chances. I’ve started to keep them locked whenever I see the kids from the council flats hanging about.”
“No balm of sanctuary available here, then,” said Bryant, who could not help needling vicars he found to be pharisaical.
“Vandals, Mr Bryant. They urinate in my vestry; they desecrate the gravestones. Mr Fox has a hard enough job without – ”
“ – Mr Fox?”
“Our interment supervisor.”
“You mean Fox is the
“We don’t use such archaisms anymore; they upset the parishioners. Besides, there are no new graves here – it’s as much as we can do to tend the old ones. Mr Fox looks after the grounds, and is currently engaged in removing some of the old coffins. This is a heritage site and standards must be maintained.”
“How long has he been here?”
“Well, he was here when I arrived. He was employed by the former coroner of the St Pancras Mortuary. There was some kind of scandal – ”
“Where does he live?”
“On the Margery Street council estate, off of King’s Cross Road. Number seven, Spring House.”
Bryant’s eyes widened. “Spring House?”
“What’s the matter?” asked May.
“Margery Street used to be called Spring Place. There was a woman called Black Mary – she belonged to a thirteenth-century Benedictine order that wore black robes.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear where this one is going…”
“She presided over the subterranean spa room that became known as Black Mary’s Hole. The spa was fed by a well bored into the Bagnigge River, which ran down from the St Pancras Old Church. It was capped off into a conduit that lies right underneath Spring House. It’s a chalybeate spring.”
“A what?”
“An iron-fed spring, with healing properties. People came from all over London to have their illnesses cured there. But when Spring Place was erected over the conduit in 1815, the local builder turned Black Mary’s Hole into a cesspool, ruining it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Land, clearly confused. “What on earth has any of this got to do with our murderer?”
“I told you, he’s a local man, and thanks to Xander Toth he now has an extensive knowledge of the area’s history. He understands its mystical connections and knows how to exploit them. He lives on the site of London’s most venerable spa, destroyed by a builder. I suppose it would be too much to hope that the builder’s family name was Delaney.”
They were now outside the church gates, heading for Land’s car. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” said May. “It would really confirm your belief in psycho-geographical retribution.”
“You have to admit that certain areas keep the same properties through generations. The King’s Cross delis and coffee shops were always Italian, and now, hundreds of Italian students are moving back in. Is that just coincidence?”
“I don’t know – is it just coincidence all of this is happening on St Pancras Day, your time of sacrifice?”
“See, you’re finally starting to think like me,” Bryant said smugly. “Right now, we need to concentrate on finding Xander Toth before he forfeits his life and loses his head. I think elements of chance have led Mr Fox to reveal his true nature to us.”
? Bryant & May on the Loose ?
49
The Woman on the Wall
“I’d assumed he must be some kind of polymath,” mused Bryant unhappily as they drove, with Raymond Land cautiously following them in his BMW. “He’s not. He’s feral and instinctive, the kind of criminal we see so much more of these days. Mind that old lady.”
“You always want to think they’re twisted geniuses,” May chided him. “You long to pit your wits against someone who hides clues in paintings and evades capture through their knowledge of ancient Greek. Forget it, Arthur; those days have gone.”
“Russian agents still get poisoned by radioactive pellets in restaurants. Read your daily papers.”
May was forced to admit his old partner had a point. “It would be dangerous to underestimate this man,” he warned. “He’s clearly smart enough to use everyone he meets. I bet Toth never realised he was acting as the host to a parasite.”
“Precisely. Mr Fox has one formidable talent. He absorbs the knowledge of others. He used Toth, and I’m sure we’ll find he used Professor Marshall, the former coroner of the St Pancras Mortuary. That’s how the heads were severed so perfectly. We assumed it was a professional hit because of the clean cuts to the neck. The amputations were performed with surgical precision. I think Mr Fox persuaded the disgraced coroner to teach him how. You heard Giles – the cuts were virtually identical.”
May called Bimsley and Renfield, summoning them to the apartment building. Land’s BMW turned into Margery Street. The council estate had been rebuilt and extended after being bombed during the Second World War. Flat 7 stood on the ground floor, beyond a concrete courtyard.
“Stay here,” May told Land. “Wait for the others.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Land complained as they left him alone. “I’m your superior officer.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Bryant called back, “that’s just a title, like labelling a tin of peaches ‘Superior Quality’. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“We may have to kick the door in,” warned May. “That’ll be a challenge.”
Bryant pushed against the jamb. “I doubt either of us has the strength to shift this. The kitchen window is unlocked.”
It was a simple matter to raise the bolt and swing the pane wide, but climbing inside proved trickier. A few minutes later May lowered himself carefully onto the kitchen counter and came around to open the door. “There’s no-one here. Where else could he have gone?” The pair stood on the balcony, looking around.
“They went out,” called a girl in a lime-green tracksuit, leaning over the railing. “Him and his mate.”
“How long ago?”
“Just a few minutes ago. He had to hold the other guy up, he was so pissed.”
“Did you see where they went?”
“Through there.” She leaned further over and pointed down to a recessed door at the bottom of a flight of steps.
“Why is he keeping Toth alive?” May wondered as the detectives headed toward the basement.
“I think I know why, but I hope I’m wrong. They’re going to Black Mary’s Hole. It’s directly underneath Spring House.”
May found a light switch and strip lights flickered on below them. Fourteen stone steps led to a damp cellar that housed the building’s electrical circuit boxes and elevator equipment.
“Look around,” said Bryant. “There has to be something else down here.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for, Arthur.”
“Oh, you know.” Bryant waved his hand about with annoying vagueness. “The tunnel.”
“What tunnel?”
“You don’t listen to a word I say, do you? The Bagnigge River ran beneath the church to Spring Place, where it was capped off. Our Mr Fox was employed at the church as a grave-maintenance person, or whatever Barton called it. Fox used the tunnel underneath, the one leading from the spa, to get back here. Where else could he have taken Mr Toth?”
“All right,” May conceded, “but what exactly are we hoping to find?” When Bryant failed to answer, but merely pointed, May slowly turned around. “Oh.”
Behind him was a grey steel door studded with rivets the size of mushroom caps. “Try it,” Bryant suggested.
