Bryant & May 08; Off the Rails b&m-8

by Christopher Fowler

  “Matt’s from somewhere in Hertfordshire,” Ruby offered. “He’s got a sister and a stepbrother. He doesn’t get on with his parents.”

  “And he’s always broke,” added Theo. “Entirely unambitious, finds his studies a struggle – ”

  “Theo.”

  “Well, he does, Ruby. Whereas the rest of us are concentrating on making our first million.”

  “You’ve spoken to his teachers?”

  “First thing I did,” said Ruby. “They haven’t seen him.”

  “All right, then, let’s find out a bit about you lot.”

  “Why do you want to know about us?” Sangeeta complained. “If something’s happened to Matt we’re not automatically suspects. The burden of proof can only be fulfilled by the provision of evidence.”

  “Ah, we have a budding lawyer in our midst,” said Bryant cheerily. “You’re going to love this part. I’m going to fingerprint you.” He pulled out Banbury’s kit and set it up on the table amidst a chorus of complaint and disbelief.

  “You can’t do that!” stormed Sangeeta.

  “That’s the best part – I can do this. Because I may be about to transfer the burden of proof to one of you.”

  “But for what?” asked Ruby.

  “Murder, young lady. You see, one of the uniquely hand-coloured stickers you plaster over your bags was found on one of our corpses, and it contained a partial thumbprint.” Bryant was moving onto extremely shaky ground and knew it. But he was counting on peer pressure; every one of the students would be keen to clear themselves of blame. He looked around the room and waited for someone to turn him down. “I’m being overdramatic,” he explained, opening the ink pad. “We detectives are prone to that. We’ll probably have to test everyone who goes to the Karma Bar, but while we’re all here I thought you’d like to eliminate yourselves. Especially as I have an inducement. I’ll find Matthew Hillingdon for you, and I’ll keep your prints out of the national database.”

  “What if I refuse?” asked Sangeeta, suddenly less aggressive.

  “I think you know the answer to that one. Get a lawyer.” And risk looking suspicious to everyone else, he thought, praying that no-one would do it.

  “I’ll go first,” said Theo, breaking the deadlock.

  “Excellent. And meanwhile – Toby, why don’t you tell me about yourself.” He needed to keep them talking. To do that, it made sense to start with the one who least wanted to join in the conversation.

  “W-why me?” Toby stammered. “There’s nothing much to tell.”

  Suddenly, Bryant realised, the subject of class had crept into the room. He had accidentally picked the working-class boy. Toby sounded as if he was from one of the rougher boroughs south of the river.

  “Ah, a Londoner like myself.” Bryant deftly took the first set of prints, then passed Theo a tissue. “Whereabouts?”

  “Deptford.”

  “I caught the Deptford Demon there, you know. There was quite a hoo-ha at the time. Your parents probably told you about it.”

  “No.”

  Bryant was disappointed. He liked to think he’d achieved local fame, at least. The borough of Deptford had always been poor and troubled. The detective had spent many a night there as a kid, sitting on the steps of the Royal Albert pub, waiting with his sister Nell for his father to finish drinking. Most Saturday nights had ended with a fight.

  Bryant studied each of them as they stepped up to the pad. One Indian, one Greek Cypriot, two from the Home Counties, one working-class Londoner – and one missing. Not exactly the dog-on-a-rope brigade.

  “So, Toby, you’re also in the same field as – ” he glanced over at the piece of paper May had given him, “ – Mr Hillingdon and Mr Sangeeta. Social Engineering? It sounds rather alarming.”

  “It’s more like learning confidence tricks,” replied Toby, examining his inky thumb nervously. “People have cognitive biases you can expose and use. The term is used a lot by hackers, but we’re studying it in conjunction with architectural urban planning.”

  “How does that work?”

  “At its most basic level, did you know people have a habit of unconsciously walking on the left side of a pavement because we drive on the left? When you’re designing entrances for a building you have to put them in places where everyone expects to find them.”

  “As usual, Toby, you’re being hopelessly oversimplistic.” Theo sighed and made a show of sitting down and slumping in boredom. Clearly, he was used to owning the conversation.

  “Please,” said Bryant, “go on.”

  “Well, my point is, before you plan a building, you have to take into account the way people behave. A lot of our research is about pack mentality, leader establishment, group behaviour. For example, the distance you stand from someone is your way of establishing your relationship with them. There are several scientifically defined zones of proximity.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, public space is an ideal measurement, placing you three metres from another person. It’s what you see on architects’ CAD plans of new buildings. And there’s a Social-Consultative Zone of between three metres and 1.2 metres. That’s ideal for bars, restaurants, recreation areas. You can talk in comfort but you still own your space. Personal space is the half-metre-to-1.2-metre zone that surrounds you, so when you’re designing an office this is your minimum space between chairs. And private space is when you’re less than half a metre from another person.”

  Bryant pressed another young thumb into his pad. “But what about the London Underground? People are forced into much closer proximity during rush hour.”

  “Which is why they get so uncomfortable,” Rajan cut in.

  “The proximity thing is okay when the train is moving,” Toby continued, “because social convention dictates the necessity of this travel mode, but when the train stops and everything goes silent, we feel threatened. Our behaviour becomes more protective. That’s why train drivers now make frequent public announcements.”

  “So, imagine you’re walking down a public staircase, and somebody near you slips and falls. What’s the reaction of the people standing nearby?”

  “That would be dependent on a more practical problem,” answered Toby. “The people behind would see the accident but couldn’t physically help, because it’s taking place ahead of them, lower down, and those in front would have a similar problem because it’s happening behind their backs, and they’d receive no warning.”

  “Interesting.” Bryant made a show of looking at everyone in the room, but while Toby seemed interested in the practicality of the question, no-one else showed any response.

  “I suppose we’d better get to the subject in hand, your missing flatmate.” Bryant dug out a notepad and pen.

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to keep anything on file,” objected Rajan.

  “I won’t, Mr Sangeeta, these will be purely for personal use. It seems Mr Hillingdon boarded the train he told you he’d catch, Miss Cates, but he never alighted from it.”

  “He must have,” insisted Ruby. “Where else could he have gone?” She shifted the weight of her plastic cast, trying to find a comfortable place to rest it while she had her thumb inked.

  “We checked the camera footage at the station; we couldn’t find him. I thought perhaps he’d slipped and fallen between the carriage and the line, but we’ve had tube workers walk the entire length of the tunnel between King’s Cross and Russell Square, and they’ve found nothing. So it appears we have a rather peculiar mystery on our hands. Perhaps it would help if you told me a little more about the poor lad. Now, how did you all meet each other?” Bryant hoped he wasn’t laying the avuncular act on too thickly; he sounded fake even to himself. At least they had been distracted from worrying about the prints. He closed the lid of the pad and discreetly slipped it back into his pocket.

  They were politely waiting for each other to speak. “Some of the stuff he’s studying crosses over with the others, but we all really me
t him when he moved in, about four months ago,” said Ruby finally.

  “So when did you two start dating?”

  “Around that time.”

  Theo snorted. “She didn’t even let Matt get his coat off. You know how desperate some girls get.”

  Ruby shot him a glance that could have cracked a wineglass. “I felt sorry for him. He didn’t know anyone. He’d just arrived here from Nottingham.”

  “And you all got on with him, no problems, nothing at all unusual in the way he behaved?”

  Silence, shrugging, vague looks of embarrassment.

  “We advertised the room on one of the UCL student sites,” Rajan explained. “We interviewed him, then put it to the vote. It was carried four-one.”

  “Who voted against?” asked Bryant, intrigued.

  “I did.” Theo raised his hand. “I thought we could do better. He seemed rather desperate to be accepted, although nowhere near as desperate as Toby, obviously.” He laughed alone. “I know, Toby, you’re doing better academically than any of us, but you must admit you’ve got more to prove.”

  “Leave Toby alone,” said Rajan. “Everyone’s equal here.”

  “Do you really think so?” Theo drummed his foot impatiently against the table, looking amused at the whole proceedings.

  “Mr Hillingdon was out with friends on Tuesday night,” Bryant stated. “Who exactly?” The group looked blankly at each other. “Well, someone must know. It’s important.”

  “We don’t check with each other before going out,” said Rajan hotly. “This isn’t a police state.”

  “Where was he before he went missing?”

  “I have no idea,” Ruby admitted. “He didn’t tell me. In a bar. I asked around at college but nobody knows.”

  “Does he use drugs? Is he on any medication? Drink so heavily that he forgets what he’s been doing? Was he upset about anything? Has he any particular habits you think I should know about?”

  Ruby looked to the others for approval before replying. “Well, he’s asthmatic. He carries an inhaler. He drinks way too much. Smokes – you know – but doesn’t do drug drugs. Nothing else that we’re aware of.”

  “You’ve checked with his family?”

  “I called his parents in Nottingham. They haven’t spoken to him in weeks. He had tickets for a band playing at the Bloomsbury Theatre last night, but he never showed. I’m out of ideas.”

  “Did he ever shop at Selfridges?”

  Puzzlement showed around the room.

  “Okay, what about the rest of you?” Bryant asked. “He hasn’t called anyone here? Have you tried his phone?”

  “Of course, that was the first thing we did. It’s switched off.”

  Silence descended again. Theo was watching Bryant with interest. Nikos was rubbing ink from his thumb. Toby still stared anxiously at the floor. Rajan looked more irritated than ever. Only Ruby seemed comfortable.

  “So, if none of you were out with him, what were each of you doing on Tuesday evening? Why don’t you start, Mr Sangeeta?”

  “Why me? It’s typical that you picked the non-Caucasian to go first.”

  “I’d rather talk to you than to the chip on your shoulder, Mr Sangeeta, if you don’t mind. You happen to be sitting nearest.”

  “I don’t have to answer any more questions. I know my rights.”

  “Fine. This enquiry’s still informal, so I’ll just make a note that you didn’t wish to co-operate with the police. Then if it becomes necessary we’ll place things on a more formal basis.”

  Sangeeta saw that he had been outmanoeuvred; the others would co-operate, leaving him looking like the only one with something to hide.

  “I was in the Cruciform Library until seven, then I went and had something to eat.”

  “Where?”

  “At Wagamama, in the Brunswick Centre.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes, alone, all right?”

  Great, thought Bryant, now I’ve made him look like a Nobby No-Mates. “Then what did you do?”

  “I came back here to work.”

  “See anyone when you came in?”

  “No, I went straight to my room and sent some emails. You can look at the log on my laptop if you don’t believe me.”

  “I’d rather not get all my information from a computer if I can avoid it, Mr Sangeeta. Technology doesn’t provide all the answers.”

  “That’s what Luddites always say,” Sangeeta scoffed.

  “I’m not a Luddite,” said Bryant serenely. “I don’t smash up computers because I think they’re stealing my job. Perhaps if you spent less time in front of a computer you wouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions. Or be so out of shape. Mr Fontvieille, how about you?”

  Theo stretched and yawned. “I went to the Buddha Bar on the embankment with Cassie Field, the girl your pal met in the Karma Bar. The UK arm of the company’s planning a design makeover. She wants to pitch for part of the work, and I’m helping her to draw up a business plan.”

  Bryant noticed that Ruby was glaring at him.

  “So you drove there?” he asked Theo.

  “The assistant manager let me leave the car right by the door. Stupidly, I managed to lock the keys inside.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  “We had our meeting, then Cassie went back to the Karma and I stayed on with some friends. Eventually the place filled up with suburban trash, so I left, came back here and got the spare keys. If you want to check, you’ll find at least a dozen people who saw me. I drove back at about half one.”

  “I can vouch for that,” said Ruby. “I saw him come in.”

  “Okay. Mr Nicolau?”

  Nikos glanced around at the others. “I looked in at the Karma Bar around eight to see if there was anyone I knew. Cassie hadn’t arrived there, but she’d texted one of the barmen to say she was on her way. After that I was up in my room, defragging my hard drive. It took all evening, and it still isn’t working properly.”

  “I hope you backed up your work,” said Theo.

  “I think I got most of it, but there are a few – ”

  “If we could stick to the subject,” said Bryant sharply. “Did anyone else see Mr Nicolau?”

  “You’ll be able to check from the log on my laptop’s webcam. I was on Skype talking to some friends in Athens.”

  The atmosphere in the room had changed. Bryant’s questions were forcing the residents to justify their actions. He wondered how he could push them further. “Which just leaves Miss Cates and Mr Brooke.”

  Ruby spoke first. “I went for a quick drink at the Karma Bar with two girlfriends. You can talk to them if you want; they’ll vouch for my whereabouts.”

  “You didn’t see Mr Nicolau?”

  “Maybe we were there after him. We didn’t get there until nine, about the same time Cassie arrived.”

  “And after that, Miss Cates?”

  “I came back here for a while, then went off to meet Matt. As you know.”

  Toby cleared his throat. “I, uh, went to see a film in Leicester Square.”

  “Which film?”

  “A horror movie, Buried Alive.”

  “Oh, how was that?” asked Nikos, perking up.

  “It was pretty rubbish. I fell asleep, don’t even remember what it was about.”

  “The film would have finished at, what, ten-fifteen, ten-thirty? What did you do then?”

  “Ten-fifteen or thereabouts. I just came back here.”

  “Toby, you didn’t get here until just before two,” said Theo. “I heard you come in.”

  “What did you do in the meantime?” Bryant asked.

  Toby shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t that late.”

  “I wouldn’t swear to it, mate, but I think you’ll find it was,” said Nikos.

  “I went for a beer, then walked back here. I wasn’t in any rush.”

  “Where did you go for a beer?”

  “A pub on the way. I don’t remember.”

 
; “Nobody really hears who comes in when we’ve got our doors shut,” explained Ruby, in an effort to ease the tension. “Not unless someone’s really drunk and noisy.” She shot Theo a look. “Why don’t we show you Matt’s room?”

  Bryant climbed the stairs to the second-floor landing. Ruby went ahead and pushed open the door in front of him. “I haven’t touched anything.”

  “Give me a minute. I just need to look.”

  “Sure.” Ruby looked uncertain, and remained on the landing, chewing a nail. Bryant wished he had brought his Crime Scene Manager, Dan Banbury, with him. He saw a mess of a bedroom, towers of books on an unmade bed, three pizza boxes, old newspapers, clothes strewn across the floor. It was impossible to know where to start. In order to arrange a meeting with his mysterious friends, Hillingdon could have used his phone, which he probably still had on him, his laptop, which was here, or half a dozen other food- and beer-stained communication devices. Then again, he might simply have bumped into an acquaintance at college. London may be the surveillance capital of the world, thought Bryant, but running a trace can be just as tricky as it’s always been. He had a good rummage in Hillingdon’s bedside table, then poked through the clothes in his closet.

  This year’s student fashions appeared to involve tiny grey cardigans and checked shirts that made the wearer look like a premature grandfather. Perhaps my clothes are finally fashionable, he thought without much conviction. There was nothing illegal or even vaguely interesting to be found here. He considered impounding the laptop, but needed to get Hillingdon officially registered as a missing person first. Disappointed, he was about to leave when he saw the Post-it note stuck on the back of a book entitled Future Paths: Urban Development and Public Transport. It read ‘PAY TOBY BACK’.

  “Is this Mr Hillingdon’s handwriting?” asked Bryant. Ruby came in and checked the note.

  “I think so.”

  They descended to the front room, where the group was breaking up. “Just a moment,” cautioned Bryant. “Mr Brooke, why did Matthew Hillingdon owe you money?”

  Toby Brooke could not have looked more guilty if he’d been caught drowning a sack of puppies. “I lent him some,” he answered lamely.

  “How much exactly?”