‘It looks like a giant cat of some kind,’ said May. ‘Except that it must have reared up on its hind legs.’
‘Whose hind legs are shaped like that? Have we got something on the loose around here?’ asked Bryant.
‘There’s a circus on the other side of the market,’ said Hathaway. ‘But they’re not allowed to have any acts with animals.’
‘You saw these tracks, yes? Where did they go?’
The sergeant pointed up to the corner of the buildings behind them. ‘The snow was coming in through that gap over there so it only settled in one part of the square.’ He indicated the wedge-shaped section of wet ground where the snow had fallen. ‘I couldn’t see anything beyond that corner.’
‘Who called it in?’
‘One of the coach drivers saw her lying there. Whatever had attacked her had already gone.’
‘Well, this is one for my memoirs,’ said Bryant. ‘Let’s see what else we can find.’
John May watched his partner working with interest. Bryant was outside the tent, then lifting its edges with the end of his walking stick, then dropping low to follow a cable that led to part of the seasonal display.
‘Now what’s he doing?’ asked Hathaway.
May gave the faintest of shrugs. ‘I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s ready.’
Bryant climbed to his feet, his knees cracking like someone stamping on bags of crisps, and returned to the sergeant with an accusing look on his face.
‘This cold weather plays silly buggers with my joints,’ he said. ‘Right, where’s Dunder?’
‘Who?’ Hathaway asked.
‘The seventh reindeer.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked May.
Bryant raised his stick and pointed around the edge of the square. ‘Look, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, no Dunder, then Blixem.’ Set on the ground at ten-yard intervals were a series of prancing reindeer, each of them about three feet high, plastic and silver-wire frames wrapped with twinkling lights. Except that on this side of the square the lights were all out and one reindeer, the seventh, was missing. Its cable went as far as the edge of the crime scene tent and reappeared on the other side.
‘Dunder and Blixem are Dutch for thunder and lightning,’ said Bryant, lifting the side of the tent. ‘From the 1823 poem. Blixem was changed to rhyme with “Vixen”, the fourth reindeer, but nobody knows why “Dunder” ended up as “Donner”. You never know where you are with flying fauna. Please note that there’s no Rudolph. Anna Perigorde must have been attacked right beside the seventh reindeer. Thunder’s gone.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Hathaway. ‘It was here before.’
‘Then the attacker took it away with him. Why? Was he behaving like a wild animal carrying off prey? Perhaps she was too heavy to lift so he settled for something smaller.’
‘Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?’ asked May.
‘Of course I do,’ said Bryant indignantly. ‘I specialize in the ridiculous.’
‘Maybe it’s just coincidence that there was one missing at this spot.’
‘No.’ Bryant was adamant. ‘Look at the edges of the cables. They’ve been freshly cut with electrical pliers. There’s no water underneath her or on these cuts.’
May knew that his partner had the eyesight of a deep-sea anglerfish and wondered if he might be bluffing, but when he knelt to check the wires he could see that Bryant was right.
‘So we don’t know whether our suspect is human or animal,’ he said, ‘but we do know he also attacked a reindeer and carried it off. At least he should stand out on the streets. As the tubes aren’t running today and there are hardly any taxis about, he should be easy to spot.’
‘You don’t seem at all surprised by this,’ said the sergeant. ‘It’s not an everyday occurrence, an opera singer in full regalia assaulted by a giant panther in Covent Garden.’
‘You didn’t see it, though, did you?’ Bryant pointed out. ‘You’re drawing a conclusion from the evidence that cannot possibly be right. Mind you, it’s funny the things you see in London on some days. Do you remember that bloke who was attacked with a penguin, John?’ He turned to the sergeant. ‘The flightless bird, not the chocolate bar. All we could book his assailant for was cruelty to animals.’
‘Even so,’ said May, ‘we’d better check with the circus, just in case.’
The circus, unfortunately, was shut, but its leaflets proudly proclaimed a total absence of livestock. ‘It’s not a proper circus if a man in a top hat can’t fend off a knackered-looking lion with a dining chair,’ Bryant complained in a tone designed to provoke. ‘All you’re left with is clowns and people swinging from ropes.’
They headed up to University College Hospital, where Anna Perigorde was emerging from sedation. A dark-eyed young man sat beside the bed holding her hand. ‘I’m Galvin Perigorde, her son,’ he said, shaking their hands with grave respect.
‘No husband?’ asked Bryant brusquely.
‘My mother is divorced.’
‘We don’t speak to him,’ said Anna, looking up at them pitifully. Her right shoulder was heavily bandaged. Lying in a hospital gown without make-up, she had none of the fiery grandeur of her photographs.
‘Please don’t move,’ said her son. ‘Your head—’
‘Is your husband in the country?’ Bryant asked.
‘Yes, in Hampstead with his slut of a new wife.’ She winced as she attempted to pull herself upright. It was hard to tell if she was in pain or overacting. From her facial expressions she might have been Aida being buried alive.
‘Can you tell us what happened?’ May enquired gently.
‘I’d been to have my costume altered for tomorrow,’ Anna explained. ‘The stage door opens on to the corner of the square. There was no one around. I stepped outside and walked around the block to get some air.’
‘Is that something you often do?’
‘Yes. This is my ninth season at the House. It’s what we do.’
‘You mean we Italians – you are Italian, yes?’
‘Of course. I took my husband’s name.’
‘My mother enjoys – recognition,’ said Galvin, not without implying criticism.
‘Is this going to take very long?’ cried La Perigorde. ‘Haven’t I suffered enough?’
‘Did you have any cash on you?’ Bryant asked. ‘I mean small change?’
‘No, of course not, I am world famous!’ The singer grimaced in disgust. ‘I only had the credit cards in my purse. I’d just got back to the stage door when this hideous thing came up behind me. It was immensely tall. It tried to punch me on the side of the head and gripped my arm. I saw great black claws close over my shoulder and tried to scream, but he put something over my mouth. I could smell something disgusting, like burned car tyres. Then I fell. We struggled. The creature had a very long whip-like tail. There was something underneath me—’
‘The reindeer,’ Bryant suggested.
‘Yes, that was it, but then I banged my head on the cobblestones. I don’t remember anything else.’
‘You saw nothing more of this monster?’
‘No, I just told you, didn’t I? I had the impression of a great black shape, that’s all. I was terrified.’
‘Do you think he was waiting for you?’
‘Well, obviously he was.’ She shot the detectives a withering look. ‘Isn’t there anyone more competent I can talk to? You have to find him. Tell your superiors, I want everybody on this. This monstrosity does not want me to take my place on the stage tomorrow.’
Bryant appeared not to be listening. ‘Is this the outfit you were wearing?’ He picked up the diaphanous white gown that had been draped across a chair.
‘Yes. The creature tore it,’ lamented La Perigorde. ‘It’s quite unwearable now.’
‘You’re sure this is all of it?’
‘Leave it alone. It’s worth more than your annual salary.’
‘Sorry.’ Bryant set the gown and its
necklaces back down. ‘Do they think you’ll be well enough to go on with the show?’
‘It is an opera, not a show. And it depends on whether you catch this ghastly thing before the curtain goes up,’ said the diva, deviously.
‘I don’t know,’ said May, shucking off his shoes. ‘It’s a bit Phantom of the Opera, isn’t it? The mysterious creature that forbids the singer to perform?’ As the offices of the Peculiar Crimes Unit were shut for today they had headed back to Bryant’s home and seated themselves in front of the gas fire. ‘I don’t know where we’re supposed to start with this investigation. You hear about the members of opera and ballet companies doing terrible things to one another to sabotage their performances. We’ll have to interview everyone starting with the understudies, and anyone else who’s been up for the part. There could be all kinds of subtle long-running feuds at the heart of this.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said Bryant, feeling for his Lorenzo Spitfire and a box of matches. ‘I’ve got a fairly good idea who we’re looking for.’
‘You do? I wish you’d enlighten me.’
‘You’ve seen the same evidence,’ said Bryant. ‘You heard what I asked her. You could draw your own conclusions.’
‘But you and I think differently,’ said May. ‘You take a sort of lateral approach. Your mind has a crab-like gait.’
‘That doesn’t sound very attractive. Have you ever been to the opera in Italy?’
‘Yes, to the Arena di Verona. An extraordinary experience. The cast parade around the town square afterwards and allow themselves to be greeted by their admirers.’
‘Then our thought processes aren’t so very far apart after all. You recall I asked her if she was Italian?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see how that connects to stealing a reindeer.’
‘Because you’re looking at it the wrong way. It’s not the fact that it was a reindeer at all. You didn’t try to lift one of them up, did you? They’re very light. Tell me, what can you be sure of so far?’
‘Sure of?’ May accepted a mandarin orange and unpeeled it thoughtfully. ‘That the attacker was human because there could be no such monster on the loose.’
Bryant grinned. ‘Half right but never mind, keep going.’
‘And that the purpose of the attack was to prevent her from performing.’
Bryant looked disappointed. ‘No, I think not. You’re over-complicating something that’s really very simple. Anna Perigorde was assaulted in the heat of the moment, out of spite and jealousy, nothing more.’
‘How can you be so sure of that?’
‘Because I put the key points of interest together, marking them in my mind like crosses on a grid, then draw the shortest possible lines between them before stepping back to examine the finished drawing. It’s like looking at the night sky and delineating the constellations.’
‘That’s as close as you’ve ever got to describing your thought processes,’ May admitted.
‘Except that I don’t do it every time,’ said Bryant. ‘Sometimes my brain is simply flattened by an avalanche of mad rubbish.’
‘Damn, I thought I’d nailed you for once. So what were these key points?’
Bryant gave a weary sigh, as if being forced to explain to a child. ‘The fiver’s worth of small change that didn’t belong to La Perigorde. The smell of car tyres. The necklace on the Pearl Fishers costume. And the location, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Here, are you going to keep going out and coming in again?’ Alma asked from the doorway. ‘Because you’re treading pine needles all over my carpets.’
‘Madam, you are trespassing in my chamber of repose,’ warned Bryant.
‘This is not your chamber, it’s the sitting room and I’ve got guests arriving for our carol service in a minute, so perhaps you could take your bedsocks off the teapot and retire to your own room for a while.’
Bryant beckoned to his partner. ‘Lord help us, they’ll be bashing through the entire Judaeo-Christian litany of guilt and redemption for the next couple of hours. Come on, there must be a pub open somewhere.’
‘So despite having a strong idea of who we’re looking for, you don’t plan on taking action tonight,’ said May.
‘I can’t,’ Bryant replied, wrapping himself in several yards of moulting green scarfage. ‘The “monster” can’t be caught this evening. He’s shed his skin. We’ll get him tomorrow morning.’
They did, too, once more driving to the scene of the assault and parking on the cobbles, disrupting the smooth running of the square’s restaurants, where waiters were trying to set out tables.
‘Come on, back up James Street towards the tube,’ said Bryant, waving his walking stick wildly and clearing a path through some startled tourists. ‘He’ll be here.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ May asked.
‘Because the Underground is running today,’ Bryant replied. ‘He had to be desperate to turn up yesterday. This’ – here his stick nearly thickened the ear of an elderly Canadian – ‘is the main thoroughfare linking the tube system to the market. The only people you’ll find here are tourists and those who prey on them.’
Boxing Day had nothing to do with sport, although many fixtures took place on that afternoon. It had been named after the time when servants and tradesmen traditionally received Christmas boxes from their masters, employers and customers. And it was always a busy day in the centre of London, because it was the day when all the store sales started.
‘So where’s your suspect?’ May asked, searching the crowds.
‘Over there, next to the talking dog,’ said Bryant.
May followed his raised stick and saw a man with a painted dog’s face and fluffy ears, his head poking out of a kennel with false forearms attached. ‘’Allo, darlin’, wanna come over and play with my bone?’ he called after a pretty girl, following it with a series of woofs. The acrobats, artists and street mimes were out in force today, lining the whole west side of the street from the tube to the market.
May’s eyes widened. Next to the talking dog was an alien. To be specific, it was the Alien, the one from the movies, or at least, a man in a costume that mimicked it perfectly. The great black head and ribbed body were balanced by a long spiny tail. He stood motionless on clawed feet, occasionally lunging after screaming children.
‘That’s our man,’ said Bryant. ‘Do you want to do the honours, or shall I?’
‘I don’t mind, so long as you’re sure and he comes along quietly,’ said May warily. ‘I don’t think I can get handcuffs on him.’
Oluwa sat in the interview room at the PCU without his head. It had been set aside by the window. In testimony to its lost power, Crippen, the unit’s cat, had climbed inside it and fallen asleep.
‘We arrived from Nigeria at the same time,’ Oluwa said sadly, staring into the mug of coffee May had provided for him. He had the graceful full-toned speaking voice of a trained RADA actor. ‘Bolaji was even taller and thinner than me, and he got the job that turned him into a legend. They asked him to be inside the creature. He was the alien in Alien. Of course nobody saw his face, but he became famous. Friends with the greatest movie stars, invited all over the world, and me, I was nothing. They say he died of sickle cell anaemia. By that time I’d run out of options. I knew how the design of the alien suit allowed it to function because Bolaji talked about it and sketched it for me dozens of times. Finally I built one for myself out of rubber. You can’t just go and stand on James Street, you have to be licensed by the council, so that’s what I did: I got my licence. And that’s what all my dreams amounted to, a man in a suit busking for coins, year after year. I was trapped. And every so often she appeared, waltzing along the pavement in her latest opera costume, breezing past me as if she owned the whole street, knocking over my coin pot, drawing all the attention to herself, virtually screaming “Look at me!” to everyone who passed. I hated her and everything she stood for.’
‘So you attacked her,’ said Bryant.
‘I lost my mind. There I was, freezing cold, the only mime working in the street because the tubes weren’t running, and there she was – even on Christmas Day, the one time you’d think I could get some peace – and again she shot me a filthy look and muttered something under her breath as she passed – and I just snapped. I jumped down from my podium and ran after her, but I couldn’t move quickly because the outfit is hard to balance. I really only wanted to confront her but the headpiece weighed me down and tipped me over, so that I fell on top of her. I threw out my arm and tore her costume, and we landed on top of this stupid sparkly reindeer. The whole thing was ridiculous, grotesque. Luckily there was now nobody around to see us. When she fell she banged her head and passed out. One of her necklaces was caught up in the reindeer’s lights. I pulled off my glove and tried to free it, but all I did was leave it broken inside the reindeer with my fingerprints all over it. I had a pen-knife in my pocket – the suit sheds and sometimes has to be trimmed so I can get the zip open – so I cut the reindeer free, squashed it flat and fled with it under my arm. I knew that my coin belt had spilled its contents on the pavement but I didn’t think anyone would trace me through a handful of small change. That’s how you found me, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ said May. ‘My partner here saw a constellation where I only saw stars.’
Oluwa furrowed his brow. ‘I suppose you will prosecute me now and I will lose even the low standing I possess.’
The detectives stepped outside and spoke quietly between themselves for a minute. Oluwa silently awaited a verdict.
‘How did you know it was him?’ asked May, puzzled.
Bryant made marks in the air. ‘Covent Garden has tourists. Mimes have costumes and small change. Madame was missing a necklace. The only reason for taking the reindeer was because it held incriminating evidence.’
They went back into the interview room.
‘Mr May and I have reached a decision,’ said Bryant finally. ‘The only way we can drop the case is by telling Anna Perigorde that we can’t find you. That means you must leave James Street and never come back.’
Bryant & May – England’s Finest Page 3