Bryant & May's Mystery Tour (2 page)

‘Who can tell me the name of this building?' asked Martin the tour guide.

‘Houses of Parliament,' the assembly muttered faintly, as if being asked to recite a prayer in church.

‘Now, many people think Big Ben is the name of the tower…'

‘Dear God no,' Bryant sighed loudly. ‘Can't he come up with anything more original than that?'

Martin shot him a filthy look. ‘But it is actually the name of the single bell housed inside…'

‘Absolute rubbish.' Bryant thumped the guide on the arm with his walking stick. ‘There are five bells in St Stephen's Tower, young man. The other four play the Westminster Quarters, variations of ‘I know that my redeemer liveth' from Handel's Messiah.'

‘Your information is not correct?' the German husband asked the guide, puzzled.

‘Look, who's giving this bloody tour?' Martin's cheeks were turning as red as his hair.

‘It could be him,' said May, pointing to the Russian. ‘He's got a shifty look about him. Oh – that doesn't sound very scientific, does it?'

‘I'll take over if you like,' Bryant snapped back at the guide. ‘These people aren't getting their money's worth.'

‘But Arthur, how do you know when he was due on the bus? That just leaves…'

‘Listen mate, I don't have to put up with this. My shift ends here, anyway.' As the bus stopped in the corner of the square, Martin threw down his microphone and tapped on the glass, signalling to the driver.

As he made his way along the aisle, May said, ‘The guide, it's the guide. And he's getting away!'

Bryant did not move a muscle as a moon-faced young woman with scraped-back hair and a ponytail rose and took over from the departing Martin.

‘Hello, my name is Debbie, and I'm your guide on the last part of this tour,' she told them. The bus pulled into the traffic and made its way around the square.

‘Why didn't you stop him?' asked May with growing incredulity. The ginger-headed tour guide was walking quickly away along the crowded pavement with his hands in his pockets.

Bryant pulled back his sleeve and held up his watch so that his partner could read it: 11:19am. There were still another seven minutes to go.

‘Who can tell me the name of this building?' asked Debbie, pointing to Westminster Abbey and cupping her hand around her ear.

‘Is there some special nursery school where they're trained to speak in this fashion, I wonder?' said Bryant. The bus headed back onto Victoria Embankment.

‘Where does the tour go from here?' asked May, keeping an eye on the Russian, who seemed to be sweating.

‘Around Covent Garden, where the lovely Debbie will probably regale us with selections from ‘My Fair Lady', then back toward Oxford Street,' said Bryant.

‘You said it was something he took with him that gave you a clue,' May repeated, checking out the Japanese boy's strange headgear.

Bryant rested his chin on his knuckle and regarded the stippled thread of the Thames that could be glimpsed between buildings. ‘The lovely Debbie will ask them to name the river next,' he muttered.

‘He was so unfazed by the thought of murdering Mrs McKay that he stayed all night…' mused May.

‘I wonder if anyone knows where the lion on Westminster Bridge comes from?' asked Debbie.

‘Because he was used to her…' May followed the thought.

‘Good Lord, an intelligent question,' Bryant beamed delightedly at the new guide.

‘It stood on the parapet of the Lion Brewery until 1966, near Hungerford Bridge…' said Debbie.

‘…Because he was married to her,' said May.

‘Yet we have come to regard it as a symbol of London…'

‘And he stuck to his routine, ordering pizza for them both, sleeping beside her and getting up the next morning…'

‘…So when we photograph the lion standing proudly beside Big Ben, we recreate the traditional link between members of parliament – and alcohol.' Debbie flourished a smile.

‘Oh, bravo!' exclaimed Bryant, ‘I like her!'

‘…And he came to work just as he always did, because he couldn't think of what else to do. He had to stick to the schedule. Not the tour guide at all, but the bus driver,' said May as the truth dawned.

‘Correct. His timetable was still on the kitchen counter, but his jacket, cap and badge were all missing from the flat.' Bryant rose unsteadily to his feet and pressed the stop bell. ‘That took you long enough,' he sniffed. ‘I'm sorry, Debbie. I'm afraid the tour will have to terminate here.'

May looked out of the window. The bus stop faced New Scotland Yard. It was exactly 11:26am.

‘He won't run off,' said Bryant. ‘He wants to be taken in for the murder of his wife. He loved her. But the neighbours said she never stopped nagging him about his weight.'

The Japanese tourist and the Russian took some very nice photographs of the two detectives leading the devastated driver down from his cabin. ‘Arrest ye merry gentlemen,' said Bryant with a grin as the flashes went off.

‘You've got holly in your hat,' May pointed out.

‘Yes,' said Bryant, ‘I like the smell.'

‘Holly hasn't got a smell.'

‘It does, actually. The bright, spiky appearance is all bravado. If you gently break the stem, you'll smell it – there's a bitter tang inside,' he explained. ‘Like so many people.'

We hope you enjoyed this story. If you want to read more of the adventures of Bryant & May, try the first novel in the series,
Full Dark House
9781407094137.