Full Dark House(80)

‘You mean the Turk just left it there and scarpered?’

‘He was obeying the law, sir, getting himself to a place of shelter. Obviously, the blackout was still in effect when he returned, so it’s feasible he didn’t notice that anything had been disturbed.’

‘Have you checked the canopy beneath the window for blood spots?’

‘We didn’t find anything swabbable, but it has rained since then.’

‘I’d like to be able to tell Miss Capistrania’s father that his daughter’s death was a bizarre but unfortunate accident.’

‘I don’t see how you can do that.’

‘In case it’s escaped your attention, Mr Bryant, there are no motives. Capistrania hardly knew anyone in London. Senechal was universally admired. This last chap isn’t even directly connected to the production, for God’s sake.’

Davenport lowered himself into Bryant’s chair and attempted to straighten his legs beneath the desk, but something was in the way. He peered under the desk. May gave his partner a grim look.

‘Worse still, if Capistrania’s death could have been mistaken for food poisoning, why would someone make it look like a murder by throwing away the bloody feet? And why attack a boy who’s got nothing to do with the theatre? There’s no sense in it, is there? I bloody give up with you lot.’ He reached beneath the desk and pulled up Bryant’s marijuana plant. ‘What on earth’s this?’

‘Ah,’ stalled Bryant, ‘so that’s where it is. Evidence. I’ll bag it.’

‘What evidence?’ asked Davenport suspiciously.

‘Ah, the Leicester Square Vampire. Dr Runcorn wanted some items removed from his house for examination.’

Davenport was thrown off guard. ‘I didn’t know we’d caught him,’ he said.

‘We haven’t,’ countered May as he gently drew the plant away from Davenport. ‘He’s a suspect. A, um, Lithuanian botanist experimenting on rare plants with, er, horticultural grafting techniques. I’ll get rid of that for you.’

‘You’re telling me the Leicester Square Vampire is an experimenting Lithuanian botanist?’ Davenport rose and walked to the door, vaguely troubled. ‘Do you think I’m completely stupid? I’ve been fielding hourly calls from Albert Friedrich, Capistrania père, who, you’ll be pleased to know, is staying at the Austrian ambassador’s house this weekend, where he’ll be receiving no less a personage than George VI himself for tea. I’m seeing the Home Secretary on Saturday morning. I want your written conclusions about this investigation presented to me no later than six o’clock tomorrow night. And give me rational solutions, none of your psychological supernatural mumbo-jumbo.’ He slammed the door behind him.

Bryant stuffed the plant into the top drawer of his desk. ‘I think that went quite well, don’t you?’

‘No, I don’t, frankly. Have you come to any conclusions?’

‘Well, there’s a madman on the loose, obviously. Someone who hated Capistrania enough to have her mutilated, who had Charles Senechal killed in full view of his peers, who slashed a young man to death just because he was close to a member of the cast. We’ll test the bike for prints when it turns up but I don’t suppose we’ll get anything.’

‘He was wearing gloves.’

‘Then there’s the Greek aspect of all this. Which reminds me, we need to find out who gave Zachary Darvell the flower.’

‘What flower?’

‘The silk carnation. Stan Lowe says he’d never seen the boy wearing a buttonhole before. Not his usual style. Don’t those gypsy women in Piccadilly press them on you as you pass? I’m sure they’re not made of silk these days, though, unless someone’s cutting up parachutes. And then there’s the business with the flute.’

‘You’ve completely lost me,’ said May, exasperated.

‘Anton Varisich halted the orchestra when the accident occurred, but his first flute released a high-pitched note of alarm. Except of course he couldn’t have, because two of the woodwinds, of which the flautist was one, had failed to turn up that morning—so who played the note?’

‘Arthur, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I’d like to tell you,’ said Bryant, ‘but I think I’d better make sure I’m right first. While I’m doing that, you might pause to wonder why Davenport’s so anxious to keep this out of the newspapers.’

‘I imagine he doesn’t want the unit made to look foolish.’

‘Nobody knows about the unit,’ said Bryant. He raised his voice. ‘Come in, Mr Biddle. Don’t hover outside.’