Bryant & May 09; The Memory of Blood

∨ The Memory of Blood ∧

43

Admission

The Sunday morning sky was milky and soft, its light blurring the buildings and fading the edges of the streets. It was the kind of early summer’s day London excelled in, burning off to a clear blue hemisphere by eleven, clouding again by three, finally clearing for a golden sunset.

At seven a.m. in the warehouse at 231 Caledonian Road, the Unit staff began sleepily arriving. Meera boiled spiced tea and Longbright made fresh coffee. Colin brought croissants and sausage rolls. Bryant stood on the tiny back balcony sucking at his pipe, his forehead creased in thought. Renfield was on the top floor hitting a punchbag Bimsley had rigged up from the ceiling. And Ella Maltby was brought down from Islington police station for questioning.

“I have never seen such unprofessional behaviour in my life,” said Maltby’s lawyer, Edgar Digby, an oleaginous young man with a mane of slicked black hair, a Turnbull & Asser shirt and an air of outraged entitlement. “You take my client to a police station and leave her there for collection by your unit without any explanation of her rights or what’s going on, and now you expect her to cooperate with you?”

“We had to act quickly in the interests of public safety,” May explained. “Your client is the chief suspect in an investigation involving four deaths. Her explanation for her whereabouts during the times of these events is uncorroborated, and items belonging to her were found at the sites of three of the crimes. I think you’d better let her answer our questions, because any further silence from Ms Maltby is merely going to build the case against her.”

“My client’s silence is no indication of her guilt. Under British law – ”

“Drop it, Edgar,” said Ella Maltby. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

“Robert Kramer was killed last night, and this was found beside his body.” May opened the plastic bag containing the dummy. “Your label is sewn into the back of it.”

“This is our most popular model,” said Maltby. “We sell them all over the world. Madame Tussauds have around thirty, which they use in background scenes. The New Strand Theatre has two. Let me see.” She took a look inside the bag. “These are supplied naked. Our clients add the clothes.”

“Dan, get the skirt and jacket off and find out where they’re from,” said May. “In your statement you say – once again – that you were home all evening.”

“Yeah, I don’t go out much. Is that a crime?”

“Did you talk to anyone?”

“No, I was working on some new designs. I don’t email or use the phone when I’m working, it’s too distracting.”

May knew he was on shaky ground. Ella Maltby’s car had not been driven in days. Banbury had found no mud or dirty clothes at her house. There was nothing to indicate that she had left her home in twenty-four hours. “Somebody is clearly anxious to place you at the crime scenes,” he pointed out. “Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“Is this the part where you ask me if I have any enemies?” Maltby scoffed. “No, I don’t to my knowledge. People just dislike me in general. I’m not a sociable woman, but to my knowledge that’s not a punishable offence either.”

“We’re going to get nowhere here,” Longbright whispered in May’s ear. “Let her go. Jack can arrange for someone to keep an eye on her.”

“You’re right,” May sighed. “I’m stuck. How can this have happened? We have four bodies and no investigation. This is humiliating.”

After Ella Maltby’s release had been secured, May went back to his office and sat on the edge of his partner’s desk. “I hate to say this, Arthur, but for once I really need one of your crackpot ideas. We’re getting nowhere.”

Bryant looked at him steadily. “How much are you prepared to trust me?” he asked.

“Right now, I’ll go anywhere.”

“All right. What do we know about our killer? He’s very angry, and very good at hiding his temper most of the time, but sometimes it erupts and becomes uncontrollable. He lost control with Noah, and again with Kramer himself. That means we might be able to goad him into an admission of guilt. Remember, everything hinges on what took place that first night at the party. What could have happened to make the killer calmly go upstairs and attack a child? And how the hell did he do it, assuming he did and a puppet didn’t just come to life and shake a baby to death?”

“I don’t know, but I imagine he saw the puppets and they gave him an idea.”

“I suppose so. Then he followed the idea through, thinking it was a way to rattle Kramer. And now that everything’s behind him, he thinks he’s got away with it. But he can never stop being vigilant, because he knows we’re after him and will stay on his case – at least, for as long as we and the investigation are still open. But it could happen again; he’ll have the confidence to act on his anger, knowing that he managed to deceive everyone before. What we have to do now is lure him out into the open.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“I thought at first we could attend Robert Kramer’s funeral, because I assumed Judith Kramer was going to invite all his colleagues, but I hear she’s not. It’ll be a small, private family service, and she’s specifically asked for none of us to be in attendance. We can override that, of course, but we’d have to keep a low-key presence.”

“I hear she’s taking her husband’s death surprisingly well.”

“That’s not much of a shock, is it? He was having affairs and she was in love with someone else. In a way, his death has solved everything for her.”

“You don’t suppose –?”

“She killed her own child? I don’t know. Janice doesn’t think so. We know Judith was at home in bed when Gregory Baine and Mona Williams died, and that her child’s nanny was sitting with her, so unless she was working with an accomplice like Marcus Sigler…”

“This is all guesswork, Arthur. It won’t get us anywhere. Without Kramer and his producer the show will shut and the players will all disperse. We have no powers to keep them close by.”

“I know. That’s why with your help I can take action before it’s too late.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“We’re going to throw a little end-of-show party. The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king. Killers often lack social skills, but theatre folk are social animals. Therefore we have to put them in a social situation where they feel comfortable. If we handle it correctly, no one will dare to stay away for fear of drawing attention to themselves. If we can’t force our murderer out into the open and goad him into admission, we’ll have lost him for ever.”

May shook his head. “Oh, I can’t wait for Raymond to hear about this,” he said.