28
THE LAND DECIDES
Raymond Land shifted about in his chair and rearranged the few items on his desk, then looked for something useful to do. Everyone else was busy, and he had no-one to talk to. He wasn’t needed here at the office, and he certainly wasn’t needed at home. The only person who had come to see him this morning was Crippen, and that was because the cat wanted to be fed.
Life wasn’t fair. At least retirement would have allowed him regular games of golf. He had a little money saved, and might have taken a holiday somewhere far away, South America perhaps. Leanne could have put her rhumba lessons to use. Heaven knows she’d taken enough of them. Instead, he was stuck in this crumbling warehouse, where chill winds crept in through the cracks in the walls, wondering if he would ever get warm again and how on earth he could be of help to anyone other than the cat.
Outside it was just starting to rain again. May in London, a month when nobody talked about anything but the weather. He sharpened a pencil. The bulb on his desk light flickered and went out. His chair had a wobbly leg. Folding a beer mat into quarters he bent down to use it as a makeshift prop, and found himself looking at a painted white line, about an inch wide. The line came to a point under his foot, then set off again beneath his desk.
Puzzled, Land rose and pushed back his chair.
Another point, further to the left, went under the ancient, moth-eaten Persian rug Bryant had thrown down on the floor. Land lifted a corner with his shoe to see where the line went next. It disappeared under the desk, so he moved the desk and rolled the rug back.
‘Mr Bryant—’ His voice rose and broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Arthur, may I have a word with you?’
After what seemed like an age, Bryant stuck his head around the door. ‘What is it? I’m very busy, you know.’
‘There’s a pentacle under my desk.’
Bryant came into the room and made an elaborate fuss about getting out his spectacles. Fitting the wires firmly behind his ears, he peered at the floor. ‘So there is.’
Land was outraged. ‘Have there been Satanists up here?’
‘I really have no idea.’
‘I’m sure you do. You always have an idea. You pretend you’re dotty, but you know a hawk from a handsaw. You’ve probably got a dossier on this place tucked among those weird books you keep.’
‘Is this all you wanted?’ asked Bryant irritably. ‘You do know we’ve got a murder investigation on our hands? Perhaps I can be allowed to return to my—’
‘No, it’s not all,’ said Land plaintively. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t have a purpose. You always know what to do. What should I do?’
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Nobody takes any notice of you because you don’t do anything. You sit there worrying. People do peculiar things and you can’t understand why. Life is short and filled with pain, and just when you start to finally get the hang of it, you drop dead. So pull yourself together and give me a hand. Do something and make a difference. I have over a hundred blurry photocopies of land-purchase agreements to go through, and could really use some help.’
Land should have been annoyed. There was a murderer on the loose, time was running out, and he had no idea what Bryant was doing with property contracts, but as he followed Bryant’s instructions he felt strangely elated.
‘I was told I’d find Xander Toth here,’ said John May. He had come to the Camley Street Natural Park, an urban nature reserve run by the London Wildlife Trust, to talk to the leader of the Battlebridge Action Group. The small sanctuary consisted of woods and wetlands backing onto the canal, and had been reclaimed from the former red-light district. The site had originally been a coal drop for the railway, but after the discovery of wild orchids growing by the water it had been reborn as a wildlife park. Toth worked here as one of the volunteer gardeners.
‘He’s planting, over there on the bank,’ answered the girl who was refilling the bird-feeders at the entrance. May followed her directions and picked his way across a muddy meadow filled with reedmace, wondering if he was about to meet the abductor who stalked the lonely road leading from the Keys nightclub. He decided to take a soft approach to the subject and let his suspect speak out.
‘Xander Toth?’ he called.
‘You’re the other one, aren’t you?’ Toth set aside his spade and pulled off his gardening gloves, leaning over to shake May’s hand. He was standing in a dell filled with evening primrose, hollyhocks and oxeye daisies.
‘Detective John May. You know me?’
‘I saw you talking to Marianne Waters the other day. You think I’m a troublemaker.’
‘I didn’t say that. I know you want to build a pagan temple on the site of St Pancras Old Church, but that’s about it.’
Toth grinned. ‘See, that’s the kind of quote that’s taken out of context.’
‘Maybe you should have thought more carefully before you gave it.’
‘People will think I’m crazy whatever I say.’
‘Are you? It’s the kind of thing that can really damage a good cause.’
‘No, I’m not crazy. I’m committed.’
‘And you don’t believe in compromise.’
‘Tell me, Mr May, how would that work? ADAPT gives back a little corner of land so that we can erect a maypole or something, donates a little money toward the restoration of the graveyard in return for sticking up some sponsor plaques? And we agree to back off so they can build London’s largest shopping mall on public property?’
‘That’s a very cynical outlook, Mr Toth. The world moves on; you can’t go back in time.’
‘I don’t want to go back. I want people to have what’s rightfully theirs. ADAPT has spent years perfecting the art of turning people out on the street and making them feel grateful for it.’
‘Tell me something I don’t understand. You have fewer than thirty registered members on your side. That’s according to your own Web site. If all these people you say you represent can’t even be bothered to stand up for their own land, why should you care?’
Toth looked down at the freshly turned earth and shook his head. ‘You know how quickly areas can change? ADAPT demolished all the buildings on the land they bought, and ploughed up the ground. Since then, wildlife has started returning to the region. Geese, herons, foxes, rare flowers, migrating wild birds not seen here for decades. Do you believe that the landscape in which you grow up has the power to shape you?’
‘Of course. Inner-city kids are very different from ones who—’
‘I’m not talking about demographics. The land on which we build our houses decides who we are. If you thought your environment had become harmful, how would you feel about raising a child in it? I’m about to become a father.’
‘How much do you know about the history of this area?’
‘Pretty much everything there is to know. It’s my specialist subject. I talk to the local people and try to educate them about it.’
May thought back to what his partner had told him about the myths born in the ancient woodlands of Battlebridge. ‘Then you know how strongly it’s associated with the image of a man in horns. You have the knowledge, Mr Toth. You have the motive. Who else is it more likely to be?’
‘You’re accusing me, Detective. What are you going to do—apply for a warrant to search my home?’
‘You were supposed to provide my partner with times and dates of your whereabouts. We’re still waiting for that list. Several of your members have criminal records for drug offences. Your flat is listed as the registered address of the Battlebridge Action Group. If there are reasonable grounds for me to suspect that there are drugs on your premises, I don’t have to apply for a warrant. If I find anything that connects you with the stag-man, I’m going to arrest you.’
‘Oh, really?’ Toth studied him with interest. ‘What are you going to charge me with?’
May was suddenly struck by the absurdity of the idea. If Toth was responsible, what had he actually done? A few workers had walked out, and one man had broken his ankle in an accident that had arguably been caused by a hallucinated sighting of Veles, a Romanian childhood legend. What about the girl the stag-man had supposedly abducted? She had apparently vanished into the night sky, no name, no identity, no loved ones to even report her missing. May had nothing. He was chasing an invisible man.
‘Nice to meet you, Mr May,’ Toth shouted after him. ‘I don’t want you coming near my house, you hear me? Remember, I know my rights better than anyone. Stay away from me.’
Even as he walked away, May felt sure there was another part of Alexander Toth that remained hidden from view. And until he discovered what it was, he would not be able to put the case to rest.