“Then I’ll conduct the interview with your partner.” She smiled slyly, knowing that Bryant’s inability to lie had exposed the unit’s plans on a number of occasions.
“That’s up to him,” May countered. “I’m not striking deals with you. You’re doing this with our knowledge, but without our approval.”
“Let’s face it, you haven’t got very far by yourselves. Besides, I’m helping you to catch the man. I’m performing a public service.”
“Your altruism is touching,” said Longbright.
“I make it a policy never to use words my readers wouldn’t understand,” replied Ramsey. “If you’re planning to provide me with protection against this maniac, I’d say you’re involved.”
“We have a remit to protect the vulnerable and innocent,” Longbright told her, “but we also cover journalists.”
“This one’s a caution.” Ramsey jerked a thumb back at the sergeant. “Which old movie did you find her in?”
“We’ll want you to wear a radio mike, in case anything unforeseen happens,” said May.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve done this sort of thing many times before. I used to specialise in ending MPs’ careers by posing as a call girl.”
“That must have been a stretch for you,” said Longbright. May glared at her, but only for the sake of keeping the peace. “Ah, there you are,” said Bryant, sticking his head around the door. “John, a word?”
May followed his partner out into the corridor. “I wanted you in the briefing with Ramsey. She’s going into the apartment in an hour’s time. Where have you been?” he asked.
“The Leicester Square Vampire,” Bryant explained. “The DNA samples from the bodies Kershaw and Finch examined need to be matched up against the evidence we archived in the Paddington lockup. I’ll go there myself and sort it out. Heard anything more from Kasavian?”
“He’s called several times already this morning, but I’ve instructed everyone to stay away from the phones when his direct line comes up. I wanted you on the Highwayman case, Arthur. We’re out of time. Putting a lid on the Vampire won’t do us any good now.”
“There are circumstances where I can imagine it would help,” said Bryant mysteriously. “If you need me, I’ll be poking through our bric-a-brac in Paddington.”
¦
An hour later, the unit moved Janet Ramsey into St John Street. Colin Bimsley took up his position behind a fortress of cylindrical rubbish containers at the rear of the converted warehouse, while Meera Mangeshkar waited with May and Banbury in the unit’s unmarked white van. An immense West Indian constable named Liberty DuCaine had agreed to make himself available to the unit for the day. He was positioned on the other side of the building, awaiting instructions.
St Crispin’s appeared silent and empty, the front gates closed. The edge of the Roland Plumbe Community Estate was visible through gently falling rain, but it also appeared deserted.
“It’s a stain gun,” said Banbury, holding up the narrow-barrelled device with some pride. “Lightweight aluminium, my own design, converted from an animal tranquilliser.” He opened the top-loading chamber and showed May the cartridge inside. “There’s a secondary needle on the front of the dart to keep it in place after striking home. The contents are under pressure and the plastic casing shatters on impact, spraying blue dye over a radius of about half a metre. It’s harmless, but impossible to get out, and takes weeks to wear off.”
“What about clothing?” asked May. “Our man wears motorcycle leather. Surely it won’t penetrate that?”
“If the needle can get through, the dye will follow. The best way to use it is to fire into an object above the target’s head. There’s no way he can avoid being covered.”
“Do we have a marksman?” May wondered. The unit had never been authorised to use weapons.
“You have me,” said Banbury. “I have a licence to use this.”
“So now we wait.” Mangeshkar sighed.
¦
By three-thirty P.M. the clear sky had clouded over and drizzle fell like fading memories, leaching colour from the streets and returning the city to the indistinct texture of box-camera photographs. Longbright waited in May’s BMW, parked diagonally opposite the front door of the building. Colin Bimsley was numb and soaked, his long legs cramping behind the bins. He text-messaged Meera inside the van, asking if she’d seen anything. She replied with some disparaging remarks about their potential victim – he could tell she was just as bored.
Five minutes later, she sent back a single word:
“He’s outside the building right now, just strolled around the corner,” said Mangeshkar, watching through the night goggles she had bought from her own money after Land had refused to allow the unit to purchase a pair. “Man, he has a lot of nerve. He’s just gone inside.”
“You’re sure it’s him?” asked May.
“No, it’s probably some other guy in a highwayman’s outfit.” She lowered the glasses. “Of course I’m sure. Why don’t we grab him now?”
“He’s in disguise, Meera. For all we know, he could have paid someone to wear the outfit. We need as much incriminating action from him as possible, because we can’t afford to leave any loopholes. Notice he only wears the cape for photo shoots.”
“The rest of the outfit’s almost normal for London. Take off the eye mask and the tricorne, he’d look like any courier in town,” said Mangeshkar.
“Call Ramsey. Warn her he’s on his way up, and tell her to keep the door locked. I’m sending in Bimsley and DuCaine.” Banbury made a move to open the door of the van. “Where do you think you’re going?” asked May.
“I need to get closer. I won’t get a clear shot in this rain.” Banbury raised the barrel of the stain gun.
“I’d be happier if you stayed in the van,” said May.
“It’s okay. I’m wearing a protective vest.” Banbury hopped out of the van and crossed the road, slipping into the entrance hall. They waited. Two minutes passed, then three. The crackle of Ramsey’s handset made them jump.
“I heard someone on the stairs,” she whispered. “Wait, I can see him through the spyhole – he’s right outside the door. Where the hell are your men?”
“They should be on the staircase below you,” May answered.
“They’re waiting for him to make a move.”
“I don’t want to be carried out of here in a body bag just because your people were waiting for the right moment,” she snapped back. The sound of an electric bell filled the van. “I don’t believe it,” said Ramsey. “He just rang the doorbell. What do you want me to do?”
“Don’t let him in,” May warned. “What can you see now?”
“He’s gone – no, wait, he’s – ”
There was a burst of static, and the line went dead.
? Ten Second Staircase ?
40
Loss and Memory
A different handset came on-line this time. “I can see him,” whispered Banbury. “On the floor above me. He’s just standing there outside the door. I’m going to try and get a clear shot at him.”
“Where’s DuCaine?”
“On the lower landing. He can’t get past both of us.” May chewed a fingernail, listening and waiting. Banbury had left the line open for him. He heard a sudden tumble of movement, buffeting and scuffling against the built-in microphone.
“Are you all right?” called May.
“He winded me.” Banbury checked in. “Barged past me on the stairs – looks like he was expecting a trap. Yow! He just grabbed the handrail and jumped right over Liberty’s head! How did he do that?”
