“He will be there, soon enough.”
The producer began waving to a cameraman, clearly trying to get the man to come over toward her. A double-ponytailed cameraman nodded, jogged away from the ITN van, and switched his on-camera ultralight on. Suddenly Astrid was in blinding irradiance.
“Jackals?” the producer asked Astrid.
Then she spoke in a lower voice, looking down, turning away from Astrid, and speaking to someone obviously appearing by Opticall on her corneas. “Molly—they’re telling me there are jackals loose. What do you think?” She hunched protectively away from the bright lights, speaking quietly. “Yeah, it’s great stuff. Yeah. Let’s put something together on this. It’s great. I mean RTS-award-great.”
While the producer began planning her coverage with her team, and the cameraman switched off his on-camera light—he looked terribly bored—Astrid tried to steal away. She wanted to stand off to the side with Atwell until she could talk with Beauchamp and work out what to do. The night was starting to seem utter lunacy to her. The world seemed to be going crazy over a few African dogs.
But Beauchamp ran over to her before she could make it out of earshot of the pompous press briefing. Beauchamp was smiling with his thin, quavering lips, and it looked forced.
“Inspector,” he said with a barely veiled derision. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better. This is all a bit much, isn’t it?”
Beauchamp’s smile fell. Sneering slightly, he said, “Listen: to be brief, did you seal the perimeter, as I requested?”
“Erm, well, we never quite made it all the way around—”
Beauchamp grimaced. “Oh, that’s ace! You’re a dab hand for a copper, aren’t you? That was the most important thing—the only bit that mattered!”
“There’s two of us. More park police are on the way.”
Astrid felt furious. She brushed her hand against the gun in her trousers, just for the feeling of calm power it afforded her.
“We did our best,” she said. “We—”
“Do you know what that means? Do you?” demanded Beauchamp, nearly shouting.
As far as Astrid was concerned, it mostly meant that Beauchamp was making life harder for her.
She said to him, in a loud voice, “The Royal Parks Constabulary’s full resources are at your pleasure, sir. If you want to get snarky, that’s your business. What’s done is done. We’ll cover the perimeter, or go into the zoo and investigate the trouble. There’s apparently a man in there, perhaps some kind of vagrant in there. But I don’t understand how animals could have escaped.”
The producer and cameraman began walking toward them, attracted by the tense exchange. The big camera light snapped on, and Astrid immediately regretted being shrill.
“You don’t need to understand, do you?” asked Beauchamp.
With that ill-judged remark, Beauchamp looked pompous and self-conscious for a fleeting moment; he began rubbing his hands together and nodding. He said, “I just think we need to get inside the zoo as soon as possible, Inspector. A vagrant molesting the animals is worse than anyone could have possibly imagined.”
“Mmm,” said Astrid. “It may be that, but I doubt it.”
“Did you alert the Met? And the Watch?”
“Of course. The Met. We don’t call the Watch. They come—you know that. That’s their ridiculous frightcopter up there.” She pointed straight up without looking.
“Are you really trying hard enough?” Beauchamp snapped.
There was silence for a moment. Astrid tried to work out how she could explain her delays that night. She said, “Of course, we’ll get support.” She felt flustered now. She needed to get to the comm-port, fast, and make as many Opticalls as she could manage.
“At bloody least the entire AnimalSafe team is on the way,” said Beauchamp. “They should be here straightaways now.” He blew into his hands. The park did seem to have grown colder, Astrid thought. There was rime forming on the grass.
Beauchamp said, “Inspector, you know there’s also Dawkins. He’s the night—”
“Yes, we’ve already conferred with Mr. Dawkins. He’s discussing matters with my colleague now. In the pandaglider.”
“I warn you,” said Beauchamp, leaning in close and confidentially. Astrid was struck by the unnatural luster and taut look of his hair. “That Dawkins, he’s . . . shady. Occasionally, you know, his mother visits him at his apartment—very much against regulations—and she could be in there tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dawkins is at the bottom of all this nonsense.”
“I don’t think so,” said Astrid, trying to interrupt before Beauchamp forced her to make life more difficult for Dawkins than it already was.