Free Bryant & May - London's Glory: (Short Stories) (Bryant & May Collection) by Christopher Fowler Page A

to go exactly where they want. Our assassin only had to bring his kite down from the sky and touch it across her throat.’
    May was incredulous. ‘You’re saying Mrs Kastopolis was killed by a
kite
?’
    ‘By the cord of a kite flown by an expert, yes,’ said Bryant. ‘Mr Bhatnagar looked out for his friend and protector, the landlord of all his properties. He made sure his waiters kept their eyes and ears open. When one of them overheard Marsha Kastopolis telling her friend that she was going to talk to the police about her husband, he stepped in to help. He called the man who had repeatedly asked him to stay vigilant.
    ‘Obviously, if anything bad happened to Marsha on her husband’s home turf suspicions would have been aroused. So one of the waiters was paid to draw her away. Mr Bhatnagar called her pretending to be an ally, and said he had important information for her. He lured her to the meeting on Primrose Hill. He thought he could get rid of her in a quiet place, and made his waiter, Raj, do the dirty work, using the one special skill he possessed. I don’t suppose the lack of footprints in the snow even crossed anyone’s mind. Unfortunately for him, it made the case unique enough to attract our attention.’
    ‘Why would this waiter Raj agree to do such a thing?’
    ‘He had no choice. He was in debt to Mr Bhatnagar.’
    ‘Have you sent someone around to arrest Kastopolis?’
    ‘No, you’ve misunderstood,’ said Bryant. ‘Kastopolis didn’t ask Mr Bhatnagar to keep an eye out for problems. It was the liaison officer, Anderson. Your first instinct was right: Kastopolis had bought someone on the committee. That was how he got away with breaking the law for so many years. Anderson got kickbacks and watched out for his client in return. Ultimately it was Anderson who forced the waiter, Raj, to commit murder.’
    May was mystified. ‘But how did you know it was him?’
    ‘Anderson vehemently denied ever consorting with his client, remember? But when I rummaged about on his desk I saw a receipt for the Rajasthan Palace. He’d eaten there the night before. He couldn’t resist slipping the dinner through on his expenses.’
    ‘All these people, working to protect one corrupt man,’ said May, ‘and they’re the ones who’ll go down for him while Kastopolis walks away again. It’s not fair.’
    ‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ said Bryant. ‘The notebook is still out there somewhere. We just have to find it before he does.’
    The elderly detective turned back to watch a shimmering turquoise kite as it looped down and slashed the string of its nearest rival. The other kite, a fluttering box of emerald satin, was caught in a tight spiral and plunged into a dive, collapsing on the frozen earth.
    ‘Alluring and dangerous,’ said Bryant. ‘The winners are raised up on the sacrifices of the fallen. That’s how it has always been in this city.’ He smiled ruefully at his partner and turned to watch the turquoise diamond weaving back and forth across the silvered clouds, savouring its brief moment of glory.

Here’s a short, simple tale hinging on something I found in an old book. There’s rarely enough time to pull off a whodunnit in a very short story, so you tend to concentrate on another mysterious aspect of a case. Those who know me well will recognize the influence of Norman Wisdom in the title.

BRYANT & MAY ON THE BEAT
     
    ‘I’m completely out of ideas.’
    John May, senior detective at the Peculiar Crimes Unit, studied the living room of the chaotic tenth-floor apartment. Its contents were sealed beneath a cowl of clear plastic, designed to prevent contamination of evidence. ‘His body was found over there by his landlady and was taken straight to University College Hospital. The last time anyone saw him was Christmas Eve, four days ago. The doctors want to know if he was a farmer or had visited a farm in the past two weeks.’
    ‘Seems a bit unlikely,’ said Arthur Bryant, his