Bryant & May 07; Bryant & May on the Loose

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 cafe. 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