The Memory of Blood(73)

Unusually, Raymond Land was the first one in. Last night Leanne had sent him an email saying that she couldn’t join him on their sailing holiday in the Isle of Wight because she had accidentally made a double booking. This morning she had gone off to a retreat in Wales to practice tantric yoga with an old family friend. In a way Land was quite pleased, because he needed to get the investigation closed, and was a lousy sailor.

He made himself a cup of coffee, then wandered into Bryant’s room and stood before the case containing Madame Blavatsky. Looking around to check that he was alone, he felt in the coin slot for an old penny, inserted it and waited.

The medium’s eyes glowed and buzzed. Her cogs turned, and she withdrew a card, jerkily reaching forward to drop it into the metal tray. Land plucked it out and turned it over. It read:

NOBODY DOES YOGA IN WALES



‘Ah, there you are, mon petit oiseau tot.’ Bryant was standing in the doorway with a dreadful grin on his face.

‘What?’ said Land, shocked, tucking the card behind him.

‘Early bird. You. In early.’

‘Ah. Yes. Couldn’t sleep.’ Mortified, he hastily dropped the card back into the tray.

‘Just as well. There’s a lot to get through today. We went to Ella Maltby’s house yesterday.’

‘Remind me?’

‘The set designer. She has a dungeon filled with people being tortured. Wax mannequins.’

‘How extraordinary.’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t exactly move her forward as a suspect. Questions, questions everywhere. The most obvious one—is the case closed?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did Gregory Baine hang himself? If he did, why did he take a Hangman doll with him? Could it be he committed suicide because he felt guilty about Noah Kramer’s death?’

‘Why would he have had reason to kill a child?’

‘You see, another unanswered question. Anyway, he didn’t kill himself, I’m just being theoretical.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Yes, I do. Dan tells me the bulbs were burned out in the safety lights by the duckboards beneath the bridge. With the best will in the world Baine wouldn’t have been able to find his way to the hole in the boards and attach a rope. It was prearranged by someone else. And where are the motives? What are they? Revenge, profit, love—hate? Well, that one’s obvious, at least.’

‘It is?’

‘Hate. Somebody hates Robert Kramer very badly indeed. They kill his child. They kill his best friend. The pair owned a company together, Cruikshank Holdings. That’s what gave the game away.’

Land looked lost. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The name Cruikshank.’ Bryant widened eyes and raised hands, expecting Land to get it. ‘Obviously Kramer chose it. George Cruikshank was the greatest-ever illustrator of Punch and Judy. His book is still the key text on the subject. I found details on the register at Companies House. Cruikshank Holdings operated out of the Cayman Islands. It was their nest egg, and Baine was in charge of it. He’d been making some heavy withdrawals. The rumour is that he played the Stock Exchange and hit a losing streak. Oh, Robert Kramer has the business sense but Baine was the money man. His death effectively destroys Kramer’s financial power, because Baine has been prevented from making the money back. There’s nobody else in yet—mind if I smoke?’

‘Oh, go on, then, just this once. It’ll help get rid of the smell of damp.’

Bryant enthusiastically stuffed his pipe with Old Mariner No.2 Rough Cut British Navy Shag and lit up. ‘What’s the matter, old boot? You look like you have the cares of the world upon your shoulders.’

‘It’s just—’ For a moment, Land thought about confiding in Bryant. Then he came to his senses. ‘Nothing. I just want to get the case closed.’

‘Weren’t you supposed to be going on holiday today?’

‘I changed my mind. The case is more important.’

‘That’s impressive. Not like you.’ He cascaded a graceful funnel of blue smoke into the air. Land coughed.

‘There’s a terrible smell of burning rope on the landing,’ said John May, unbuttoning his coat and throwing a copy of The Guardian onto his desk. ‘Or someone’s hair is on fire. Oh, it’s you, Arthur.’

‘Raymondo’s letting me smoke today. I feel most privileged.’ Bryant swanned to his desk, wreathed in smoke, and flicked open the programme of The Two Murderers.

‘Well, it’s good to see both of you in the same place for once,’ Land said. ‘It seems to me the more time you spend together, the closer we usually get to a solution.’