Bryant & May 01; Full Dark House

steel pins in his knees. “Where did we go wrong?”

The magnate sipped his whisky. Drinking dulled the pain of his strapped-up legs. “By looking for someone foreign,” he said at last. “I suppose it’s only natural during a time of war. You don’t see it, do you? The English cruelty. That is what your crimes stink of. The culprit is English. You are a cold race. You don’t beat your animals, you’re subtler, less human. This killer does not think of others, he cares only about himself. You could not find him because you, too, are English.”

“It seems to me that you care only about your company, and the City’s faith in it.”

“Faith is a fragile thing these days. A good businessman takes nothing personally. It is unfortunate that lives have been lost. This whole war is unfortunate.”

“Thank you for the advice,” said May, buttoning his coat. “I’ll see you this evening at the theatre, and I will bring the violence to an end. The unit may have been shut down, but it will not stop operating until justice has been served.”

He only wished he was as confident as he sounded.

He left Renalda’s office and walked into the dimly lit corridor, where his eye was caught by the ornate gilt- framed wall mirror that stood there. The glass was cracked, and something had been scrawled across it with a blood-red stick of greasepaint. The letters were six inches high: GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE.

I’ll get out, thought May grimly, but I’m taking you with me.

¦

“I have a terrible feeling about tonight. He should be here,” said May fretfully. “It doesn’t seem right without him.”

“I understand how you feel, John, but you have to give him some breathing space.” Forthright hooked back the dusty brown drapery and studied the edge of the stage. “They’re running late again. The curtain should have gone up five minutes ago.”

“We’re starting it late because the trains are disrupted again,” said Harry, listening for the backstage sounds that told him things were running to schedule. “There’s hardly any service from the east. A church steeple fell on the line outside Fenchurch Street. They reckon Winchester’s going to cop it next, after Southampton. Trouble is, it’s all getting back to Hitler.”

“What is?” asked Forthright.

“The air-raid damage reports. Franco gets them in code from the Spanish ambassador in Whitehall. That’s what Lord Haw Haw reckons.”

“Things have come to a pretty pass if you’re believing him,” said Forthright indignantly.

“There’s a lot of coughing and sneezing in the audience this evening. My mum says it’s because everyone stands around outside at night watching the planes circling. Right, there goes the signal.” Harry darted off through the narrow corridor leading to the left wing just as applause broke out across the auditorium. The conductor was taking his place at the podium.

“Where’s Biddle?” May checked the area behind him. “I thought I told him to keep in the backstage area. I have a suspicion he’s rather enjoying his new role.” May had spread his constables around the theatre, but with tickets changing hands for high prices on the black market, they had been refused seat allocations and were forced to stand conspicuously at the rear of the stalls.

“He wanted to write up his report, so I gave him permission to use the company office. He said he’s expecting some news.”

May sniffed the air and looked at the sergeant suspiciously. “Are you wearing eau de Cologne?”

“Why, yes.” Forthright blushed. “I thought, well, it’s a night out at the theatre.”

“You’re not worried about Davenport closing us down, then?”

“I have confidence in you, Mr May.” Her hand squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll see us through.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

“Oh, it comes from being around Arthur. It’ll rub off on you, don’t worry.”

The orchestra launched itself into an allegro version of Offenbach’s overture, and May was forced to raise his voice. “I don’t know which area to watch first,” he confessed. “A murderer operating in an area the size of a football pitch, and we can’t find a damned thing.”

“More like eight football pitches, with all the other levels,” said Forthright. “If someone wanted to stay hidden, what chance would you have of finding them?”

“Everyone backstage is signed for. It would have to be someone in the audience.” The music thundered to a crescendo. “Or someone we haven’t thought of,” mused May.

“I missed that,” shouted Forthright.

“Forget it.” He realized he was following the same mental patterns as Arthur Bryant. He’d been about to wonder if it could be someone they had dismissed as dead. But all the victims were accounted for. There was no one else.

Slowly the realization dawned. “Blimey.”

“What is it?”

“We’ve overlooked something. You’d better come with me.”

A tidal wave of applause broke over the theatre as the conductor took his bow. May pushed Forthright back towards the right-hand pass door. “I was thinking the other day – suppose she’s not dead.”

“Who?” asked the sergeant, trying to keep up with him. “What are you talking about?”

“Elissa Renalda. I’ve had a chance to go through some of the other clippings, and there’s been a fair amount of speculation since her death. They never properly identified her body. What if she didn’t drown? Suppose she was the gold-digger that Minos had always suspected her to be? She could have married Andreas for his money. Sources agree that Sirius liked her, she managed to wrap him round her little finger. But she lost everything when Minos warned her to get off the island. Imagine. She has to flee before dawn, while her husband is away. She has nothing but the clothes she’s standing in, and maybe her passage on a fishing boat. Minos tells the police she accidentally drowned. He protects her memory for the sake of his brother. Only Andreas believes she was killed. Elissa comes back to England, her home country, and bitterly follows the business exploits of the Renaldas in the newspapers. She waits for an opportunity to exact revenge. She returns to Athens and tracks down Minos, who’s killed in a car crash after a day of heavy drinking. But we don’t know the details of that event.”

“So Minos is killed by Andreas’s wife. For what motive?” asked Forthright.

“Elissa was in the line of succession, but her ‘death’ cut her out of the will.”

“You realize you’re sounding like Arthur.”

“I know,” May admitted. “Once she was declared dead, she was free but penniless. Mere revenge isn’t enough for the way she’s been treated. She stages an attack on Renalda’s empire, to ensure that his credibility is destroyed for ever. She’ll back off, though, if he gives her a cut. Who is she? She could be anyone. None of us has even seen a decent picture of her. She could be operating here, inside the company.”

Forthright struggled with this new idea. “You think Renalda knows who she is now?”

“I think he was lying the night Arthur accused him.”

“But why wouldn’t he have told the truth?”

“Because…” May clutched at the air, trying to make sense of his idea, “he would have been forced to admit that he was still married. If Elissa is alive, she’s still an heir, and the case would have to go to court.”

They had reached the musty company office, where Sidney Biddle was working.

“Sidney, I need you to check whether there was another vehicle involved in the crash that killed Minos Renalda. If there was, find out whatever you can about who was driving. Bryant left all the relevant phone numbers in his work folder. I don’t care who you have to disturb to do it.”

Biddle’s smile broadened at the thought of upsetting people in the name of the law. “Right away, sir,” he cried, only just resisting the temptation to salute.

¦

Andreas Renalda was watching the performance from the sealed-off royal box. The divider between the two sections had been restored. In one half sat a group of noisily enthusiastic businessmen. On the other side of the brown partition, the millionaire sat in the shadows, absently chewing his thumb. When the door opened a crack it threw a shaft of light across his pale, angry face. “You cannot possibly wish to see me now,” he hissed at May. “The