Councillor Dame Shirley Porter’s infamous secret policy was the stuff of London legend. She sold off Westminster council properties and shifted homeless voters from marginal wards because they were less likely to vote Conservative. Despite being described as the most corrupt British political figure in living memory, the disgraced council leader still protested her innocence. ‘There’s also been talk about the strong-arm tactics being used by property developers like ADAPT to seize the leases of buildings that stand in their way. Critics say that Madame Waters’s concern for the environment is just PR spin. This is ADAPT’s biggest project, and any negative reaction to the company’s plans, mainly posted by community groups, is usually met with a barrage of lawsuits. So if you’re asking me whether she belongs to the forces of good or the powers of darkness, I’d have to say that the jury is still out.’
‘It’s not our job to make a judgement call,’ said May, ‘but a little background material is always helpful.’
The detectives were greeted by two security guards, a receptionist, a personal assistant, a group organiser and finally the lady herself. Marianne Waters was in her late forties, with the strong features of a county-bred woman and a cropped coiffure in a thoroughbred shade of chestnut. She looked as though she had what it took to survive in the modern business world. Encased in an open-collared black dress that reset her body to a younger age, she wore surprisingly tall heels for a woman who regularly crossed muddy cobblestones.
‘Mr May.’ She greeted him with a stern voice and a firm, dry handshake. She looked puzzled by Bryant’s presence, as if Harold Steptoe had brought his father along to the meeting.
‘Arthur Bryant, John’s partner,’ said Bryant, unhappy with having to explain who he was. She shook his hand with noted reluctance. It didn’t help that Bryant had massaged Vicks Vapo-Rub into his neck earlier and now smelled pungent.
‘You work together at the local crime unit?’
‘The PCU handles specialist cases,’ May pointed out. ‘We deal with particular issues not covered by the local police or the CID.’ He was determined not to go into the details of their situation.
‘We could do with more community officers,’ Marianne Waters said crisply. ‘We’ve had some security issues with undesirable types hanging around the compound at night.’
‘That’s a matter of local policing policy. Technically speaking, I’m a civil servant and therefore required to be non-partisan,’ Bryant assured her, pulling a face at May that said See? I can be diplomatic.
‘Fine. Shall we walk?’ Waters led the way between the renovated buildings. Trestles had been laid through the vast steel framework of the shopping mall. It felt like walking through a three-dimensional blueprint of the new town. Waters navigated the duckboards which lay across the final few metres of mud with an ease that suggested she spent much of her time on-site. ‘We’ve had over a dozen sightings, reliable accounts posted by two or more members of our workforce, but there are supposed to have been countless others. Unfounded rumours have a habit of running around building sites. The men gossip much more than the women. We do what we can to limit the rumours.’
‘When did the sightings start?’ asked May.
‘The first verified sighting we had was about a month ago.’
‘Always the same figure, doing the same thing?’
‘That’s right, just standing there watching. He only ever appears at dusk or shortly after. Many of the witnesses are young, but they’re as superstitious as their grandfathers. They’re in a strange land, struggling with the language and customs, susceptible to their own imaginations. In their culture, a man dressed as a stag is a malevolent spirit.’
‘Have you actually lost any staff over this?’ asked May.
‘The walkouts started right after the first sighting. They’re more serious now. After all, Constantin could have been killed.’ She remembers his first name, Bryant thought. A nice touch.
‘And you have no idea what this—creature—wants.’
‘I didn’t take it seriously at first. The nearby nightclub attracts all types. I assumed the man had mental-health issues, a tendency toward exhibitionism.’
‘But now?’
‘Now I think he’s clearly trying to attract attention to something, but I’ve no idea what that might be.’ She pointed beyond the framework of the mall. Against a green and orange sky, the industrial vista was a Dante’s Inferno of steel and concrete, the guts and skeleton of a great body being constructed across the razed land. ‘All the sightings have been up there, along that ridge. Somehow he gets inside the perimeter fence.’
‘How can he do that?’ Bryant asked.
‘He only needs a pair of bolt cutters to get in. The grounds are frequently patrolled, but we’ve had trouble with some of the night security. We think he must have friends on the inside.’
Bryant’s forehead wrinkled. It didn’t make sense. Why cultivate friendships within the very workforce you were hoping to disturb? ‘When building first started here, did any of your employees leave with unresolved grievances?’
‘I imagine there were quite a few,’ Ms Waters replied, ‘but I deal with government ministers and planning advisors, not staffing issues.’
‘Then why didn’t you send your personnel officer to see us?’
‘Because yesterday morning our electricians voted to go on strike. They stay later on the site than anyone else except management, and most of the reliable eyewitness reports have come from their sector. I need to get this matter sorted out quickly. If you want a job done properly—well, you know how that goes.’
‘You say he gets inside the perimeter fence. Has he been picked up on your CCTV monitors?’
‘It’s a huge site and we only keep recorded images for two weeks. Unfortunately, unless he passes right beneath the spotlights we can’t read the images clearly. We have an IT team looking at the problem.’ She had been joined by a small, balding young man with a stressed, purposeful air. ‘I’m sorry. This is Maddox Cavendish; he’s been here since the project began, one of the original architects.’ The two spoke quietly for a moment. Cavendish broke off to study the group of labourers who had clustered around a mechanical digger.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen.’ Waters left with her architect. As soon as they saw her coming, the workers quickly found their boss a hardhat and overshoes.
‘Well, what do you make of her?’ asked May as he watched Waters speaking with the foreman.
‘She’s getting the job done. It can’t be easy. But I wonder why she’s taking such a personal interest in such a relatively inconsequential problem.’
‘You heard what she said; she may have a strike on her hands.’
‘Very small beer on a project like this. They must have thousands of employees.’
‘Mr May, I wonder if you could help us?’ she called back suddenly.
‘See, she’s calling for you. Women always do that. Why not me?’ grumbled Bryant. ‘Why do they always ask you first? I look older. It’s ageism, pure and simple.’
May made his way across the mud with Bryant following warily at his heels. The knot of workmen untied itself and parted, revealing a mound of clay-streaked earth that the digger had pushed aside.
The pale, naked body reminded Bryant of wartime photographs he had seen, the disinterred victims of concentration camps, except that this one was missing its head.
20
HALLOWED GROUND
It was dark by the time Dan Banbury emerged from the white forensic tent carrying something heavy in a plastic bag. ‘I’ve got a little present for you, Mr Bryant,’ he said cheerfully wiping his forehead and leaving behind a streak of dark clay. ‘Take a look in here. It got pretty mashed-up by the diggers, but still…’
Banbury was always cheerful when he faced a challenge, which suggested that the contents of the bag were likely to be unpalatable. Bryant allowed his scarf to ride further over his chin, peering in as the Crime Scene Manager carefully opened his find. Inside was the
crushed and mud-smeared head of an adult male, one swollen eye open, the other squeezed so tight that the dead man appeared to be lasciviously winking.
Giles Kershaw pointed back at the tent. ‘It looks like your killer was interrupted before he could complete his task. He made the amputation but dropped the head near the body. Perhaps he was disturbed by one of the workmen.’
‘Got anything to connect this to the first victim?’
‘You mean beyond the location?’ ADAPT’s construction site was only two streets away from where the other body had been found. ‘As far as I can see, the MO looks similar: neat single striations from more than one knife, professional stuff, a definite scalpel-blade mark, no other signs of violence on the torso. I’d say without doubt that this is the same chap at work.’
‘Did he kill his victim here, then behead him on-site?’
‘Hard to tell, old thing. If you’re going to leave the body in a different place, why not dismember it first? Even if the killer knew exactly what he was doing, it would take a few minutes of hard work. Then again, he’s done it once before so he’s probably getting better at it.’
‘There’s no blood visible in the surrounding earth,’ said Banbury, ‘but it’s clay, and there’s been a lot of rain lately. Giles is going to run some tests for us.’
‘If he did cut up the body here, why would he take the risk of being discovered in the time it took?’
‘Your job to find that out, squire.’ Kershaw nodded at Ban-bury for support.
Bryant hitched up his scarf, thinking. ‘He doesn’t want to leave the body where he’s committed the crime because it’s not safe to remain in the location, so he takes it somewhere, removes the head and dumps the remains here. This is a man with a plan. The killer’s male, because both bodies are heavy to lift and women rarely mutilate. He could have backed a van right up to the perimeter fence and cut his way in. We’ll never sort out his tyre tracks from everything else that’s been churning around in the field.’
‘The head’s putrifying,’ said Banbury, sticking his own head in the bag and sniffing. ‘The body’s in really bad shape. Probably because the mound it was concealed in has been driven over by plant vehicles quite a few times, and there are plenty of insects in the ground.’
Bryant cocked his head back at the partially exposed corpse. It had taken on the texture of the earth in which it had been lying. The dead always seemed to absorb their surroundings, as if trying to rush the process of returning to the soil.
‘One useful thing.’ Kershaw took the bag from Banbury and turned the bald head around in its bag, pointing to a small blackened puncture below its ear. ‘See? A single tiny stab wound to the side of the throat, punched upwards. The angle and depth suggest something like a thin sharpened screwdriver. According to Dan here, they’re very popular in professional circles these days. It would explain why we didn’t find any damage on the first victim’s body, and wouldn’t necessarily spill a lot of blood. The perpetrator is right-handed, shorter than the victim, strong. No throat, chest or arm bruises, no defence cuts on the hands. I’d say this fellow was surprised without much of a struggle. I need to run tests on some decent equipment.’
‘How are his fingers?’
‘Pretty torn up, but there’ll be prints if they’re on the system. As for the time of death, we’ll have the entomological track. We’ll take some temperature readings and see if any insects have been attracted to his fluid leakage, find out what stage they’ve reached. If the body was moved, we might be lucky enough to get different bug sets.’
‘Could you give me a very rough PMI?’
Banbury sucked his teeth in thought. ‘I’d guess about seven or eight days ago, something like that. Giles will be able to give us a more accurate time of death.’
‘What’s the chance of getting an ID on him quickly?’
‘You mean without going through AMIP or any officially sanctioned database? I’ll have to pull in a favour. We could really use a fast-track.’
‘Raymond can’t get us authorisation, you know that.’ Bryant shoved his hands deep in his pockets, pacing around the site.
‘Any contact you use will have to be kept off the record. I want every inch of this ground photographed within a twenty-metre radius. You’re looking for a large shoe-print in the shape of a deer hoof.’ Kershaw and Banbury tried not to look surprised.
May made his way over to join his partner. ‘Come out of there, Arthur. You’re sinking into the mud.’
Gripping his hand, he pulled Bryant up onto the duckboards. ‘The Lagos police couldn’t be bothered to search for our store owner, but lucky for us he got into a fight a couple of days ago and the cops were called. They say he has all the papers for the sale of the shop lease and everything’s legit. The freezer and other bits of equipment came with the property. He’s been out of the country since April seventh, before Rafi Abd al-Qaadir took over the lease, and the estate agent says that he remembers the freezer being empty then.’
‘So it looks like he’s in the clear.’
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said May. ‘The only other suspect is your stag-man because he’s carrying knives, and Waters says he cut open the perimeter fence.’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘Which would mean you were right to trust your instincts and go after the stag-man. It also suggests we can reasonably expect the girl he abducted to turn up next without her head.’
‘It’s possible.’ Bryant unwrapped a boiled sweet and popped it in his mouth.
‘Now you don’t sound convinced.’
‘I think it’s odd she hasn’t been reported missing. A phantom girl, no real description beyond “short skirt,” and no-one who cares enough about her to go to the police.’
‘Suppose gangs have decided to use the area as a dumping ground? They could be coming in from Essex or even the coast.’
‘No, no. There’s something far stranger than just the dumping of bodies going on here.’ Bryant had a discomfiting look in his eye. ‘This is an area where death is used to walking among the living.’
May clapped his hands together, dispelling the sinister mood. ‘Okay, let’s fix this chap with an ID and we might start to discover a motive. Giles, get the body over to your place, and we’ll have the rest of the shops on both sides of the Caledonian Road searched. I’m going to try to interview everyone who’s seen our furry friend before the end of the day. Raymond has been asked to provide the Home Office with an update tonight.’ He gave Bryant a look of gentle concern. ‘Are you up to all this?’
‘I’m as fit as a fiddle if you don’t count my knees,’ Bryant snapped. ‘They packed up shortly after my legendary tango performance at the Queen’s silver jubilee. Nobody told me that Princess Margaret’s table wouldn’t take my weight.’ May gave his partner a sceptical look. Lately he had become convinced that Bryant was manufacturing his memories. ‘Besides, you’re the one who’s had the operation. You should be resting up and taking it easy.’
‘How could I, with everyone so worried about you?’
‘Well, you did a good thing, taking me out of myself. I only hope I can do the case justice. It’s difficult understanding the mind of a man who is prepared to dress as a stag to issue an ecological warning to the world.’
‘You think he trotted out in fancy dress trying to scare the natives, didn’t see much of a result and upped his game to include kidnap and murder?’
‘Even I wouldn’t be that presumptive, John. Besides, it doesn’t give us a feasible MO. Think about it.’
‘Seems perfectly straightforward to me.’ May spoke with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘He puts on an outfit that must radically restrict his movement, hunts down his victims in another part of town, kills them, drags them back to his place and dismembers them before driving here, through the most heavily policed part of the entire city.’
‘He dumps them at this spot because it’s his hallowed ground,’ said Bryant. ‘Then he dresses up and appears
immediately afterwards. It’s a pagan ritual of appeasement and celebration. Meera said she was reminded of the Highwayman, but he was driven by indifference, a blankness of character. This man is in the vanguard of Europe’s oldest religion. I’ll be a little presumptive and suggest that we’re looking for a neo-hippie, a tree-hugger, a modern-day shaman who probably smokes too much weed and believes he can impede the onward trundle of progress. He sees the big bad corporations moving into King’s Cross and wants to show them that the old ways still prevail. We should find out who’s been attending the local protest groups, who’s been taking pagan volumes out of the local library and attending alternative-religion societies, check the notice boards in Camden’s head shops.’
‘But these are your kind of people, Arthur, the ones you usually regard as allies.’
‘Murder makes enemies of us all,’ said Bryant, fixing on his hat and staggering back to the dry firmness of the road.
21
THE QUIET ONES
The following morning, Raymond Land sat down tentatively on the leather swivel chair Longbright had found for him and looked out of the filthy window. Below, traffic on the Caledonian Road had choked itself to a standstill. He should have been at home in bed, reading the papers.
He turned back to study the dingy brown room and realised with a sinking sensation that he was now worse off than he had been before. His fate was once more tied to the unit, his dreams of retirement had retreated even further, and his new surroundings were positively Dickensian. Creaking forward in his chair, he peered into a cobwebbed corner of the room, then rose to examine it. A patch of stained wallpaper had divorced itself from the grey plaster, as if the room had died and was sloughing its skin. Something was revealed underneath, part of a design. Reaching on tiptoe, he brushed aside the spiders and seized the edge, gently pulling. A metre of damp paper rolled slowly down, tore and fell on the floor in a cloud of mildew spores.
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