Bryant, you’ve got the luck of the bloody devil, Renfield thought, unable to stop himself from grinning.
Ray Pryce had jumped between a pair of all-but-invisible metal guy ropes that ran between the arches. They had been used to suspend signs for the London Dungeon’s last exhibition. Pryce had passed between them but the length of pipe had not. Trapped by his left wrist, desperately trying to ease his weight by holding onto the other guyline with his right hand, he swung helplessly back and forth, unable to move.
A few moments later, he was surrounded by various surprised members of the PCU.
‘You’re too late,’ Ray shouted down at them. ‘It’s over. I did what I set out to do. You know I did. Whatever happens now, remember this. I won.’
‘Why on earth did he run?’ Longbright wondered. ‘Why didn’t he simply shrug off your accusation? He’s a master liar. He makes stuff up for a living.’
‘The handcuffs,’ said May simply. ‘I’ve seen Arthur use that trick before. He only does it when he’s desperate. To some people it’s something tangible, like holding a gun. Maybe a part of him wanted the final chapter in place. It could only truly be over with his arrest.’
‘A poetic idea,’ said Bryant, ‘but he still saw an escape route and took it. He realised that the pipe was rusted through, stuck his foot against the wall and pulled hard, then ran.’ He sauntered to the centre of the room and looked about. ‘Well, go on, then, I know you’re all dying to ask.’ He loved an audience, especially when he knew things they didn’t.
‘Talk about leaving it to the last minute—no, the last second,’ said Banbury.
‘I just couldn’t be sure,’ Bryant admitted. ‘Would anyone begrudge me a pipe on this occasion?’
He didn’t bother to wait for a reply. Wind and rain buffeted the windows of the common room. The storm was so violent that they could hear the roof creaking. It was nearly two in the morning, but nobody wanted to go home. Instead, Dan Banbury, Colin Bimsley, Meera Mangeshkar, Fraternity DuCaine, Janice Longbright, John May, Raymond Land and Giles Kershaw were gathered together on the threadbare sofas with a few beers, waiting to piece together the thinking that had resulted in Ray Pryce occupying an Islington police cell.
‘Go on, then, stop milking the suspense, what caught him?’ asked Meera.
‘The annoying thing was that I suppose I knew from Wednesday morning—subconsciously, I mean. I told you your time lines weren’t going to help, but they did. The answer was right there in front of me all the time, pinned to the wall. Marcus Sigler, Ray Pryce and Gail Strong were the three on the fire escape. But Sigler’s and Strong’s times didn’t match. Strong reckoned she was there a few minutes after Sigler—she said she saw him coming in, but according to the guests in the lounge she and Sigler left the room at the same time. If Sigler wasn’t in or outside the toilet, he was on the fire escape smoking, so how could he and Gail Strong not have seen each other?’
‘We know that one of them was lying, we already established that,’ said May.
‘Yes, but I wanted to know why. And the answer lay in Janice’s suspicions, which led me back to the testimony of the actress Mona Williams, who said that despite the fact that Marcus Sigler was conducting a passionate long-term affair with Mrs Kramer, Gail Storm had been giving him the come-on that night, right from the moment she set eyes on him, and they left the room together. They made out on the fire escape and lied to protect themselves. Sigler and Strong came back in, and Sigler saw Ray Pryce passing them in the corridor, so he asked the writer to back up his new story. What he didn’t know was that Pryce had just committed murder.’
‘What gave him away?’
‘Arrogance,’ answered Bryant, sucking hard on his pipe and filling the room with the scent of burning hay. ‘He had to rub my nose in his success. He should have simply kept out of my way.’
‘I don’t understand. What did he do?’
‘He asked to borrow a light, and then smoked in front of me.’
‘Is that all?’ Land was horrified. ‘Please tell me you have something that will stand up in court.’
‘Don’t worry about that, old sausage. The cigarette was just the final tip-off. Everyone knows Ray Pryce is a smoker. He’s talked incessantly about his nicotine patches and trying to give up. He barged in while I was talking to Ella Maltby and stood right in front of me, with his cigarette like this.’ He indicated the method with his pipe, holding it a few inches below his chin. ‘But nobody smokes like that. I talked to actors who don’t smoke, and one of the first things they have to learn is how to smoke convincingly. Actors always need to do something with their hands, so they like smoking roles. Smokers know they annoy non-smokers and become wary around them, so they always hold their cigarettes away to one side.’