Bryant stood before the toilet door and tapped its window with his walking stick. ‘Smoked glass. You can just about see if there’s someone inside.’ He reached in and turned on the light, checking the level of visibility from outside. Then he tried the door handle, examining it carefully. ‘There’s something wrong with the inside bolt.’
‘Funnily enough, it’s the one room you need a lock on and the only one that doesn’t work properly. Someone painted over the hasp. You can get it shut, but you have to push hard.’
Bryant stepped into the toilet and looked around. ‘Another exit,’ he noted.
‘Yeah, the door on the far side opens into the guest double, so it functions as an en suite bathroom or as a stand-alone toilet if you’re having a party.’
‘Righty-ho, so if the culprit had been hiding in there, anyone queuing for the loo would have been able to make them out through the glass.’
‘I understand a number of people ended up waiting out here in the hall, because they couldn’t access the locked en suite bathrooms. Now, let’s check out the nursery.’ Banbury led the way and opened the door. The cot had been left in position. ‘Nothing has been moved. The Mr Punch doll came down from its hook and was found by the side of the cot that faced away from the window.’
‘Just as if it walked over, opened the window, picked up the baby and hurled it out.’
Banbury threw him a look. ‘I think we need to establish something, Mr Bryant. The doll did not climb down from the wall and commit murder. I can’t work from that supposition.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Bryant. ‘I’m keeping an open mind.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re talking about the supernatural. I have to be more realistic.’
‘I appreciate that. You gather up your spoor—your skin flakes and hairs and particles of food—and ship them off to a company who’ll tell you what they mean. I’ll attempt to communicate with the spirits of the departed.’
‘You don’t mean that literally.’
‘Most certainly. Everyone leaves a trace, Dan, you should know that.’
Banbury tried to work out whether he was being teased, but as usual it was impossible to read Bryant’s thoughts. The detective’s phone bleeped, but by the time he’d removed the bits of string, rubber bands, coins, conkers, boiled sweets, keys and pencil stubs from his pockets, the caller had rung off. ‘Bugger, do you know how to retrieve a call?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure it must be in there somewhere.’
‘Give it to me.’ Banbury snatched the cell phone from him and studied it in amazement. ‘Where did you find this?’
‘I bought it from a splendidly moustachioed Russian gentleman in the Edgware Road. I accidentally microwaved my old one. There’s something odd about it, though. I keep getting crossed lines with angry-sounding foreigners.’
‘That’s because it’s a State Security Agency phone from the Republic of Belarus. It’s illegal to possess one of these. Don’t ever press the red button.’
‘Why not?’
‘You’ll accidentally call the Russian secret police.’
‘Really?’
‘Try it if you want to watch your credit cards get cancelled in under thirty seconds. It’s been reconditioned, but I can’t imagine what made you buy it.’ He handed the phone back. ‘There’s your number.’
‘Thank you. Now what do I do?’
‘Press that one.’ Banbury indicated a button, and watched as Bryant fudged and fuddled his way around the keypad.
‘Hello? Who am I speaking to?’ Bryant bellowed.
‘Hello?’
‘Yes, I can hear you, hello?’
‘What do you want?’
‘You called me. I mean, I called you but only because you called me first.’
‘I’m sorry, who are you?’
‘I’m Arthur Bryant. What do you want?’
‘You called me.’
‘No, you called me.’
‘Dear God, if I ever get like you when I’m old just shoot me,’ Banbury muttered.
‘You just rang this number a minute ago.’
‘Ah yes,’ said a mature Germanic voice. ‘I was given it by a lady at your division. My name is Irma Bederke. I work in the Human Resources Department of Farcom. It’s a telecommunications company.’
‘If you’re trying to sell me broadband, you’re wasting your time,’ said Bryant. ‘I’m broke.’
‘No, I’m in the building opposite the apartments at number 376 Northumberland Avenue. I was working late on Monday evening.’