‘So you think a bunch of university students are running an organisation of secret anarchists just because they’re on the same spot? Everybody in central London is living where someone else lived. That doesn’t make us adopt their habits.’
‘I’m not saying they’re all anarchists. Perhaps only one, for reasons of his—or her—own. And somehow it involves the taking of life.’
‘I can guess where you’re going with this, Arthur, but you’re way off track. These students don’t look like anarchists. I imagine they do a little ethical shopping and wear a badge or two, but they’re more concerned about their future prospects. A fall down some stairs and a missing lad, that’s everyday life in the city, not a criminal conspiracy. Don’t you have any better ideas?’
The ringing of Bryant’s old Bakelite phone made them both jump. May answered the call and listened for a minute. ‘Tony McCarthy’s off his respirator,’ he reported.
‘What, dead?’
‘No, it sounds like he’s going to be okay.’
‘A witness. Hallelujah. Can he talk?’
‘Nurse says we’ll be able to see him late this afternoon.’
‘Why not now?’
‘He’s just had a tube down his throat, Arthur, and he’s heavily doped up. His doctor doesn’t want him seeing anyone before five P.M. at the earliest.’
‘Book us in,’ announced Bryant. ‘As long as he survives, he’ll remain a threat to Mr Fox. I stayed up late last night thinking about everything. I’m starting to see a way forward, but it will require diligence, nerve and a complete lack of scruples. Best not to tell Raymond what we’re up to.’
‘What are we up to?’ May wondered.
‘Let’s see the boy first. Make sure nobody else goes near him. Meanwhile, perhaps Janice could arrange a little informal gathering of your students for me in about an hour. I want to meet them alone. I don’t care where they are or what they’re doing; have her find them, pull them out of class, but get them waiting for me at their house.’ Bryant bared his false teeth in an approximation of a grin. ‘You know how I always enjoy meeting young people.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
Personal Space
Some of you met my partner, John May.’ Bryant was fumbling in his voluminous coat for a toffee éclair and searching for somewhere to sit.
‘Yes, he was very nice,’ said Ruby, clearing an armchair for him.
‘Well, I’m the other one.’ Unable to locate the sweet, he pulled out one-half of his pipe and waved it about. ‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘Yes, we do actually,’ said Nikos, with a censorious look.
‘Ah. Only I saw the ashtray …’ He pointed to the side table.
‘We use it as a paperweight,’ said Ruby hastily.
‘Odd that it has ash in it, then.’
‘I’m the only smoker, but I use the balcony.’ Ruby indicated the others. ‘This is Nikos—’
‘I met Detective May at the library,’ Nikos interrupted. ‘He was asking me about some stickers. I couldn’t help him.’
‘You gave him my email address,’ said Ruby with a trace of indignation.
‘Theo Fontvieille,’ interjected Theo, jumping forward to pump Bryant’s hand.
‘That must be your car outside,’ said Bryant. ‘You’re very lucky to have such a beautiful motor.’
‘Yes, it’s funny,’ said Theo, ‘the harder my parents work, the luckier I seem to get.’ He threw himself back in his armchair with an annoying ack-ack laugh. ‘It’s a reward for getting good grades, Mr Bryant. It has nothing at all to do with luck.’
‘I meant no offence. You’ll know when I do.’ He glanced at the slender Indian boy sitting beside Fontvieille. ‘And you are?’
The student looked about theatrically. ‘I am what?’
‘Your name. The question was in simple enough English.’
‘Well, that’s not my nationality.’
‘We seem to have got off on the wrong foot. Let’s try again. My name is Arthur Bryant. What is yours?’
‘You don’t have to talk to me as if I were a child. My name is Rajan Sangeeta.’
‘And you live here as well?’
Sangeeta bristled. ‘I pay my rent like everyone else in this room.’
‘You seem very aggressive.’
‘I don’t like being questioned by the police when I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, the police can always find something wrong.’
‘Mr Bryant is here to help us, Rajan,’ interposed Ruby. ‘He and his partner are trying to find Matt.’
‘Which just leaves you,’ said Bryant, pointing to the only person in the room who had not spoken. The boy had an impudent, friendly face, a stepped haircut and a broad baby nose. He looked a year or two younger than the others. He had seemed keen not to draw attention to himself, but now he uncurled from the seat and held out his hand. ‘Toby Brooke.’ He brushed Bryant’s hand and drew back, casting his eyes downwards again, his dirty Nikes drawn up beneath him.
‘Tell me about Mr Hillingdon. Does anyone know anything that might be able to shed some light on his disappearance?’
The assembled students glanced at each other but remained silent.
‘Let’s keep it simple,’ Bryant persisted. ‘Where is he from originally?’
‘What does it matter where a person is from?’ snapped Sangeeta. ‘What relevance could that possibly have?’
‘Matt’s from somewhere in Hertfordshire,’ Ruby offered. ‘He’s got a sister and a stepbrother. He doesn’t get on with his parents.’
‘And he’s always broke,’ added Theo. ‘Entirely unambitious, finds his studies a struggle—’
‘Theo.’
‘Well, he does, Ruby. Whereas the rest of us are concentrating on making our first million.’
‘You’ve spoken to his teachers?’
‘First thing I did,’ said Ruby. ‘They haven’t seen him.’
‘All right, then, let’s find out a bit about you lot.’
‘Why do you want to know about us?’ Sangeeta complained. ‘If something’s happened to Matt we’re not automatically suspects. The burden of proof can only be fulfilled by the provision of evidence.’
‘Ah, we have a budding lawyer in our midst,’ said Bryant cheerily. ‘You’re going to love this part. I’m going to fingerprint you.’ He pulled out Banbury’s kit and set it up on the table amidst a chorus of complaint and disbelief.
‘You can’t do that!’ stormed Sangeeta.
‘That’s the best part—I can do this. Because I may be about to transfer the burden of proof to one of you.’
‘But for what?’ asked Ruby.
‘Murder, young lady. You see, one of the uniquely hand-coloured stickers you plaster over your bags was found on one of our corpses, and it contained a partial thumbprint.’ Bryant was moving onto extremely shaky ground and knew it. But he was counting on peer pressure; every one of the students would be keen to clear themselves of blame. He looked around the room and waited for someone to turn him down. ‘I’m being overdramatic,’ he explained, opening the ink pad. ‘We detectives are prone to that. We’ll probably have to test everyone who goes to the Karma Bar, but while we’re all here I thought you’d like to eliminate yourselves. Especially as I have an inducement. I’ll find Matthew Hillingdon for you, and I’ll keep your prints out of the national database.’
‘What if I refuse?’ asked Sangeeta, suddenly less aggressive.
‘I think you know the answer to that one. Get a lawyer.’ And risk looking suspicious to everyone else, he thought, praying that no-one would do it.
‘I’ll go first,’ said Theo, breaking the deadlock.
‘Excellent. And meanwhile—Toby, why don’t you tell me about yourself.’ He needed to keep them talking. To do that, it made sense to start with the one who least wanted to join in the conversation.
‘W-why me?’ Toby stammered. ‘There’s nothing much to tell.’
Suddenly, Bryant realised, the
subject of class had crept into the room. He had accidentally picked the working-class boy. Toby sounded as if he was from one of the rougher boroughs south of the river.
‘Ah, a Londoner like myself.’ Bryant deftly took the first set of prints, then passed Theo a tissue. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘Deptford.’
‘I caught the Deptford Demon there, you know. There was quite a hoo-ha at the time. Your parents probably told you about it.’
‘No.’
Bryant was disappointed. He liked to think he’d achieved local fame, at least. The borough of Deptford had always been poor and troubled. The detective had spent many a night there as a kid, sitting on the steps of the Royal Albert pub, waiting with his sister Nell for his father to finish drinking. Most Saturday nights had ended with a fight.
Bryant studied each of them as they stepped up to the pad. One Indian, one Greek Cypriot, two from the Home Counties, one working-class Londoner—and one missing. Not exactly the dog-on-a-rope brigade.
‘So, Toby, you’re also in the same field as—’ he glanced over at the piece of paper May had given him, ‘—Mr Hillingdon and Mr Sangeeta. Social Engineering? It sounds rather alarming.’
‘It’s more like learning confidence tricks,’ replied Toby, examining his inky thumb nervously. ‘People have cognitive biases you can expose and use. The term is used a lot by hackers, but we’re studying it in conjunction with architectural urban planning.’
‘How does that work?’
‘At its most basic level, did you know people have a habit of unconsciously walking on the left side of a pavement because we drive on the left? When you’re designing entrances for a building you have to put them in places where everyone expects to find them.’
‘As usual, Toby, you’re being hopelessly oversimplistic.’ Theo sighed and made a show of sitting down and slumping in boredom. Clearly, he was used to owning the conversation.
‘Please,’ said Bryant, ‘go on.’
‘Well, my point is, before you plan a building, you have to take into account the way people behave. A lot of our research is about pack mentality, leader establishment, group behaviour. For example, the distance you stand from someone is your way of establishing your relationship with them. There are several scientifically defined zones of proximity.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, public space is an ideal measurement, placing you three metres from another person. It’s what you see on architects’ CAD plans of new buildings. And there’s a Social-Consultative Zone of between three metres and 1.2 metres. That’s ideal for bars, restaurants, recreation areas. You can talk in comfort but you still own your space. Personal space is the half-metre-to-1.2-metre zone that surrounds you, so when you’re designing an office this is your minimum space between chairs. And private space is when you’re less than half a metre from another person.’
Bryant pressed another young thumb into his pad. ‘But what about the London Underground? People are forced into much closer proximity during rush hour.’
‘Which is why they get so uncomfortable,’ Rajan cut in.
‘The proximity thing is okay when the train is moving,’ Toby continued, ‘because social convention dictates the necessity of this travel mode, but when the train stops and everything goes silent, we feel threatened. Our behaviour becomes more protective. That’s why train drivers now make frequent public announcements.’
‘So, imagine you’re walking down a public staircase, and somebody near you slips and falls. What’s the reaction of the people standing nearby?’
‘That would be dependent on a more practical problem,’ answered Toby. ‘The people behind would see the accident but couldn’t physically help, because it’s taking place ahead of them, lower down, and those in front would have a similar problem because it’s happening behind their backs, and they’d receive no warning.’
‘Interesting.’ Bryant made a show of looking at everyone in the room, but while Toby seemed interested in the practicality of the question, no-one else showed any response.
‘I suppose we’d better get to the subject in hand, your missing flatmate.’ Bryant dug out a notepad and pen.
‘I thought you said you weren’t going to keep anything on file,’ objected Rajan.
‘I won’t, Mr Sangeeta, these will be purely for personal use. It seems Mr Hillingdon boarded the train he told you he’d catch, Miss Cates, but he never alighted from it.’
‘He must have,’ insisted Ruby. ‘Where else could he have gone?’ She shifted the weight of her plastic cast, trying to find a comfortable place to rest it while she had her thumb inked.
‘We checked the camera footage at the station; we couldn’t find him. I thought perhaps he’d slipped and fallen between the carriage and the line, but we’ve had tube workers walk the entire length of the tunnel between King’s Cross and Russell Square, and they’ve found nothing. So it appears we have a rather peculiar mystery on our hands. Perhaps it would help if you told me a little more about the poor lad. Now, how did you all meet each other?’ Bryant hoped he wasn’t laying the avuncular act on too thickly; he sounded fake even to himself. At least they had been distracted from worrying about the prints. He closed the lid of the pad and discreetly slipped it back into his pocket.
They were politely waiting for each other to speak. ‘Some of the stuff he’s studying crosses over with the others, but we all really met him when he moved in, about four months ago,’ said Ruby finally.
‘So when did you two start dating?’
‘Around that time.’
Theo snorted. ‘She didn’t even let Matt get his coat off. You know how desperate some girls get.’
Ruby shot him a glance that could have cracked a wineglass. ‘I felt sorry for him. He didn’t know anyone. He’d just arrived here from Nottingham.’
‘And you all got on with him, no problems, nothing at all unusual in the way he behaved?’
Silence, shrugging, vague looks of embarrassment.
‘We advertised the room on one of the UCL student sites,’ Rajan explained. ‘We interviewed him, then put it to the vote. It was carried four-one.’
‘Who voted against?’ asked Bryant, intrigued.
‘I did.’ Theo raised his hand. ‘I thought we could do better. He seemed rather desperate to be accepted, although nowhere near as desperate as Toby, obviously.’ He laughed alone. ‘I know, Toby, you’re doing better academically than any of us, but you must admit you’ve got more to prove.’
‘Leave Toby alone,’ said Rajan. ‘Everyone’s equal here.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Theo drummed his foot impatiently against the table, looking amused at the whole proceedings.
‘Mr Hillingdon was out with friends on Tuesday night,’ Bryant stated. ‘Who exactly?’ The group looked blankly at each other. ‘Well, someone must know. It’s important.’
‘We don’t check with each other before going out,’ said Rajan hotly. ‘This isn’t a police state.’
‘Where was he before he went missing?’
‘I have no idea,’ Ruby admitted. ‘He didn’t tell me. In a bar. I asked around at college but nobody knows.’
‘Does he use drugs? Is he on any medication? Drink so heavily that he forgets what he’s been doing? Was he upset about anything? Has he any particular habits you think I should know about?’
Ruby looked to the others for approval before replying. ‘Well, he’s asthmatic. He carries an inhaler. He drinks way too much. Smokes—you know—but doesn’t do drug drugs. Nothing else that we’re aware of.’
‘You’ve checked with his family?’
‘I called his parents in Nottingham. They haven’t spoken to him in weeks. He had tickets for a band playing at the Bloomsbury Theatre last night, but he never showed. I’m out of ideas.’
‘Did he ever shop at Selfridges?’
Puzzlement showed around the room.
‘Okay, what about the rest of you?’ Bryant asked. ‘He hasn’t called anyone here
? Have you tried his phone?’
‘Of course, that was the first thing we did. It’s switched off.’
Silence descended again. Theo was watching Bryant with interest. Nikos was rubbing ink from his thumb. Toby still stared anxiously at the floor. Rajan looked more irritated than ever. Only Ruby seemed comfortable.
‘So, if none of you were out with him, what were each of you doing on Tuesday evening? Why don’t you start, Mr Sangeeta?’
‘Why me? It’s typical that you picked the non-Caucasian to go first.’
‘I’d rather talk to you than to the chip on your shoulder, Mr Sangeeta, if you don’t mind. You happen to be sitting nearest.’
‘I don’t have to answer any more questions. I know my rights.’
‘Fine. This enquiry’s still informal, so I’ll just make a note that you didn’t wish to co-operate with the police. Then if it becomes necessary we’ll place things on a more formal basis.’
Sangeeta saw that he had been outmanoeuvred; the others would co-operate, leaving him looking like the only one with something to hide.
‘I was in the Cruciform Library until seven, then I went and had something to eat.’
‘Where?’
‘At Wagamama, in the Brunswick Centre.’
‘By yourself?’
‘Yes, alone, all right?’
Great, thought Bryant, now I’ve made him look like a Nobby No-Mates. ‘Then what did you do?’
‘I came back here to work.’
‘See anyone when you came in?’
‘No, I went straight to my room and sent some emails. You can look at the log on my laptop if you don’t believe me.’
‘I’d rather not get all my information from a computer if I can avoid it, Mr Sangeeta. Technology doesn’t provide all the answers.’
‘That’s what Luddites always say,’ Sangeeta scoffed.
‘I’m not a Luddite,’ said Bryant serenely. ‘I don’t smash up computers because I think they’re stealing my job. Perhaps if you spent less time in front of a computer you wouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions. Or be so out of shape. Mr Fontvieille, how about you?’
Theo stretched and yawned. ‘I went to the Buddha Bar on the embankment with Cassie Field, the girl your pal met in the Karma Bar. The UK arm of the company’s planning a design makeover. She wants to pitch for part of the work, and I’m helping her to draw up a business plan.’
Christopher Fowler Page 17
