London Calling - James Craig [81]
After a few minutes, Dom put down his glass. ‘Do you know what the “Great Stink” was?’
Carlyle thought about it for a second. ‘No.’
‘I forgot,’ Dom grinned, ‘you didn’t pay much attention at school, did you?’
Carlyle made a face and took another swig of beer.
‘The Great Stink,’ Dom continued, ‘was in 1858. Back then, the smell of sewage in the Thames was so bad that it, quite literally, got up the noses of the politicians in the House of Commons. They eventually demanded action, and the great Joseph Bazalgette came to their – and our – rescue.’
‘Who?’
‘The chief engineer of the Metropolitan Board of Works. He spent seven years building a 1300-mile system of sewers and pumping stations.’
‘I’ll remember that the next time I take a dump.’ Carlyle wondered what the hell Dom was on about.
‘It was a truly fantastic achievement.’
‘The history of shit.’ Carlyle took another sip of his lager. ‘How interesting. I don’t remember them teaching us about that at school, at all.’
‘I know,’ said Dom, shaking his head. ‘It’s criminal really. Joseph Bazalgette was a truly great Londoner. He got a knighthood in 1875 and there’s a small monument to him on the Victoria Embankment. Altogether, it’s a very, very small recognition of his genius. Any idiot can get a knighthood. Did you know that all civil-service permanent secretaries get them as a matter of course? What do they ever do?’
Carlyle shrugged. He forgotten how Dom could go off on one, once he’d picked a subject on which to pontificate.
‘The same goes for senior judges,’ Dom continued, warming to his theme, ‘and generals and ambassadors. At the very least, Joseph Bazalgette – the man who sorted out our shit – deserved a statue in Parliament Square. Or they could have named a bridge named after him, or … something.’
‘And the relevance of all this is?’ Carlyle smiled, demonstrating his willingness to indulge his ‘mate’.
‘The relevance of all this, Constable,’ said Dom, not missing a beat, ‘is that one of Bazalgette’s finest monuments is the Abbey Wood sewage works, which is not all that far from here.’
‘And?’
‘And … that’s where you’ll find the body.’
Carlyle glanced round. The plain girls had gone. Checking that no one else was within earshot, he looked at Dom. ‘What fucking body?’ he hissed.
‘The body of the muppet that shot Larry Guthrie this morning. It’s in one of the settlement tanks. There are a few … I’m sorry I can’t be more specific.’
‘Guthrie?’ Carlyle struggled to get his brain into gear. ‘That was only eight hours ago.’
Dom shrugged modestly. ‘We … they moved quickly. No one wants this thing to get out of hand. Both sides have lost a soldier. Additional compensation will be paid. It is time to call it quits and move on. All this cowboy bollocks is bad for business.’
‘So it was a drugs-related killing?’
Dom raised his eyes to the heavens and said nothing.
‘What’s the name of this “muppet”?’ Carlyle asked, gulping down another mouthful of lager.
Dom finished his pint. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Did this guy really do it?’
‘Absolutely.’
Carlyle frowned. ‘Evidence?’
‘Guthrie’s blood is on his clothes. Along with his own now, of course.’
Carlyle put his glass carefully on the table and looked Dom in the eye.’You didn’t …?’
‘Don’t be fucking stupid!’
‘So why are you telling me this?’
‘It needed sorting. You don’t need … you don’t want to know the details. This way, everybody wins: You look good, while keeping my name out of things, and I get kudos on my side for putting this business to bed, police investigation included. The message gets out that this thing is over, a score draw, and the streets are that little bit safer again for the Great British public.’ He waved his empty glass at Carlyle. ‘One for the road?’
Carlyle shook his head. ‘And just how am I supposed to have come across this info?’
Dom grinned. ‘Sources, old boy. Informants. Just make sure you don’t have to go in there yourself. I’m told that the stink really is something terrible.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’
‘My