“I knew it,” May said with a sigh. “You’ve been thinking again.”
Bryant widened his watery blue eyes in surprise. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’m attempting to archive some of my more esoteric but occasionally useful research volumes. Now that you’ve finished holding your little chats, we can talk. Do come in, and shut the door behind you.”
“No loopy diversions this time, OK?” May warned, settling himself in another overstuffed armchair that had appeared in the room. Bryant seemed to accumulate furniture wherever he went. “It’s a fairly straightforward case, despite the circumstances of the death.”
“What do you mean?”
May pointed to the nearest stack of books on the desk. He could see spines which read: The History of Icelandic Hospitals, Confessions of a Soho Call Girl, Phrenology for Beginners, The Role of Duty in the Operas of Gilbert & Sullivan, A Treatise on the Correlation Between Victorian Dental Care & Naval Policy and – open on top of the pile – Poetic Justice: The Morality of Dramatic Puppetry. “I mean there’s no point in going through all this stuff, hidden meanings about puppets.”
“I was reading it because I had some ideas about the case,” said Bryant cheerily. “I know you think you’re going to make an arrest in the next day or so, but you won’t.”
“How do you work that out?”
“There were thirty-five invites to the party, and fifteen guests left downstairs in the main lounge at the time of Noah Kramer’s death, plus the waiting staff, the chef in the kitchen and the doorman. Eleven of these guests went up to see what the fuss was about when Robert Kramer kicked in his nursery door. That’s a surprisingly high number of curious people, don’t you think? I assume you’ve talked to everyone now, and have some idea about their feelings for one another.”
“It certainly helped to sit down and talk to them. Why wouldn’t you sit in on the interviews?”
“John, there’s nothing for me to do there. I never ask the right questions. You’re better with people. You know what time they all arrived, which ones left and when they did so. You have all their timings and statements. You’ve got graphs and that computer thing.”
“It’s a new application. You should try using it.”
“I don’t need to. I mean, surely this is just a matter of elimination, and then putting the screws on the remaining likely suspects.”
“I know a lot more than I did this morning, and you would if you’d come in to help me. I thought you were going to give me the benefit of your wisdom.”
“My money’s on the husband. He’s got shifty eyes. Far too close together for my liking.”
“Motive?”
“Oh, I’m sure one will come up.”
“I was rather hoping you could bring a little more insight to the case than that.”
“As it happens I can, but you wouldn’t like it, particularly as it involves a paradox worthy of Gilbert and Sullivan. I think I’ll wait for a while, until you’ve given it your best shot. I still have more reading to do. Begone with you now.” Bryant wrapped the arms of his bifocals around his ears and returned to his books.
“Wait,” said May, “am I missing something here? You’re annoyed with me because the investigation is likely to prove more mundane than you hoped it might be, is that it? You honestly thought Giles might find some kind of mechanical equipment inside the puppet that could control it?” May was furious. “I’m sorry the world isn’t weird enough to keep you interested. You know what’s wrong with you, Arthur?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“You see words on pages but you never see beyond them to the heart. If this was a story in one of your grubby old books you’d be interested, wouldn’t you? Imagine: a rich, successful couple think they have everything, but the one thing the father wants most of all is denied to him, so his wife provides him with a son from her lover on the condition that she can continue the affair, and he silently endures the arrangement so that he can raise a boy of his own, with the complicity of his wife and the man she prefers. But the triangle fractures, and the reason for the arrangement is removed. Now a mother is comatose with grief over the death of her only child, her husband doesn’t know what to say that can comfort her, and the lover remains trapped on the outside, suspicious that tragedy might somehow strike again. That’s boring old real life for you, is it? Their worlds have been overturned not once but twice, and we have a chance to give them closure – ”
“Closure – phffft – ridiculous term thought up by psychotherapists to justify their jobs.” Bryant waved the idea away.
“Yes, closure – by finding out why this happened and ensuring that justice is done.” May jabbed a forefinger back in the direction of the common room. “Life is going on out there, not in here in your books. And if that isn’t enough for you, maybe it really is time to retire.”
♦
Bryant watched his partner storm from the room with a heavy heart. He was not himself today; the news of Anna Marquand’s death had upset him more than he realized.
As for the case, he could sense a greater tragedy at work, and as much as he hated to deceive John, he was powerless to act until he had some proof. Part of the answer lay right in front of them, but May needed to reach the same conclusion independently before they could act together.
He picked up the phone and punched out Banbury’s number. “Dan, are you terribly busy? I want to examine the layout of the Kramers’ penthouse, right now if possible. Could you come with me?”
“Of course, Mr Bryant.”
Bryant rose and rubbed his back, then jammed his shapeless trilby onto his head.
They pulled up outside 376 Northumberland Avenue in Bryant’s old yellow Mini Cooper. Banbury had been alarmed to find that he needed a bent teaspoon to keep the seatbelt in its clasp. Bryant squinted up through the smeary windscreen as he tried to avoid hitting the kerb. He had refused to be dissuaded from driving this time. “The doctor says Mrs Kramer’s in her bedroom asleep and can’t be disturbed under any circumstances, but I need to take another look at the nursery.”
Banbury got out and peered down. “You can’t park here, it’s a double red line.”
“What are you talking about? I’m elderly, I can do whatever I want. Here. I had Renfield knock it up.” He threw a forged disabled card onto the dashboard.
“You’re not allowed to do that.”
“I’m colour-blind. That’s a disability.”
“There’s been a huge rise in senior citizen crime in the capital lately, you know,” said Banbury.
“Quite right too. There should be some compensations for the horrors of getting old. Come along.”
“I don’t know why we’re back here. I gave the place a thorough going-over. There’s no more evidence to lift.”
“I don’t want to gather evidence,” said Bryant. “I want to understand.”
“So do I. Usually I get a sense of what went on, but this one – ” Banbury shook his head. “I didn’t pick it up at all.”
They made their way up to the front door and were admitted by the Kramers’ nanny, who showed them to the great glass lounge.
Seating himself, Banbury opened his laptop and pointed to the design he had created. “This is the layout of the place.”
“Oh, I don’t need a computer program to see that,” said Bryant. “Here, I made my own drawing.” He unfolded a damp piece of paper and tried to lay it flat. “How’s that for draughtsmanship?”