insist on showing me his escape route? Give me six Cumberlands and a couple of kidneys—nice fat ones, no rubbish.’ He turned back to May while rooting inside his coat for money. ‘Tate can’t come out and admit what he knows. Perhaps he’s afraid for his own life, so he’s revealing how the deeds were done, trusting us to figure out the rest of it. But he knows more than he’s telling, and that puts him in danger. It’s your domino effect: each person with knowledge being systematically removed. Perhaps if Mr Bush had signed the Kyoto Treaty, this might never have happened.’
‘Sorry, Arthur, you’ve lost me.’
‘Climate change. The rivers dried out during the long hot summer, making them passable. Now all hell is breaking loose underground, because when it rains, the tunnels briefly turn into white-water rapids. None of the deaths occurred before the bad weather, did they? Perhaps that’s because the conduits were too dry to dispose of any incriminating evidence. The killer patiently waited until the rain came back, providing him with a way of dumping anything that would link him to the murders. This is what the rivers were always used for. History repeats itself.’
‘Really, Arthur, it all sounds very complicated.’ May watched in some unease while the butcher chopped away at a pair of bulbous kidneys, wiping his bloody hands on his apron.
‘I have to hang on to this, John; somehow it all comes back to the tributaries of the Fleet. Without the river there would be no houses. Without the houses there would be no murders. The first death is the key: a harmless old lady killed by water, because of water, as though the killer was closing a circle, choosing a suitable punishment for her crime. Of course, it’s possible we’ve completely misjudged what’s going on. We may have to look at everything in a fresh light.’
The butcher rang up Bryant’s purchases. The elderly detective looked at his change in disgust. ‘Is that all I get back from a tenner? Daylight robbery. Those pigs’ ears look past their best. You shouldn’t be selling things that look as if they’ve died of old age.’ He snatched the plastic bag of meat and dragged May with him to the door.
‘Another thing. That boyfriend of Kallie’s—he’s been away for weeks. Suppose he’s been conked on the head and dropped down there, the murderer or an accomplice posting his cards from all over Europe? And what about the next-door neighbour, Heather? No one’s seen her husband for ages. He’s meant to be in Paris—what if he’s actually floating about somewhere under King’s Cross? And Benjamin Singh, he’s supposed to be in Australia, but has anyone actually heard from him? Just how many men are missing from this damned street anyway? Wait, I forgot something.’ He turned on his heel and headed back to the surprised butcher. ‘Do you have any mutton? I may attempt a casserole.’
‘I wish you’d slow down for a moment,’ urged May. They were walking back to the unit because Bimsley and Banbury had taken the Rover to drop off evidence. ‘Let’s stop for refreshment, you can get your breath back.’ He steered his partner into a Greek coffee shop.
‘Two teas, one with lots of sugar.’ Bryant glared at the listless girl playing with her hair behind the counter.
‘We don’t do tea,’ mumbled the girl.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, it’s the national drink, how can you not do tea?’
‘Cappuccino, latte or espresso.’
‘Those are Italian beverages. You’re a Cypriot, surely,’ Bryant barked, reluctantly moving to allow a pushchair past. ‘You should have mint tea or little cups of Turkish coffee with half an inch of silt in the bottom. No tea! Good Lord, all you have to do is put some fresh leaves under boiled water.’
‘Come on, Arthur, ease up a little.’ May took his arm and led him to a table, then returned to order lattes.
‘You realize if we hadn’t started following Greenwood, we would never have made the connection?’ said Bryant as his friend returned. ‘Everyone knows about the London Tube map; why isn’t this other one public knowledge? Who else is in possession of it?’ He slapped the underground tunnel plan on the table between them. ‘The city functions in much the same way as its streets—every time you think you have something figured out it twists back on you. The answer has to be here in these numbered conduits . . .’
‘No, it isn’t, Arthur. I’ve seen you like this before, and to