“I think he possibly wears something in his shoes to give him added height on certain occasions.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Perhaps he has something wrong with his legs. I suppose it could be some kind of a brace. The gallery prints are deeper and heavier than the rest, as if he was burdened with extra weight.”
“I hate to say it,” said Bryant, “but this supports my hypothesis.”
“I didn’t know you had one.”
“I’m wondering if the Highwayman doesn’t exist.”
He glanced up at the stunned faces of his team.
“I asked myself, was the London Monster a real flesh-and-blood character, or something created for self-publicity? He abused, assaulted, and cut fifty-nine Mayfair ladies in the buttocks until they started sticking frying pans down their knickers. Epidemic hysteria produces symptoms of so-called conversion reactions wherein illogical, aberrant behaviour spreads through the populace. The Monster ceased to operate, and perhaps some other member of the public, taken with the idea, copied the example he had set. He received fan mail from women across the capital. In early twentiethcentury Paris, someone pricked women with hat pins. In 1956 in Taipei, there was an epidemic of razor slashings. In Illinois in 1944, a mad gasser sprayed women with paralysing ‘nerve gas’ that proved to be nothing of the sort. The Leicester Square Vampire was also a manufactured monster. With this in mind, the witness statements from the time could be viewed with suspicion.”
“You’re suggesting he was someone we interviewed?”
“The complicity of the public in creating the myth suggests so, yes. The originator stays around to help fan the fire of notoriety.”
“But we no longer have the statements, and there’s no way of tracing the people we questioned.” May thought for a second. “You think the same is true of the Highwayman? That it’s someone we’ve placed at the crime scenes?”
“You’ve been on the estate where this picture was meant to have been taken,” said Bryant. “You’ve seen the signs and symbols the Saladins scrawl on the walls like talismans.”
“You think a bunch of disenfranchised kids could bring a killer to life and direct him to murder whomever he pleases?”
“History shows us that the poor have to claim back what they should rightfully be able to share,” said Bryant.
“So they conjure up a supernatural hit man from bones and hair and magic tokens.”
Aware of the silence, May looked around to see that everyone was watching them. He had resolved never to argue with his partner in front of the unit, and had broken his promise. Furious with his lack of self-control, he left the room.
“Well, that was a load of bollocks,” said Mangeshkar finally. “Anyone care for a mutiny?” The blank looks provoked her. “You’re a bunch of cowards. Maybe Kasavian has the right idea; shut this place down and save the taxpayer some money.” She, too, stormed out. The remaining staff members could hardly blame her.
♦
With dissent and confusion collapsing the unit, John May took positive action, and borrowed the staff car to track down Lorraine Bonner. When he found her, he tried to find out who Luke Tripp was meeting in the estate’s community centre.
“We keep a room-hire roster.” Lorraine took him to her office and consulted the bulletin board behind her. “I heard about your trouble on the staircase. Sorry we couldn’t be there, but I did warn your partner. Let’s see, we had addiction counselling from two to three, followed by a meeting of the garden committee.”
“This would have been just after four o’clock. Anyone take it out between four and five?”
“That’s a session handled by a teacher from St Crispin’s,” she explained. “He’s a former Crown prosecutor who helps out with some community work on the estates, in collaboration with our anti-gang initiative. Last night was his directional guidance and confidencebuilding task force, a fancy title for improving low self-esteem among disadvantaged children who join gangs to provide themselves with alternative families. Whenever trouble flares up, the usual things are blamed – hip-hop, pop videos, horror films, gaming, violent Web sites – but the kids around here are media-literate, and little of what they see enters their real lives. They don’t believe much of what they see.” She gave a wry smile. “Well, except all those commercials that show the kind of beautiful life you should be having instead of sitting around here smoking dope. They want the things they’ll never have in a straight job, so they set out jacking other kids right on the street.”
“There’s nothing sadder than the poor stealing from the poor,” May agreed.
“Are you a Christian?” asked Lorraine.
“I share certain fundamental Christian beliefs,” May admitted.
“Let me tell you what I believe, Mr May. The passage from youth to age? It’s a staircase we climb throughout our lives, from one step to the next. We learn something new with each step, and keep changing our behaviour. That staircase is as old as the human race itself, but now some part of it has ruptured, so that it’s harder for us all to make our way across the gap. We need to repair the passage to responsibility and adulthood. Either we find the next step or we stay where we are, endlessly repeating our mistakes.”
“So you set about making your own repairs with community classes.”
“Three years ago we had a problem with methamphetaminebased drugs on the estate that led to several tragic deaths, so the parents got together and paid for a volunteer to come and take a community class.”
“What’s his name, the teacher taking this class?”
“Kingsmere, Brilliant Kingsmere.”
“You’re telling me his name is Brilliant?”
“It was a very popular name once. Way back in Victorian times. And he’s a pretty cool guy. The kids look up to him.”
That was why Luke Tripp had visited the estate. He was in Kingsmere’s exclusive extracurricular set. “Why did the parents pick a teacher from a private school?” asked May.
“There’s been bad feeling between the school and the estate – we heard tell that a few of the private boys were beaten up, some stupid argument about right-of-way to their playing fields. The parents thought it would be a good way to heal the old wounds.”
“Are his groups successful?”
“How can you tell?” Lorraine sighed. “Kids sense when they’re being preached to, no matter how smartly you sweeten the pill.”
“Do you have an attendance list for Kingsmere’s meetings?”
“Don’t need to, Mr May. They’re open to anyone. There’s another meeting tonight. Why don’t you go along?”
Kingsmere. It was odd how many times the teacher’s name had appeared in the investigation. In the absence of any other course of action, May decided it was time to check him out.
∨ Ten Second Staircase ∧
35
Brandalism
“Your chairs are horribly uncomfortable,” complained Arthur Bryant. “I crossed my legs and fell off.”
“They’re Philippe Starck,” said Julio Stamos. “They’re intended as a style statement.”
“If you’re going to keep people waiting for twenty minutes, you could perhaps try making a comfort statement. Treat yourself to some cushions; it wouldn’t compromise your ideals too much.” Bryant brushed himself down irritably.
Stamos usually knew what to expect when the police came calling, but this rumpled old man wrapped in an absurdly large overcoat and a lint-covered green scarf had thrown him. There was a peculiar miasma of herbal tobacco in the air, or perhaps smouldering straw, and he felt sure it was emanating from his visitor.