Toth pulled himself upright, and sat in stupefied silence. He was trying to come up with a fresh game plan, but realised there was no escape from the truth. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked.
“Why don’t you let me do it for you?” said Bryant, sauntering into the already overcrowded interview room. “Can I have a chair? I’m knackered and it’s only one o’clock. Is anyone on tea duty? Meera, would you ask April to fill up that huge teapot I saw in the hall? Make sure Crippen’s not been near it first. Thank you so much.”
DuCaine dragged in a battered armchair and everyone waited while Bryant squirmed into it. “The land, the land,” mused Bryant. “You studied land rights when you worked at ADAPT, didn’t you?”
“So what?”
“And the more you found out about the practice of co-opting properties, the less you liked what they were asking you to do. Is offering someone money to leave their home a bribe? I’m sure ADAPT’s lawyers would argue that no illegal acts were ever committed. But you saw the rules being bent, the meetings with councillors and property developers, and finally decided to complain. I found a pretty hefty file on you in Camden Council’s department of planning.”
“I tried the official channels but nobody would listen to me,” said Toth. “So I switched to unofficial ones.”
“But all you could find were a few disgruntled householders who eventually caved in and sold out. After all, everyone wanted to see King’s Cross restored to being a decent neighbourhood. That’s why the ADAPT Group was offered so many sweeteners to start undoing the damage that the railway had done, clearing uninhabitable slums and unrentable factories. They’re doing London a huge favour and making millions in the process. Marianne Waters will probably get an O.B.E.”
“She’s a corrupting, thieving bitch.”
“I assume it was while you were digging into the land rights that you came across the area’s extraordinary history. Everything you read made you angrier. Almost everyone who ever came to this site stole from it. The royals arrived and threw the rightful owners off their land to build a spa. The railway destroyed the churchyard. Now ADAPT is paving it all over. And the final straw, of course – your own background. Your family descended from the great manor of Tothele, which was destroyed and sold off by an earlier generation of land speculators. I found an old photograph of you on your first protest march, dressed in a green suit – ”
“ – the lord of the forest, Jack-in-the Green,” said Toth. “I did it to attract a photographer from a local paper.”
“A nice traditional touch, but the novelty soon wears off, doesn’t it? You needed to rekindle the fire of publicity for your cause. So you came up with a rather more elaborate outfit.”
“I couldn’t think how to make the antlers. Real ones were too heavy.”
“So you riveted together some kitchen knives. Not such a smart move. Meera, how many are in the bag?”
She emptied the trash bag onto the interview desk and counted. “Twelve.”
“But you still didn’t attract enough attention. Did you enjoy going out on your late-night jaunts?”
“I was doing it for a reason.”
“But you started enjoying it, all the same. Who was the girl you abducted?”
“What girl?” asked Lizzi.
“She works at the club,” said Toth. “I met her in the café. I was just mucking about with her. Call her if you don’t believe me.”
“Have you been seeing a girl behind my back?” Lizzi fumed.
“That’s why no-one reported her missing,” DuCaine explained. “She wasn’t a victim; she was a girl he fancied and picked up. When did you make the jump from faking kidnaps to committing murder?”
“He didn’t,” said Meera. “His girlfriend here can vouch for his whereabouts over the last few nights.”
“Mr Toth would have been quite happy to hitch a ride on the publicity,” Bryant added. “Except that so far no journalist has bothered to link his appearance with the murders. A bit too clever for your own good, weren’t you? The only person whose attention you managed to attract was me.”
“What about the hairs on Cavendish’s trousers?” asked May.
“He was out at the site with us, remember?” said Bryant. “He was there at the spot they found Jesson’s body. We all picked up mud and hair in the field. All it proves is that Cavendish and Shaggy here wandered over the same swampy ground, along with everyone else.”
“So what are you going to charge me with?” Toth demanded. “It’s not a crime to bring attention to injustice.”
“It is when it nearly results in a death,” said May. “And we could do you for carrying an offensive weapon, or rather twelve of them. Go on then, Shaggy, you’ve had your Scooby-Doo moment; now bugger off before we beat you with sticks.”
“The outfit stays here,” DuCaine warned. “We’re still going to run some tests on those knife blades.”
♦
“I’m surprised you’re prepared to let him go,” said Meera, disappointed.
“He’s going to catch hell when he gets home,” said May. “We have a bigger fish to catch. We exorcised a ghost, that’s all.”
“He could have killed someone.”
“I’m more interested in someone who is killing people, Meera. Keep your focus on that. It’s a small recompense, but at least Marianne Waters and her team can inform their workforce that there’s nothing supernatural to fear. The land doesn’t throw up ancient spectres to stop the progress of the centuries, a myth which Mr Bryant has actually helped to dispel for once.”
“But the cause of these three deaths still lies in the past,” Bryant insisted, “and there’s the ritual element of the beheadings. I found some other old documents in the archives – ”
“Arthur, there’s no time left for this kind of – excavation. We need to know everything about Cavendish’s movements – who he met, where he went, who his friends were, if there’s anything missing from his desk or his home. Because it still looks like somebody is out to stop ADAPT from continuing with their project.”
“He lives in Brighton,” said Bryant. “Commutes up every morning. We won’t get any help from the Brighton police. We’ll lose a day sending someone down.”
“DuCaine, handle this with Longbright,” said May. “Hit Cavendish’s office hard and work through all of his business contacts, then go to Brighton when you’ve finished and do the same there. Two of you will do it in half the time. I can’t take Dan off the crime scene.”
“This is insane,” Meera protested. “How are we supposed to make an arrest? We. Have. No. Suspects. Do. You. Understand?”
“Oh, we’ve done it before,” said Bryant cheerfully.
“With all due respect, sir, you’ve given us a bloke dressed as a deer – ”
“A stag.”
“And bugger-all else.”
May held up a hand. “Let him do it his way, Meera. At this stage it’s not going to make a lot of difference.”
“Thank you,” said Bryant. “You know, I think this is a very important case for us. The answer lies less in uncovering an identity and more about understanding why it has happened.”
“A man is going around beheading unconnected strangers and you’re not interested in blaming anyone?” Meera was horrified. “Tell that to Cavendish’s family when they ask you where his ears are.” She turned to May. “Honestly, the way you encourage him!”
“Listen, Meera,” said May softly, “a week ago he was ready to give up and die. I’d rather have him back in the field investigating feudal rights and necromantic rituals than leave him at home to rot. It doesn’t make any difference to the investigation. Show some respect for once in your life.”
The makeshift interview room filled up with arguing members of staff. The rain which seemed to fall so frequently on King’s Cross grew steadily heavier until it split the blackened drainpipes and gutters of the warehouse, dampening the warren of rooms where once occultists and magicians had fought over
spells and incantations.
∨ Bryant & May on the Loose ∧
35
A Vibration in the Air
Arthur Bryant’s chair creaked back as he studied the damp patches on the ceiling. The rain ticked against the windows. The dusty bare bulb above them fritzed. “What do you know about chaos theory?” he asked.
“A small change in initial conditions can drastically alter the long-term behaviour of a system,” said May without looking up. “Invented in 1961.”
“You’re probably wondering why I want to know.”
“Nothing you ever say or do surprises me anymore, Arthur.”
“I’m thinking about the sheer number of people who pass through this area. Instead of asking ourselves why there’s so much crime, why aren’t we asking why there’s so little? Every type of person, every walk of life, all brushing up against each other, everyone in a different mental state. Why aren’t they all randomly slaughtering one another over trespassed territory and differences of creed?”
“They’ve been sedated by a steady diet of celebrity gossip, alcohol and junk food.” May looked up at his partner. Bryant was thinking. Always a worrying sign.
“Clearly social conventions prevail, but I think that each of their little butterfly movements, every flapping wing, disturbs the filthy air of King’s Cross a little. Their lives touch each other faintly, but they carry the effect away with them to other places. Imagine – an embittered, lonely man passing through the station sees a beautiful young woman and feels a pang of sadness for the life he never had with her. That feeling contributes, in a tiny way, to his future actions. You see what I’m getting at?”
“No. Your every utterance is a mystery to me, Arthur. Am I supposed to find relevance in this to our investigation, to see that in some indirect way it will help us locate a murderer?”
“You must agree that we resolve situations by understanding motivation.”
“And you think reading a book on chaos theory will help you do that?”
“Well, all crimes ultimately reduce down to cause and effect, and I’ve a feeling this will more than most.”
“You’ve a feeling? Is that it? A trembling in the air that will shape itself into a dirty great big arrow that points at a murderer? Can you find me something concrete? Preferably by lunchtime?”
Bryant looked at him very gravely. “I’ll do my best, of course,” he said, gathering his hat. “I may have to take some very unusual steps to do so.”
“No, tell me,” said May. “We’ve been partners for long enough; I should at least have some vague inkling of how your mind works.”
Bryant stopped and ruminated for a moment. Crippen was about to enter the room when he saw Bryant and thought better of it. “Well, you remember the Highwayman? How we had no idea what his motive might be? In this case we have a company armed with a genetic determination to turn a massive profit, and the need to remove any obstacles in its way. But if the victims were obstacles, we are left with three seemingly random deaths using the same bizarre mutilation, so our first supposition must be mitigated. It’s like mechanics versus technology. With something like, oh, let’s say the engine of a 1959 Ford Popular, if something went wrong you worked out what was wrong and put it right, and then it would work. With a modern computer, if something’s wrong you leave it for a minute and try again and then it works, for no known reason.”
“That is the least satisfactory explanation I’ve ever heard for anything,” said May, exasperated. “Either we’re looking at a case of sinister property dealings or we’re hunting a monster – they can’t both be right.”
“Well, that’s where I think you’re wrong. There are common factors to all three deaths. Look.” Bryant held up a Google Map printout with three sites ringed in red felt-tip pen. “Here’s where the bodies were found. Draw a line between them and you get a rough triangle.” He tapped the sheet with his pen. “What’s in the middle of it?”
May squinted at the page. In the centre stood St Pancras Old Church. “Oh, I get it. You’re going to tell me they were murdered by a deranged pagan who still believes in an ancient head-severing sacrificial rite.”
“It would be tempting to believe so, because of the date.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sacrificial ceremonies associated with the severing of the head traditionally climax at the end of the third week in May, so his timing is spot-on. But I certainly think it’s someone who knows the churchyard well.”
“Why? What in Heaven’s name has that got to do with it?”
“Simply this. Try to think of another place in Central London so utterly desolate that you could dispose of the bodies of three grown men without being picked up on CCTV. There are a few cemeteries, I suppose, but they’re nearly all locked at night. It has to be someone who’s familiar with the churchyard and its immediate surroundings – the biggest construction site in the city. I just have to find a way to vibrate the air. I have to force him out.”
“Arthur, you may have a point there but please, we need to present a united front on this. Go and hang out with your necromancers and astrologers, but come back with some tangible proof.”
“Jolly good. I shall do just that.”
“Fine. And call me if you get stuck.” May watched, shaking his head in wonder, as his old friend looped his scarf around his neck, took up his walking stick and stumped off along the corridor, into darkness.
∨ Bryant & May on the Loose ∧
36
St Pancras Day
Ed Tremble, Camden Council’s land registry officer, seemed to be more covered in dust than ever. Bryant was starting to wonder if they stored the man in a broom cupboard overnight. There were fresh flecks of white in his hair. He caught Bryant staring and apologised.
“Oh, I was painting my kitchen ceiling last night. It’s emulsion.”
Bryant threw him a disbelieving glance, then shifted Maggie Armitage into his line of vision. “This is my friend Mrs Armitage,” he explained. “She’s going to help me go through the files.”
“Hello, Mrs Armitage. Are you an archivist?” asked Tremble.
“No, love, I’m a witch. A white one, so don’t disturb yourself.”
“Ha-ha, very good.” Tremble looked unsure whether it was good or not. “I’ve laid out all the documents you asked for.” On the plans chest before them a large-scale ordinance survey map had been constructed from dozens of separate overlapping pages, taped together. “I’ll just be in my cupboard when you need me.”
I knew it, thought Bryant.
“That’s mine, just down there.” Tremble pointed to a wooden cubicle filled with precarious stacks of folders and shambled off.
“I like him; he’s come in useful to you, he has the aura for it. So – what are we looking for?” Maggie rubbed her hands together briskly, jangling her bracelets. It was freezing in the basement of the land records office.
“Mr Tremble has assembled copies of all of the land rights the ADAPT Group purchased before it could submit its plans to the council for approval,” Bryant explained. “The answer’s here among these documents. This case is about ownership.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so sure.”
“Maddox Cavendish had helped to buy land for ADAPT, and Terry Delaney was hired to help clear it. That leaves Adrian Jesson, who has no connections with the company beyond the fact that his body was found near its offices. Jesson was an obsessive-compulsive, involved in a bitter feud with a rival collector of memorabilia named Richard Standover. It turns out that Standover lives with Jesson’s sister in Spain, so Jesson has another reason to hate him.”
“Has anyone checked up on him?”
“Janice found out that Standover was in Majorca with the sister on the day his rival was murdered, so that’s a dead end.”
“It doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. You should have him brought in.”
“Comic-book collector psychically slaughters three while holidaying abroad
? Doesn’t seem very likely.” He groped in his overcoat pocket and produced something that looked like a ball of brown modelling clay. “Do you want some of this?”
Maggie examined the lump with suspicion. “I don’t know. What is it?”
“Carrot cake with yoghurt icing. It’s come out of its packet.”
“No, thanks. I’m trying to lose weight.”
“I can’t imagine why. It’s not as if you make an effort to attract men.”
“I want to feel good about myself. Don’t be so horrible. Your aura turns a very unhealthy shade of heliotrope when you’re rude to people. Beneath the witch I’m a woman, you know. I do have feelings.”
“Well, can you not? We need to get back to the map. I want to see if ADAPT bought everything legally. I don’t want to go back through the past property owners or check the original boundary lines – we’ll be here forever if I do that. What we do is place the last owner’s deed details on top of each property and see if that turns up any anomalies.”
“This is such a boy’s job,” Maggie complained. “Making lists and rearranging the order of things.”
“You offered to help.”
“Only because Daphne is servicing my boiler this morning and I can’t get in the kitchen. She wanted to place it under an enchantment but I told her to use a wrench.”
They worked in quiet harmony for an hour, but Tremble had done most of the preparation for them. Soon they had filled the great triangular map of land with names, addresses, dates and purchase prices.
Bryant pointed at the map. “So, this area to the east was entirely covered in factories and light industrial units…But on the other side of the canal there were five rows of terraced houses. The canal itself and the paths on either side of it are owned by British Waterways. That just leaves this bit, here.” He tapped a small oblong plot on the map. “No name. Open space?”
“No, it was part of a street called – hang on, I saw it here a minute ago – Camley Lane. It should have an owner.”
Bryant & May 07; Bryant & May on the Loose b&m-7 Page 22