“There’s no lock that I can see. Put your shoulder to it.”
May did not have to push hard. The door’s hinges were thickly greased, and it swung in easily.
“Do you have your Valiant on you?”
“Of course.” May pulled his cinema usherette’s flashlight from his overcoat and switched it on. “Mind your step. There’s a lot of rubble on the floor. Hang onto my coat.” The pair made their way forward at a cautious pace. The floor was uneven, and followed a gentle upward slope. The tunnel smelled of standing water but was neat and square, cemented with lichen-covered terra-cotta tiles, most of them badly damaged. A channel in the floor indicated the former path of the healing spring. Clearly, nothing but rain had come through here in a very long time.
Bryant grabbed his colleague’s arm and bade him listen. A soft fall of brick suggested movement far ahead.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” May whispered. “We could go overland, back to the church. Land can watch this end.”
“No, we’re too close now to risk losing them. I think he’s drugged Toth and has brought him up the tunnel from Spring House because he couldn’t go in through the church. The vicar and Kareshi would have seen them.” Bryant climbed around a pile of collapsed brickwork and moved ahead. “Look.” He pointed his walking stick toward a bend in the tunnel. There was a faint glow of light beyond it.
“I don’t like this, Arthur. Mr Fox could be hiding anywhere, lying in wait for us.”
“I know exactly where he is,” declared Bryant. “He’s in the temple.”
“You mean the spa room Kareshi showed us beneath the church?”
“It became a spa room precisely because it had been a temple. There was a painting on the wall, worn and very faded but quite recognisable as Saint Helena. I knew at once it was her, because she was flanked by hunting hounds. Saint Helena is the oldest and most powerful of all the pagan goddesses ever to be worshipped on these shores. Saint Helena – or
“Arthur, you’ve lost me. Let’s get our man first, then you can explain.” May shone the flashlight ahead. A glossy fat rat fell from the ceiling of the tunnel with a squeak, more alarmed than the detectives. They turned the bend, picking their way over bricks and garbage – others had been here before them – and the light ahead grew stronger.
A pale yellow ellipse revealed the entrance to the temple. The edges of the circular room had been marked with fat stumps of candles. In the centre, blindfolded and gagged, his hands and ankles tied, Xander Toth waited like a terrorist’s prisoner. The man who stood behind him was slight of build, but oddly nondescript in appearance, except that he was wearing a crimson papier-mache fox’s mask, like the ones sometimes worn on Guy Fawkes night. He turned to stare at the detectives as they appeared in the tunnel entrance.
“Why would you want to do this, Mr Fox?” called Bryant. “Everything else you’ve done has made a sort of sense, but this is sheer madness. You’re being somewhat overly theatrical, if you don’t mind my saying so. Do you mind if I sit down? I’m beat.”
May was looking to his partner for a cue to act, but nobody seemed inclined to make the first move. He could feel the tension rising in the cold damp air.
“I thought Mr Toth told you about the temple, but I suppose it might have been Mr Kareshi,” Bryant continued cheerfully. “Really, though – a
May had heard Bryant use this technique before, keeping up a soothing level of conversation with his adversary, gently disarming through the simple humanity of a caring voice. Except that Bryant sometimes got carried away and went for the Oscar.
“But I’m afraid you can’t begin anew, because this is where it ends. We have officers here at the church and at Spring Place, too. All your exits are cut off. So you might as well let Mr Toth go. And it is my duty to arrest you for the murder of Terence Delaney.”
“I am here at the church from ten in the morning until ten at night.” Mr Fox’s voice was surprisingly thin and light. “I put in twelve-hour shifts. Barton will vouch for me.”
“I’ll also be taking into account the murders of Adrian Jesson, Richard Standover and Maddox Cavendish.”
The crimson fox mask tilted slightly, regarding Bryant. Then it looked up into the darkness of the stairwell leading from the temple to the church above. Mr Fox seemed to have no fear. He was weighing up his options.
May saw the sharpened silver skewer glitter in his hand, and turned the flashlight directly into his eyes. He knew Mr Fox would expect to be attacked, so instead he kicked out at Xander Toth, knocking the bound man over on his side and slamming Mr Fox against the temple wall – it wasn’t a bad move for a senior.
The skewer swung out but missed its mark. May’s boot kicked again and he managed to trap Mr Fox’s wrist, pinning him in place. Two of the candles were knocked out, then a third. Only one remained alight. The temple was flickering into darkness.
“Keep back, Arthur,” May warned as Mr Fox rose to his feet.
“You’re Arthur St John Bryant,” Fox said. “You still blame yourself for the way your wife Nathalie died. Your partner’s wife is in a mental home. Who are either of you to tell me what to do?”
Bryant was taken aback. How could he have known such things?
But that was before DS Janice Longbright leaned over the stairwell and dropped a sizeable chunk of paving stone on Mr Fox’s head.
In the light of the guttering candles, she bore a striking resemblance to Saint Helena.
? Bryant & May on the Loose ?
50
The Lie of the Land
Events moved fast after Mr Fox was captured. The Home Office was informed that even in its etiolated state, the PCU had performed a service that no branch of the Metropolitan Police could have managed. Leslie Faraday hurried into his superior’s office, and Oskar Kasavian sent word to the Prime Minister and the capital’s news agencies. No-one congratulated the men and women of the Peculiar Crimes Unit for their dedication to duty.
When Bryant and May arrived back at their headquarters, they spent the next three and a half hours talking with Mr Fox, who seemed surprisingly keen to unburden himself to them. Without resources, it was impossible to impound evidence yet, but the PCU team was prepared to work through the night if Bryant and May were satisfied that they had their man.
It was now late in the afternoon, and their suspect had been placed in the building’s only lockable room until the staff could be debriefed and the suspect’s examination could be resumed. Time was of the essence in the initial interview process, and the detectives needed to bring everyone up to speed. On that point, it probably wasn’t the best idea to let Bryant do the talking, but the old man relished explaining his thinking to others and would not be dissuaded, despite the fact that he was prone to lethologica, not to mention an annoying habit of wandering off- topic at the most crucial moments.
“The roots of this case go back almost as far as I do,” said Bryant, hovering uncertainly above the battered sofa Longbright had managed to dredge up for the briefing room. He failed to lower himself gracefully into the seat,
