Read Online Bryant & May - London's Glory: (Short Stories) (Bryant & May Collection) by Christopher Fowler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Fowler
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when you realize with a shock that he’s probably only in his early thirties.
‘Our relationship with Mr Kastopolis has been somewhat fractious in the past,’ he explained, placing himself between the detectives and the waiting area outside, for he was none too pleased about having the law visit council offices. ‘He’s quite a larger-than-life character, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.’
‘We’re more concerned that he may—’
be a murderer
, Bryant was about to say, but May kicked him under the table. As this was also made of glass, everyone saw him do it.
‘—have done more than just bent a few bylaws this time,’ concluded May diplomatically. ‘Perhaps it would be better to discuss this somewhere less open.’
Anderson was clearly upset by the idea, but was hardly in a position to argue. The trio headed up to his third-floor office and settled themselves in plusher, more traditional surroundings. Bryant had to be surreptitiously cautioned against rummaging about on Anderson’s desk. The meeting did not go well. The planning officer was prepared to admit that the bureau suspected Kastopolis of flouting property regulations, but was unwilling to divulge any personal doubts.
‘What about outside of work?’ Bryant asked. ‘Do you see each other socially?’
‘Good Lord, no.’ Anderson seemed genuinely horrified by the idea. ‘We’re expressly forbidden from seeing clients outside of the building. There’s a sensitivity about undue influence, you understand. And after the MPs’ expenses scandal, it’s more than our lives are worth. Can you give me more of an idea why he’s of particular interest to you at the moment?’
‘No,’ said Bryant offhandedly, trying to read the liaison officer’s paperwork upside down.
‘The seriousness of the matter at hand means we must limit information until there’s a case to be made,’ said May, ‘if indeed there is one to be made. But we appreciate the help you’ve been able to give us.’
‘Was there any need to be quite so diplomatic?’ asked Bryant as they left the building. ‘“We must limit information until there’s a case to be made.” You don’t get anything out of people if you don’t frighten the life out of them. A typical council man, wet as a whale’s willy, reeking with the stench of appeasement, utterly incapable of confrontation. Kastopolis runs roughshod over the lot of them and they do nothing.’
‘You don’t know that,’ said May. ‘Kastopolis has spent the last thirty years finding ways to balance along the edges of the law. Men like that eventually make mistakes.’
‘I can’t wait for him to make a mistake. I’m too old.’
‘What do you want to do, then?’
‘Head back to the PCU,’ Bryant said with a sigh. ‘There’s something I need to check.’ May was glad they had brought the car. The iced-over pavements had become bobsleigh runs, and his partner was unstable at the best of times.
As the hours passed, May worked on with the rest of the PCU team while Bryant remained holed up in his office with the door firmly closed to visitors. Finally, when he could no longer bear the suspense of not knowing what his partner was doing, May went to check on him.
‘You should put the overhead lights on,’ he said. ‘You’ll strain your eyes.’
‘She’s here,’ Bryant said, looking up sadly. He had printed out everything he could find on Marsha Kastopolis, and had stacked it all in the centre of his desk. His hands were placed over the file, as if trying to conjure her presence. ‘I can sense her.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked May.
‘She was a bright girl. Then she was abused by her new stepfather. Her mother did nothing. The social services failed to protect her. She became withdrawn and lost. Her school grades dropped away. She was made pregnant by a junkie, came to London and started again. By this time she had grown a tough hide, and was determined to make something of herself. She must
‘Our relationship with Mr Kastopolis has been somewhat fractious in the past,’ he explained, placing himself between the detectives and the waiting area outside, for he was none too pleased about having the law visit council offices. ‘He’s quite a larger-than-life character, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.’
‘We’re more concerned that he may—’
be a murderer
, Bryant was about to say, but May kicked him under the table. As this was also made of glass, everyone saw him do it.
‘—have done more than just bent a few bylaws this time,’ concluded May diplomatically. ‘Perhaps it would be better to discuss this somewhere less open.’
Anderson was clearly upset by the idea, but was hardly in a position to argue. The trio headed up to his third-floor office and settled themselves in plusher, more traditional surroundings. Bryant had to be surreptitiously cautioned against rummaging about on Anderson’s desk. The meeting did not go well. The planning officer was prepared to admit that the bureau suspected Kastopolis of flouting property regulations, but was unwilling to divulge any personal doubts.
‘What about outside of work?’ Bryant asked. ‘Do you see each other socially?’
‘Good Lord, no.’ Anderson seemed genuinely horrified by the idea. ‘We’re expressly forbidden from seeing clients outside of the building. There’s a sensitivity about undue influence, you understand. And after the MPs’ expenses scandal, it’s more than our lives are worth. Can you give me more of an idea why he’s of particular interest to you at the moment?’
‘No,’ said Bryant offhandedly, trying to read the liaison officer’s paperwork upside down.
‘The seriousness of the matter at hand means we must limit information until there’s a case to be made,’ said May, ‘if indeed there is one to be made. But we appreciate the help you’ve been able to give us.’
‘Was there any need to be quite so diplomatic?’ asked Bryant as they left the building. ‘“We must limit information until there’s a case to be made.” You don’t get anything out of people if you don’t frighten the life out of them. A typical council man, wet as a whale’s willy, reeking with the stench of appeasement, utterly incapable of confrontation. Kastopolis runs roughshod over the lot of them and they do nothing.’
‘You don’t know that,’ said May. ‘Kastopolis has spent the last thirty years finding ways to balance along the edges of the law. Men like that eventually make mistakes.’
‘I can’t wait for him to make a mistake. I’m too old.’
‘What do you want to do, then?’
‘Head back to the PCU,’ Bryant said with a sigh. ‘There’s something I need to check.’ May was glad they had brought the car. The iced-over pavements had become bobsleigh runs, and his partner was unstable at the best of times.
As the hours passed, May worked on with the rest of the PCU team while Bryant remained holed up in his office with the door firmly closed to visitors. Finally, when he could no longer bear the suspense of not knowing what his partner was doing, May went to check on him.
‘You should put the overhead lights on,’ he said. ‘You’ll strain your eyes.’
‘She’s here,’ Bryant said, looking up sadly. He had printed out everything he could find on Marsha Kastopolis, and had stacked it all in the centre of his desk. His hands were placed over the file, as if trying to conjure her presence. ‘I can sense her.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked May.
‘She was a bright girl. Then she was abused by her new stepfather. Her mother did nothing. The social services failed to protect her. She became withdrawn and lost. Her school grades dropped away. She was made pregnant by a junkie, came to London and started again. By this time she had grown a tough hide, and was determined to make something of herself. She must
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