who had a cheery wave for Lesley and a suspicious look for me.
'Advantage of living in a small town,' she said. 'Everyone knows, nobody's shocked.'
'I don't think they like me,' I said.
'They can tell you're from the wicked city of sin,' she said.
We went down through the car park full of dinghies, tarpaulined up for the winter, the cold wind singing in their rigging, and out onto the esplanade with the long line of beach huts and the concrete swimming pool. Lesley led me back into the brick shelter with its mural of improbably blue skies and white beaches.
'I'm going to take my mask off now,' said Lesley. 'Think you can handle it?'
'No,' I said. 'But I'll give it a go.'
Lesley fumbled with the fastenings at the side. 'These are really fiddly,' she said. 'I've got one that's Velcro and it's even worse – there.'
And before I had a chance to prepare, the mask was off.
It was worse than I had imagined. So bad that my mind couldn't accept that it was a face at all. The chin was gone. Instead, the skin below a grotesquely full lower lip slid away in a series of uneven lumps until it reached the smooth, undamaged skin of her throat. The nose was shapeless, flat, a twisted knob of pink flesh that sat at the centre of a series of ridged white scars that crawled across cheek and forehead. I flinched. If I hadn't been holding myself rigid I would have recoiled across the breadth of the shelter.
'Can I open my eyes now?' she asked. 'Have you finished?'
I said something; I can't remember what.
She opened her eyes. They were still blue. They were still Lesley's eyes. I tried to stay focused on those eyes.
'What do you think?' she said.
'I've seen worse,' I said.
'Liar,' she said. 'Like who?'
'Your dad,' I said.
It wasn't funny, but I could see she appreciated the effort.
'Do you think you'll get used to it?'
'Get used to what?'
'My face,' she said.
'You're always talking about your face, you know,' I said. 'You're just too vain. You need to think about other people instead of yourself all the time.'
'Who should I be thinking about?'
It was really ugly the way the skin below her mouth rippled when she talked. 'Well, me for example,' I said. 'When you were dragging me past all those boats I stubbed my toe on the curb.'
'Yeah?'
'It really bloody hurts. I mean, I bet my toe's swollen right up,' I said. 'Want to see?'
'I do not want to see your toe.'
'Sure?'
'I'm fairly certain,' she said, and started to put her mask back on.
'You don't have to do that,' I said.
'I don't like it when the children run away,' she said.
I tried not to show how relieved I was when the mask hid her face once more.
'Are there more operations?' I asked.
'Maybe,' she said. 'But I want to show you something else now.'
'Okay,' I said, 'what is it?'
She stretched out her hand, and above it formed a globe of light with a beautiful opalescent sheen – it was much prettier than any werelight I'd ever produced.
'Fuck me,' I said. 'You can do magic.'
# Historical Note
Ken 'Snakehips' Johnson was indeed killed on 8 March 1941 while performing at the Café de Paris. The eyewitnesses are clear that he was playing 'Oh Johnny' when the bomb hit, but I've taken the liberty of changing that detail since, frankly, 'Body and Soul' is a much better chapter title.
# Acknowledgements
Everyone from the last book, plus the staff at the Metropolitan Archive, and Sarah for sneaking me into the Groucho.
# Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © 2011 Ben Aaronovitch
Cover illustration copyright © Stephen Walter
Cover image Courtesy of the Artist/TAG Fine Arts
Cover image taken from The Island London Series, published by TAG Fine Arts
Design by Patrick Knowles
All rights reserved.
The right of Ben Aaronovitch to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2011 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin's Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2011 by Gollancz.
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 575 09763 6
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.the-folly.com
www.orionbooks.co.uk
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I INTRODUCTION {#sec1}
==============
The SARS-CoV-2 coronavirus (henceforth 'the coronavirus') outbreak has led to governments imposing strict restrictions on individual liberty in order to prevent the spread of this highly contagious and virulent pathogen. Such measures have included the closure of businesses, travel restrictions, isolation of confirmed cases, and the quarantine of individuals who have been exposed to the virus.
The state's power to enforce such restrictive measures in order to protect public health is enshrined in the public health law of a number of jurisdictions. Prior to the coronavirus pandemic, the state's power to impose liberty-restricting measures for the purposes of public health in England and Wales was predominantly enshrined in the Public Health (Control of Disease Act) 1984 \[as amended by the Health and Social Care Act 2008\].[^1^](#fn1){ref-type="fn"} However, in the early months of 2020, the UK government supplemented this act, first with The Health Protection (Coronavirus) Regulations 2020 and then the Coronavirus Act 2020 (which revoked the aforementioned regulations). Both extended the powers of certain authorities to restrict the liberty of potentially infectious individuals.
While no one should doubt the urgency of the situation prompted by the coronavirus pandemic, the extension of emergency powers naturally raises concerns about whether their use will be compatible with human rights law.[^2^](#fn2){ref-type="fn"} Indeed, both national and international bioethical organizations have issued statements calling for the need to safeguard human rights while imposing restrictive measures in response to the coronavirus pandemic.[^3^](#fn3){ref-type="fn"} Moreover, these concerns have relevance beyond the duration of the pandemic itself. As a statement from the European Group on Ethics in Science and Technologies (EGE) observes, a significant danger of any emergency legislation in this context is that it may create a new 'normal' of eroded rights and liberties in a post-pandemic world.[^4^](#fn4){ref-type="fn"}
Individuals who wish to raise a legal objection to the use of restrictive measures that are sufficiently severe to constitute a deprivation of liberty may be able to do so by appealing to human rights law. In Europe, for example, they may appeal to one of the various statutes that incorporate the European Convention of Human Rights (EHCR) into domestic law. However, even human rights law does not afford complete precedence to the individual's right to liberty in the context of public health. Although Article 5(1) of the EHCR states that every individual has the right to liberty and security of the person, the article goes on to state that the an individual may be deprived of their liberty to prevent the spread of infectious diseases, if that deprivation is in accordance with a procedure prescribed by law.[^5^](#fn5){ref-type="fn"} Call this the 'public health exception'. The scope of the public health exception has been further clarified by judgements in the European Court of Human Rights, as I shall explain below.[^6^](#fn6){ref-type="fn"}
In this paper, I shall use the Coronavirus Act 2020 (CA) as a case study of how emergency legislation enacted in the context of a pandemic may conflict with human rights law enshrined elsewhere in domestic law. I shall begin by briefly outlining the key powers outlined in different legal instruments that are (or have been) operative in the public health context in England and Wales. In the second half of the paper, I shall consider how these powers might interact with Article 5(1) of the ECHR (incorporated into domestic law in the UK by virtue of the Human Rights Act 1998). To do so, I shall first outline key criteria that the European Court of Human Rights takes to delimit the scope of the public health exception to Article 5 rights, as clarified by the Court's Judgment in *Enhorn v Sweden*.[^7^](#fn7){ref-type="fn"} These criteria concern whether the deprivation under considerations was (i) in accordance with domestic law, (ii) proportionate and necessary. I will conclude by considering some ways in which some restrictions of liberty that the CA might authorize may be susceptible to challenge on the basis of failing to meet these criteria. Throughout, I focus on powers to detain, quarantine, or isolate particular individuals that may in some cases engage Article 5(1) rights, and not on the less severe---though still significant---liberty restrictions that many governments have implemented at a population level, including what have been widely referred to as 'lockdowns'.[^8^](#fn8){ref-type="fn"}
II THE PUBLIC HEALTH (CONTROL OF DISEASE) ACT AND THE CORONAVIRUS ACT {#sec2}
=====================================================================
(i) Public Health (Control of Disease) Act 1984 {#sec3}
-----------------------------------------------
From this point, I shall refer to The Public Health (Control of Disease) Act 1984 as amended by the Health and Social Care Act 2008 as 'the PHA'. The PHA lays much of the responsibility for controlling the spread of infectious disease at the door of Justices of the Peace (JoPs), magistrates (often laypeople) who are appointed by the crown. Section 45G of the PHA gives a JoP the power to impose various restrictions on an individual, 'P' if the JoP is satisfied that the following are true:
1. \(a\) P is or may be infected.
2. \(b\) The infection or contamination is one which presents or could present significant harm to human health.
3. \(c\) There is a risk that P might infect or contaminate others.
4. \(d\) It is necessary to make the order in order to remove or reduce that risk[^9^](#fn9){ref-type="fn"}.
The PHA also makes it clear that there should be some evidentiary basis for the JoP's belief that these things are true. Although the precise level of evidence is not stipulated, subsection (7) states that 'The appropriate Minister must by regulations make provision about the evidence that must be available to a justice of the peace before the justice can be satisfied'.
Section 45G(2) outlines 11 'special restrictions' that a JoP may impose. For my purposes in this paper, the first four restrictions listed are particularly relevant. A JoP may order that:
1. \(a\) P submit to medical examination;
2. \(b\) P be removed to a hospital or other suitable establishment;
3. \(c\) P be detained in a hospital or other suitable establishment; and
4. \(d\) P be kept in isolation or quarantine.[^10^](#fn10){ref-type="fn"}
While section 45G outlines the powers that JoPs have to impose restrictions of liberty on particular individuals in the name of public health, other sections of Part 2A give the Secretary of State the power to make other general regulations for this purpose. However, such regulations are subject to certain limits. Notably, one such limit delineated in 45D(3) is that domestic regulations (issued under 45C) may not include provisions for the direct imposition of any of the restriction 45G(2)(a), (b), (c), or (d) (ie the measures outlined above).[^11^](#fn11){ref-type="fn"} Thus, compulsory medical examination, hospital detention, quarantine, and isolation cannot be imposed directly at a population level under new regulations, although they might potentially be imposed indirectly following a case-by-case assessment by a designated authority under new regulations.[^12^](#fn12){ref-type="fn"} Furthermore, section 45E prohibits regulations from including provisions to directly impose mandatory medical treatment (including vaccination).[^13^](#fn13){ref-type="fn"}
(ii) The Coronavirus Act 2020 {#sec4}
-----------------------------
The CA is an extensive piece of legislation forged in response to the coronavirus outbreak. It outlines various provisions that aim to enable the UK to respond to the pandemic across a wide range of domains. These provisions include (among others) schedules pertaining to the emergency registration of healthcare professionals[^14^](#fn14){ref-type="fn"} and schedules pertaining to the use of live links in criminal proceedings.[^15^](#fn15){ref-type="fn"} The Act will expire 2 years after it is enacted (unless certain conditions are met, as outlined in section 90),[^16^](#fn16){ref-type="fn"} and its provisions will be subject to parliamentary review at 6-month intervals.[^17^](#fn17){ref-type="fn"}
Schedule 21 of the CA extends the existing PHA powers to control infectious disease in the specific context of the coronavirus. In doing so, it expands upon the government's initial extension of these powers issued in The Health Protection (Coronavirus) Regulations on February 10, 2020. Since the CA later revoked these regulations,[^18^](#fn18){ref-type="fn"} I shall focus my discussion on the CA. However, I shall raise two notable differences between the extension of powers initially issued in the Regulations and those that are now in force by virtue of the CA at the end of this section. Furthermore, in the interests of brevity, I shall focus only on the powers that schedule 21 of the CA grants in relation to potentially infectious persons 'in England' (as outlined in Part 2 of the schedule).
The powers with which I shall be concerned here all share in the fact that they are subject to three conditions. First, the powers are only authorized in a declared 'transmission control period'. Such a period may be declared when the transmission of coronavirus constitutes a serious and imminent threat to public health in England, and the powers outlined in the schedule will be an effective way of delaying or preventing significant further transmission.[^19^](#fn19){ref-type="fn"} The UK declared the beginning of a 'transmission control period' on February 10, 2020 \[in accordance with the extant Health Protection (Coronavirus) Regulations at that time\].[^20^](#fn20){ref-type="fn"} This condition should go some way to mitigating the EGE's concern that the state's extended power to restrict liberty in emergency coronavirus legislation may potentially come to constitute a 'new normal'. However, I shall return to this point in the conclusion.
Second, the individual exercising the power in question over a person must have 'reasonable grounds to suspect that the person is or potentially infectious'.[^21^](#fn21){ref-type="fn"} Finally, the powers must only be exercised if it is considered to be both necessary and proportionate to do so, either in the best interests of the person, for the protection of other people, or for the maintenance of public health.[^22^](#fn22){ref-type="fn"} Notice that this echoes key criteria of the European Court of Human Rights' interpretation of the scope of the public health exception, which I shall explore further in the next section.
The CA extends the power to control infectious diseases in relation to the coronavirus beyond local JoPs (as per the PHA), thereby centralizing an important set of powers in the current pandemic. Under the CA, 'public health officers' now have the power to impose restrictive measures. I shall discuss the definition of such officers below, having first outlined their powers.
The restrictions that public health officers may impose under the CA include (among other things) the removal of a person to a place suitable for screening and assessment.[^23^](#fn23){ref-type="fn"} Once a person has been taken to a suitable place for screening and assessment, public health officers may also require that the person remains at that place for a period not exceeding 48 hours[^24^](#fn24){ref-type="fn"} and that they be screened and assessed.[^25^](#fn25){ref-type="fn"}
If screening either confirms that (i) the individual is infected or contaminated with the coronavirus, or (ii) if the screening was inconclusive, or (iii) if there are reasonable grounds for believing that the person remains infectious, then public health officers may exercise further powers.[^26^](#fn26){ref-type="fn"} Among others, they may (under paragraph 14(3)) detain a person in a specified place for a specified period and keep them in isolation from others during that period.[^27^](#fn27){ref-type="fn"} In exercising these particular powers, the public health officer must have regard to the person's well-being and personal circumstances, [^28^](#fn28){ref-type="fn"} and the period of detention cannot exceed 14 days.[^29^](#fn29){ref-type="fn"}
However, under paragraph 15 (5), if a public health officer suspects that the person will be potentially infectious at the end of that 14-day period, then they may extend the time for which that person will be detained for a further 'specified period'.[^30^](#fn30){ref-type="fn"} Any form of detention beyond the initial 14-day period must be reviewed at least once daily by a public health officer and revoked if the individual is no longer found to be infectious.[^31^](#fn31){ref-type="fn"} Furthermore, this further 'specified period' may not exceed 14 days if the restriction in question is simply detaining someone in a specified place. Crucially though, the act explicitly states that this supplementary 14-day limit to the extension of a restriction does not apply to a requirement that a person remains in a specified place 'in isolation' from others.[^32^](#fn32){ref-type="fn"}
In addition to extending the above powers to designated public health officers, the CA also extends considerable powers to police constables and immigration officers in the course of exercising any of their functions (although they must consult a public health officer prior to exercising these powers, to the extent that it is practicable to do so).[^33^](#fn33){ref-type="fn"} A police constable or immigration officer may direct or remove a potentially infectious person to a place that is suitable for assessment and screening.[^34^](#fn34){ref-type="fn"} They may also detain a person at that place until a public health officer can exercise the functions outlined above.[^35^](#fn35){ref-type="fn"} A police constable may detain a person for 24 hours (extendable by a further 24 hours if it is not reasonably practicable for a public health officer to exercise their function within the initial period, and if authorized by a senior officer), while an immigration officer may detain a person for 3 hours (extendable by a further 9 hours if comparable conditions are met).[^36^](#fn36){ref-type="fn"}
There are two particularly noteworthy aspects of the CA's extension of these powers. First, it extends the power to detain individuals to authorities who may lack professionally recognized public health expertise. This is most obviously true of police constables and immigration officers who may impose time-limited detentions. However, it is also striking to consider the definition of public health officers under the CA in this context. A public health officer can be
1. \(i\) an officer of the Secretary of State designated by the Secretary of State for any or all of the purposes of this Schedule, or
2. \(ii\) a registered public health consultant so designated.[^37^](#fn37){ref-type="fn"}
Notice that 'public health officers' under the CA need not be registered public health consultants or acting under their guidance. This constitutes a significant departure from the approach adopted in the Regulations that preceded the CA. Under the previous Regulations, a public health officer was defined as either a professionally registered public health consultant working within Public Health England or a person working within Public Health England acting under the supervision of a registered consultant.[^38^](#fn38){ref-type="fn"} Moreover, in the Regulations, only the former kind of public health officer had the power to impose significant restrictions of liberty[^39^](#fn39){ref-type="fn"}---under the CA, all public health officers have these powers.
I shall suggest below that this first feature of the CA arguably raises concerns about the proportionality and necessity of the restrictions that it might authorize, despite its ostensible commitment to these criteria. The second point I wish to highlight here pertains to another feature that may also jeopardize the extent to which certain signifincant restrictions of liberty authorized by the CA might fall within the public health exception, as understood by the European Court of Human Rights. The feature in question is that there is no clear limit to the period of time for which an individual may be isolated under the CA. This is a significant departure from the PHA, which, by virtue of section 45L, imposes a 28-day time limit on detention, isolation, and quarantine orders that a JoP may impose.[^40^](#fn40){ref-type="fn"} As detailed above, under the CA, if it is considered necessary to detain a person for a period exceeding 14 days (which is the current estimate of the incubation period of the SARS-CoV-2 coronavirus),[^41^](#fn41){ref-type="fn"} then the public health officer must review the continuation of that restriction at least once every 24 hours. However, while the CA stipulates a 14-day limit for this further period of detention, this limit explicitly does not apply to a requirement to remain in isolation.[^42^](#fn42){ref-type="fn"}
Interestingly, the CA improves upon the preceding Regulations in this regard. Although the Regulations similarly required daily review for detention beyond an initial period of 14 days, it failed to specify time limits to any form of detention beyond this initial period.[^43^](#fn43){ref-type="fn"} Notably, this was compatible with provisions limiting the new regulations that the Secretary of State may make under the PHA. The relevant PHA provision in this regard merely requires that if a detention, quarantine, or isolation order authorized by such regulations is capable of remaining in force beyond 28 days, then a specified person may require that its continuation is reviewed at specified intervals (of 28 days or less).[^44^](#fn44){ref-type="fn"}
III THE SCOPE OF THE PUBLIC HEALTH EXCEPTION: *ENHORN V SWEDEN* AND ARTICLE 5(1) {#sec5}
================================================================================
The Human Rights Act 1998 requires that legislation passed in the UK must be compatible with the ECHR.[^45^](#fn45){ref-type="fn"} There is considerable scope for tension between the Human Rights Act and the CA powers outlined above. However, whether these powers fall afoul of the Human Rights Act with respect to Article 5 rights will depend on at least two things.
First, it will depend on whether the restrictions imposed are sufficiently severe to constitute a deprivation of liberty of the sort that engages Article 5 rights. The determination of whether a particular restriction amounts to such a deprivation of liberty is not simply a matter of the form and duration of the restriction. Indeed, in its judgment on *Austin v UK* (a case of a detention for several hours in a non-public health context), the European Court of Human Rights stated that the mere fact that detention has been imposed for a significant period is '... not in itself sufficient to trigger a deprivation of liberty'.[^46^](#fn46){ref-type="fn"} Rather, case law suggests that such determinations must proceed from consideration of the detained person's concrete situation and accommodate a wide range of considerations, including the 'type, duration, effects, and manner of implementation of the measure in question'.[^47^](#fn47){ref-type="fn"}
This is relevant in the current context, because the CA permits detention for relatively short periods of time (although isolation is not subject to a specific time-limit, as discussed above). Although the maximum period of 28 days authorized by the CA for other forms of detention is far longer than the period of detention considered in the *Austin* judgment, it is quite possible that not all detentions authorized by the CA would be sufficient to constitute a deprivation of liberty.[^48^](#fn48){ref-type="fn"} This is particularly true of the short restrictions that may be imposed by police officers and immigration officials.
However, even if a deprivation of liberty has occurred, there is still the further question of whether it might fall within the public heath exception to Article 5 rights mentioned in Section 1. Recall that this exception states that an individual may be deprived of their liberty to prevent the spread of infectious diseases, if that detention is in accordance with a procedure prescribed by law. The European Court of Human Rights clarified the scope of this exception in the case of *Enhorn v Sweden* (2005).[^49^](#fn49){ref-type="fn"} The case concerned an individual known to be infected with human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) who was subjected to involuntary isolation. As Robin Martyn explained in an insightful commentary on the case, the applicant argued that this restriction violated his Article 5(1) rights on two bases. First, it was not in accordance with the substantive and procedural requirements of domestic law, and second, it did not constitute a proportionate response to the need to prevent the spread of infectious disease, thus failing to meet the substantive provisions of Article 5.[^50^](#fn50){ref-type="fn"}
Although the first argument failed to convince the court, the second succeeded. However, the reasoning behind each verdict is relevant to our discussion here. With regards to the first, although the court held that the restrictions were in accordance with the requirements of domestic law in Sweden, it also stressed in its discussion of this argument that legal certainty is paramount in cases of deprivations of liberty; public health law must thus be clearly defined and foreseeable in its application.[^51^](#fn51){ref-type="fn"} With regards to the second argument, the court emphasized that deprivations of liberty under public health law must satisfy a principle of proportionality, and that the restrictions imposed must be necessary: other less restrictive measures must have been considered and found wanting.[^52^](#fn52){ref-type="fn"} The applicant's second argument succeeded on the basis that compulsory isolation had not been used as a last resort measure and that the seven-year extension of the isolation order (which included almost 18 months in which the applicant was detained in hospital) was disproportionate to the reduced risk of transmission that the measure achieved, relative to less restrictive alternatives.[^53^](#fn53){ref-type="fn"}
Having outlined the court's reasoning on these matters, Martin goes on to assess the implications of this judgment for the extant version of the Public Health Act in England and Wales at that time, identifying important shortcomings in the Act. However, two years after the publication of her analysis, the Act underwent significant revisions, including the repeal of sections that were the focus of much of her analysis. Furthermore, Part 2A, which was included in the 2008 revisions of the PHA, addresses some of the shortcomings that Martin had previously highlighted. For instance, Martin argued that the absence of time limits on compulsory detention in the previous version of the act restricted the foreseeability of the application of this power, meaning that its use would likely fall foul of the requirement of legal certainty emphasized in the *Enhorn* judgment.[^54^](#fn54){ref-type="fn"} Yet, as noted above, the revised PHA incorporates a 28-day limit for some section 45G orders.
Rather than rehearse Martin's analysis for the PHA revisions, I shall instead use her analysis of the two strands of the *Enhorn* judgment as a springboard to focus on the extent to which the restrictions of liberty that would be authorized by the CA would be compatible with Article 5(1) rights.
IV ARTICLE 5(1) AND THE CORONAVIRUS ACT {#sec6}
=======================================
(i) Compliance with Domestic Law {#sec7}
--------------------------------
The question of whether deprivations of liberty authorized by the CA would be in accordance with requirements of domestic law might appear moot; as long as the procedures for such deprivations outlined by the CA are followed, then the use of such measures would thus be in accordance with domestic law.[^55^](#fn55){ref-type="fn"} However, elements of the CA might be challenged on the grounds that they may run the risk of failing the principle of legal certainty championed in the *Enhorn* judgment's exploration of the applicant's argument regarding compliance of his detention with domestic law. The reason for this is that the CA does not specify a limit to the period for which a potentially infectious person may be detained in isolation (albeit subject to daily review after 14 days).
Of course, we should not fetishize time limits---the foreseeability of the application of a power should be assessed in the broad context of the legislation as a whole, including its procedural safeguards. So, even if Martin was correct to raise this objection with respect to the lack of time limits in the version of Public Health Act that was operative in 2006, the CA outlines extensive procedural safeguards regarding the imposition of any restriction that might plausibly constitute a deprivation of liberty, including daily review, a simple appeals process that can occur in a magistrate court (rather than requiring judicial review), and indeed, specified time limits for many such restrictions.[^56^](#fn56){ref-type="fn"} Furthermore, there may also be good reasons for refraining from specifying a specific time period for such deprivations in the case of an emerging pandemic. There is a great deal that we currently do not know about the SARS-CoV-2 coronavirus, including how long an individual may remain infectious after recovery.[^57^](#fn57){ref-type="fn"}
Nonetheless the fact that the CA (and the Regulations before it) neglect to include a specified limit on isolation is particularly striking for two reasons. First, isolation is treated as an exceptional kind of detention under the CA in this regard, and second, in this respect, the CA overturns the explicit 28-day limit to isolation orders (in addition to general quarantine and detention orders) introduced by the 2008 revision of the PHA in section 45L. Even in view of the mitigating factors noted in the previous paragraph, the absence of a specified time limit arguably leaves open the prospect that the prolonged imposition of isolation by the CA could be challenged as violating article 5(1), in view of the European court's high regard for legal certainty in this context.
(ii) Proportionality and Necessity {#sec8}
----------------------------------
As detailed above, the CA makes explicit reference to the need for restrictions of liberty to be both necessary and proportionate. It is therefore important to first acknowledge that the CA includes provisions for weaker measures that might be implemented prior to the imposition of compulsory quarantine or isolation. For instance, paragraph 14(3) of the CA authorizes (*inter alia*) the imposition of requirements to provide information and/or contact details to a public health officer. Accordingly, Martin's concern that the 1984 Public Health Act restrictions might fail the European Court's necessity condition, because it afforded few opportunities for less restrictive measures than quarantine and isolation, is at least partly mitigated in the CA (not to mention the revised PHA).[^58^](#fn58){ref-type="fn"}
Nonetheless, despite its commitment to proportionality and necessity, features of the CA raise doubts about whether potential deprivations of liberty imposed in its name will always satisfy these conditions. To see why, it is important to acknowledge that a number of things must be the case if a deprivation of liberty is to be both necessary and proportionate.
Assessments of proportionality in this context aim to establish whether there is a 'fair balance' between the cost of depriving an individual of their right to liberty (both in terms of the subject's Article 5(1) rights, and potentially others) and the need to ensure the outcome that has been achieved by doing so.[^59^](#fn59){ref-type="fn"} In *Enhorn*, the European Court further claimed that in assessing the lawfulness of detaining a person to prevent the spread of infectious disease, a deprivation will only be proportionate if that infectious disease is dangerous to public health or safety.[^60^](#fn60){ref-type="fn"} The view that is implicit here is that it is only in such circumstances that will there be a public health benefit of sufficient magnitude to outweigh the moral cost of depriving an individual of their right to liberty. Notice that the public health benefit may include safeguarding various rights of other member of the public.[^61^](#fn61){ref-type="fn"}
Notably, the *Enhorn* judgment does not explicitly incorporate considerations of the effectiveness of the deprivation for achieving the public health benefit into its assessment of proportionality. However, if there is to be fair balance between the deprivation of liberty and the benefit that is to be achieved by it, it is clear that the deprivation must have some degree of effectiveness in achieving the benefit.[^62^](#fn62){ref-type="fn"} Yet, as Martin notes, this itself raises a considerable epistemic challenge given the paucity of evidence regarding the effectiveness of public health deprivations of liberty.[^63^](#fn63){ref-type="fn"} This is particularly true in a novel pandemic, although international differences in the severity of national outbreaks may give us some limited evidence of the effectiveness of different public health measures in this context.
Accordingly, the question of whether a deprivation of liberty is proportionate primarily concerns whether the public health benefits of the deprivation outweigh its various moral costs. In contrast, the question of whether the deprivation of liberty is 'necessary' concerns whether there are other alternative measures that could have been employed to achieve those benefits*.* For instance, in *Enhorn*, necessity was understood by the European Court of Human Rights to concern the question of whether there was an 'absence of arbitrariness', such that detention was considered to be the last resort measure in order to prevent the spreading of the disease, because less severe measures had been considered and found to be insufficient to safeguard the public interest.[^64^](#fn64){ref-type="fn"}
In order to assess whether a deprivation of liberty is necessary in this way, we must be able to assess whether the imposition of weaker restrictions would fail to sufficiently safeguard public health. As such, we must be able to assess whether the putative subject of a deprivation of liberty will likely pose a transmission risk that could lead to significant harm in the absence of that deprivation. Crucially, in the case of *Enhorn*, the applicant was a confirmed carrier of HIV, so a significant epistemic obstacle to assessments of necessity was not present in that case. In contrast, this obstacle remains in place in the context of the CA powers, since they can be invoked to detain individuals who are merely 'suspected' of being potentially infectious, and it is possible that asymptomatic individuals may pose an infection risk for the coronavirus. This makes the application of the *Enhorn* judgment to interpreting the interaction of the coronavirus powers with Article 5(1) rights less straightforward.[^65^](#fn65){ref-type="fn"}
In view of the above considerations, it is clear that sensitive, evidence-based assessments of the necessity and proportionality of deprivations of liberty in the context of a novel pathogen require a great deal of public health expertise. To some extent, this was implicitly acknowledged in the Regulations, which limited the power to authorize significant restrictions of liberty (following a proportionality/necessity assessment) to registered public health consultants (and the Secretary of State), either of which would need to have 'reasonable grounds' for their beliefs regarding the necessity and proportionality of these matters.[^66^](#fn66){ref-type="fn"}
However, the CA potentially extends this authority to individuals who may lack the relevant degree of public health expertise to make such complex judgments accurately; recall that public health officers who may authorize restrictions of liberty under this act need not be registered public heath consultants working within NHS England (in stark contrast to the Regulations), and that the CA also extends considerable powers in this regard to police constables and immigration officers. Crucially though, the circumstances that might give an individual lacking public health expertise 'reasonable grounds' for believing that depriving a given individual of their liberty would be necessary and proportionate for achieving a public health benefit may not provide such grounds for someone with a high degree of relevant professional expertise.
Of course, it might be claimed that there can be an 'absence of arbitrariness' in the determinations of individuals lacking high degrees of expertise in this context, in so far as they make their judgments about what constitutes such reasonable grounds to the best of their ability. However, while this may plausibly lead us not to sanction non-expert individuals who make inaccurate assessments of these matters, this does not entail that deprivations of liberty based on non-expert assessments should be regarded as necessary and proportionate in the sense that is relevant for Article 5(1) rights. Poorly informed assessments of necessity and proportionality performed by individuals who lack relevant expertise about how to make such judgments can only be said to involve an absence of arbitrariness in only a significantly attenuated sense. Accordingly, the greater vigilance that the CA affords by extending the power to impose significant restrictions of liberty, beyond the public health consultants authorized by the previous regulations, arguably evinces a tension with its commitment to ensure such deprivations are both necessary and proportionate.
V CONCLUSION {#sec9}
============
Extraordinary times can call for emergency legislation with extraordinary measures. However, it is crucial that the measures we invoke to battle the coronavirus pandemic are compatible with human rights.
Following the judgment in *Enhorn*, I have suggested that there are two bases upon which extended powers in the CA might potentially be challenged as threatening Article 5 rights. First, the failure to include specified time limits on isolation means that the use of this measure may fail the requirement of legal certainty stressed by the European Court in its judgment on *Enhorn*. Second, despite echoing the European Court's interpretation of the public health exception to Article 5 rights in emphasizing a commitment to ensure that deprivations of liberty under the CA are both necessary and proportionate, the Act's extension of powers to individuals potentially lacking sufficient public health expertise may undermine the extent to which the Act will ensure accurate assessments of necessity and proportionality.
I shall conclude with two future-oriented observations. The extended powers of the CA are limited by the two-year expiration date of the bill itself and by the fact that they are only operative in a declared transmission control period. However, this does not wholly obviate the concern articulated in the EGE's statement on the ethical implementation of restrictive measures in the present pandemic (as quoted in the introduction of this paper). More specifically, we must be vigilant to ensure that the precedent set by the extension of powers necessitated by the present pandemic in the CA does not automatically translate to a 'new normal' of eroded rights and liberties in the aftermath of the current crisis in future legislative change.[^67^](#fn67){ref-type="fn"} The extended powers that are now in place are far less likely to be justifiable in the absence of the imminent threat posed by the coronavirus.
Finally, we may observe that the various legal instruments discussed here do not engage with what may prove to be a human rights question that public health responses to the coronavirus pandemic may soon provoke. A great deal of research is currently being performed to search for a vaccine that will afford protection against the devastating effects of Covid-19. Indeed, the development of an effective vaccine is a possible contender for an exit strategy from the widespread public health restrictions that are currently enforced across the world. In that context, it is important to note that neither the Regulations nor the CA authorize the imposition of compulsory treatment, including vaccination, in response to the coronavirus. Moreover, the PHA does not authorize a JoP to order such treatment and explicitly prohibits future regulations from including provisions mandating medical treatment (including vaccinations).
The question of compulsory vaccination raises salient human rights questions that I cannot address here, potentially engaging the right to freedom of religion (Art 9), freedom of expression (Art 10), right to private life (Art 8), and possibly the right to freedom from inhuman and degrading treatment (Art 3). However, if a vaccine proves to be the most viable exit strategy from our current predicament, the pandemic may yet require us to confront the question of whether compulsory vaccination could be a necessary and proportionate response to this public health threat, and how far we might be willing to revise existing limits to regulations that the Secretary of State may make in response to a pandemic threat.
I would like to thank Lisa Forsberg, Tom Douglas, and two anonymous reviewers for their invaluable comments on previous versions of the manuscript.
For the Scottish and Northern Irish counterparts, see Scottish Government, Public Health etc. (Scotland) Act 2008. <http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2008/5/contents>; Northern Ireland Government, Public Health Act (Northern Ireland) 1967. <http://www.legislation.gov.uk/apni/1967/36/contents> (accessed May 6, 2020).
Indeed, the UK Parliament Joint Committee on Human Rights issued a call for evidence on the human rights implications of the government's response to the coronavirus *COVID-19 Response Scrutinised to Ensure Human Rights Are Upheld---Committees---UK Parliament*. <https://committees.parliament.uk/committee/93/human-rights-joint-committee/news/145641/covid19-response-scrutinised-to-ensure-human-rights-are-upheld> (accessed May 6, 2020).
The Nuffield Council on Bioethics, *Guide to the Ethics of Surveillance and Quarantine for Novel Coronavirus*, 2020. <https://www.nuffieldbioethics.org/news/guide-to-the-ethics-of-surveillance-and-quarantine-for-novel-coronavirus>; UNESCO International Bioethics Committee and the UNESCO World Commission on the Ethics of Scientific Knowledge and Technology, *Statement on COVID-19: Ethical Considerations from a Global Perspective---UNESCO Digital Library*. <https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000373115> (accessed Apr. 17, 2020); European Group on Ethics in Science and Technologies, *Statement on European Solidarity and the Protection of Fundamental Rights in the COVID-19 Pandemic*, 2020. <https://ec.europa.eu/info/publications/ege-statements_en> (accessed May 6, 2020).
European Group on Ethics in Science and Technologies, *supra* note 3, at 3.
European Court of Human Rights, Council of Europe, European Convention on Human Rights (1950), Article 5(1)\[e\]. <https://www.echr.coe.int/Documents/Convention_ENG.pdf> (accessed May 6, 2020).
For instance, see Enhorn v. Sweden (European Court of Human Rights 2005). European Court of Human Rights, Council of Europe, European Convention on Human Rights (1950).
Human Rights Act 1998. <http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1998/42/introduction> (accessed Mar. 30, 2020).
For an insightful discussion of the lawfulness of these interventions, and the distinction between liberty restrictions and deprivations of liberty in this context, see Jeff King, *The Lockdown Is Lawful: Part Two*. UK Constitutional Law Association, Jan. 4, 2020. <https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/2020/04/02/jeff-king-the-lockdown-is-lawful-part-ii/>; Alan Greene, *States Should Declare a State of Emergency Using Article 15 ECHR to Confront the Coronavirus Pandemic*. Strasbourg Observers (blog), Jan. 4, 2020. https://strasbourgobservers.com/2020/04/01/states-should-declare-a-state-of-emergency-using-article-15-echr-to-confront-the-coronavirus-pandemic (accessed May 6, 2020).
HM Government, Public Health (Control of Disease) Act 1984, Part 2A, Section 45G(1). <http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1984/22/part/2A>.
HM Government, Public Health (Control of Disease) Act 1984, Part 2A, Section 45G(2). <http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1984/22/part/2A>. See Section 45C 6(a) for the relevant definition of a 'special restriction'.
HM Government, Section 45D(3). Notably, a similar limit does not pertain to regulations governing international travellers, which are provided for under Section 45B.
Jeff King, The Lockdown Is Lawful: Part Two. UK Constitutional Law Association, Jan. 4, 2020. <https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/2020/04/02/jeff-king-the-lockdown-is-lawful-part-ii/>
HM Government, Public Health (Control of Disease) Act 1984, Part 2A, Section 45E.
HM Government, The Coronavirus Act, Schedule 1\'.
*Id.*, Schedule 23
*Id*., s89--90
*Id*., Section 98.
HM Government, Schedule 21, s24(1). Notably, the government supplemented Schedule 21 of the CA with new regulations, in the form of HM Government, The Health Protection (Coronavirus, Restrictions) (England) Regulations 2020. <http://www.legislation.gov.uk/uksi/2020/350/contents/made> (accessed May 6, 2020). These regulations authorize notable restrictions on freedom of movement and gatherings.
HM Government, *supra* note 12, Schedule 21, (4)--(5).
*Id*., 24(3).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s6(1); s7(1); s8(1b); s13(1b\]; s14(1b); s15(5a).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s6(3); s7(3); s8(2); s13(6); s14(2); s15(2b)
*Id*., Schedlue 21, s6(2--3).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s9(1)
*Id*., Schedule 21, s10(1)
*Id*., Schedule 21, s14(1)
*Id*., Schedule 21, s14(3)\[d--e\].
*Id*., Schedule 21, s14(6).
*Id*., Schedule 21, 15(1).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s15(5).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s15(7--8).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s15(6). This states 'Except in the case of a requirement referred to in paragraph 14(3)(e) (requirement to remain in isolation), the further period specified under sub-paragraph (5) may not exceed 14 days'.
*Id*., Schedule 21, s7(5); s13(8).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s7.
*Id*., Schedule 21, 13(2).
*Id*., Schedule 21, s13(1--5).
*Id*., 3(2)\[a\].
HM Government, The Health Protection (Coronavirus) Regulations 2020, s2(1). <http://www.legislation.gov.uk/uksi/2020/129/introduction/made> (accessed May 6, 2020).
*Id*., s5--8. Public health officers under the regulations who were not registered consultants could not impose restrictions, but they could help carry out certain requirements (such as performing screening tests). *Id*., 6.
HM Government, *supra* note 9, s45L.
Lauer et al., *The Incubation Period of Coronavirus Disease 2019 (COVID-19) From Publicly Reported Confirmed Cases*: *Estimation and Application*. Ann. Int. Med. DOI: [10.7326/M20-0504](10.7326/M20-0504) (accessed Mar. 10, 2020).
HM Government, *supra* note 12, Schedule 21, 15(6).
HM Government, *supra* note 36, Section 9.
HM Government, *supra* note 9, s45F (7--8).
Human Rights Act 1998, *supra* note 7, Section 3.
Austin and others v. The United Kingdom, App. No. 39692/09 \[2012\], Eur. Ct. H.R. 459, at 41 (2012).
Guzzardi v. Italy, 7367/76, Chamber Judgment \[1980\], Eur. Ct. H.R. 5, at 92 (1980).
I thank an anonymous reviewer for urging me to clarify this point.
Enhorn v. Sweden, 34--56, supra note 6.
Robyn Martin, *The Exercise of Public Health Powers in Cases of Infectious Disease*: *Human Rights Implications*. 14 Med. Law Rev. 132--43, at 133 (2006). DOI: 10.1093/medlaw/fwi038
Martin, *supra* note 50, at 134; Enhorn v. Sweden, *supra* note 6, at 36.
Martin, *supra* note 50, at 134; Enhorn v. Sweden, *supra* note 6, at 36 and 44.
Martin, *supra* note 50, at 135.
Martin, *supra* note 50, at 138.
Owen Bowcott, 'Man Wrongly Convicted under Coronavirus Law, Met Police Admit', The Guardian, 14 April 2020, sec. UK news, https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2020/apr/14/man-wrongly-convicted-under-coronavirus-law-met-police-admit. (accessed on May 6, 2020).
HM Government, *supra* note 12, schedule 21, s17.
Lan et al., *Positive RT-PCR Test Results in Patients Recovered From COVID-19*, JAMA. [DOI: 10.1001/jama.2020.2783](10.1001/jama.2020.2783) (accessed Feb. 27, 2020).
Martin, *supra* note 50, at 139.
Vasileva v. Denmark, 52792/99 \[2003\], Eur. Ct. H.R. 457 (2003) (accessed Apr. 17, 2020).
Enhorn v. Sweden, *supra* note 6, at 44.
Space here does not allow for a substantive discussion of the relevant rights that would be necessary for a comprehensive proportionality assessment. See Greene, *supra* note 8, for a discussion of other ECHR rights that may be operative in this context.
Domestic law comes close to incorporating considerations of effectiveness into assessments of proportionality. Following Lord Bingham of Cornhill's suggestion in Huang v. Secretary of State for the Home Department \[2007\] UKHL 11 (21 March 2007) (accessed Apr. 17, 2020), The UK Supreme Court ruled that assessments of proportionality must (among other things) consider 'whether the measures which have been designed to meet the legislative objective are *rationally connected* to it' in R (Quila and another) v Sec of State for the Home Dept \[2011\] UKSC 45 at 45(b) (UK Supreme Court 2011).
Martin, *supra* note 50, at 140. However, see Julia E. Aledort et al., *Non-Pharmaceutical Public Health Interventions for Pandemic Influenza*: *An Evaluation of the Evidence Base*, 7 BMC Public Health 208 (2007). [DOI: 10.1186/1471-2458-7-208](10.1186/1471-2458-7-208), for some evidence in this regard.
Enhorn v. Sweden, *supra* note 6, at 36 and 44.
Alan Greene, States Should Declare a State of Emergency Using Article 15 ECHR to Confront the Coronavirus Pandemic. Strasbourg Observers (blog), Jan. 4, 2020. https://strasbourgobservers.com/2020/04/01/states-should-declare-a-state-of-emergency-usingarticle- 15-echr-to-confront-the-coronavirus-pandemic
HM Government, *supra* note 36, s5--8.
I thank an anonymous reviewer for raising this point about post-pandemic restrictions.
|
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Q:
Empty Object or Class/Empty Type using Templates
I have written a program that has a class with a constructor and destructor written with couts and cins.
The class contains a run() function which I am using as my menu. From the menu, I want to have the user select the option to 1. Test the constructor (creates an instance from the class) and 2. Test the destructor (exits the menu and destructs at the end of main).
Here is my dilemma.
In main() in order for me to use the run() function, I have to create and instance of the class. However, I am using templates. ie. Class<classType> classTypeRun.
In order for me to create an instance to be able to use run() I have to specify a classType, and this will call the constructor, which I do not want. I only want the constructor to run when the user selects it from the menu.
What is the most efficient way to go about this?
Should I create an inheritaned class just for the run() function?
A:
Make run() a free function, like this:
template <class T>
class MyT
{
public:
MyT(const T& v) : val_(v) {}
const T& get() const {return val_;}
private:
T val_;
};
int run()
{
int opt;
cout << " 1) Create\n 2)Destroy\n";
cin >> opt;
cin.ignore();
return opt;
}
int main()
{
int opt = 0;
std::auto_ptr<MyT<int>> t;
do
{
// call the menu...
opt = run();
// if the user selected option 1, and we haven't
// already constructed our object, do so now.
// (Calls MyT<int>())
if(opt == 1 && !t.get())
t.reset(new MyT<int>(10));
// if the user selected option 2 and we have
// already constructed our object, delete it now
// (Calls ~MyT<int>())
if(opt == 2 && t.get())
t.reset(0);
}
while(2 != opt);
}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Q:
Django Rest Framework - How to nest several fields in a serializer?
I have several a base model with several control fields. Among them a location fields compound from lat, lon, accuracy, provider and client time. Most of my writable models (and hence resources) are inheriting from this base model.
I'm trying to make DRF serialize the location related fields in a nested "location" field. For example,
{
"id": 1,
"name": "Some name",
"location": {
"lat": 35.234234,
"lon": 35.234234,
"provider": "network",
"accuracy": 9.4,
}
}
I'ts important to remember that these fields are regular (flat) fields on the base model.
I've investigated and found several options
Create a custom field and by overriding "get_attribute" create the nested representation. I don't like this solution because i lose some of the benefits of the model serializer such as validation.
Create a nested resource called Location. I guess i could make it work by adding a property by the same name on the model but again, no validations.
So my question is, What is the best way to nest ( or group ) several fields in a DRF serializer ?
DRF 3.0.0, Django 1.7
EDIT:
Building on top of @Tom Christie answer this is what i came up with (simplified)
# models.py
class BaseModel(models.Model):
id = models.AutoField(primary_key=True)
lat = models.FloatField(blank=True, null=True)
lon = models.FloatField(blank=True, null=True)
location_time = models.DateTimeField(blank=True, null=True)
location_accuracy = models.FloatField(blank=True, null=True)
location_provider = models.CharField(max_length=50, blank=True, null=True)
@property
def location(self):
return {
'lat': self.lat,
'lon': self.lon,
'location_time': self.location_time,
'location_accuracy': self.location_accuracy,
'location_provider': self.location_provider
}
class ChildModel(BaseModel):
name = models.CharField(max_lengtg=10)
# serializers.py
class LocationSerializer(serializers.Serializer):
lat = serializers.FloatField(allow_null=True, required=False)
lon = serializers.FloatField(allow_null=True, required=False)
location_time = serializers.DateTimeField(allow_null=True, required=False)
location_accuracy = serializers.FloatField(allow_null=True, required=False)
location_provider = serializers.CharField(max_length=50,allow_null=True, required=False)
class BaseSerializer(serializers.ModelSerializer):
def create(self,validated_data):
validated_data.update(validated_data.pop('location',{}))
return super(BaseSerializer,self).create(validated_data)
def update(self, instance, validated_data):
location = LocationSerializer(data=validated_data.pop('location',{}), partial=True)
if location.is_valid():
for attr,value in location.validated_data.iteritems():
setattr(instance,attr,value)
return super(BaseSerializer,self).update(instance, validated_data)
class ChildSerializer(BaseSerializer):
location = LocationSerializer()
class meta:
model = ChildModel
fields = ('name','location',)
I've tested with valid/invalid post/patch and it worked perfectly.
Thanks.
A:
I'd suggest simply using explicit serializer classes, and writing the fields explicitly. It's a bit more verbose, but it's simple, obvious and maintainable.
class LocationSerializer(serializers.Serializer):
lat = serializers.FloatField()
lon = serializers.FloatField()
provider = serializers.CharField(max_length=100)
accuracy = serializers.DecimalField(max_digits=3, decimal_places=1)
class FeatureSerializer(serializers.Serializer):
name = serializers.CharField(max_length=100)
location = LocationSerializer()
def create(self, validated_data):
return Feature.objects.create(
name=validated_data['name'],
lat=validated_data['location']['lat'],
lon=validated_data['location']['lat'],
provider=validated_data['location']['provider'],
accuracy=validated_data['location']['accuracy']
)
def update(self, instance, validated_data):
instance.name = validated_data['name']
instance.lat = validated_data['location']['lat']
instance.lon = validated_data['location']['lat']
instance.provider = validated_data['location']['provider']
instance.accuracy = validated_data['location']['accuracy']
instance.save()
return instance
There's a bunch of ways you could use a ModelSerializer instead, or ways to keep the create and update methods a little shorter, but it's not clear that the extra indirection you'd be giving yourself is at all worth it.
We almost always use completely explicit serializer classes for APIs that we're building.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
class UnderOs::UI::IconEngineAwesome
NAMES_MAP = {
'glass' => 0xF000,
'music' => 0xF001,
'search' => 0xF002,
'envelope-alt' => 0xF003,
'heart' => 0xF004,
'star' => 0xF005,
'star-empty' => 0xF006,
'user' => 0xF007,
'film' => 0xF008,
'th-large' => 0xF009,
'th' => 0xF00A,
'th-list' => 0xF00B,
'ok' => 0xF00C,
'cancel' => 0xF00D,
'remove' => 0xF00D,
'zoom-in' => 0xF00E,
'zoom-out' => 0xF010,
'off' => 0xF011,
'signal' => 0xF012,
'cog' => 0xF013,
'trash' => 0xF014,
'home' => 0xF015,
'file-alt' => 0xF016,
'time' => 0xF017,
'road' => 0xF018,
'download-alt' => 0xF019,
'download' => 0xF01A,
'upload' => 0xF01B,
'inbox' => 0xF01C,
'play-circle' => 0xF01D,
'repeat' => 0xF01E,
'refresh' => 0xF021,
'list-alt' => 0xF022,
'lock' => 0xF023,
'flag' => 0xF024,
'headphones' => 0xF025,
'volume-off' => 0xF026,
'volume-down' => 0xF027,
'volume-up' => 0xF028,
'qrcode' => 0xF029,
'barcode' => 0xF02A,
'tag' => 0xF02B,
'tags' => 0xF02C,
'book' => 0xF02D,
'bookmark' => 0xF02E,
'print' => 0xF02F,
'camera' => 0xF030,
'font' => 0xF031,
'bold' => 0xF032,
'italic' => 0xF033,
'text-height' => 0xF034,
'text-width' => 0xF035,
'align-left' => 0xF036,
'align-center' => 0xF037,
'align-right' => 0xF038,
'align-justify' => 0xF039,
'list' => 0xF03A,
'indent-left' => 0xF03B,
'indent-right' => 0xF03C,
'facetime-video' => 0xF03D,
'picture' => 0xF03E,
'pencil' => 0xF040,
'map-marker' => 0xF041,
'adjust' => 0xF042,
'tint' => 0xF043,
'edit' => 0xF044,
'share' => 0xF045,
'check' => 0xF046,
'move' => 0xF047,
'step-backward' => 0xF048,
'fast-backward' => 0xF049,
'backward' => 0xF04A,
'play' => 0xF04B,
'pause' => 0xF04C,
'stop' => 0xF04D,
'forward' => 0xF04E,
'fast-forward' => 0xF050,
'step-forward' => 0xF051,
'eject' => 0xF052,
'chevron-left' => 0xF053,
'chevron-right' => 0xF054,
'plus-sign' => 0xF055,
'minus-sign' => 0xF056,
'remove-sign' => 0xF057,
'ok-sign' => 0xF058,
'question-sign' => 0xF059,
'info-sign' => 0xF05A,
'screenshot' => 0xF05B,
'remove-circle' => 0xF05C,
'ok-circle' => 0xF05D,
'ban-circle' => 0xF05E,
'arrow-left' => 0xF060,
'arrow-right' => 0xF061,
'arrow-up' => 0xF062,
'arrow-down' => 0xF063,
'share-alt' => 0xF064,
'resize-full' => 0xF065,
'resize-small' => 0xF066,
'plus' => 0xF067,
'minus' => 0xF068,
'asterisk' => 0xF069,
'exclamation-sign' => 0xF06A,
'gift' => 0xF06B,
'leaf' => 0xF06C,
'fire' => 0xF06D,
'eye-open' => 0xF06E,
'eye-close' => 0xF070,
'warning-sign' => 0xF071,
'plane' => 0xF072,
'calendar' => 0xF073,
'random' => 0xF074,
'comment' => 0xF075,
'magnet' => 0xF076,
'chevron-up' => 0xF077,
'chevron-down' => 0xF078,
'retweet' => 0xF079,
'shopping-cart' => 0xF07A,
'folder-close' => 0xF07B,
'folder-open' => 0xF07C,
'resize-vertical' => 0xF07D,
'resize-horizontal' => 0xF07E,
'bar-chart' => 0xF080,
'twitter-sign' => 0xF081,
'facebook-sign' => 0xF082,
'camera-retro' => 0xF083,
'key' => 0xF084,
'cogs' => 0xF085,
'comments' => 0xF086,
'thumbs-up-alt' => 0xF087,
'thumbs-down-alt' => 0xF088,
'star-half' => 0xF089,
'heart-empty' => 0xF08A,
'signout' => 0xF08B,
'linkedin-sign' => 0xF08C,
'pushpin' => 0xF08D,
'external-link' => 0xF08E,
'signin' => 0xF090,
'trophy' => 0xF091,
'github-sign' => 0xF092,
'upload-alt' => 0xF093,
'lemon' => 0xF094,
'phone' => 0xF095,
'check-empty' => 0xF096,
'bookmark-empty' => 0xF097,
'phone-sign' => 0xF098,
'twitter' => 0xF099,
'facebook' => 0xF09A,
'github' => 0xF09B,
'unlock' => 0xF09C,
'credit-card' => 0xF09D,
'rss' => 0xF09E,
'hdd' => 0xF0A0,
'bullhorn' => 0xF0A1,
'bell' => 0xF0A2,
'certificate' => 0xF0A3,
'hand-right' => 0xF0A4,
'hand-left' => 0xF0A5,
'hand-up' => 0xF0A6,
'hand-down' => 0xF0A7,
'circle-arrow-left' => 0xF0A8,
'circle-arrow-right' => 0xF0A9,
'circle-arrow-up' => 0xF0AA,
'circle-arrow-down' => 0xF0AB,
'globe' => 0xF0AC,
'wrench' => 0xF0AD,
'tasks' => 0xF0AE,
'filter' => 0xF0B0,
'briefcase' => 0xF0B1,
'fullscreen' => 0xF0B2,
'group' => 0xF0C0,
'link' => 0xF0C1,
'cloud' => 0xF0C2,
'beaker' => 0xF0C3,
'cut' => 0xF0C4,
'copy' => 0xF0C5,
'paper-clip' => 0xF0C6,
'save' => 0xF0C7,
'sign-blank' => 0xF0C8,
'reorder' => 0xF0C9,
'list-ul' => 0xF0CA,
'list-ol' => 0xF0CB,
'strikethrough' => 0xF0CC,
'underline' => 0xF0CD,
'table' => 0xF0CE,
'magic' => 0xF0D0,
'truck' => 0xF0D1,
'pinterest' => 0xF0D2,
'pinterest-sign' => 0xF0D3,
'google-plus-sign' => 0xF0D4,
'google-plus' => 0xF0D5,
'money' => 0xF0D6,
'caret-down' => 0xF0D7,
'caret-up' => 0xF0D8,
'caret-left' => 0xF0D9,
'caret-right' => 0xF0DA,
'columns' => 0xF0DB,
'sort' => 0xF0DC,
'sort-down' => 0xF0DD,
'sort-up' => 0xF0DE,
'envelope' => 0xF0E0,
'linkedin' => 0xF0E1,
'undo' => 0xF0E2,
'legal' => 0xF0E3,
'dashboard' => 0xF0E4,
'comment-alt' => 0xF0E5,
'comments-alt' => 0xF0E6,
'bolt' => 0xF0E7,
'sitemap' => 0xF0E8,
'umbrella' => 0xF0E9,
'paste' => 0xF0EA,
'lightbulb' => 0xF0EB,
'exchange' => 0xF0EC,
'cloud-download' => 0xF0ED,
'cloud-upload' => 0xF0EE,
'user-md' => 0xF0F0,
'stethoscope' => 0xF0F1,
'suitcase' => 0xF0F2,
'bell-alt' => 0xF0F3,
'coffee' => 0xF0F4,
'food' => 0xF0F5,
'file-text-alt' => 0xF0F6,
'building' => 0xF0F7,
'hospital' => 0xF0F8,
'ambulance' => 0xF0F9,
'medkit' => 0xF0FA,
'fighter-jet' => 0xF0FB,
'beer' => 0xF0FC,
'h-sign' => 0xF0FD,
'plus-sign-alt' => 0xF0FE,
'double-angle-left' => 0xF100,
'double-angle-right' => 0xF101,
'double-angle-up' => 0xF102,
'double-angle-down' => 0xF103,
'angle-left' => 0xF104,
'angle-right' => 0xF105,
'angle-up' => 0xF106,
'angle-down' => 0xF107,
'desktop' => 0xF108,
'laptop' => 0xF109,
'tablet' => 0xF10A,
'mobile-phone' => 0xF10B,
'circle-blank' => 0xF10C,
'quote-left' => 0xF10D,
'quote-right' => 0xF10E,
'spinner' => 0xF110,
'circle' => 0xF111,
'reply' => 0xF112,
'github-alt' => 0xF113,
'folder-close-alt' => 0xF114,
'folder-open-alt' => 0xF115,
'expand-alt' => 0xF116,
'collapse-alt' => 0xF117,
'smile' => 0xF118,
'frown' => 0xF119,
'meh' => 0xF11A,
'gamepad' => 0xF11B,
'keyboard' => 0xF11C,
'flag-alt' => 0xF11D,
'flag-checkered' => 0xF11E,
'terminal' => 0xF120,
'code' => 0xF121,
'reply-all' => 0xF122,
'mail-reply-all' => 0xF122,
'star-half-empty' => 0xF123,
'location-arrow' => 0xF124,
'crop' => 0xF125,
'code-fork' => 0xF126,
'unlink' => 0xF127,
'question' => 0xF128,
'info' => 0xF129,
'exclamation' => 0xF12A,
'superscript' => 0xF12B,
'subscript' => 0xF12C,
'eraser' => 0xF12D,
'puzzle-piece' => 0xF12E,
'microphone' => 0xF130,
'microphone-off' => 0xF131,
'shield' => 0xF132,
'calendar-empty' => 0xF133,
'fire-extinguisher' => 0xF134,
'rocket' => 0xF135,
'maxcdn' => 0xF136,
'chevron-sign-left' => 0xF137,
'chevron-sign-right' => 0xF138,
'chevron-sign-up' => 0xF139,
'chevron-sign-down' => 0xF13A,
'html5' => 0xF13B,
'css3' => 0xF13C,
'anchor' => 0xF13D,
'unlock-alt' => 0xF13E,
'bullseye' => 0xF140,
'ellipsis-horizontal' => 0xF141,
'ellipsis-vertical' => 0xF142,
'rss-sign' => 0xF143,
'play-sign' => 0xF144,
'ticket' => 0xF145,
'minus-sign-alt' => 0xF146,
'check-minus' => 0xF147,
'level-up' => 0xF148,
'level-down' => 0xF149,
'check-sign' => 0xF14A,
'edit-sign' => 0xF14B,
'external-link-sign' => 0xF14C,
'share-sign' => 0xF14D,
'compass' => 0xF14E,
'collapse' => 0xF150,
'collapse-top' => 0xF151,
'expand' => 0xF152,
'eur' => 0xF153,
'gbp' => 0xF154,
'usd' => 0xF155,
'inr' => 0xF156,
'jpy' => 0xF157,
'cny' => 0xF158,
'krw' => 0xF159,
'btc' => 0xF15A,
'file' => 0xF15B,
'file-text' => 0xF15C,
'sort-by-alphabet' => 0xF15D,
'sort-by-alphabet-alt' => 0xF15E,
'sort-by-attributes' => 0xF160,
'sort-by-attributes-alt' => 0xF161,
'sort-by-order' => 0xF162,
'sort-by-order-alt' => 0xF163,
'thumbs-up' => 0xF164,
'thumbs-down' => 0xF165,
'youtube-sign' => 0xF166,
'youtube' => 0xF167,
'xing' => 0xF168,
'xing-sign' => 0xF169,
'youtube-play' => 0xF16A,
'dropbox' => 0xF16B,
'stackexchange' => 0xF16C,
'instagram' => 0xF16D,
'flickr' => 0xF16E,
'adn' => 0xF170,
'bitbucket' => 0xF171,
'bitbucket-sign' => 0xF172,
'tumblr' => 0xF173,
'tumblr-sign' => 0xF174,
'long-arrow-down' => 0xF175,
'long-arrow-up' => 0xF176,
'long-arrow-left' => 0xF177,
'long-arrow-right' => 0xF178,
'apple' => 0xF179,
'windows' => 0xF17A,
'android' => 0xF17B,
'linux' => 0xF17C,
'dribble' => 0xF17D,
'skype' => 0xF17E,
'foursquare' => 0xF180,
'trello' => 0xF181,
'female' => 0xF182,
'male' => 0xF183,
'gittip' => 0xF184,
'sun' => 0xF185,
'moon' => 0xF186,
'archive' => 0xF187,
'bug' => 0xF188,
'vk' => 0xF189,
'weibo' => 0xF18A,
'renren' => 0xF18B
}
def self.font(size)
UIFont.fontWithName("FontAwesome", size:size)
end
def self.text(name)
name = NAMES_MAP[name.to_s.gsub('_', '-')] || NAMES_MAP['bug']
name.chr(Encoding::UTF_8)
end
end
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
1. The Field of the Invention
This invention relates to fuel generation and, more particularly, to novel systems and methods for gasification of municipal solid waste and other feedstocks.
2. The Background Art
Manufactured gas, or synthesis gas (syn-gas) as it is more often called today, comprises the unburned gasses (carbon monoxide and hydrogen gas) created by incomplete combustion of an organic raw material. Gasification (the process of generating manufactured gas) was discovered independently in both France and England. By 1850, gasification of coal had developed to where much of London was lit with manufactured gas, “town gas,” or “coal gas” as it was called. By 1920, many towns and cities throughout the United States supplied manufactured gas to their residents through local “gasworks.”
Following 1930, as natural gas pipelines began to proliferate, low-cost natural gas displaced manufactured gas. The gasification industry was largely abandoned and forgotten. However, beginning with the oil embargo of the 1970's, there has been an almost continual increase in the cost of fuel. Accordingly, what is needed today is an efficient system, process, and gasifier that can receive a wide variety of inputs and efficiently produce a clean fuel.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "USPTO Backgrounds"
}
|
Oropharyngeal colostrum administration in extremely premature infants: an RCT.
To determine the immunologic effects of oropharyngeal colostrum administration in extremely premature infants. We conducted a double-blind, randomized, placebo-controlled trial involving 48 preterm infants born before 28 weeks' gestation. Subjects received 0.2 mL of their mother's colostrum or sterile water via oropharyngeal route every 3 hours for 3 days beginning at 48 to 96 hours of life. To measure concentrations of secretory immunoglobulin A, lactoferrin, and several immune substances, urine and saliva were obtained during the first 24 hours of life and at 8 and 15 days. Clinical data during hospitalization were collected. Urinary levels of secretory immunoglobulin A at 1 week (71.4 vs 26.5 ng/g creatinine, P = .04) and 2 weeks (233.8 vs 48.3 ng/g creatinine, P = .006), and lactoferrin at 1 week (3.5 vs 0.9 μg/g creatinine, P = .01) were significantly higher in colostrum group. Urine interleukin-1β level was significantly lower in colostrum group at 2 weeks (55.3 vs 91.8 μg/g creatinine, P = .01). Salivary transforming growth factor-β1 (39.2 vs 69.7 μg/mL, P = .03) and interleukin-8 (1.2 vs 4.9 ng/mL, P = .04) were significantly lower at 2 weeks in colostrum group. A significant reduction in the incidence of clinical sepsis was noted in colostrum group (50% vs 92%, P = .003). This study suggests that oropharyngeal administration of colostrum may decrease clinical sepsis, inhibit secretion of pro-inflammatory cytokines, and increase levels of circulating immune-protective factors in extremely premature infants. Larger studies to confirm these findings are warranted.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
The present invention relates to a method of determining the concentration of heparin in fluid samples, and to a device for performing the method.
Heparin is a heteropolysaccharide of the acid mucopolysaccharide type which has anticoagulant activity resulting from its ability to catalyze the reaction between antithrombin III and thrombin. On the basis of this activity, heparin is widely used as an anticoagulant in cardiovascular surgery, for example, during operations with extracorporeal circulation, and in other diagnostic and therapeutic applications.
When heparin is used as an anticoagulant, it may be very useful to have available a method which permits rapid, reproducible and accurate measurement of the concentration of heparin present in the sample of interest, and a device for performing this measurement.
In order to perform this measurement, it is known to use dyes of the cationic thiazines series. As a result of the reaction of these dyes with heparin, it is possible to observe a change in the absorption (or transmission) spectrum of the dye, that is, a reduction in the absorption due to the free dye in solution and the appearance of an absorption band of the heparin-dye complex formed. The absorption spectrum of cationic thiazines in dilute aqueous solution is in fact characterized by a main absorption band due to the contribution of the monomer and the dimer of the dye in solution. When heparin is added to this dilute solution, a second band (called the xcexc band) which corresponds to the heparin-dye complex formed appears in the absorption spectrum of the solution. The addition of heparin to the dye solution not only causes the appearance of the xcexc band, but also causes a reduction in the absorption of the main band. The reduction in the absorption of the free dye in solution and the increase in the absorption of the dye-heparin complex constitute the two components of a phenomenon known by the term xe2x80x9cmetachromasiaxe2x80x9d, the magnitudes of which, in suitable reaction conditions, can be correlated with the concentration of heparin present in the sample.
On the basis of this principle, assays have been developed for measuring the concentration of heparin in samples of interest. U.S. Pat. No. 4,911,549 (Karkar) describes a method of determining the heparin concentration in blood plasma by metachromatic reaction with the dye Azure A which belongs to the cationic thiazines series. This assay is based on the measurement of two distinct transmittance signals for two distinct wavelengths, one of which is substantially insensitive to the heparin dilution.
It has surprisingly been found that the measurement of the entire absorption spectrum of the dye in a metachromatic heparin assay, rather than measurement of distinct absorption signals with predetermined separate wavelengths, achieves results which are more accurate and reproducible and, above all, are independent of the reaction medium. In the case of assays performed on samples of biological fluids such as blood plasma containing proteins and other chemical species which could potentially interfere with accurate measurement of the absorption at these predetermined wavelengths, this latter characteristic is of substantial importance because it makes possible a device which can perform the assay automatically and which does not require repeated calibrations.
Accordingly, the invention provides a method for determining the concentration of heparin in a fluid sample comprising: (a) providing a fluid sample containing heparin; (b) adding to the fluid sample a solution of a dye to form a mixture of sample and dye, wherein the dye interacts with the heparin in the sample so that the absorption spectrum of the mixture of sample and dye in the visible range varies as a result of the interaction in a manner quantitatively dependent on the heparin concentration; (c) determining the absorption spectrum in the visible range of the mixture of sample and dye; and (d) calculating a spectral parameter representative of both the reduction in the absorption of the free dye in solution and the increase in the absorption of the dye-heparin complex, the value of the spectral parameter being indicative of the concentration of heparin present in the fluid sample, in order to determine the concentration of heparin present in the fluid sample. The relationship between the value of the spectral parameter and the concentration of the heparin present in the fluid sample has been previously determined by determining the absorption spectra, in the visible range, of a composition comprising the fluid and the dye, in the absence of heparin and in the presence of a plurality of concentrations of heparin, and calculating the relationship between the value of the spectral parameter and the concentration of heparin. A device for performing this method is also provided.
Additional features and advantages of the invention are set forth in the description which follows and in part will be apparent from the description. The objectives and other advantages of the invention will be realized and attained by the method of determining the concentration of heparin in a fluid sample and the device for performing this method as particularly pointed out in the written description and claims.
It is to be understood that both the foregoing general description and the following detailed description are exemplary and explanatory and are intended to provide further explanation of the invention as claimed.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "USPTO Backgrounds"
}
|
George Weeks (priest)
The Very Rev. George Edward Weeks (26 December 1868 – 25 August 1941) was an English Anglican clergyman who was the Dean of Nelson from 1916 to 1923.
Weeks was born in Portsmouth, the son of George Horatio Weeks. He was educated at Queens' College, Cambridge (B.A. 1890; M.A. 1896), Durban University (B.D. 1901) and Trinity College Dublin (LL.B. 1910; LL.D. 1911). He was ordained in 1893. His first post was a curacy at St George in the East, Stepney After this he was at St James, Hatcham then a naval chaplain. He held incumbencies in Durban, South Kensington and Lowestoft before his time as Dean. Afterwards he was Head teacher of Trinity Grammar School, Sydney.
He married Marian Frances Sophia Simmonds in 1894. He died in 1941.
References
Category:1868 births
Category:1941 deaths
Category:People from Portsmouth
Category:Deans of Nelson
Category:Alumni of Queens' College, Cambridge
Category:Alumni of Trinity College Dublin
Category:Australian headmasters
Category:English emigrants to Australia
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Do you want some Belle with your ReactJS? - iweinfuld
https://www.startersquad.com/blog/you-need-to-belle-with-reactjs/
======
jyotipuri
Built with ❤ on Planet Earth :)
------
kitze
Awesome library.
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I guess since we are talking stats here. I've dealt with many a player over 6'5" and while I was at Uconn I played against those players not on the team since they couldn't pass a test. But considering I've been sidelined for a while...
I'll still work the court. Is this thing 1/2 court 5 on 5? That's a scrapping time if I've heard of one.
I wish I was little bit taller,
I wish I was a baller
I wish I had a girl who looked good
I would call her
I wish I had a rabbit in a hat with a bat
and a '64 Impala
I wish I was like six-foot-nine
So I could get with Leoshi
Cause she don't know me but yo she's really fine
You know I see her all the time
Everywhere I go, and even in my dreams
I can scheme of ways to make her mine
Cause I know she's livin phat
Her boyfriend's tall and he plays ball
So how am I gonna compete with that
'Cause when it comes to playing basketball
I'm always last to be picked
And in some cases never picked at all
So I just lean upon the wall
Or sit up in the bleachers with the rest of the girls
Who came to watch their men ball
Dag y'all! I never understood
Why the jocks get the fly girls
And me I get the hood rats
I tell 'em scat, skittle, skibobble
Got hit with a bottle
And put in the hospital, for talkin' that mess
I confess it's a shame when you livin' in a city
That's the size of a box and nobody knows yo' name
Glad I came to my senses
Like quick-quick got sick-sick to my stomach
Overcome with my thoughts of me and her together
Right?
So when I asked her out she said I wasn't her type
(rpt 1, 1)
I wish I had a brand-new car
So far, I got this hatchback
And everywhere I go, yo I gets laughed at
And when I'm in my car I'm laid back
I got an 8-track and a spare tire in the backseat
But that's flat
And do you really wanna know what's really wack, What
See I can't even get a date
So, what do you think of that?
I heard that prom night is the bomb night
With a hood rat you can hold tight
But really tho' on figuero
When I'm in my car I can't even get a hello
Well so many people wanna cruise Crenshaw on Sunday
Well then I'm gonna have to get in my car and go
You know I take the 110 to the 105
Get off on Crenshaw tell my homies look alive
Cause it's hard to survive
Livin' in a concrete jungle and
These girls just keep passin' me by
She looks fly, she looks fly
Makes me say my, my, my
(rpt 1, 1)
I wish I was a little bit taller...
I wish I was a baller...
I wish I was a little bit taller y'all
I wish I was a baller (3)
Hey, I wish I had my way
'Cause everyday would be a Friday
You could even speed on the highway
I would play ghetto games
Name my kids ghetto names
Little Mookie, big Al, Lorraine
Yo you know that's on the real
So if you're down on your luck
Then you should know just how I feel
Cause if you don't want me around
See I go simple, I go easy, I go greyhound
Hey, you, what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going down
Ahhhh, yes, ain't that fresh?
Everybody wants to get down like that
(rpt 1, 1)
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Roasted Sweet Potatoes
This is a deliciously healthy way to enjoy some starchy carbs. These roasted sweet potatoes are even better than sweet potato fries…and a lot better for you too! You’re welcome 🙂
Makes 6 servings
Ingredients:
2 large sweet potatoes, cut into chunks (large chunks will yield softer potatoes, small chunks will get crispier.), skin scrubbed well or peeled, depending on your preference.
2 garlic cloves, minced, or equivalent from a jar (optional)
2+ tsp dried thyme
1 Tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper, to taste
Instructions: Toss potatoes with remaining ingredients. Transfer to a foil-lined cookie sheet and arrange in a single layer. Sprinkle with salt and pepper if desired. Bake in a preheated 400 degree oven for 30-40 minutes, flipping/stirring about halfway through baking time. Length of baking time depends on your oven, how large or small your chunks are, and how mushy or crispy you like your potatoes. If you want them even crispier, broil for 2-5 minutes at the end of baking time but be careful not to burn them.
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Q:
Symfony [Semantical Error] 'id' is not defined
your learning Symfony neighbor here,
I am calling a method from my controller through Ajax on a select change.
I manage to get the data I send to the controller, but I'm struggling as I try to make a Select with the data I get, for some reason, no matter the existing column I decide to return, I get a "specifiedColumn is not defined" and I can't figure out why.
Here's my method :
public function getPricesAction(Request $request)
{
$first = $request->request->get('first');
$final = $request->request->get('final');
$em = $this->getDoctrine()->getManager();
//not too sure about stacking 2 setParameter here, guess there's a better way. But even if I just use one parameter, I still get the same error 'id is not defined'.
$getPrice = $em->createQuery('SELECT id FROM CarsBundle:Travel t WHERE t.first = :tst and t.final = :tfi')->setParameter('tre', $first)->setParameter('tra', $final);
$result = $getPrice->getResult();
return new JsonResponse($result);
}
I am using Symfony 3.3
thanks for the help !
A:
$getPrice = $em->createQuery('SELECT id FROM CarsBundle:Travel t WHERE t.first = :tst and t.final = :tfi')->setParameter('tre', $first)->setParameter('tra', $final);
Should be:
$getPrice = $em->createQuery('SELECT id FROM CarsBundle:Travel t WHERE t.first = :tst and t.final = :tfi')->setParameter('tst', $first)->setParameter('tfi', $final);
You got the wrong parameter name
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Can you please forward me the "Buyback/Deficiency" Deals for March' 2000.
Your worksheet would greatly assist me with completing this request.
---------------------- Forwarded by Robert E Lloyd/HOU/ECT on 02/28/2000
02:31 PM ---------------------------
Daren J Farmer
02/25/2000 04:52 PM
To: Robert E Lloyd/HOU/ECT@ECT
cc: Pat Clynes/Corp/Enron@ENRON
Subject: Indutrial Report
Robert,
Ken developed an industrial report before he left. It can be found at
o/logistics/kenseaman/industrialsmonthly/... There is one file for each
month of 2000. I need you to update this for March. This will need to be
distributed to Gas Control, Logistics, and myself. Let me know if you have
any questions.
D
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Because The Learning Network is for students 13 and older, our resources focus on understanding the massacre and its implications, but parents and teachers of younger students might find this advice,
published by The Times after the Newtown shootings, more helpful. Our friends at Scholastic also offer these Resources for Responding to Violence and Tragedy.
Slide Show
The Attack, the Aftermath and Your Reactions
What do your students know about the attack on an Orlando nightclub on June 12 that left 49 people dead and 53 others wounded? What are their feelings about what happened? What questions do they have?
Though most schools in the U.S. are currently out or in the midst of exams, if you are in the classroom you might invite students to write about their reactions as a first step. When they are finished, you might invite
volunteers to read to the whole class, or have students form pairs or small groups to read excerpts to each other first. Or, ask the class to whip around the room, reading “as much as a line, as little as
a word” from their responses. From there, as appropriate, teachers might conduct a whole-class discussion or go on to other activities listed below. Students and teachers are also welcome to post their thoughts
here.
“Look for the Helpers” — and Find Ways to Be One
Photo
A small memorial left outside Pulse Nightclub.Credit Hilary Swift for The New York Times
In the days after the Newtown shootings, a quote from Fred Rogers, of “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” fame, began to go viral:
When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’
I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.
Another response? When Jon Collins heard that Omar Mateen may have been motivated to kill after spotting two men kissing, he became one of hundreds of people who
decided to use photographs of men locked in an embrace. His picture, of his 2008 wedding reception, contains the hashtag #TwoMenKissing.
What can you do in response? One simple thing might be to read about the victims so you know more about the 49 lives that
were lost.
An Attack on American Values
Photo
Flags fly at half-staff in Washington on Monday.Credit Kevin Lamarque/Reuters
The Times reports that, with three different politically-charged issues coming together in this attack, “rarely has American reaction
to a human tragedy been as divided.” Since the story raises questions about gun laws, violence against the L.G.B.T. community, and whether the gunman was a radicalized Muslim, Orlando has “so far defied
easy categorizations and conclusion.”
But the Op-Ed columnist Frank Bruni argues that this massacre is “bigger, sadder and scarier than any one group of victims”:
This was no more an attack just on L.G.B.T. people than the bloodshed at the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris was an attack solely on satirists.
Both were attacks on freedom itself. Both took aim at societies that, at their best, integrate and celebrate diverse points of view, diverse systems of belief, diverse ways to love. And to speak of either massacre
more narrowly than that is to miss the greater message, the more pervasive danger and the truest stakes.
… The threat isn’t only to L.G.B.T. Americans, as past acts of terror have shown and as everyone today must recognize. All Americans are under attack, and not exclusively because of whom we drink,
dance or sleep with, but because of our bedrock belief that we should not be subservient to any one ideology or any one religion. That offends and inflames the zealots of the world.
Do you agree? How was this an attack on “all of us,” regardless of race, ethnicity, religion or sexual orientation, because of who we are as a nation? Given our values, what do you think is the best, most
fitting way for us to respond?
Orlando and American Mass Shootings
Video
13 Deadliest Shootings in America
The mass shooting in Orlando, Fla., was the worst in U.S. history. Every year, hundreds die in similar episodes. These are some of the deadliest.
By TURNER COWLES, ROBIN STEIN and MANJULA VARGHESE on Publish Date June 13, 2016.
Photo by Getty Images/The New York Times.
How does the Orlando massacre fit into a larger pattern of mass shootings, both here in the U.S. and around the world? The Times has assembled a list of the deadliest mass shootings, and, in fact, records indicate that on average, a mass shooting takes place every single day in the U.S., though most do not make national headlines.
A vast majority of guns used in 16 recent mass shootings, including two guns believed to be used in the Orlando attack, were bought legally and with a federal background check. One of the guns, the AR-15, which the National Rifle Association has taken to calling “America’s gun,”
was also the gun of choice in several other mass shootings: at an elementary school in Newtown, Conn.; at a movie theater in Aurora, Colo.; at a holiday party for county health workers in San Bernardino, Calif.;
and at the campus of Umpqua Community College in Oregon, according to this article.
Despite several red flags, including the fact that the Federal Bureau of Investigation investigated him for
possible ties to terrorism, the gunman was able to legally purchase weapons.
After the 2012 massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn., which left 20 children and six school staff members dead, President Obama urged the country to take “meaningful action to prevent more
tragedies like this.” What should meaningful action look like? How should we prevent future mass shootings?
The revelation that the 29-year-old man who opened fire on Sunday in a gay nightclub had dedicated the killing to the Islamic State has prompted a now-familiar question: Was the killer truly acting under orders
from the Islamic State, or just seeking publicity and the group’s approval for a personal act of hate?
For the terror planners of the Islamic State, the difference is mostly irrelevant.
Influencing distant attackers to pledge allegiance to the Islamic State and then carry out mass murder has become a core part of the group’s propaganda over the past two years. It is a purposeful blurring
of the line between operations that are planned and carried out by the terror group’s core fighters and those carried out by its sympathizers.
Officials cautioned that even if Mr. Mateen, who court records show was briefly married and then divorced, was inspired by the group, there was no indication that it had trained or instructed him, or had any direct
connection with him. Some other terrorist attackers have been “self-radicalized,” including the pair who killed 14 people in December in San Bernardino, Calif., who also proclaimed allegiance to
the Islamic State, but apparently had no contact with the group.
What are the best ways to prevent “lone wolf” attacks inspired by ISIS? How should the nation respond to attacks of terror committed in the name of ISIS? And, should the Orlando and San Bernardino massacres
be treated differently from other mass shootings because the shooters expressed their allegiance to ISIS — and if so, how?
Violence Against the L.G.B.T. Community
Photo
A pride flag at half-staff during a memorial service in San Diego on Sunday.Credit Sandy
Huffaker/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
What did it mean that it happened in June, Gay Pride Month? Was it a hate crime against gay people or simply evidence that gun violence is out of control — or both? Gay rights have been advancing at a rapid
clip. Has that lessened homophobia? Or maybe made it worse? And most of all: Should gay people be afraid?
The gay rights movement, of course, is no stranger to the fear of violence. That includes the days when gay people worried about being branded “faggots” and beaten, whether in small towns or in gay
centers like New York; the 1973 arson attack on a gay bar in New Orleans that left 32 people dead; the 1998 murder of Matthew Shepard. All are cultural touchstones for the community.
Fortunately, the anti-gay attacks of the 1970s did not prevent L.G.B.T. people from meeting and marching, nor did it stop them from gathering at bars and clubs to enjoy themselves. There was too much at stake. We
can only hope that the same thing happens today, and that we remember that, despite progress, there is still much at stake. The sites of our liberation must not become the targets of our oppression.
It is a seismic shift from the atmosphere four decades ago after the firebombing of the UpStairs lounge in New Orleans. Back in 1973, some relatives refused to claim the bodies of their gay sons, banishing them
to potter’s fields and the New Orleans community joked that the ashes of the dead would be buried in “fruit jars.” Thirty-two people died.
It is not necessary to reach that far back to feel the progress, which has galloped swiftly ahead in the past 10 years. Despite setbacks and plenty of lingering hate, a new generation of gay people and lesbians
feels far less weighed down by stigma and fear in today’s rapidly evolving embrace of gay rights.
How do we want our political leaders to respond after a national tragedy like the one that occurred on June 12 in Orlando? Maggie Haberman points out:
Nearly four years ago, when a gunman killed 12 people in Aurora, Colo., Mr. Obama halted his campaign, and Mitt Romney, then the Republican nominee, canceled a speech. The nature and tenor of national politics has
changed a great deal since then.
Donald Trump, in particular, responded differently, she explains:
Donald J. Trump on Sunday sought to capitalize on the mass shooting at a gay club in Orlando, reiterating his controversial call for a temporary ban on Muslim migration to the United States and criticizing Hillary
Clinton for what he claimed was her desire to “dramatically increase admissions from the Middle East.”
In a demonstration of his willingness to flout convention and engage in a style of demagogic politics rarely displayed by a presidential nominee, Mr. Trump claimed he had warned of the sort of terrorism that marked
the shooting, which killed 50 and was the worst in the country’s history.
Mr. Trump’s proposed ban would not have prevented this attack; the suspect was a United States citizen. Still, Mr. Trump is forging ahead with a speech on Monday that had been about Mrs. Clinton, but will
now focus on national security.
Without distinguishing between mainstream Muslims and Islamist terrorists, Mr. Trump suggested that all Muslim immigrants posed potential threats to America’s security and called for a ban on migrants from
any part of the world with “a proven history of terrorism” against the United States or its allies. He also insinuated that American Muslims were all but complicit in acts of domestic terrorism
for failing to report attacks in advance, asserting without evidence that they had warnings of shootings like the one in Orlando.
Members of the small Muslim community in Fort Pierce, Fla., where Omar Mateen lived strongly condemned his actions and said they feared the sort of backlash that some Muslim people faced after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks.
What do you think: Will what this article characterizes as Donald Trump’s “wager that voters are stirred
more by their fears of Islamic terrorism than any concerns they may have about his flouting traditions of tolerance and respect for religious diversity” pay off for him? Why or why not?
Are you talking about this with young people? Please post your thoughts.
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The JUDCon was held in China first time in the end of Nov in Beijing, it has almost been 3 years after I moved to Australia, and it has been great to see the colleagues, and the community there.
I presented a talk named "Building your own service In SwitchYard", it has two parts, first part is to give a very basic introduction to the SwitchYard project, and then have a live demo to build a simple sayHello service from scratch by using the SwitchYard editor in JBoss Dev studio. The other part is to introduce the steps on integrating a project as a component in the SwitchYard, this basically is the experience that we had on integrating the RiftSaw project as the BPEL component in SwitchYard, hopefully it will help some users/developers that want to integrate their in-house or other projects as components in SwitchYard.
The audience is great in JUDCon, I was approached by some developers that are impressed by the SwitchYard, the editors etc, some questions between the camel and SwitchYard, and even some questions on how to get involved in the open source development.
It was a great experience in JUDCon, and looking forward to the next one.
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Q:
Sports Collection Database
I am creating a sports collection database of different sports and i am confused of some sort on what tables and primary keys/foreign key combo to use the requirement is as follows:
Should be in a 3rd Normal Form or at least in 3NF.
Here is the Full Description on what I want to do:
Design a database for a sports collection of cards.
You only purchase cards with current market value( at the time of purchase) that are at least $100.00. Your collection about 1000 cards
You collect all kinds of sports cards, from football, basketball, hockey and etc
These cards you collect are produced by different vendors such as ?Topps, Upper Deck, Leaf and Panini.
The collection spans many years of collection, some cards even date back to early 1900s, but there are cards made even before this
The condition of your cards vary too and are grade according to the 10-point PSA grading standards. (Grading table)
Everytime you purchase a card, you must know the date of purchase, cost of purchase, the market value of that purchase, whom you purchased it from, sport, the individual on the cards, card number and etc.
After completion of purchase, you send the card out for grading about a week later, you want to be able to keep track on when the card was sent out for grading, status of the grading, graded assigned to the card , when it was return by the grading company and receipt of the returned card. for tax purposes, you also want to know the fee paid for the grading service (grade table)
you do buy and sell cards, so you also want to know how much you sold the card for for, when it was sold, to whom it was sold, shipping fee if applicable and any relevant data pertinent to sale transaction. You are free to include any additional data that you believe is important to the table.
Here is my current database so far... I feel like i am missing something and I did not follow the requirements properly
A:
It looks like a pretty good start. I have the following observations about your tables/structure:
CardSellers: should only store info about the CardSeller; the only values it should have are SellerID and SellerName
Vendor: should not have CardId
Grade: SellerID doesn't belong here
Card: looks good
CardBuyers should not have DateOfPurchase or CostOfCard or Shipping Fee; those three members belong in CardTransaction. In fact, "DateOfPurchase" should be "DateOfTransaction"
Also, since the Vendor table should only store Vendor data, and the Card table should only store card data, you also need a M2M (many-to-many) table to connect the two; this should have three members: ID (PK), CardId (FK), and VendorId (FK)
UPDATE
Remember two things about table design:
(0) A table should only contain data about the object its named for and only references to other tables (via a FK - see below)
(1) DRY (Don't Repeat Yourself - IOW, don't store the same data in multiple places; instead, store a link to it, where needed, via FK (Foreign Key) fields referencing PK (Primary Key) fields).
As far as the actual design of the tables, this makes sense to me:
CARDS
-----
CardId (PK)
VendorId (FK)
CardFirstName
CardLastName
CardType
CardYear
MarketValue
Rarity
CollectionNumber
COLLECTORS (Buyers and/or Sellers; no need to have separate tables for them)
---------
CollectorId (PK)
CollectorName
CollectorAddress
TRANSACTIONS
------------
TransId (PK)
CardId (FK)
BuyerId (FK) <= CollectorId in the Collectors table
SellerId (FK) <= CollectorId in the Collectors table
TransactionDate
Price (if it may differ from CARDS.MarketValue)
GRADE
-----
GradeId (PK)
CardId (FK)
Points
AssignedGrade
Qualifiers
Status
CardFee
GradedDate
ReturnedDate
VENDORSLU ("LU" stands for "Lookup")
---------
VendorId (PK)
VendorName
CARDTYPESLU
-----------
CardTypeID (PK)
CardTypeDescription
RARITYLU
-----------
RarityID (PK)
RarityDescription
You may find there are other fields you need to add, too, but that should be close. You might even want additional lookup tables, such as for "Qualifiers" and "Status" in the GradeTable.
You might also want a SPORTSLU table, and then add a SportId FK to the CARDS table (where if SportId == 1, it's a football card, if it's 2, it's a basketball card, &c).
Note, though, that as prevalent and historically significant as Relational Databases are, there is another animal called "Non-SQL" databases (such as MongoDB) which are more free-form/loosey-goosey/I'm okay-you're okay/anarchistic, which allow you to have records, or "documents" that can omit or add whatever members it wants on the fly. Relational Databases can be compared to Classical music (Bach, Mozart, &c) whereas Non-SQL are more like Jazz (free-flowing, improvisational).
And BTW, why no mention of Tiddlywinks? Football, Baseball, etc., are fine, but no Tiddlywinks (or Bocci Ball, for that matter)?!?
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Willie Connors
Willie Connors (born 10 August 1996) is an Irish hurler who plays for Tipperary Senior Championship club Kiladangan and at inter-county level with the Tipperary senior hurling team. He usually lines out as a right corner-forward.
Career statistics
Honours
Tipperary
All-Ireland Senior Hurling Championship (1): 2019
Munster Under-21 Football Championship (1): 2015
References
External link
Willie Connors profile at the Tipperary GAA website
Category:1996 births
Category:Living people
Category:Kildangan hurlers (Tipperary)
Category:Tipperary inter-county hurlers
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Uncategorised
Nursery Admissions
NURSERY CLASSES IN PRIMARY SCHOOLS
ADMISSION TO THE NURSERY CLASS at St Anthony's Catholic Primary School will be on a full time basis and made by the Governing Body in accordance with the stated parental preference, subject to the following set of ADMISSION CRITERIA forming a priority order where there are more applications for admission than the Nursery has places available:
Baptised Catholic Looked After Children and Previously Looked After Children.
Baptised Catholic Children who have a sibling in the school at the time of admission.
Other children who have a sibling in the school at the time of admission.
Baptised Catholic Children in the parish of St Anthony’s, as defined in its historical boundaries prior to 2010.
Non-Catholic Looked After Children and Previously Looked After Children.
Other children living within Manchester, taking proximity to the school into account.
NOTES
1. Admission to the Nursery Classes does not necessarily secure admission to the Primary School.
2. A Looked After Child is a child who is (a) in the care of a Local Authority, or (b) being provided with accommodation by a Local Authority in the exercise of their Social Services functions (under Section 22 (i) of the Children Act 1989). A previously Looked After Child is one who immediately moved on from that status after becoming subject to an adoption, residence or special guardianship order.
3. The Governing Body reserve the right to admit children with proven and exceptional medical and social needs where admission to the Nursery Class may best help satisfy those exceptional needs, providing that such an application is submitted with appropriate evidence or reports from a doctor or social worker. If the school is named in a statement of special educational needs the Governing Body has a duty to admit the child to the school. Where applications are received from Catholic and other children in public care they will respectively be admitted to the Nursery class in that priority order and in advance of the outlined order of criteria.
4. All Catholic applicants will be required to produce Baptismal Certificates.
5. The Governing Body reserves the right to withdraw the offer of a school place where false evidence is received in relation to baptism, sibling connections or place of residence.
Talk to your child about what they’re up to online. Be part of their online life: find out what sites they visit and what they love about them. If they know you understand they are more likely to come to you if they have any problems.
Watch Thinkuknow films and cartoons with your child.
Encourage you child to go online and explore! There is a wealth of age-appropriate sites online for your children. Encourage them to use sites which are fun, educational and that will help them to develop online skills.
Keep up-to-date with your child’s development online. Children grow up fast and they will be growing in confidence and learning new skills daily. You need to keep up!
Set boundaries in the online world just as you would in the real world. Think about what they see, what they share, who they talk to and how long they spend online.
Keep all equipment that connects to the internet in a family space. For children of Primary School age, it is important to keep internet use in family areas so you can see the sites your child is using and are aware if they see something they don’t want to see.
Know what connect to the internet and how. Nowadays even the TV connects to the internet. Be aware of which devices that your child uses connect to the internet, such as this will affect whether the safety settings you set are being applied.
Use parental controls on devices that link to the internet, such as the TV, laptops, computers, game consoles and mobile phones. Parental controls are not just locking and blocking, they are a tool to help you set appropriate boundaries as your child grows and develops. They are not the answer to your child’s online safety, but they are a good start and they are not as difficult to install as you might think.
7-9’S CHECKLIST
CREATE a user account for your child on the family computer with appropriate settings & make the most of Parental Controls & tools like Google Safe Search
AGREE a list of websites they’re allowed to visit & the kind of personal information they shouldn’t reveal about themselves online (like the name of their school or their address)
DECIDE time limits for things like using the internet & playing on games consoles
BEAR in mind what older siblings might be showing them on the internet, mobiles, games consoles & other devices & agree some rules as a family
TALK to other parents about their views & don’t be pressured by your child into letting them use new technologies
10-12’S CHECKLIST
MAKE sure you’ve set some tech boundaries before they get their first mobile or games console – once they have it in their hands it can be more difficult to change the settings.
REMIND your child to keep phones, etc well hidden to minimise the risk of theft.
TALK to them about what they post & share online – written comments, photos & videos form part of their digital ‘footprint’ & could be seen by anyone & available online forever.
DISCUSS the kind of things they see online – they might be looking for more information about their changing bodies & exploring relationships for example
HOLD the line on letting your child sign up for services like Facebook & YouTube that have a minimum age limit of 13
We believe that internet safety education is a crucial element of the curriculum and an essential part of young people’s development. Please visit the following sites to help enable you to strengthen and reinforce the safety messages that your children receive in school, in your home environment;
Pastoral
Health & Wellbeing Day
St Anthony's held a taster day on Thursday 10th May where Medical Professionals were invited into school to provide information to parents and carers on various Health & Wellbeing topics. The day was a huge success with lots of positive feedback from visitors to the school.
Following the taster day, we will be holding more Health & Wellbeing Days for members of the local community, future dates of these valuable events will be uploaded onto the school calendar in due course. Gallery>>>
First Aid Treatment
PTA
Parent Teacher's Association
Newsletters
The PTA have raised £500 from the summer disco on 19th July and from payments into the 100 club! The money will be used to purchase 'Buddy benches' at school, photos will be published once they're installed!
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Power converters, such as buck converters, are commonly utilized to convert a high DC voltage to a low DC voltage. A power converter typically includes a high-side switch and a low-side switch connected in a half-bridge configuration. The power converter can include a driver integrated circuit (IC) to control a duty cycle of either or both of the high-side and low-side switches so as to convert a high input voltage to a low output voltage. To improve form factor, performance, and manufacturing cost, it is often desirable to integrate components of a power converter circuit, such as a half-bridge based DC-DC converter or a voltage converter, into a compact power semiconductor package.
In a conventional power semiconductor package, individual semiconductor dies are arranged side by side and coupled to a substrate through their corresponding conductive clips, which can undesirably increase electrical resistance and form factor of the power semiconductor package. Also, package design rules to successfully accommodate multiple leadframes and a conductive clip require a large degree of tolerance (i.e. a large clearance space) for manufacturing. Typically, a conductive clip having a leg portion is used to provide sufficient clearance space for necessary electrical connections. However, it is difficult to manufacture the leg portion of the conductive clip to match the exact height of the semiconductor devices in the conventional power semiconductor package. As a result, the leg portion may cause the conductive clip to tilt either toward or away from the semiconductor device, which in turn can cause unreliable electrical connection between the conductive clip and the semiconductor device, and limiting the current carrying capability of the conductive clip. Additionally, the increased package complexity resulting from the use of multiple conductive clips may negatively affect manufacturing time, cost, and package yields.
Thus, there is a need in the art to provide a compact power semiconductor package to with reduced form factor and increased current carrying capability.
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Dragon Ball Z Complete Song Collection 4: Promise of Eternity
is the final instalment of a four volume three disc Dragon Ball Z Complete Song Collection CD soundtrack set from the anime Dragon Ball Z. It was released by Columbia Records on April 23, 2003 in Japan only.
Album Information
This set spans hits 16-18½ of the Hit Song Collection series and includes vocal tracks from the soundtracks to the PlayStation video games and the bonus tracks up till now were only available on the 8mm CD singles of the closing theme to DBZ movies 10-13, plus three Dragon Ball Z related songs from Akira Toriyama: The World making this volume quite sought after by many collectors.
Track listing
Disc One
WE GOTTA POWER
Hey you, crasher
Jumpin’Jump!!
時よ止まれ~MY NAME IS FATHER~Toki Yo Tomare~MY NAME IS FATHER~/Stop, Time!: My Name is Father
僕は魔法使いBoku wa Mahôtsukai/I’m a Magician
FIGHT OH FIGHTING ROAD
ケ・セラKe Sera/Que Será (What Will Be)
あとはSilence...Ato wa Silence.../Afterward, There’s Silence...
力を超えてChikara o Koete/Surpass Your Power
ジャンジャカMy WayJanjaka My Way/Bring it On My Way
THIS IS LIFE!
Good-Bye Mr. Loneliness~光の彼方へ~Good-Bye Mr. Loneliness~Hikari no Kanata e~/Goodbye, Mr. Loneliness: to the Other Side of the Light
魔人ブウに捧げるバラッドMajin Buu ni Sasageru BaraddoA Ballad Dedicated to Majin Boo
世紀末万歳!Seiki-Matsu Banzai!/Hooray For the End of the Century!
HIPPY HOPPY SHAKE!!
OSSAN’S DILEMMA
さらば涙よSaraba Namida Yo/Goodbye, Tears!
Disc Two
昨日の夢,今日の光-サイレントナイト・モーニングムーン-Kinô no Yume, Kyô no Hikari—Sairento Naito - Môningu Mūn--/Yesterday’s Dreams, Today’s Light: Silent Night, Morning Moon
100億のフレンズ100-Oku no Furenzu10,000,000,000 Friends
魔人ブウの悲劇Majin Buu no HigekiTragedy of Majin Boo
メモリーズ-奴のいない夜-Memorīzu—Yatsu no Inai Yoru--/Memories: An Evening Without Him
perfum N゜18~魔性の香り~perfum No 18 ~Mashô no Kaori~/Perfume No. 18: Diabolical Fragrance
瞳の中の地球Hitomi no Naka no Chikyū/An Earth Within Your Eyes
Growin’Up いつかまた逢える日まで...Growin’ Up Itsuka Mata Aeru Hi Made/Growin’ Up: Until the Day We Can Meet Again
僕達は天使だったBoku-tachi wa Tenshi Datta/We Use to be Angels
プラス・アルファ(+α)Purasu Arufa (+α)/Plus Alpha
ここにおいでよKoko ni Oide YoCome On Over Here!
自然の合図Shizen no AizuSigns of Nature
まるごとMarugotoThe Whole World
BATTLE SPECTACLE MEDLEY
Disc Three
奇蹟のビッグ・ファイトKiseki no Biggu Faito/Big Fight of Miracals
ドラゴンボールの伝説Doragonbōru no Densetsu/Dragon Ball of Legend
ドラゴンパワー∞(むげんだい)Doragon Pawā ∞ (Mugendai)/Dragon Power ∞ (Infinity)
小さな戦士(悟天とトランクスのテーマ)Chīsa na Senshi (Goten to Torankusu no Tēma)/The Young Warriors (Theme of Goten and Trunks)
最強のフュージョンSaikyô no Fyūjon/Mightiest of Fusion
愛はバラードのように(ベジータのテーマ)Ai wa Barādo no Yô ni (Bejīta no Tēma)/Love is Like a Ballad (Theme of Vegeta)
俺がやらなきゃ誰がやるOre ga Yaranakya Dare ga Yaru/If I Don’t Do It, Who Will?
勇者の笛(タピオンのテーマ)Yūsha no Fue (Tapion no Tēma)/Ocarina of The Brave Man (Theme of Tapion)
永遠の約束(デュエット・ヴァージョン)Eien no Yakusoku (Dyuetto Vājon)/Promise of Eternity: (Duet Version) 光のWILLPOWER(ヴォーカル・ヴァージョン)Hikari no WILL POWER(Vōkaru Vājon)/Light of Willpower (Vocal Version) 涙みたいな雨が降るNamida-Mitai na Ame ga Furu/The Rain That's Falling Looks Like Tears 灼熱のファイティング(ヴォーカル・ヴァージョン)Endingu Tēma~Shakunetsu no Faitingu(Vōkaru Vājon)Ending Theme: Red-Hot Fighting (Vocal Version) まひるの闇(ヴォーカル・ヴァージョン)Mahiru no Yami(Vōkaru Vājon)/Darkness of Midday (Vocal Version) SIGN~兆~(ヴォーカル・ヴァージョン)SIGN ~Chô~(Vōkaru Vājon)/Sign: An Omen (Vocal Version) FIRE OF BLACK~黒い炎~(ヴォーカル・ヴァージョン)FIRE OF BLACK~Kuroi Honō~(Vōkaru Vājon)/Fire of Black: Black Flame (Vocal Version) NEVER ENDING, NEVER GIVE UP(ヴォーカル・ヴァージョン)NEVER ENDING, NEVER GIVE UP (Vōkaru Vājon)/NEVER ENDING, NEVER GIVE UP (Vocal Version) 君の空へKimi no Sora e/To Your SkyMedley Content
2. BATTLE SPECTACLE MEDLEY:
MIND POWER-気-
MIND POWER...Ki.../Mind Power...Energy... WARNING OF DANGER-警告-
WARNING OF DANGER...Keikoku.../Warning of Danger...Warning... 挑戦状
Chôsenjô/Challenge 運命の日-魂VS魂-
Unmei no Hi ~Tamashii VS Tamashii~/Day of Destiny: Spirit vs. Spirit''
Song Credits
Disc One
Hironobu Kageyama
Tom
Mariko Takase
Goji Tsuno
Rei
Hironobu Kageyama
Tom
Mariko Takase
Rei
Sachi Hanaoka
Mikio Katsumata
Mikio Katsumata
Tom
Hironobu Kageyama
Mayumi Tanaka as Kuririn
Mikio Katsumata
Hironobu Kageyama
Disc Two
Hironobu Kageyama
Masako Iwanaga
Shin’ichi Ishihara
Hironobu Kageyama
Kuko
Kuko
Hironobu Kageyama & Team DBZ
Hironobu Kageyama
Hironobu Kageyama & Ammy
Shin’ichi Ishihara
Kuko
Hironobu Kageyama & Ammy
Hironobu Kageyama, Yuka, & Shin’ichi Ishihara
Disc Three
Hironobu Kageyama
Shin Oya
Hironobu Kageyama
Shin Oya
Hironobu Kageyama
Shin Oya
Hironobu Kageyama
Shin Oya
Hironobu Kageyama & Kuko
Hironobu Kageyama
Kuko
Hironobu Kageyama
Shin’ichi Ishihara
Hironobu Kageyama
Shin’ichi Ishihara
Hironobu Kageyama
Hironobu Kageyama, Shin’ichi Ishihara, Kuko & Friends
Category:Dragon Ball soundtracks
Category:2003 compilation albums
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Wednesday, August 31, 2011
These are such fun salad plates; I have also used them for a lemon tablescape -- love the double duty of these. If found a bargain on some Bartlett pears that are just about to ripen. I plan on making several pear baked goods if the "Food Critics" don't get to them before I do :).
After you view this week's tablescape, I am honored to be giving out a 4 pack of Girard's Premium Salad Dressing to one of my readers. I received this 4-pack in the mail and some extras goodies, because I am now officially a " Girard Epicurean Expert." These will be the same 4 salad dressings that will be given to one of my readers. See below for details.
I picked up an outdoor mum for about $2.00, on sale. I always bring one inside for an inexpensive splash of color in the fall. Today it colors my Pear Table on the deck.
These are some of the lovely pears that I purchased. The bowl is a matching piece to the salad plates.
Seeing life though a bubbly yellow and bubbly clear glass. Which view do you like best.
The Marzetti Company, maker of Girard Salad Dressing is giving away a set of 4 of their premium salad dressings. Marzetti makes 18 different dressings and they are all gluten-free, and are certified Kosher. The set one lucky winner will receive will be comprised of the following dressings as pictured above and listed below:
***Old World Italian -- This is a spectacular Italian -- rich and full of flavor.
***White Balsamic Vinaigrette--see review below
***Light Champagne -- didn't try
It will be delivered to your door -- love getting foodstuff in the mail!
I made the Pear Salad featured on my table today using theWhite BalsamicVinagrette. I drizzled it on the lettuce and on the pear -- delicious! The White Balsamic Vinaigrette is sweet, yet at the same time the flavor of the balsamic vinegar comes through. It's full of flavor and could be enjoyed not just on salads, but on tomatoes, beans, and other vegetables. It's a light tasting dressing, but is also full of flavor.
The Marzetti Company, in addition to the dressings, also sent me some bamboo servers, a cloth grocery bag, an apron, a recipe card holder.
The yellow mums just brighten up any area.
I found the Pear idea on Pinterest. See the lovely salad dressing drizzled on the pear?
The pear salad ready to be eaten. I recommend drizzling a little bit more dressing when you serve it.
If you would like to enter the giveaway, please do the following:
1.MANDATORY--ONE CHANCE. Link to Everyday Elegance -- a site where Epicurious. Com and Girard dressings have teamed up together to bring recipes and lifestyle tips, and tell me in your comment, 1) What recipe you would like to try. 2) What is your favorite Girard's dressing. If you have not tried Girard's dressing, tell me which you would like to try.
5. Winner will be drawn with the assistance of Random. Org. and announced on Red Couch Recipes on Friday, September 9, 2011
6. YouDO NOT have to be the host of a blog to win! However, I need a way to contact my winner. If your e-mail is not readily available on your blog or you do not have a blog, please post your e-mail in your comment.
7. You do not have to post separate comments.
I thank the Marzetti Company for hosting this giveaway. I have not been compensated for writing this post, I did receive a sample pack of 4 dressings and some other Marzetti - branded items.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Glad to see you at my Red Couch today where I am serving Buttermilk Pie, which is really one of my favorite pies. Such simple ingredients combine to make such a flavorful and luscious pie. I have been making it for many years. The recipe is one of Martha Stewart's own and is in my copy of her book Pies & Tarts -- real pie and tart eye candy.
Recipe for Martha's Buttermilk Pie
One unbaked 8-1/2-inch pie shell, well chilled, plus additional pie crust for the leaves that line the edge of the pie. You can make homemade crust or buy a frozen crust and some pie crust dough in a box for the leaves.
To make the leaves, I used a Nordic Ware leave cutout; you can also freehand it.
Freshly grated nutmeg to taste -- or nutmeg from the spice container. I don't add a lot, but I love it in the pie.
Egg Yolk Glaze: 1 egg yolk beaten with 2 teaspoons water.
1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
2. Affix the pastry leaves around the edge of the pie crust with cold water. Brush the top of the leaves with the egg yolk glaze. Refrigerate pie crust until it is ready to be filled.
3. Combine the sugar and the flour in a large mixing bowl. Add the beaten eggs and mix well. Stir in the butter and the buttermilk. Stir in the lemon rind and juice, vanilla, and nutmeg, and pour in the prepared pie shell. Place the pie in the center of the oven for 15 minutes. Lower the heat to 350 degrees and continue to bake for approximately 40 minutes, or until the filling is set. Remove from the oven and serve at room temperature.
Red Couch Notes: As all ovens vary, watch the baking times carefully. I baked my pie for about a total of 45 minutes, which is less than Martha indicated. I also put a foil collar on the edges after awhile so the leaves wouldn't burn.
*******
The pie is ready to be served.
*******
You can add some raspberry sauce and raspberries to top it -- yum!
I hope you bake some pie today. Thanks for stopping by Red Couch Recipes.
Monday, August 29, 2011
I did some honest work today; I made some jam -- two batches of raspberry jam. There IS something so fulfilling about making jam. I like the process -- the smell and color of the fruit while it is cooking. I love how beautiful the jam looks in the jars. I also LOVE the color red.
Look at these jars -- they KNOWthey look good.
My kids are wild about raspberry jam -- it's one of their weaknesses. I WILL have to hide some for a rainy day -- it is like candy for them. Who wouldn't be wild about jam when it comes from such a luscious fruit -- I even have a teenie bit of guilt eating raspberries because they are soooooo good.
I am sure I helped my mom prepare the fruit for jam when I was a young girl, but I didn't make jam by myself until I was in my 30's. I was living on acreage in California and we had wild blackberries on our property. A friend from church, Terry Swarbrick, came home and taught me how. That blackberry jam -- even with all its seeds tasted so wonderful to me and I was hooked on making jam.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
On Sunday, I made little individual berry pies for the family. While I was browsing Pinterest, my daughters -- on their own, were taking the pie scraps and made these cute little bite-sized daisies. It reminded me of when I was a young girl making cinnamon sugar pie triangles from my mom's pie scraps. So I decided to make some more because they were so cute.
I used the medium Wilton Daisy Fondant Cutter. Using pie crust was way easier to use than sugar cookie dough -- the pie crust doesn't stick on the cutter. Obviously, the possibilities are only limited by your fondant or cookie cutter selection.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Welcome to Tablescape Thursday! Today my table is an ice cream table that my kids enjoyed after their first day of school. Although hoped for, the first day morning of getting everyone off to school wasn't so smooth. We stayed up late, again,the night before and things went rough the next morning. How about you?
A napkin view.
At home I have a 12th, 10th, and 5th grader going back to school as well as my husband, a college professor -- a perennial student. Our oldest is also in school; he began his second year of medical school in Virginia this August.
A larger view of the table.
Which spoon would you like? This silver-plated spoons were given to me by my sister Jacqueline, Purple Chocolat Home. Don't you think ice cream tastes better on silver?
These are our everyday glasses; I love them. They are from Wal-Mart and cheap enough that if you break one, you don't feel badly.
All the ice cream plates were given to me by my daughter Talley for my birthday last year -- they are fun. Instead of using the plates, my children scooped off the ice cream on the plates and made cones.
Of course you KNEW I would have ice cream for you. This is Breyer's Strawberry ice cream; I love the base ice cream in Breyer's. I think Breyer's is under a different name in the east.
I hope you enjoyed your ice cream. My children did. The table sort of smoothed out a rough first day of school.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Welcome to Tablescape Thursday! Today I bring to the table my Economical Elephants table. Why Economical Elephants you may say? I have been to a garage sale. THAT is a big event - in fact I went to the same sale twice! I never go to garage sales, but this time I drove by one and there was a lot of glassware. "Grandma" was from Spain and loved to entertain -- yes, that does rhyme ;) The grandkids had no interest in her glassware -- isn't that sad! Anyway several of the elephants elements are from "Grandma." Truth be told most of my tablescapes are economical ones....
The stars of this table, of course, are the elephant plates -- love it that they are square.
I placed the fruit in the terra cotta baker. Shhh!! Don't tell anyone, but when I bought the Asian Pears, I thought they were yellow delicious apples ;)! I can't wait to make some roasted vegetables in the baker in the fall. "Grandma;s" roaster, with a cover, was $3.00.
I love "Grandma's flan dishes. Most like creme brulee will be served in these bakers. I recently saw some bakers like this in a Spanish importing catalogue. They sold "Grandma's" for 5 for $2.00. Love the pop of the orange napkin which provides a tropical feel, don't you think?
The green goblets are plastic and were on clearance for a dollar at Wal-Mart this spring.
I set the new orchid plant my husband brought home for me. Better get a shot of it now, it will die soon, under my care ;).
Economical Elephants Table
Placemats and Green Stemware: Wal-Mart
Flatware: World Market
Napkins: K-Mart
Napkin Holders: Bed Bath and Beyond
White Square Plates -- A gift from my sister Jean who when she found out how much she would have to pay to take them home on the plane, she gifted them to me at curbside parking.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Here's a sweet no-bake dessert for these hot summer days! It's perfect for those days when you don't want to turn on the oven and still have a great tasting and looking dessert. It was my daughter Tati's 15th birthday, we had this for dessert instead of our traditional Ice Cream Cake. It is sweet and tart and oh so delicious. Just layer the ingredients in a glass and your are done.
I was inspired by a recipe (thus, a Recipe from the Hood) posted by Mary atHome is Where the Boat Is for this dessert. Mary posts excellent book review and tablescapes and makes tempting desserts.
First of all, I want to say that this is one of "those desserts," that doesn't have an exacting recipe -- so just go with the flow.
1/2 pint whipping cream, whipped and flavored with sugar and vanilla
5-6 nectarines, cut into slices
1 package Sandie's Pecan Shortbread or any shortbready cookies, broken into small pieces -- each glass will take about 4 cookies -- 2 in each layer.
1/2 cup lemon curd
1 cup pecans, broken up in small pieces and sugared. See directions below.
Place crushed cookies into glass and cover with nectarines (about 1/2 of a medium nectarine). Add 1-2 teaspoons lemon curd and 2 tablespoons of whipping cream. Repeat. Top with sugared pecans.
Red Couch Recipes Note: Yield: This recipe made 6 desserts. To sugar pecans, place 1 cup pecans in small sauce pan, add about 4 tablespoons of sugar and cook on medium heat until sugar melts, making sure your stir constantly. Quickly take off heat and turn pecans out on foil and allow to cool before using.
Thanks to my sister Jean who lives in San Antonio for the wonderful Trader Joes's Lemon Curd used in this recipe. She recently made a trip to California and picked me up four bottles. There are no Trader Joe's in Utah where I live or Texas where she lives. Trader Joe's Lemon Curd is a weakness.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
So glad you dropped by today. Come take a rest on my Red Couch. On a return from a family camping trip, I made Spicy Spanish Sausage Ragu which is a soothing and soulful dish -- it pulls together easy and makes for a memorable delectible meal
This was the sweetest campground ever! I love the red rock ledge that protected us from the sun. The campground had flush toilets, a damned creek to swim in and a congenial campground host.
I based the ragu on some chicken chipotle-jalapeno sausage that I had in the freezer. For any of my Utah readers, I purchased this from Sunflower Markets. I can't describe to you how soothing and soul filling this was after eating camp food for a few days. As my family would love to tell you, I am not a great camping cook, so this tasted especially good after days of camping food.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Come with me on a muddy trip through one of Utah's world famous slot canyons; Utah has the highest concentration of slot canyons in the whole world. This slot canyon is called Peek-a-Boo and is located near the town of Escalane, Utah on the famous Hole-in-the Rock road in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Peek-a-Boo and its cousin Spooky are non-technical slot canyons, which means we won't be needing ropes or other canyoneering paraphernalia on our hike.
To get to Peek-A-Boo, you must travel down the Hole-in-the-Rock road for 26 miles of unpaved road--- bump, bump, bump. When you reach the Dry Fork Trail, you then drive over a 1.7 mile dirt road, bump, bump, bump. Whew, you made it. Now go to the trail head and see this wonderful view.
It's about a 20 minute hike to get to Peek-A-Boo and Spooky. Don't worry cairns will lead you to the slot canyons. I hope you brought some water, you will need it.
Some cracked mud -- I love to walk on cracked mud, crack, crack, crack. This was a warning to us: THICK MUD ahead.
Inside the canyon it can be very shady which was helpful as it was really a scorcher that day. My husband is fashionably carrying a J C Penney reusable bag because we forgot a backpack -- can you believe it?
It rained the day before. You NEVER enter a slot canyon when it is raining or when there is rain in the forecast. Even 1/4-inch of rain can prove hazardous as all the rain flows into the canyon and quickly can rise up the canyon walls and there is no way out for hikers.
As it had rained the day before, there was MUD, THICK, OOEY, GOOEY, MUD. I think Earl the pig, Lynn's pet, the hostess of the blog HappierThan a Pig in Mud, would have enjoyed it...I DID NOT!
A picture of my shoe; my leg is at the bottom center and my shoe is covered in mud in the center.
Yes, this is a picture of my SHOE.I did have a new pair of shoes I was contemplating wearing that day -- thankfully, I stuck with my old shoes. As we walked, my shoe kept on getting stuck in the mud; my husband, the kind fellow that he he, kept on pulling it out for me. If you went barefoot, you would run the risk of walking on sharp objects.
My daughter Tati went barefoot for awhile until she DID hit something sharp. Okay, while we are on the subject of mud, oink, oink, I preferred the thin mud over the thick, clay-like mud. Earl, what do you prefer?
Tati's leg in the mud.
Nearing the end of the hike, my son Skyler is seen negotiating a boulder that is in front of a big mud hole. I must tell you he fell in the mud hole....(yes, we did laugh after asking if he was okay). Apparently, we weren't thinking clearly after all the mud, we thought that Spooky would have just as much mud as Peek-A-Boo, so we didn't enter Spooky; we turned around and went back through Peek-A-Boo -- GLOP, GLOP, GLOP! We were wrong, apparently Spooky had no mud that day...
A leg portrait of my family at the end of the hike.
Hot from the hike and CAKED WITH MUDwe walked into the small grocery store in Escalante to get some slushies. The workers there asked, "Playing in some mud?" We told them about Peek-A-Boo and they responded with, "Well, it did rain yesterday, " and what was left unsaid was, "what do you expect tourists it rained?" But, we were tourists and you have to go when you can!
En route to home we passed by Julie Harwood's, Circle Cliff Views beautiful home. You can see her beautiful home on her blog header and it's for sale. She and her husband have big plans for retirement. Her gorgeous home is located in some of the most beautiful country. We stumbled upon her home by accident, but I recognized it from her blog. Do you think Julie wanted MUD CAKED visitors? No, we did not visit, maybe the next time we pass by.
Engageya
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Come have a seat and rest awhile at my Red Couch where fun family food is served and enjoyed! It's my, now 14 year old daughter's fault I have a blog. I helped her set up her food blog and had so much fun I started my own. Read more about me in my "About Me" tab.
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Transition to the new role of caregiving for families of patients with breast cancer: a qualitative descriptive exploratory study.
Families, especially in Eastern and Muslim countries, routinely accept the responsibility of caring for cancer patients. This study describes the transition to the new role of caregiving from the perspective of family caregivers in Iran as part of the current trend of recognizing the experiences of family members of breast cancer patients from different cultural perspectives. A descriptive exploratory qualitative research approach was used to investigate the experiences of family caregivers of patients with breast cancer in the transition to caregiving. The subjects were 23 family caregivers of breast cancer patients referred to cancer centers at Isfahan University hospitals who were selected by purposive sampling. Data was gathered through in-depth interviews. Interview transcripts were analyzed using conventional content analysis with an inductive approach. Data analysis identified the following categories: grasping a new situation without preparation, perceived inefficiency, infinite absence, and abandoned in the role. Caregivers believed that they were not prepared for their new circumstances and did not have the necessary competence and capabilities to meet the challenges of caregiving. They experienced negative consequences resulting from the difficult responsibility of caregiving. Moreover, they believed that they received limited support from relatives, health-care providers, and the community. The transition to the new role of caregiving is affected by experiences specific to the conditions of the caretakers. When these conditions can be understood and identified, it is possible to provide detailed information for policymaking and planning for family-centered care.
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(Agence France-Presse) If a visitor to Venezuela is unfortunate enough to pay for anything with a foreign credit card, the eye-watering cost might suggest they were in a city pricier than Tokyo or Zurich.
A hamburger sold for 1,700 Venezuelan bolivares is $170, or a 69,000-bolivar hotel room is $6,900 a night, based on the official rate of 10 bolivares for $1.
But of course no merchant is pricing at the official rate imposed under currency controls. It's the black market rate of 1,000 bolivares per dollar that's applied.
But for Venezuelans paid in hyperinflation-hit bolivares, and living in an economy relying on mostly imported goods or raw materials, conditions are unthinkably expensive.
Read the full story ›
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foodporn
Your daily foodporn. Feel free to request or ask any questions xx
Ask & RequestsRecipesNext pageArchive
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I use the wikipedia site to search for what ingredients are. The paints used today are added to water, unlike the egg yolk of the past. However, it is definitely worth a phone call to the manufacturer to see if the paints have dried yolk in them.
Good thinking. I 'm not sure if I would have really thought about this one otherwise.
I spent quite a while e-mailing back and forth to one supplier. They were the last to respond.
The contact wanted discuss the ingredients with her toxicologist. I pointed out to her that I was not interested in the toxicity of her products-I was fairly certain that they were not toxic by it's normal definition. She requested mour alergists number and after that became very helpful.
She actually said if our school contacted her she would go through all of their craft supplies.
This was the company:
http://www.acminet.org/
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Q:
Should I write custom validation or configurate spring correctly?
I have an entity. I use rest controller.
My goal is to validate all fields in the coming JSON object. If I find one or more incorrect fields, I need to return all incorrect fields. How can I do it with spring?
Should I check every field in try - catch?
@Entity
public class Client {
@Id
@GeneratedValue(strategy = GenerationType.IDENTITY)
private Integer id;
@Size(min = 4, message = "Min length 4")
private String first_name;
@Size(min = 4, message = "Min length 4")
private String last_name;
@Size(min = 4, message = "Min length 4")
private String fathers_name;
}
A:
You just need to annotate your client with @RequestBody and @Valid in rest method. Here is an example:
@RestController
@RequestMapping("/api/client")
public class ClientController {
@PostMapping
public ResponseEntity createNewClient(@RequestBody @Valid Client client) {
// insert client
return new ResponseEntity(HttpStatus.CREATED);
}
}
If JSON data will be not valid, method will throw MethodArgumentNotValidException. You can handle it in such way:
@ControllerAdvice
public class ExceptionHandlerController {
@ExceptionHandler(MethodArgumentNotValidException.class)
public ResponseEntity<Map<String, String>> handleArgumentNotValidException(
MethodArgumentNotValidException ex) {
Map<String, String> errors = new HashMap<>();
BindingResult bindingResult = ex.getBindingResult();
for (FieldError fieldError : bindingResult.getFieldErrors()) {
errors.put(fieldError.getField(), fieldError.getDefaultMessage());
}
return new ResponseEntity<>(errors, HttpStatus.BAD_REQUEST);
}
}
|
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"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Q:
Push Language Skills
Based on this:
link
May wanted to push her language skills, so before joining Davis Polk, she did an intensive Mandarin study in Beijing for two months.
what does "push her language skills" mean?
A:
The connotation of "push" in this context is that May wants to challenge herself. If you read further down in the paragraph from the article you linked, you see May quoted as saying, "Davis Polk is a great place to be challenged." The author of the sentence you quote is probably trying to find a way to reinforce this theme of "being challenged" that May brought up in her interview without using the same word repeatedly.
The way this sentence is framed--"push [a skill]"--is a bit unusual and may sound awkward to the English-speaking ear. You will more commonly see "push [him/her/my/yourself]" or "push [a person]", e.g.:
"May had taken Mandarin classes in America for several years, but she really wanted to push herself, so she traveled to Beijing for a language-immersion experience."
"The runner was exhausted, but he pushed himself to complete the last few miles of the marathon."
The teacher pushed his students to do their best work.
"Push" may also carry the connotation of "force," even when physical pushing is not involved, depending on the context, e.g.:
The mine shaft had failed a safety inspection, but the supervisor pushed the miners to enter it by threatening to dock their pay.
|
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"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
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|
Drawing the line: the boundaries of volunteering in the community care of older people.
Volunteers can play important roles in the provision of support and care to frail or confused older people living in their own homes. There are conflicting expectations as to what these roles should be since there are unclear boundaries with those of paid care and with informal care. The present article explores some of these boundaries, drawing on material from a study of 14 volunteer schemes in England. The aim of the research was to explore the roles played by volunteers in the overall care division of labour. The main method used was that of semistructured interviews with organizers and volunteer coordinators of the schemes involved. The findings presented here relate to the limitations on the type of cases taken on, and to the boundaries with professional care, paid manual work and informal care. It concludes that the ways in which these boundaries are established and maintained depends not only on legal and policy constraints at the level of the state, but also on negotiation between organizations and individuals at a local level. The issues raised are of importance not only to research in the area, but to anyone planning similar schemes in the future.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Q:
Using a Viewflipper with Gridview
I've created a calendar which works fine, using a GridView which has an OnClickListener.
Now I wrapped the two GridViews in a ViewFlipper. The ViewFlipper has an OnTouchListener which also works fine, I can change the view by using ontouch when dragging. The problem is though that I have to drag on the EMTPY space in the Activity in order to use the ViewFlipper. When I drag on the GridView, nothing happends at all. But I can click on the GridView for OnClickListener.
xml:
<ViewFlipper android:id="@+id/details"
android:layout_width="fill_parent"
android:layout_height="fill_parent">
<LinearLayout
android:layout_width="fill_parent"
android:layout_height="fill_parent"
android:orientation="horizontal">
<GridView
android:id="@+id/weeks"
android:numColumns="1"
android:layout_width="fill_parent"
android:layout_height="wrap_content"
android:layout_weight="8">
</GridView>
<GridView
android:id="@+id/calendar"
android:numColumns="7"
android:layout_width="fill_parent"
android:layout_height="wrap_content"
android:layout_weight="1">
</GridView>
</LinearLayout>
android code:
@Override
public boolean onTouch(View arg0, MotionEvent arg1) {
// Get the action that was done on this touch event
switch (arg1.getAction())
{
case MotionEvent.ACTION_DOWN:
{
// store the X value when the user's finger was pressed down
downXValue = arg1.getX();
break;
}
case MotionEvent.ACTION_UP:
{
// Get the X value when the user released his/her finger
currentX = arg1.getX();
// going backwards: pushing stuff to the right
if (currentX - downXValue < -(arg0.getWidth()/3))
{
mdh.nextMonth();
calendar.add(Calendar.MONTH, 1);
currentMonth.setText(new SimpleDateFormat("MMMM yyyy").format(calendar.getTime()));
cAdapter.notifyDataSetChanged();
updateWeeks();
// Set the animation
vf.setInAnimation(arg0.getContext(), R.anim.push_left_in);
vf.setOutAnimation(arg0.getContext(), R.anim.push_left_out);
// Flip!
vf.showPrevious();
}
// going forwards: pushing stuff to the left
if (currentX - downXValue > arg0.getWidth()/3)
{
mdh.previousMonth();
calendar.add(Calendar.MONTH, -1);
currentMonth.setText(new SimpleDateFormat("MMMM yyyy").format(calendar.getTime()));
cAdapter.notifyDataSetChanged();
updateWeeks();
// Set the animation
vf.setInAnimation(arg0.getContext(), R.anim.push_right_in);
vf.setOutAnimation(arg0.getContext(), R.anim.push_right_out);
// Flip!
vf.showNext();
}
break;
}
A:
I had the same issue with a ViewFlipper and ScrollViews.
Try adding the onTouchListener to your GridView aswell and it should work.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Q:
Why does my CTE join update so much slower than my Table variable join?
I've seen a couple of similar threads, but they all seem to be about massive databases. I've created a dummy database to demonstrate the issue after seeing this crop up in a small live database this morning.
The basis for this data is as follows: a company keeps track of stock portfolios for its 100 clients. Each of 1000 stocks has a daily record that lists the four investors that own it, along with their percentage. Unfortunately, it has a glitch that allows for an owner to show up multiple times. The procedure parses the data and separates the records out so there are 4 records for each stock on each day, and it will then add up the portfolio total for each owner. However, because there are multiple records, that can overstate the value for that owner. So a flag is being inserted to identify any of these duplicates. Later in the code, the value of each line is multiplied by that flag, which is 0 for a duplicate and 1 if not.
I have five methods of updating that flag. I start with 0, which is just to use a CTE with a SELECT statement as a baseline; it takes about 0.07 seconds. 1 uses that CTE with a JOIN to update the table and takes about 48 seconds. 2 uses a nested select statement instead of the CTE and takes about 48 seconds. 3 dumps that CTE to a table variable and and joins to that and takes about 0.13 seconds. 4 I had thought would be the least efficient because it uses a counter loop and updates one row at a time, but it only took 0.17 seconds. 5 uses a CASE statement to update all rows, joined to a CTE, and takes about 48 seconds.
DECLARE @OwnRec TABLE (
StockID INT
, TradeDate DATE
, Shares DECIMAL(4,0)
, Price DECIMAL(4,2)
, Owner1 INT
, Owner1Pct DECIMAL(3,2)
, Owner2 INT
, Owner2Pct DECIMAL(3,2)
, Owner3 INT
, Owner3Pct DECIMAL(3,2)
, Owner4 INT
, Owner4Pct DECIMAL(3,2)
)
DECLARE @OwnRec2 TABLE (
RecID INT IDENTITY
, StockID INT
, TradeDate DATE
, Shares DECIMAL(4,0)
, Price DECIMAL(4,2)
, Owner0 INT
, Owner0Pct DECIMAL(3,2)
, OwnerNum INT
, DupeOwner TINYINT
)
DECLARE @CullDupe TABLE (
ID INT IDENTITY
, RecID INT
)
DECLARE @Method INT
, @Counter1 INT = 0
, @StartTime DATETIME
--Populate tables with dummy data
WHILE @Counter1 < 1000
BEGIN
SET @Counter1 += 1
INSERT INTO @OwnRec (
StockID
, TradeDate
, Shares
, Price
, Owner1
, Owner1Pct
, Owner2
, Owner2Pct
, Owner3
, Owner3Pct
, Owner4
, Owner4Pct
)
SELECT @Counter1
, '2016-09-26'
, ROUND((RAND() * 1000 + 500)/25,0)*25
, ROUND((RAND() * 30 + 20),2)
, ROUND((RAND() * 100 + .5),0)
, CAST(ROUND((RAND() * 5 + .5),0)*.05 AS DECIMAL(3,2))
, ROUND((RAND() * 100 + .5),0)
, CAST(ROUND((RAND() * 5 + .5),0)*.05 AS DECIMAL(3,2))
, ROUND((RAND() * 100 + .5),0)
, CAST(ROUND((RAND() * 5 + .5),0)*.05 AS DECIMAL(3,2))
, ROUND((RAND() * 100 + .5),0)
, CAST(ROUND((RAND() * 5 + .5),0)*.05 AS DECIMAL(3,2))
END
SET @Counter1 = 0
WHILE @Counter1 < 1000
BEGIN
SET @Counter1 += 1
INSERT INTO @OwnRec (
StockID
, TradeDate
, Shares
, Price
, Owner1
, Owner1Pct
, Owner2
, Owner2Pct
, Owner3
, Owner3Pct
, Owner4
, Owner4Pct
)
SELECT @Counter1 + 1000
, '2016-09-27'
, Shares
, ROUND(Price * ROUND(RAND()*10 + .5,0)*.01+.95,2)
, Owner1
, Owner1Pct
, Owner2
, Owner2Pct
, Owner3
, Owner3Pct
, Owner4
, Owner4Pct
FROM @OwnRec WHERE StockID = @Counter1
END
UPDATE orx
SET Owner2Pct = Owner1Pct
FROM @OwnRec orx
WHERE Owner1 = Owner2
UPDATE orx
SET Owner3Pct = Owner1Pct
FROM @OwnRec orx
WHERE Owner1 = Owner3
UPDATE orx
SET Owner4Pct = Owner1Pct
FROM @OwnRec orx
WHERE Owner1 = Owner4
UPDATE orx
SET Owner3Pct = Owner2Pct
FROM @OwnRec orx
WHERE Owner2 = Owner3
UPDATE orx
SET Owner4Pct = Owner2Pct
FROM @OwnRec orx
WHERE Owner2 = Owner4
UPDATE orx
SET Owner4Pct = Owner3Pct
FROM @OwnRec orx
WHERE Owner3 = Owner4
INSERT INTO @OwnRec2
SELECT StockID, TradeDate, Shares, Price, Owner1 AS Owner0, Owner1Pct, 1, 1 AS Owner0Pct
FROM @OwnRec
UNION
SELECT StockID, TradeDate, Shares, Price, Owner2 AS Owner0, Owner2Pct, 2, 1 AS Owner0Pct
FROM @OwnRec
UNION
SELECT StockID, TradeDate, Shares, Price, Owner3 AS Owner0, Owner3Pct, 3, 1 AS Owner0Pct
FROM @OwnRec
UNION
SELECT StockID, TradeDate, Shares, Price, Owner4 AS Owner0, Owner4Pct, 4, 1 AS Owner0Pct
FROM @OwnRec
--END Populate tables with dummy data
SET @StartTime = GETDATE()
SET @Method = 5 -- Choose which method to test
--CASE 0: Just identify duplicates
IF @Method = 0
BEGIN
; WITH CullDupe
AS (
SELECT RecID, ROW_NUMBER() OVER (PARTITION BY StockID, TradeDate, Owner0 ORDER BY OwnerNum) AS rn
FROM @OwnRec2
)
SELECT * FROM CullDupe WHERE rn > 1
END
--CASE 1: Update on JOIN to CTE
IF @Method = 1
BEGIN
; WITH CullDupe
AS (
SELECT RecID, ROW_NUMBER() OVER (PARTITION BY StockID, TradeDate, Owner0 ORDER BY OwnerNum) AS rn
FROM @OwnRec2
)
UPDATE OR2
SET DupeOwner = 0
FROM @OwnRec2 OR2
JOIN CullDupe cd
ON OR2.RecID = cd.RecID
WHERE rn > 1
END
--CASE 2: Update on JOIN to nested SELECT
IF @Method = 2
BEGIN
UPDATE OR2
SET DupeOwner = 0
FROM @OwnRec2 OR2
JOIN (SELECT RecID, ROW_NUMBER() OVER
(PARTITION BY StockID, TradeDate, Owner0 ORDER BY OwnerNum) AS rn
FROM @OwnRec2) cd
ON OR2.RecID = cd.RecID
WHERE rn > 1
END
--CASE 3: Update on JOIN to temp table
IF @Method = 3
BEGIN
; WITH CullDupe
AS (
SELECT RecID, ROW_NUMBER() OVER (PARTITION BY StockID, TradeDate, Owner0 ORDER BY OwnerNum) AS rn
FROM @OwnRec2
)
INSERT INTO @CullDupe SELECT RecID FROM CullDupe WHERE rn > 1
UPDATE OR2
SET DupeOwner = 0
FROM @OwnRec2 OR2
JOIN @CullDupe cd
ON OR2.RecID = cd.RecID
END
--CASE 4: Update using counted loop
IF @Method = 4
BEGIN
; WITH CullDupe
AS (
SELECT RecID, ROW_NUMBER() OVER (PARTITION BY StockID, TradeDate, Owner0 ORDER BY OwnerNum) AS rn
FROM @OwnRec2
)
INSERT INTO @CullDupe SELECT RecID FROM CullDupe WHERE rn > 1
SET @Counter1 = 0
WHILE @Counter1 < (SELECT MAX(ID) FROM @CullDupe)
BEGIN
SET @Counter1 += 1
UPDATE OR2
SET DupeOwner = 0
FROM @OwnRec2 OR2
WHERE RecID = (SELECT RecID FROM @CullDupe WHERE ID = @Counter1)
END
END
--CASE 5: Update using JOIN to CTE, but updating all rows (CASE to identify)
IF @Method = 5
BEGIN
; WITH CullDupe
AS (
SELECT RecID, ROW_NUMBER() OVER (PARTITION BY StockID, TradeDate, Owner0 ORDER BY OwnerNum) AS rn
FROM @OwnRec2
)
UPDATE OR2
SET DupeOwner = CASE WHEN rn > 1 THEN 0 ELSE 1 END
FROM @OwnRec2 OR2
JOIN CullDupe cd
ON OR2.RecID = cd.RecID
END
SELECT 'Method ' + CAST(@Method AS NVARCHAR(1)) + ': ' + CAST(DATEDIFF(ms,@StartTime,GETDATE()) AS NVARCHAR(10)) + ' milliseconds'
A:
This is a common issue with table variables.
The execution plans for your statements referencing them are compiled before the batch even begins executing and thus before the insert statements have executed.
If you select one in one of your problem execution plans and look in the properties window you will see that the table cardinality is 0.
It still nonetheless assumes that 1 row will be emitted from the empty table as this is the minimum row estimate in most circumstances from a leaf operator in an execution plan. The sub tree on the inside of the nested loops is executed once for each row from the driving table. As this is estimated to be 1 row the highlighted sub tree below is estimated to be executed once. In fact the whole sub tree will be executed 8,000 times (including the expensive table scan and sort operators).
When you materialise the result of the row numbering to a table variable you store the result of that subtree and thus ensure that this is only calculated once (though the plan using it still has a sub optimal nested loops join onto the new table variable).
Common solutions to the one row estimate are to add OPTION (RECOMPILE) to problem statements so that table cardinality at statement execution time can be taken into account, or use trace flag 2453 (which can trigger automatic recompiles after cardinality changes)
or use a #temp table instead (which can trigger automatic recompiles and additionally benefit from column statistics)
More details about some of this can be found in my answer here.
|
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|
The Tesla Model S has been the darling of auto reviewers. Specifically, reviewers love Elon Musk's modified personal Model S, which is all many of them have driven so far. It looks like AutoWeek's Rory Carroll has a different Model S, and his attempt to charge the vehicle has left him stranded in his own driveway.
Specifically, Carroll tweeted out that his Model S won't release its charger cable and, by doing so, won't let him drive. He also can't unplug the other end and put it in his trunk because the system won't let you move if the car is still plugged in (probably a smart idea).
Advertisement
Carroll says he's called the Tesla service center three times and hasn't gotten a call back yet. Here's the exchange on Twitter with video of what happened.
On the spectrum of potential problems this is fairly minor, compared to bricking it's just a temporary inconvenience. It's also possible Carroll doesn't understand how the system works and the charger isn't defective, but as a professional reviewer we're giving him the benefit of the doubt.
|
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|
The southern Blue Mountains is an extensive and rich cultural landscape belonging to the Gundungurra People. The rivers, waterholes and mountains of the Blue Mountains landscape tell one of the most intact and documented dream-time stories in Australia - the epic battle of tiger cat (Mirrigan) and snake (Gurrangatch) which formed the southern Blue Mountains.
When Warragamba Dam was built in 1960 it resulted in the flooding of a large proportion of the cultural heritage and dreamtime stories of the Gundungurra people. If the dam wall is raised the remaining sites of this story - including Indigenous archeological sites, creation waterholes and cave art - will be destroyed.
An indigenous cave art site that would be inundated.
They have already applied for an Aboriginal Place nomination to the NSW Government to try and stop the dam raising destroying their last cultural sites [i]. By getting involved with the campaign, you can assist the Gundungurra people save their remaining cultural heritage from destruction. Having lost so much already, we need to make sure we stop the dam raising to protect what is left.
[i] Isla Cunningham (2018) Gundungurra Group Lodge Proposal to Protect Sacred Sites at risk in Warragamba Dam Plan, The Blue Mountains Gazette. Available Online: https://bit.ly/2NN8xbp
|
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|
22 F.3d 305
U.S.v.Shea (Joseph)
NO. 93-5514
United States Court of Appeals,Third Circuit.
Mar 30, 1994
1
Appeal From: D.N.J.
2
AFFIRMED.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "FreeLaw"
}
|
Sen. Ted Cruz held raucous rallies in Orange and San Diego counties Monday and made it clear that he believes California will play a pivotal role in determining the Republican presidential nomination for the first time in decades.
The Texas senator’s swing through the region came six days after he scored a big win over Donald Trump in Wisconsin and added all 34 of Colorado’s delegates over the weekend.
While he faces potentially tough hurdles in primaries in New York and other Eastern states before California’s June 7 primary, Cruz is planting his flag here.
“California is going to decide the Republican presidential race,” he told a cheering throng at the Town & Country Resort and Convention Center in Mission Valley.
While Trump and Ohio Gov. John Kasich are beginning to organize and line up television time in California, Cruz has been working longer and more diligently behind-the-scenes through county Republican parties to secure delegates. His rally Monday was coordinated by the Republican Party of San Diego County.
× Ted Cruz rally in San Diego
In March, Cruz named Ron Nehring, the former chairman of both the San Diego GOP and the California Republican Party, as his national campaign spokesman.
“We anticipated early on that this primary could easily come down to the state of California, and that in fact is what has happened,” Cruz told the Los Angeles Times in an interview before his rally in Irvine.
His months-long California effort has been bolstered more recently by veteran state GOP strategists who have launched an anti-Trump effort aimed at denying the front-runner enough delegates to have the nomination locked up before the party’s July convention in Cleveland.
Cruz has begun to pick up the backing of establishment Republicans across the nation as the best alternative to Trump. On Monday, the campaign announced the support of 50 current and former elected officials in California.
Californians, long used to being irrelevant in national politics and ignored by candidates, are almost giddy over all the attention.
1 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz waves to a cheering crowd at the conclusion of his speech. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 2 / 16 Ted Cruz supporters Richard Eggbert, center, and Maritza Pumariega, left, stand at the front of the line to Cruz’s rally at the Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley. (David Brooks) 3 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz greets supporters as he entered his rally held at the Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley. (David Brooks) 4 / 16 Roger Ogden of San Diego was among a dozen protesters outside Ted Cruz’s rally at the Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley. (David Brooks) 5 / 16 Young Republicans of San Diego intern Taryon Balona hands out Ted Cruz stickers to supporters as they enter the rally at the Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley. (David Brooks) 6 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz speaks with supporters at his rally held at the Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley. (David Brooks) 7 / 16 San Diego City Attorney Jan Goldsmith speaks before Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz comes out on stage. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 8 / 16 A boy, who is a part people selected to sit on stage, holds a sign before Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz comes out to speak. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 9 / 16 Conservative talk show host Mike Slater warmed-up the crowd before Ted Cruz took the stage at his rally in Mission Valley. (David Brooks) 10 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz waves to the crowd after taking the stage. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 11 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz speaks during a campaign rally. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 12 / 16 photo (David Brooks) 13 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz speaks during a campaign rally at the Town & Country Hotel in San Diego. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 14 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz speaks as he holds a campaign rally at the Town & Country Hotel in San Diego. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 15 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz speaks as he holds a campaign rally at the Town & Country Hotel in San Diego. (Hayne Palmour IV / San Diego Union-Tribune) 16 / 16 Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz greets supporters at his rally held at the Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley. (David Brooks)
“I have never seen this level of excitement and engagement among our California Republican voters and activists as we are seeing right now,” said Harmeet Dhillon, the state party’s vice chairman. “It’s always been game over by the time the primary rolls around to California.”
According to The Associated Press, Trump has 743 delegates, Cruz has 545 and Ohio Governor John Kasich has 143. A candidate needs support from 1,237 delegates to be named the Republican nominee at the party’s convention this summer.
Cruz must win all but 162 remaining delegates to win the party’s nomination outright, a statistically improbable feat that leaves a contested convention his best hope. At this point, Cruz as well as many parts of the GOP establishment aren’t trying so much to clinch Cruz the nominee as deny it to Trump.
If they’re successful, in most cases after the first round of voting at the convention Trump’s pledged supporters can change their vote to other candidates. Cruz has been working the states to find delegates who, if they must go for Trump at the outset, will back him in subsequent convention votes.
National polls have shown that Cruz, compared with Trump, is more competitive against Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders, the two candidates vying for the Democratic nomination.
Cruz stressed that dynamic in San Diego on Monday night. He said only he and Trump have a plausible path to the nomination.
“If Donald Trump is the nominee, Hillary Clinton wins and she wins by double digits,” he said, citing a Fox News poll showing him with a slim lead over the Democrat. “...We beat Hillary Clinton.”
The Democratic National Committee said that it is not trying to set up their eventual nominee for a campaign against Trump, the supposedly easier-to-beat opponent.
“We’re actually taking the approach that we’re not going to play the guessing game or say who will be better or worse in the general election,” DNC Communications Director Luis Miranda said. “Even when they had 17 candidates, any of them who would have come through we would have done pretty well against them because they’re pretty far out of touch.”
Regardless of the Republican candidate, in California they’re emphasizing where Trump and Cruz fall on the political spectrum. In a conference call with reporters Monday morning, Miranda and Rep. Scott Peters, D-San Diego, consistently mentioned Cruz’s role with the tea party and described Trump as extreme.
“The fact of the matter is that Sen. Cruz’s priorities are out of touch with the people in my district,” Peters said. He criticized Cruz for his key role in causing 2013’s federal government shutdown that halted funding for National Institute of Health grants for San Diego biotechnology labs and contracts for defense companies.
During his San Diego appearance, Cruz said there were three key election issues: jobs, constitutional freedoms and security.
To the bolster the economy, he talked of the need to “take the boot of the federal government off the backs of small businesses.” He added that Californians were suffering under “knuckle-headed, liberal Democratic politicians.”
He noted with pride that he was told he was attacked by Gov. Jerry Brown, whom he called “Governor Moonbeam.”
He talked about making sure Supreme Court appointees don’t take away religious freedoms and gun rights, and he emphasized a hard line on illegal immigration and building up the military. And he took a few swipes at front-runner Trump.
“It’s easy to talk about making America great again,” he said. “You can even put it on a baseball cap. But the real question is, do you understand the real principles and values that made America great in the first place?”
San Diego City Attorney Jan Goldsmith was among those who warmed up the crowd for Cruz. Among other things, he riffed on the controversy over Cruz deriding Trump for his “New York values.”
“Many many years ago...I drove a taxicab in New York,” Goldsmith said. “And guess what, I’m supporting Ted Cruz. New York, do the right thing”
An interesting mix of more than a dozen Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump protester gathered on Fashion Valley Road by 5 p.m., holding signs that accused Cruz of being Canadian and stealing the election in Colorado.
Clinton supporter Jay Ames, 22, of Mission Hills, wore a Clinton shirt and held a sign that said "(expletive) your hate.”
He said he did not like the rhetoric he heard from Republican candidates regarding immigrants and Muslims.
“You’re giving more of a fear set for all the people here,” he said of negative comments about Muslims. “You give a bad image for them. People look at (Muslims) weird and judge them.”
Gary Whaley, 53, of Del Cerro, held a sign that said “Colorado never voted GOPe untrusted.” He said the small “e” stood for “establishment.”
He said the way the Colorado Republicans decided not to hold a state primary was undemocratic.
“GOPe and Cruz can argue ‘those are the rules’ but slavery was a rule at one point too,” Whaley, a Trump supporter, said. “I’m looking for a fair fight.”
They were but a fraction of the Cruz supporters who lined up to hear their candidate speak.
Dan Batkin, 55, of Rancho Bernardo, said he supported Cruz because of the candidate’s stance on limited government and immigration.
“We have to put a wall. We have to stop these immigrants from coming over and taking money from hard-working Americans. Getting freebies,” he said.
Earnest Healy, 55, of Escondido, was near the front of the line and said he had been a supporter of Cruz since the start of the primary.
“He takes the road less traveled. He is a little more forceful in trying to get things done,” he said. “He calls it as it is.”
Staff writer Philip Molnar contributed to this report.
Joshua Stewart and Seema Mehta write for the California News Group, publisher of the Union-Tribune and the Los Angeles Times.
|
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Trailer Frenzy A special place to find the newest trailers for movies and TV shows you're craving. Prev Next View All
What if Pacific Rim tossed out the whole "we're not doing Godzilla" pretense and just went full classic Kaiju crazy? We bet it would feel a little something like this. Watch as Guillermo del Toro's monsters are recut to sound just like the original big bad kaiju in this amazing recut of the Pacific Rim trailer.
[via Slashfilm]
|
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Metabolites of arsenic and increased DNA damage of p53 gene in arsenic plant workers.
Recent studies have shown that monomethylarsonous acid is more cytotoxic and genotoxic than arsenate and arsenite, which may attribute to the increased levels of reactive oxygen species. In this study, we used hydride generation-atomic absorption spectrometry to determine three arsenic species in urine of workers who had been working in arsenic plants,and calculated primary and secondary methylation indexes. The damages of exon 5, 6, 8 of p53 gene were determined by the method developed by Sikorsky, et al. Results show that the concentrations of each urinary arsenic species,and damage indexes of exon 5 and 8 of p53 gene in the exposed population were significantly higher, but SMI was significantly lower than in the control group. The closely positive correlation between the damage index of exon 5 and PMI,MMA, DMA were found, but there was closely negative correlation between the damage index of exon 5 and SMI. Those findings suggested that DNA damage of exon 5 and 8 of p53 gene existed in the population occupationally exposed to arsenic. For exon 5, the important factors may include the model of arsenic metabolic transformation, the concentrations of MMA and DMA, and the MMA may be of great importance.
|
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24-7-365 (N2Deep album)
24-7-365 is the second album by rap group, N2Deep. The album was released in 1994 for Bust It Records and was produced by N2Deep and Johnny Z. Despite the success of their previous album, Back to the Hotel, 24-7-365 did not make it on any album charts or feature any charting singles. Four singles were released "Deep N2 the Game", "Small Town", "California Hot Tubs" and "Somethin' Freaky".
Track listing
Samples
Deep N2 the Game
"Miss You" by The Rolling Stones
Whoo Ride
"Rigor Mortis" by Cameo
External links
24-7-365 at Discogs
Category:N2Deep albums
Category:Jay Tee albums
Category:1994 albums
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}
|
Q:
Cannot disable localParticipant.audioTracks with Twilio Video
I'm adapting Twilio's JS Quickstart and trying to provide a button that will mute a user's audio. From looking around online, my code looks like this:
function toggleAudio(){
room.localParticipant.audioTracks.forEach(function(track) {
console.log(track);
track.disable();
})
}
The console.log() spits out a LocalAudioTrackPublication, yet I get the following error:
Uncaught TypeError: track.disable is not a function
So I'm stumped. The docs imply that the .disable() method will do what I expect, yet apparently, it's not defined?
A:
It was such a ridiculously simple solution, as is always the case.
function toggleAudio(){
room.localParticipant.audioTracks.forEach(function(track) {
track.track.disable();
})
}
The actual track is inside of the track property.
|
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"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
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