Free Moon Over Soho by Ben Aaronovitch Page A

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 a club, the back doors were open, and judging by the leisurely way the paramedics were moving about the victim was either 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 recognized 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, equipment belt, extendable baton, nipple-shaped helmet, shoulder harness, airwave radio, cuffs, pepper spray, notebook, and emergency Mars bar, lumbering is what you do. Phillip Purdy had a bit of a reputation as a “uniform carrier,” which is a copper who’s not good for anything but wearing the uniform. But that was all to the good—right now I didn’t want effective. Effective coppers ask too many questions.
    “Ambulance pickup,” 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 gurney.He was younger than me, dark-skinned and African-featured—Nigerian or Ghanian if I had to guess, or more likely had a parent from one of those places. He was dressed smart, khaki chinos, custom 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 ziplock bag with a wallet in it. “This your shout?” he asked.
    I nodded, took the bag, and signed the paperwork to carefully 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 the reputation for sterling customer service that makes us the envy of the civilized world.
    As they loaded the gurney 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 knowwhether this guy had been playing at the Mysterioso. Of the irregulars, Daniel looked the most upright.
    “Daniel,” I said. “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