‘I wasn’t the last person to see her alive,’ he said with finality.
‘You’re quite sure this is where she was?’ John May asked for the second time as they walked through the alleyway towards the top of Whidbourne Street.
‘Yes, but obviously I was coming from the other direction, heading up to the Euston Road,’ said Bryant. ‘Do you want half of my Mars Bar?’
‘Bit mainstream for you, isn’t it, a Mars Bar? I thought you’d be breaking out the aniseed balls, milk gums, sugar shrimps, or some other brand of confectionery not seen since the last war.’
‘My supplier’s been closed down,’ said Bryant gloomily, sounding like a drug addict who had lost his connection. ‘I suppose I could order them over the internet but it wouldn’t be the same. And I’ve a sweet tooth, as you know.’
‘Your teeth are false. Go on then, give me a bit.’ May accepted a chunk and popped it in his mouth. He stopped at the corner of the pavement, removing the blue adhesive tape left for him by one of the Albany Street officers. ‘Spot where she was found,’ he said, poking a toecap against the kerb. ‘Nothing much to be seen here. No sharp corners except that low wall, which I suppose would do it.’ He indicated an area of broken brickwork. ‘Dan will have taken a sample. No scuff marks, no signs of violence.’ He glanced up at Bryant, who had suddenly turned pale. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘No pub,’ said Bryant in a small strangled voice.
11
* * *
MISTAKEN
The pair were standing at the dog-leg in what Bryant now saw was Whidbourne Street. They looked up at the corner, which was occupied by the Pricecutter Food & Wine Store, its yellow-and-green livery coated with dust, the window plastered with stickers for the unlocking of mobile phones and the arrangement of cheap calls to Ethiopian towns. It had clearly been there for a number of years.
May shot his partner a glance. ‘This can’t have been the right corner.’
‘But it was, I’m positive,’ said Bryant, although he didn’t sound too sure. ‘She went into an old boozer with its name, The Victoria Cross, picked out in gold lettering over the window.’
‘Then you must have seen her on another street, before she reached this point.’
‘No, it was here, because I remember the way the light from the saloon bar fell on the opposite wall and over the trees above it. The clock tower of St Pancras station was exactly in that position. She stopped right there,’ he pointed to the edge of the pavement, ‘then crossed the road and went inside.’
‘The streets around here look very similar to each other.’ May was trying to be kind.
‘I’m not losing my mind, John. I remembered thinking that I didn’t know this street. I thought I knew pretty much every route through central London, so I was surprised when I came across one I hadn’t seen before. Have forensics been here?’
‘Kershaw and Banbury were ahead of us, but I don’t yet know if they found anything out of the ordinary. If you’re not imagining things, someone in the shop might be able to shed some light on this.’
May led the way inside. An elderly Indian man was virtually invisible behind the counter, buried beneath racks of gum, mints and phone cards. May introduced himself as a police officer.
‘They found some old lady in the street last night,’ the shopkeeper told them. ‘Dead, wasn’t she?’
‘I’m afraid so. What time did you arrive this morning?’
‘I live in Enfield,’ said the old man. ‘This is my son-in-law’s shop. We open at eight.’
‘And last night?’
‘Close at ten, same as always. It’s nothing to do with us, what goes on over there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The estate, those boys hang around here at night causing trouble, we don’t know what they get up to. That’s why we’ve got steel shutters. I have to close them every night. I complain to the police but nothing happens. They never do anything.’
‘Mind if we take a look around?’ May led his partner away by the arm. ‘Is it just possible you made a mistake, Arthur?’ he asked. ‘It was late and we’d been drinking for hours.’
‘No,’ Bryant insisted, but suddenly faltered, looking around at the shelves. ‘Well, I don’t think so. It occupied the same footprint as this building, with the door in the same place – but . . .’
‘That’s understandable. Areas like this would have been planned by a single architect, so most of the streets have the same-sized building plots. Why don’t we take a walk around the neighbourhood, retrace your steps and see if we can find your pub elsewhere?’