‘Good. Let’s move onto the other odd event in the neighbourhood,’ said Bryant with relish. ‘The sighting of a man dressed as a stag near the Keys nightclub, and the possible abduction of a young female last night.’
Meera blew through her nose and looked at the ceiling. Bimsley shot her an angry look.
‘Arthur has a very good reason for wanting to investigate this second matter,’ said May. ‘The issue here is that some of the more superstitious workers on the surrounding building sites hail from remote villages in Eastern Europe. Stories about such creatures are apparently still part of their cultural heritage. Since these sightings, some of them have started refusing to operate on buildings nearest this creature’s supposed haunts. If the employers can’t keep their workers, and at the same time get wind that a gangland killing has occurred in the area, they’ll start asking questions the police can’t answer. At this point there can be no loss of confidence in the King’s Cross project. It requires a gigantic leap of faith in a neighbourhood that has always been associated with poverty and crime.’
‘Wait, so which of these are we investigating?’ asked Renfield, confused.
‘Both,’ said Bryant.
‘The gang slaying,’ said May, glancing over at his partner. ‘Arthur will have to take care of the other matter by himself.’
‘But if any of you would care to give me a hand, I’d be grateful.’ Bryant summoned up his pitifully helpless look, even though it had long since stopped being effective.
‘I suppose we’re working round the clock until we get something,’ said Meera.
‘You’re not officially working at all,’ May pointed out. ‘If you need money we may be able to give you a small cash advance, depending on how much Raymond can draw out on his ATM card.’ He looked at Bryant and gave a grim smile. ‘Just catch us a murderer before the King’s Cross project crashes. That’s not so much to ask, is it?’
1 armed back-up
17
THE HORNED ONE
What did you mean by that?’ asked Bryant angrily as soon as the meeting had dispersed. ‘You tricked me into coming back here by telling me about the stag-man, and now you try to prevent anyone from helping me find him.’
‘I didn’t trick you,’ said May. ‘If you remember, Meera volunteered the information quite by chance and you seized upon it. We only have a short time to solve an extremely nasty murder, and we’re not equipped to do the job. I can’t have you directing the others to go gallivanting off in search of someone who’s obsessed with stag nights.’
‘A girl may have been abducted.’
‘We don’t have proof of that. This witness, Izabella what’s-her-name—her boyfriend wouldn’t back her up so we only have her opinion about what she saw, and no-one has reported a missing girl. I’m not saying you can’t investigate it, just that you can’t use the others until we get a grip on the case we’ve been hired to crack. This is another chance, Arthur—no, another last chance. Have you got your mobile?’
‘Of course, and it’s charged up, although I miss my old Storno, don’t you? Fine piece of equipment, never went wrong.’
‘Well, we’re in the twenty-first century now, and stop changing the subject.’
‘All right, I can see I’m going to have to explain why I’m so interested in our antlered abductor. Come to my office.’
‘You haven’t got an office. None of us has.’
‘Don’t be pedantic. Come back to the space which I plan to turn into our centre of operations.’
They walked together into a dingy, cobwebbed front room overlooking the Caledonian Road. ‘Pull up a crate,’ said Bryant magnanimously. He seated himself in his cracked leather chair and lifted a yellowed scroll of paper from the floor, wiping dust from it. ‘Right, this is King’s Cross during Mesolithic times.’
‘Dear Lord, do we have to go back that far?’ asked May, fearing the meeting would be a long one. He knew that the disturbing myths and mysteries of old London were Bryant’s obsession. Besides, it was getting toward lunchtime and he’d had no breakfast.
‘Now, we know there was a Mesolithic settlement just up the road from here, on Hampstead Heath, but most pre-Christian tribal activity was in the district we now call King’s Cross, near the Battlebridge Basin. The area was still unspoilt countryside a couple of centuries ago, filled with meadows, streams and wells. Water drained from Hampstead Heath down to King’s Cross, which was then the Bagnigge Wells, then to Sadler’s Wells and Clerkenwell—all wells, you see, and very healthful because they contained so much sodium, iron and magnesium sulphate, although they can’t have tasted very nice.’