Bryant And May On The Loose - A Peculiar Crimes Unit Mystery Part 20

'I want to feel good about myself. Don't be so horrible. Your aura turns a very unhealthy shade of heliotrope when you're rude to people. Beneath the witch I'm a woman, you know. I do have feelings.'

'Well, can you not? We need to get back to the map. I want to see if ADAPT bought everything legally. I don't want to go back through the past property owners or check the original boundary lines-we'll be here forever if I do that. What we do is place the last owner's deed details on top of each property and see if that turns up any anomalies.'

'This is such a boy's job,' Maggie complained. 'Making lists and rearranging the order of things.'

'You offered to help.'

'Only because Daphne is servicing my boiler this morning and I can't get in the kitchen. She wanted to place it under an enchantment but I told her to use a wrench.'

They worked in quiet harmony for an hour, but Tremble had done most of the preparation for them. Soon they had filled the great triangular map of land with names, addresses, dates and purchase prices.

Bryant pointed at the map. 'So, this area to the east was entirely covered in factories and light industrial units ... But on the other side of the ca.n.a.l there were five rows of terraced houses. The ca.n.a.l itself and the paths on either side of it are owned by British Waterways. That just leaves this bit, here.' He tapped a small oblong plot on the map. 'No name. Open s.p.a.ce?'

'No, it was part of a street called-hang on, I saw it here a minute ago-Camley Lane. It should have an 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 t.i.tle.'

'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 ca.n.a.l 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 G.o.ds 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.'

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 gla.s.s. 'I'm having a spring clean. Help me down, will you?' He leaned on Bryant's shoulder while lowering his ma.s.sive 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 12th 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 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 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) (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 s...o...b..x full of sepia snapshots. 'Here we go. The same Daily Sketch Daily Sketch photographer.' photographer.'

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

'Turn it over.'

November 12th 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 ' 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 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 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. Ah, Mr Renfield. I'm glad I caught you.

Renfield: You rang my mobile. I always answer. 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. 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. I didn't see any point in ringing if I didn't have anything to tell you.

Faraday: Well, I thought you would, you see. A rather alarming report has reached my ears. Well, I thought you would, you see. A rather alarming report has reached my ears.

Renfield: (impatiently) What about? (impatiently) What about?

Faraday: Somebody at Camden Council rang to tell me that Mr Bryant had been in questioning officials about building plans. Somebody at Camden Council rang to tell me that Mr Bryant had been in questioning officials about building plans.

Renfield: Yes, he's conducting your investigation. He's following a lead. Yes, he's conducting your investigation. He's following a lead.

Faraday: He had a witch with him. He had a witch with him.

Renfield: A what? A what?

Faraday: A witch, Mr Renfield. Cauldron, pointy hat, talking cat, you know, a woman who consorts with the devil and believes she can cast spells. A witch, Mr Renfield. Cauldron, pointy hat, talking cat, you know, a woman who consorts with the devil and believes she can cast spells.

Renfield: I have no information on that. I have no information on that.

Faraday: Oh. I find that very disappointing. I recall specifically requesting that you keep an eye on Mr Bryant, something you've singularly failed to do. Oh. I find that very disappointing. I recall specifically requesting that you keep an eye on Mr Bryant, something you've singularly failed to do.

Renfield: I've reported to you every night on the progress of the investigation. I've reported to you every night on the progress of the investigation.

Faraday: And you would have me believe that nothing unusual has happened. And you would have me believe that nothing unusual has happened.

Renfield: That's right. That's right.

Faraday: You don't call witchcraft unusual? You don't call witchcraft unusual?

Renfield: Bryant takes friends along to help him sometimes. Bryant takes friends along to help him sometimes.

Faraday: Friends, plural? Who else has he brought along to this private investigation? A wizard, perhaps? Some performing dwarves? Are you laughing? Friends, plural? Who else has he brought along to this private investigation? A wizard, perhaps? Some performing dwarves? Are you laughing?

Renfield: (coughing) No, sir. (coughing) No, sir.

Faraday: Do you understand that my report will go to Mr Kasavian, and if he finds anything untoward, he will take steps to bring prosecutions against everyone involved in this investigation? Do you understand that my report will go to Mr Kasavian, and if he finds anything untoward, he will take steps to bring prosecutions against everyone involved in this investigation?

Renfield: If that's the case, it's not in my interest to report to you, is it? If that's the case, it's not in my interest to report to you, is it?

Faraday: But I've issued you with a formal request. But I've issued you with a formal request.

Renfield: Yeah, and I'm ignoring it. Yeah, and I'm ignoring it.

Faraday: It's a command. It's a command.

Renfield: Well, which is it-a request or a command? Well, which is it-a request or a command?

Faraday: (heatedly) It's a-it doesn't matter what it is, you have to do what you're told. (heatedly) It's a-it doesn't matter what it is, you have to do what you're told.

Renfield: I've got a better idea. You can stick your request-and your command-up your a.r.s.e. I've got a better idea. You can stick your request-and your command-up your a.r.s.e.

Faraday: I find your att.i.tude highly unsatisfactory, Mr Ren-field, and what's more I fully intend ... h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo? I find your att.i.tude highly unsatisfactory, Mr Ren-field, and what's more I fully intend ... h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo?

Outside London, beyond the great grey saucepan lid of cloud that covered the metropolis, it was a raw, beautiful day. Ragged white sc.r.a.ps of cloud tumbled across the Suss.e.x downs, and even Brighton's faded appeal was partially restored when viewed from the end of the Palace Pier. Fifty years earlier, the pink pavements and sky-blue railings had signified a town of civic heraldry in which a generation of vaguely lost spinsters and disappointed colonels had made their homes. Now the resort had been designated a city, with all of the ills that such status conferred. The burghers of Brighton had neglected the parts they disliked until those parts simply went away, and had added on bits that made them money, leaving windswept concourses filled with chain stores that could be found in any town, anywhere.

Maddox Cavendish had lived in a new development overlooking the ruins of the collapsed West Pier. The porter refused to believe that DuCaine and Longbright were police officers, and it took several phone calls to get them inside the building. The apartment had been built to showcase its main feature, a wooden deck overlooking the sparkling sea. 'He was making good money,' DuCaine noted, thumping around the flat in his size twelve boots.

'His employment record has him down as single. No photos anywhere, very impersonal.' Longbright stood in the centre of the living room and turned slowly. 'Very tidy. Gay, maybe.'

'Does it matter?'

'I'm just trying to get a mental picture.' She started opening drawers. 'I love snooping through other people's lives, don't you?'

'Not really,' DuCaine admitted. 'Not when they've just been murdered.'

'He's hardly a typical victim.' She riffled through a book of cheque stubs and turned out a pile of ATM receipts. 'He drew out two thousand pounds in cash just over two weeks ago.'

DuCaine searched the closet and bookcases, but found only business suits and volumes on accounting, architecture and self-help.

Longbright opened a black leather calendar and checked the pages. 'Oh, you're going to love this,' she said, reading. 'LUNCH T.DELANEY. One P.M. 'LUNCH T.DELANEY. One P.M. Maddox Cavendish Maddox Cavendish had lunch had lunch with Terry Delaney three days before Delaney died. Delaney was meeting him at the ADAPT Group headquarters, but it doesn't say where they ate, so presumably it wasn't somewhere that needed a reservation.' with Terry Delaney three days before Delaney died. Delaney was meeting him at the ADAPT Group headquarters, but it doesn't say where they ate, so presumably it wasn't somewhere that needed a reservation.'

'What the h.e.l.l was an architect doing having lunch with a construction worker?'

'When two people of different social status break bread together, it's usually because one of them wants something.'

'Cynical.'

'No, pragmatic. What would Cavendish want from a day laborer? Did he fancy him?'

'I dunno. Maybe he was having some construction work done at home.'

Longbright called in their discovery to the team, who set about talking to restaurant staff in the building-site area. Meanwhile, the two detectives divided Cavendish's apartment into sections and searched every square on the grid, but turned up nothing else.

'If we catch the fast train back, we can give ourselves an extra hour,' Longbright told DuCaine.

'Why, is there something you wanted to do?'

'Yeah, I want to go on the pier.'