in the middle that neither of them covers – the west side of the Caledonian Road isn’t patrolled by anyone. That’s where he chose to leave the body, and that’s exactly where we arrived a couple of weeks later. We’ve been asking around, walking the streets, conducting interviews. The local shopkeepers already know about the PCU moving in. If this is our man’s patch, he’ll know, too. The advantage to us is that others must know
“We’ve been talking to people ever since we arrived,” Land pointed out.
“We haven’t asked the right questions before,” Bryant replied. “Who is the area’s most vocal resident? Who knows everything that’s going on?”
“Toth,” said Land.
“Precisely. Toth’s a historian; he runs the local community Web site; he’s made it his business to know about everyone who lives here. We were too busy treating him as a suspect to think of him as a lead. I’m sure Toth knows the identity of the man we’re looking for. And that means our killer knows Toth. And if he’s really planning to clean up all of his loose ends, Toth’s life could also be in danger.”
“We’d better not find this one dead,” Land warned. “We’ll take my car.”
? Bryant & May on the Loose ?
48
Elements of Chance
“You stay here,” warned Land as they pulled up. The apartment looked miserable and forbidding in the dim rain. “There’s no point in you running up all those stairs. I’ll be quicker.”
“You’re no spring chicken yourself,” Bryant replied with indignation. “I’ll come with you.”
“What did I just say? Why must you always do exactly the opposite?” But Bryant was already out of the car and heading for the nearest staircase.
They reached the second-floor landing and moved along the balcony to the flat which Toth shared with his girlfriend. Lizzi opened the door at their knock, blinking sleepily at them. “You again,” she complained. “You know he’s done nothing wrong. And anyway, he’s not here.”
“Where is he?” asked Bryant.
“He got a phone call about an hour ago, and went out. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Did he say where he was going? Or who he was going to meet?”
“I think he was seeing Mr Fox.”
Bryant looked blank. “Who is Mr Fox?”
“Oh, you know – thingie.” She waggled her hand at them.
“From the church. He’s a friend. So I imagine that’s where Xander’s gone.”
“How do you know this Mr Fox is a friend?”
“Xander met him some while ago. He’s always talking to people he doesn’t know. I think Fox is just his nickname, though. He works for the Diocese.”
“Leonid Kareshi,” snapped Bryant, annoyed with himself. “The archivist. Why didn’t I think of him earlier? It has to be someone who knows about the church’s history. He met Toth and Delaney there, and Standover was always connected because of his obsession with the Beatles’ photographic shoot. Call John. Tell him to run a check on Kareshi and meet us at the church.”
“We don’t need him, I can handle this,” said Land, who was suddenly quite enjoying being back in the field.
“Then I’ll call him,” said Bryant, giving Land the fish-eye.
Raymond Land was a careful driver. He had no desire to go racing down alleys, frightening old ladies and knocking over dustbins. It was impossible to do so in London anyway; the traffic was painfully slow, the roads doubled back on themselves, and any kind of vehicle pursuit was unthinkable. Even so, Bryant found his boss unnecessarily cautious. He selfconsciously signalled and braked and waved pedestrians past when Bryant would simply have put down his foot and hoped for the best. Driving like a madman was one of the few perks of the job, as far as Bryant was concerned.
As they pulled up before the gilded gates of St Pancras Old Church, John May came running out to meet them. “You may be right about the archivist, Arthur,” he said. “I’ve just been talking to the vicar. Three years ago, Kareshi was brought up on corruption charges before the FSB, the domestic state security agency of the Russian Federation. There was talk of links to organised crime over the sale of rare artefacts, but the case was dropped after he cut a deal with them. Kareshi has diplomatic immunity now. The Reverend says that he’s been growing worried about the number of dodgy-looking acquaintances Kareshi has been bringing here. He fears they’re up to something.”
“It might have been a good idea if he’d told us that earlier,” muttered Bryant.
As they pushed back the vestry door, they found the vicar about to turn out the lights. “Our verger just called in sick,” the Reverend Charles Barton explained. “There’s no service today, which is a good thing because someone stole our snuffer, and I have trouble reaching the candles without it. He has gout, can you believe it? I can’t help feeling that it’s an inappropriately excessive illness for a church worker. I think Dr Kareshi is downstairs. The lights are on in the crypt.”
“Is there anyone with him?”
“No, I don’t think so. He held a meeting yesterday with three men – pretty unsavoury-looking types.”
“We’ll take over, Reverend,” May suggested. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to lock the main doors.”
“There must be no violence here,” said Barton emphatically.
“Your church is built on a pagan sacrificial temple, for Christ’s sake,” complained Bryant.
“That was a very long time ago.” The vicar bridled. “And I’ll appreciate it if you don’t blaspheme.”
“Hopefully there won’t be any trouble,” May assured Barton gently. The detectives headed to the worn stone steps leading into the crypt. Beneath the arc lamps, Kareshi was working alone. He had sifted through what appeared to be a ton of dry grey dust, and had cleaned up more than a dozen small grey stone heads, which were arranged on the floor in groups according to type. The intrusion upon his work was clearly unwelcome.
“Is there something you want?” he asked them, standing upright and wiping his hands on a cloth.
“Did you receive a visit from a Mr Xander Toth?” asked Bryant.
“No, I don’t allow visitors. This is like – ” he gestured at the roped-off pit before him “ – one of your crime scenes. I have an extremely limited time to excavate this site before the Diocese requires it to be refilled, and if the artefacts become contaminated I will not be able to verify their authenticity.”
“How long have you been down here?”
“Since seven. I’ve seen no-one for days except the Reverend and your friend Mr Austin Potterton.”
“Reverend Barton says some men came to see you yesterday.”
“Oh, them,” Kareshi remembered, showing some awkwardness. “Well, I am helping them.”
“Who are they?”
“They are Belarus exiles; their English is poor and they feel isolated here. They are trying to start a club for fellow expatriates, somewhere they can meet and discuss their problems. They want me to help them, but I cannot spare the time. I don’t have much money, but I give them a little whenever I can.”
The detectives glanced at each other, thinking the same thing. Bryant voiced the thought. “It’s someone else.” Without explanation or apology, they headed out of the crypt.
“So much for your criminal mastermind,” said Land unnecessarily. “A down-at-heel Russian archaeologist. Now what?”
“I could give Austin a call and get him to help us.” On the way out, Bryant collared the vicar. “Unsavoury- looking types, Rev?”
“Well, shabby, unshaven,” Barton admitted. “Swarthy.”
“Trust a man of the cloth to think the worst of other people. Come on, John.”
Outside the church, Bryant stopped. He peered through the misty green gloom of the graveyard, as if expecting to find answers there. The Reverend Charles Barton appeared behind them with a bunch of keys. “I have to let you out of the main gates,” he said sniffily. “The usual team prefers to leave them open, but I’m taking no
