home for heart patients, and enjoyed the patronage of financially upholstered clients from across the country.
As the taxi pulled up before the entrance, Bryant glanced at his battered Timex. He had purchased it after seeing a commercial in which the timepiece was tied around the leg of a galloping horse. Unfortunately, his operated as if the horse had sat on it.
“If Leo Marks’s father doesn’t want to tell us, we can’t force the information out of him,” he said, digging around for change to pay the driver. “Three pounds?” he complained. “Are you descended from highwaymen, by any chance?”
“We can tell him that we have his son in custody,” replied May. “Come on.”
“You’re not getting a tip,” warned Bryant.
“Don’t worry, mate,” said the driver, snatching his money from the detective’s proffered hand. “I’ve read about you in the papers. You haven’t got any to offer.”
In the marble foyer of the clinic, a smart black-suited receptionist sat reading beneath a low light. “Look at this place,” marveled Bryant. “We should have been lawyers. Everyone hates you while you’re alive, but at least you have a great time when you’re sick.”
“I called earlier,” said May, a trifle too loudly. “We’re here to see Mr Marks.”
The receptionist raised her telephone receiver and whispered into the mouthpiece. Moments later, a young woman in a discreet uniform appeared at the bottom of the stairway.
“Mr Marks is out of danger now, and quite awake,” the nurse said, walking with them to the first floor. “He was asking for a whisky an hour ago, so he’s obviously on the mend. You’re his second visitors tonight.”
“Who else was here?” asked May.
“An Indian gentleman, I didn’t catch his name. I think he’s still with Mr Marks at the moment.” May’s sense of unease caught alight. Grabbing his partner’s arm, he broke into a run.
“Which way?” he called to the nurse.
“End of the corridor and right,” she replied, flustered. “Third door on the left. There’s no rush – ”
They reached the end of the corridor, their shoes squealing on the freshly polished floor. The hallway ahead was in virtual darkness, but they could already see that the door to Marks’s room was wide open.
Their patient lay halfway out of bed, the drip feed severed from his arm, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of its bowl, his left hand helplessly grasping the air.
His right wrist had been nicked, and blood was blossoming across the starched white bedspread.
“We were just in time,” said Bryant. “Mr Marks, we know about the tontine device. You must tell us where it is. We have to stop it.”
“Tell Charles,” the old man mouthed. “Tell Charles, the river. He must look to the Guild at the river.”
“Of course,” whispered Bryant. “Where else could it be?”
? Seventy-Seven Clocks ?
45
Seventy-Seven Clocks
On the way back to London, Jerry considered her position. Her new career was supposed to provide her father with a colleague and her mother with a better social circle. Neither of them had imagined that she might prove desirable to Charles Whitstable in another way.
Arriving home, she saw that Jack had told Gwen the bad news: Charles Whitstable had decided to apprentice their daughter without including her parents in the social upgrade. Unable to bear the awkward silence, she left the house. She reached another decision: to leave the Savoy. Now that her parents had been reduced to a state of confusion and disappointment, there was no point in staying on. Perhaps it would give them pause to think about what they wanted: from her, and from each other.
She decided to stay away from the PCU, too. Normally she would have headed there hoping to find someone to talk to, only to end up helping Sergeant Longbright with the photocopying. So much for the glamour of police work. From tonight there would be a new beginning.
Now she stood in the narrow road below Curzon Street ringing the polished brass bell marked C. WHITSTABLE ESQ.
She looked up at the darkened windows, but there seemed to be no one in. Surely Charles couldn’t have forgotten their arrangement? Tugging her short black dress around her thighs, she sat down on the step to wait.
¦
Shortly before nine p.m. the two detectives appeared in Mornington Crescent at a virtual sprint. “Janice,” called Bryant, searching the offices as he passed, “we need Charles Whitstable. What have you done with him?”
“He’s still in the detention room on the second floor,” replied the sergeant. “Raymond wanted to let him go – ”
“I gave strict instructions not to let him out of the building.”
“I know, and I didn’t allow him to leave.”
“You’re worth your weight in diamonds, do you know that?” he shouted back, and they were gone. Sergeant Longbright smiled to herself and touched her hair into place. Like most policewomen, she wasn’t used to being complimented.
Charles Whitstable had one of Bryant’s nasty scarves tied over his shirt collar and his jacket pulled tight around him. The detention room was freezing. “Get me out of here,” he said angrily as the detectives admitted themselves. “I have an engagement to attend. Your uniformed clowns interrupted a very important investors’ meeting. It didn’t help having the police strong-arm their way in to demand an interview.”
“I’m afraid they were acting on Detective Superintendent Land’s orders, Sir,” explained May.
“Your superior is a very frightened man. He seems to think that our family has set out to deliberately destroy his career.”
“Leo Marks’s father was attacked in his hospital bed a little over an hour ago,” said May. “He won’t be doing the polka for a while, but he’ll live.”
“Congratulations,” replied Charles, unperturbed by the news, “you finally managed to save someone’s life. Do you have any idea who did it? At least you have proof that it wasn’t me.”
“I think you have a pretty good idea who it was.” Bryant circled behind Charles and leaned on his chair. “I should have asked myself exactly what you were doing in India.”
“Look, I know my rights. You can’t detain me here without good reason. Do I have to call my lawyer?”
“No,” replied Bryant. “What you have to do is remain nearby for the next twenty-four hours while I wait to hear back from the Calcutta police. Then we’ll have this interview again.” He tapped his partner on the shoulder, beckoning him from the room.
“Janice, we’ll be out for a while. What time do you come off duty?”
“Tonight I don’t,” she replied with a sigh. “We haven’t any cover at the moment. Do you want me to come with you?”
Bryant looked her up and down. “Make a muscle,” he said.
Longbright crooked her arm.
“Huh,” grunted the detective. “Sparrows’ kneecaps. You’re safer here. Where can I find a pickaxe?”
“Will a sledgehammer do?” She remembered seeing the tool bag that the workmen had left in Bryant’s office.
“I suppose so.”
Overhead, the neon striplights fuzzed and momentarily dimmed. Bryant gave his partner a meaningful look.
“For God’s sake stop doing that,” said May. “You’re starting to give me the willies.”
¦
They climbed into Bryant’s battered Mini and headed into the rain-shrouded city. May was driving so that his partner could continue talking. When Bryant conversed and drove simultaneously, he had a tendency to dislodge the illuminated bollards that stood in the centre of the road.
