days. Mind that old lady.’
‘You always want to think they’re twisted geniuses,’ May chided him. ‘You long to pit your wits against someone who hides clues in paintings and evades capture through their knowledge of ancient Greek. Forget it, Arthur; those days have gone.’
‘Russian agents still get poisoned by radioactive pellets in restaurants. Read your daily papers.’
May was forced to admit his old partner had a point. ‘It would be dangerous to underestimate this man,’ he warned. ‘He’s clearly smart enough to use everyone he meets. I bet Toth never realised he was acting as the host to a parasite.’
‘Precisely. Mr Fox has one formidable talent. He absorbs the knowledge of others. He used Toth, and I’m sure we’ll find he used Professor Marshall, the former coroner of the St Pancras Mortuary. That’s how the heads were severed so perfectly. We assumed it was a professional hit because of the clean cuts to the neck. The amputations were performed with surgical precision. I think Mr Fox persuaded the disgraced coroner to teach him how. You heard Giles—the cuts were virtually identical.’
May called Bimsley and Renfield, summoning them to the apartment building. Land’s BMW turned into Margery Street. The council estate had been rebuilt and extended after being bombed during the Second World War. Flat 7 stood on the ground floor, beyond a concrete courtyard.
‘Stay here,’ May told Land. ‘Wait for the others.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ Land complained as they left him alone. ‘I’m your superior officer.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ Bryant called back, ‘that’s just a title, like labelling a tin of peaches “Superior Quality.” It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘We may have to kick the door in,’ warned May. ‘That’ll be a challenge.’
Bryant pushed against the jamb. ‘I doubt either of us has the strength to shift this. The kitchen window is unlocked.’
It was a simple matter to raise the bolt and swing the pane wide, but climbing inside proved trickier. A few minutes later May lowered himself carefully onto the kitchen counter and came around to open the door. ‘There’s no-one here. Where else could he have gone?’ The pair stood on the balcony, looking around.
‘They went out,’ called a girl in a lime-green tracksuit, leaning over the railing. ‘Him and his mate.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Just a few minutes ago. He had to hold the other guy up, he was so pissed.’
‘Did you see where they went?’
‘Through there.’ She leaned further over and pointed down to a recessed door at the bottom of a flight of steps.
‘Why is he keeping Toth alive?’ May wondered as the detectives headed toward the basement.
‘I think I know why, but I hope I’m wrong. They’re going to Black Mary’s Hole. It’s directly underneath Spring House.’
May found a light switch and strip lights flickered on below them. Fourteen stone steps led to a damp cellar that housed the building’s electrical circuit boxes and elevator equipment.
‘Look around,’ said Bryant. ‘There has to be something else down here.’
‘I don’t know what I’m looking for, Arthur.’
‘Oh, you know.’ Bryant waved his hand about with annoying vagueness. ‘The tunnel.’
‘What tunnel?’
‘You don’t listen to a word I say, do you? The Bagnigge River ran beneath the church to Spring Place, where it was capped off. Our Mr Fox was employed at the church as a grave-maintenance person, or whatever Barton called it. Fox used the tunnel underneath, the one leading from the spa, to get back here. Where else could he have taken Mr Toth?’
‘All right,’ May conceded, ‘but what exactly are we hoping to find?’ When Bryant failed to answer, but merely pointed, May slowly turned around. ‘Oh.’
Behind him was a grey steel door studded with rivets the size of mushroom caps. ‘Try it,’ Bryant suggested. ‘There’s no lock that I can see. Put your shoulder to it.’
May did not have to push hard. The door’s hinges were thickly greased, and it swung in easily.
‘Do you have your Valiant on you?’
‘Of course.’ May pulled his cinema usherette’s flashlight from his overcoat and switched it on. ‘Mind your step. There’s a lot of rubble on the floor. Hang onto my coat.’ The pair made their way forward at a cautious pace. The floor was uneven, and followed a gentle upward slope. The tunnel smelled of standing water but was neat and square, cemented with lichen-covered terra-cotta tiles, most of them badly damaged. A channel in the floor indicated the former path of the healing spring. Clearly, nothing but rain had come through here in a very long time.
Bryant grabbed