On the Loose (21 page)

‘Can I enjoy my pipe in here?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Land.

‘Then I shall continue to indulge this innocent pleasure on my deck. What would you like me to do?’

‘I thought you might like to help me find out who is leaving body parts all over the neighbourhood. You could lend a hand, preferably one that’s still attached to an arm.’

‘Has anyone ever told you you’d make a first-class nightclub comic?’

‘No.’

‘They never will. I think I can help you with the vexed question of extremities,’ said Bryant, tearing open a bag of mints and doling them out. ‘I was pondering the problem just now. Did you know that the Celtic area of Penton, part of King’s Cross, is directly connected with the severing of human heads?’

Land looked blankly back, as if struggling to decipher what he had just heard.

‘It’s true. The Celts believed that the spirit dwelt in the head, and built a sacred mound in which they buried the heads of their enemies. This is the mound that was known as the Penton, hence Pentonville, town of the sacrificial mound. It is also in the diocese of St Pancras, who was himself beheaded. It would seem that the sighting of the Horned One, our chap in the stag’s outfit, and the headless victims are historically linked. King’s Cross is a land of great mystical significance, after all.’

‘No, no! I will not go down this route, Bryant.’ Land raised his hands in complaint. ‘One minute everything is normal, and the next you’ll have crackpots with spirit-meters and dowsing rods taking over the place.’

‘Look, it’s very simple,’ Bryant explained patiently. ‘St Pancras Church as we know it was founded in the third century, but it’s built on a temple to Mithras, and the area has deep connections
with the occult. The Horned One is intent on reclaiming his land. I’ve been working too, you know, interviewing witnesses and checking through local records, and I think this vision which has been spotted on the King’s Cross construction site is intended to be regarded as an incarnation of the great god Pan himself, Jack-in-the-Green, London’s oldest and most enduring myth. Now, I’m not saying it
is
him, of course, merely that it is a representation.’

‘Why do you think this mythical creature would leave a body in a freezer? Why are you so sure that the events are connected?’ May asked his partner. Sometimes Bryant tried too hard to join facts together.

‘If you understand the motivation, everything else follows,’ said Bryant, screening out reasonable argument. ‘Think it through. Once the bulldozers move in, the battle is lost. There are no valuable buildings to save on the site, no architectural wonders to fight for, just derelict factories and barren waste-ground used by prostitutes and drug addicts, so who could possibly raise an objection when companies offer to pump millions into a neighbourhood?’ Bryant raised a wrinkled finger. ‘Ah, but imagine someone with a different agenda, a plan to restore the area’s lost religious significance, someone still intent on disrupting the building schedule. What’s the best way to do that? Complain to the board of directors? Forget it; it won’t work, because the consultations have all been concluded. Corporations pay huddles of lawyers vast fortunes to crush the council’s paltry opposition teams. So how about simply frightening off the workers, many of whom are migrants with a limited grasp of English who’ve been plonked down into a strange land? Visions and portents. Evil omens. Simple, cheap and extremely effective.’

‘That’s the best you can come up with, is it? The Scooby-Doo defence? It was the mill owner dressed as a ghostly stag? Plus, it
doesn’t give us any clue as to who might be responsible,’ said May.

‘Oh, I think it does,’ Bryant disagreed. ‘In fact, we can meet up with him this morning if you like. But I warn you, identifying him and proving his culpability are going to be two entirely separate problems.’

‘It sounds to me like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’

‘That’s precisely what makes him so dangerous,’ Bryant warned.

26
PROOF OF INNOCENCE

I
want them off the premises right now,’ warned Marianne Waters. ‘Put them back beyond the perimeter fence.’

‘I can’t. Mr Toth has somehow got hold of press passes. They’re legit, and Toth knows his rights. I can’t throw him out without attracting more attention. They’re right across the path between our team and the site for the ground-breaking ceremony.’

‘Then delay the start until I can get down there.’

‘They’ve already kicked off.’

‘Jesus, Cavendish, what do I pay our security team for?’ Waters angrily closed her cell phone and stalked out along the office corridor.

At the front of the fenced-off triangle of land before the railway embankment, Maddox Cavendish watched helplessly as Xander Toth led the picketers in another chant, something about the freedom of the land. There were no more than a dozen of them, but the public was falling into line, singing along. A shout of indignation went up every time the security guards pushed back at the advancing picket. Above the bellowed slogans, the architect fought to make himself heard. A handful of police constables were keeping a watchful eye on the wavering line between protestors and guards.

On a raised platform, monitors showed computer-rendered graphics of how the site would look once the building works were completed. Attractive, willowy people meandered robotically over glass bridges and through sculpture parks. From the computer-assisted designs it appeared that the new buildings would not only transform the area, they would change the city’s weather patterns as well. The entire landscape appeared to be basking in Mediterranean sunshine. When the picketers suddenly surged forward some of them bumped the edge of the stage, and the screens wobbled alarmingly.

‘What are they protesting about?’ asked Colin Bimsley as they approached. ‘I thought Mr Bryant said that the whole deal was signed off.’

‘It’s the second phase of construction,’ Meera explained. ‘The plans got changed, more offices, less affordable housing, more concrete, less parkland—the usual sort of thing. The council must have signed off on the alterations without public consultation. I don’t believe it!’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Bryant’s over there with the bloody protestors!’ Meera was right; their superior was wedged into the front of the picket line. They could see Bryant’s moth-eaten brown trilby bobbing up and down.

Marianne Waters had arrived and was talking to a member of the PR team. Moments later, she had grabbed a walkie-talkie and was ordering the construction workers to break through the picket line. The noise level welled up as both sides pushed forward and megaphones squealed feedback

‘We have to get Arthur out of there,’ said Meera. ‘This is going to turn nasty.’

“‘Leave it to me.’ Bimsley charged off into the surging crowd. Meera saw a scaffolding pipe being raised, then suddenly there
were bricks and bottles in the air. She ran after Bimsley, shoving her way into the brawling mass. They saw Bryant rise peculiarly above the seething scrum, then slip and sink between a pair of security guards. Diving deeper beneath the collapsing bodies, Bimsley managed to catch his boss’s outstretched arm and lift him up, pulling him over his broad shoulder.

‘What were you thinking of?’ asked Meera as Bimsley laid the elderly detective on the grassy bank of the railway line. ‘You could have been badly injured.’

‘I wanted to get a closer view,’ said Bryant, closing his eyes and drawing a few deep breaths. ‘I wanted to see him in action.’

‘Who?’

‘Xander Toth, the protest leader. I think he’s our stag-man. Colin, do me a favour, would you? Go back in there and get him. If he won’t come, arrest him.’

They went to the Café Montmartre, where Alfie Frommidge could serve them sausage rolls and tea while Bryant recovered and studied his quarry at close quarters. In his late twenties, Toth was lean enough to have retained the awkwardness of his teen years, but also appeared to have been working out for some time. He had nervous energy and the kind of charisma that could turn a certain type of lonely student into an acolyte. Bryant was already warming to him, even if he did seem somewhat clueless when it came to expounding a comprehensive worldview.

‘The company just announced its intention to build beyond the original boundaries of the site,’ Toth told them heatedly. ‘They’re in violation of their contract, and they know it. We had a tip-off that they were going to do this. The ground has been in dispute for years. Residents are required to register all the property deeds. If the registration isn’t forthcoming, the council allows them to build despite local objections. The onus is on the
public to prove they have claim on the land, not the other way around. It’s like treating an accused man as guilty until proven innocent. It’s wrong.’

‘Why do you care so much?’ Meera was studying him with ill-disguised contempt.

‘The pastor of St Pancras Old Church is a relative of yours, isn’t he?’ remarked Bryant. And the church grounds are now under threat.’

‘How do you know that? It’s not why I care. ADAPT is run by a bunch of crooks. If they’re allowed to get away with this kind of thing, no land is safe from development. The government is already allowing building to go ahead on the Green Belt.’

‘Hm.’ Bryant stared down at his coat buttons, thinking. ‘Tell me, did you ever do any work for the company?’

Toth remained silent.

‘All we have to do is look at the employment files.’

‘That has nothing to do with this.’

‘How long were you there?’

‘I worked for them for eighteen months, about four years ago.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I was helping their records office locate property deeds. The land had to be purchased from dozens of separate owners. Some of the property was still tenanted. The company was always looking for ways to get the tenants out. They offered cash payments, new housing, and when the legal routes failed they tried other methods.’

‘You mean they broke the law.’

‘Yeah, they broke into houses, smashed up cars, frightened residents. I couldn’t prove it because no-one would speak out. Tenants who told me they would never move, that they were
born and would die in the same house, suddenly started leaving. It’s obvious what was going on.’

‘So you have no proof. We understand you’re passionate about this,’ said Bimsley. Just how strongly do you feel?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Strongly enough to commit murder?’

‘Who really owns the land, in your opinion?’ Bryant asked, disregarding Bimsley’s questions.

‘It’s been public ground for two thousand years.’ Toth could see that Bryant was the most sympathetic of the officers, and addressed his comments to him. ‘The plots were subdivided and changed hands after the Enclosure Acts. They continued like that until recently, but now ADAPT has the land rights to the entire area. They’ve been on the site for nine years, preparing themselves for this. They’ll be able to dictate where we can and can’t go. You can’t privatise what belongs to the people.’

‘You can,’ disagreed Meera, annoyed. ‘I’m not saying it’s right, but companies do it all the time. They’re closing off entire districts. You can’t simply take the law into your own hands just because you don’t approve.’

‘We don’t,’ said Toth angrily. ‘We follow the law and we have the right to protest.’

‘Mr Bryant here thinks you like to dress up as a woodland animal and frighten people.’ She tried to imagine Toth draped in a deerskin.

‘Our objections to the plans were legally registered a long time ago,’ said Toth. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘No, but you could be charged with attempted manslaughter.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘One of the workmen was so frightened by what he saw that he fell down a stairwell and nearly died.’

‘And you think it was my fault?’

‘You admit you know about the stag-man?’

‘It’s not me you should be trying to arrest.’

‘Then give us some proof of your whereabouts on the dates the stag-man was seen.’

‘I don’t have to do that. Proof is your job, isn’t it?’ Toth rose to leave. ‘It was good to meet you, Mr Bryant.’

‘We’re going to talk to your girlfriend, you know that.’

‘Leave Lizzi out of this. You’ve no right to involve her.’

‘She can eliminate you as a suspect,’ said Bryant genially.

Toth looked suddenly defeated. ‘Look, we’re having difficulties at home. Please don’t involve her.’

‘Fine, then give us an account of your movements on these dates,’ said Bryant, handing him a sheet of paper that looked as if it had been screwed up in his back pocket for a month. ‘By three o’clock p.m. today, if you please.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Toth, but he seemed oddly unsure of himself.

27
THE FIRST MR DELANEY

From the early edition of the
Evening Standard:
THREE HURT IN PROTEST CLASH WITH POLICE

Protesters demonstrating against the plans of property developers clashed with police in King’s Cross today, injuring three bystanders. Fighting broke out after the peaceful picket turned nasty, say local Met officers. This is the third time that protesters have fought with security guards from ADAPT, the property company behind the multi million-pound project to transform the urban wastelands behind King’s Cross station into a new eco-friendly town.

‘We are bringing thousands of jobs to a deprived area,’ said Head of Development Marianne Waters, ‘but a small, vocal minority is still trying to disrupt work.’

Several companies say they have already pulled out of the controversial new plan after being subjected to threats and intimidation from the protesters. Earlier this week a workman was injured in mysterious circumstances, and construction teams have threatened strike action. This latest protest was sparked after confusion arose over the boundary line between picketers and company officials.

The police have been criticised for using heavy-handed tactics.