Bryant & May 07; Bryant & May on the Loose

owner.”

“It’s right at the centre of the company’s plan for the extension to the shopping mall. They can’t build on it without the transfer of title.”

“Look, there are three others in the same street that changed owners during the Second World War.”

“A typical bombing pattern,” Bryant pointed out. “One house wasn’t rebuilt, and it doesn’t look like the owner ever sold on the property deeds.” He summoned Ed Tremble from his cupboard. “Ed, there are no property deeds for number eleven, Camley Lane.”

“Interesting that you picked this one. It was bombed flat during the war. The remains of the house were pulled down and the site was cleared. A small local jam factory occupied the site for five or six years in the fifties. After that it became a cafe and then a pub, first the Tothele Manor Tavern and then the Stag’s Head, and eventually that also closed.”

“It’s as if the ground itself was bad luck,” remarked Maggie.

“The company wanted permission to build on the land, but due to the property’s tangled history there’s no current deed of ownership on file.”

“What happens in that situation?” asked Bryant.

“According to British law an occupier must last for eleven years on a piece of property in this area before claiming the right to own it, so I imagine the land belonged not to the pub or the jam factory, but to the original owner of the bombed-out house.”

“Why?”

“Because most of the pre-war owners in this street were on their land for far longer than eleven years, and it would have been officially registered in the resident’s name.”

“And if ADAPT can’t locate the deeds?”

“They have to wait for the time limit to be reached.”

“But they’re preparing to build on that section beside the canal right now. Are they acting illegally?”

“Not necessarily. They might have timed their work order to commence from the date of expiration.”

“Is there any way of finding out the actual expiration date?”

“Give me a minute.” Tremble disappeared.

“Corporate skulduggery,” said Maggie while they waited for his return. “You’re thinking they turned to murder, aren’t you, Arthur?”

“I’m sure of it. Thousands of people displaced and relocated, billions spent on contracts, funding raised and companies created for Europe’s biggest development project. Suppose one difficult man stood in the way of all this progress? Imagine how easy it might have seemed to simply get rid of him. What if something went wrong, resulting in the deaths of two others?”

“If you think captains of industry colluded to quietly remove one blockage in the system,” said Maggie, “why would they draw attention to themselves by cutting off people’s heads?”

“I have no answer for that.”

“I do. They’re following this area’s ancient tradition of severing the heads of sacrificial victims, in order to win themselves favour with the pagan gods of the forest who are the real owners of the land.”

“Dear Lord.” Bryant ran a hand over his face. “I’m the first person to back you up when it comes to spiritual matters, Margaret, but I really can’t see myself explaining that to the Home Office.”

“Fair point,” said Maggie with a shrug. “Let’s keep looking.”

“Here you are,” said Tremble, returning with a yellowed sheet of paper. “It’s unusual for such a deed to have a specific expiration, but in this case it appears to be exactly one hundred and twenty years after the original land purchase.”

“That’s in three days’ time,” said Bryant, attempting to whistle through his false teeth.

“St Pancras Day,” said Maggie, awed. “A day of great mystical significance. A time for the greatest sacrifice.”

? Bryant & May on the Loose ?

37

Health Restor’d and Preserv’d

Oliver Golifer, the unfortunately named owner of the Newman Street Picture Library, was digging the dirt from his dado rail with a golf tee when Arthur Bryant knocked on the window.

“It’s open,” Golifer mouthed through the glass. “I’m having a spring clean. Help me down, will you?” He leaned on Bryant’s shoulder while lowering his massive bulk from the ladder. “I’ve found what you’re looking for. We have a lot of photographs taken in King’s Cross because it was often used as a film location.” He pulled out a box of photographs from behind his counter. “Here, the jam factory, the Tothele Manor Tavern, and further back, the house that was there in 1939.”

Bryant found himself looking at a sharp monochrome photograph of number 11, Camley Lane. He turned to the second picture, which showed a cellar surrounded by blackened timbers and smouldering bricks.

“They were unlucky. Read the back.”

November 12^th 1940 Mrs Irene Porter lost her husband when her home suffered a direct hit from a Luftwaffe incendiary bomb last night. Her son was away on army manoeuvres at the time of the raid. She was taken in by Harold and Beatrice Barker, who lived in the house opposite, at number 14, Camley Lane. The King’s Cross community consists largely of railway workers, who were quick to pull together and rehouse Mrs Porter and the others who survived the attack. (Daily Sketch )

Golifer took the picture in one meaty fist. “There’s a companion shot to this. I’ve seen it somewhere. I think it’s filed under ‘King’s Cross History’. Your Mr May has been nagging at me to transfer the library electronically, you know.”

“Why would you want to do that? This way you know where everything is.”

“Exactly,” Golifer agreed, rooting in a shoebox full of sepia snapshots. “Here we go. The same Daily Sketch photographer.”

The photograph showed a brick circle with a dark centre. “What am I looking at?” asked Bryant.

“Turn it over.”

November 12^th 1940 The bombing of Camley Lane reveals the remains of St Chad’s Well. This ancient well stood on the once sacred ‘River of Wells’ at Battle Bridge in King’s Cross. Valued for its healing properties, water was drawn up and heated in a great cauldron to restore the well-being of the many visitors to the pump room and elegant spa gardens constructed on the site. Beneath a sign reading ‘Health Restor’d and Preserv’d’ stood the Lady of the Well, dressed in her traditional black bonnet and gown.

It is said that the well appeared to spring from the ground at the bidding of Edmund Ironside’s sword as he vanquished King Canute in 1016.

St Chad’s Well was considered the oldest and most important well in all of London. St Chad became Bishop of Mercia in 669 & was ordained the Patron Saint of Springs & Wells. St Chad’s Place is still to be found in King’s Cross.

“Mrs Porter’s house was built over a sacred well,” said Bryant, ruminatively chewing a piece of carrot cake. “So what site was Delaney clearing just before he died?”

¦

At 5:20 on the same evening, Leslie Faraday put in a call to Jack Renfield’s cell phone.

Faraday: Ah, Mr Renfield. I’m glad I caught you.

Renfield: You rang my mobile. I always answer.

Faraday: Yes, well, be that as it may, I was rather hoping you were about to call me.

Renfield: I didn’t see any point in ringing if I didn’t have anything to tell you.