single remaining screw to reveal more drowned figures, all with their left arms outstretched, pointing down at the floor of the room.
‘They’re pointing to the river underneath,’ said Heather tonelessly.
‘It’s got to be valuable, hasn’t it? The ceiling’s covered as well. The thing is a complete piece. I’ve no idea what I’ll find up there.’
Heather’s face looked waxy and sick in the fierce light beam. ‘A fish-eye view,’ she said. ‘You’ll find a distorted view of the street, and the town, and the horizon of the world. The planet consumed by a prophesied deluge. And at the centre you’ll find the other three houses. The House of Foul Airs. The House of Poisoned Earth. The House of Conflagration.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Why did you have to find it now?’ asked Heather, reaching behind her and locking the bathroom door.
Bryant had stopped in the middle of the street, images swirling in his head. Rain on the floor below the window. Randall Ayson’s row with his wife—accusations of infidelity on both sides. The old-fashioned raincoat left on the Wiltons’ bed. Kallie said that Jake Avery had struck some kind of a deal with Paul the night they went drinking together. The borrowed map . . . the noise of falling water was inside his head, like being beneath a waterfall, like tinnitus, tearing his thoughts into scraps of nonsense. London, the ‘city of springs and streams’, the turbulent Fleet, the soughing Falcon, the excitable Westbourne, the sluggish Tyburn, all sweeping to the Thames . . .
‘What’s the matter?’ May asked. ‘You’re standing there as if you’ve been struck by lightning. Let’s get you out of this before you catch pneumonia.’
‘I think my phone’s ringing,’ said Bryant distantly.
‘Oh, come here.’ May patted his partner’s overcoat. ‘Why must you have so many pockets? And what are you doing with the unit’s mobile as well as your own? I prefer absentmindedness to kleptomania.’ He dug Bryant’s Nokia out, detached several boiled sweets and flipped it open. ‘Janice? Where are you?’
‘I’m out the back now. We’re following Tate’s trail through the rear gardens. I don’t think he intended to be a threat to Kallie. Nobody brings a stool along to their hiding place, as well as a knife. I think he was waiting there because he wanted to watch over the house and protect her. Or rather, he was watching the houses—his stool was turned away.’
‘Tate’s protecting the Water Room,’ said Bryant, closing the phone. ‘It’s why he never left the street, always living at the end on the waste ground, always hiding in the gardens. But who would he think it needed protecting from? What’s inside it? No one else knows the location, because we got it from—I’m an idiot . . .’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t listen. Something Jackie Quinten said about her friend’s map,’ Bryant muttered. ‘I didn’t think anything of it at the time. She couldn’t leave the map with me, because, as she put it, “He’ll kill me if he discovers she’s lent it out again.” I wasn’t the first person in the neighbourhood to ask about the map.’
‘Call her up.’
‘I didn’t keep the number. She’s just in the next street. It’ll only take a minute to go round there.’
Jackie Quinten was surprised to find two soaked elderly men on her doorstep. ‘Would you like to come in?’ she offered.
‘We can’t stop,’ said Bryant, attempting an unsodden smile. ‘Your friend Janet’s husband—who else did he lend his map to?’
‘Did I mention that? It was some while ago—the lady at number 6, Heather Allen. The one whose husband left her.’
‘You know about that?’
‘He was a local businessman, so there was quite a bit of gossip about the divorce. He divorced her for someone younger.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, a couple of years ago, at least.’
‘You’ve been most helpful.’ Bryant tipped his hat, getting water everywhere. The pair set off from the doorstep.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in and at least dry your trousers?’ called Mrs Quinten.
Heather hammered the cold tap of the bath with the heel of her hand. ‘You have to do this,’ she explained. ‘The washers are corroded. If it hadn’t been for the taps, none of this would have happened. She was old, she had no grip in her hands.’
Kallie tried to understand what was going on, but the pain in her temple sang and soared if she tried to move her head. She had been hit with something from the tool box, possibly the hammer. The tiny