Free Bryant & May's Mystery Tour by Christopher Fowler Page A

Not a terribly positive attitude, I suppose, but at least Speaker’s Corner still gives us some semblance of free speech.’
    â€˜Now, does anyone know the name of the great b-i-i-i-g department store on our right?’ Martin the tour guide was as proud and patronising as a first-time father. There were no takers. ‘Anyone?’
    Bryant listlessly raised his hand. ‘Selfridges, opened in 1909 by Harry Gordon Selfridge. He coined the phrase ‘The customer is always right’, and was the first salesman to put products out on display where they could be touched.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Martin.
    â€˜No, but luckily I do,’ Bryant countered.
    â€˜We’re catching a murderer on a bus?’ whispered May in disbelief.
    â€˜We are now heading toward Oxford Circus, which was once described by Noel Coward as the Hub Of The Universe,’ announced the guide.
    â€˜This boy’s a dunderhead.’ Bryant jerked a wrinkled thumb at Martin, who overheard him. ‘It was John Wyndham, and he was describing Piccadilly Circus.’
    Bryant occasionally worked as a tour guide in his spare time, but his revolutionary methods of involving the general public in his talks tended to frighten off casual tourists. He forgot most things, but never the facts he had painstakingly gathered about his city.
    â€˜I don’t understand,’ May persisted. ‘It sounds very straightforward. Why did we get the case?’ The PCU only handled investigations the Home Office found detrimental to government policy. A death of the kind his partner had described would usually fall under the local jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police.
    â€˜There are three oddities.’ Bryant ticked them off on his fingers. ‘One, after strangling Mrs McKay the murderer ordered two pizzas and calmly ate both of them. B, he slept overnight in the apartment. And three, his victim was killed after he left.’
    May considered the matter as the bus turned into Regent Street. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur, you’ve utterly lost me.’
    â€˜Do try to pay attention. The murderer left the flat at 7:15 this morning, not realising that his victim was still alive. Mrs McKay struggled to the window to raise the alarm, but the effort of opening it was too much for her. She lost consciousness while sitting on the sill and fell out into the street, landing on a gentleman called Sir Ian Lowry – ’
    â€˜The MOD bigwig?’
    â€˜The very same. Sir Ian was leaving a call-girl’s flat on the ground floor, where he had apparently stayed the night. Mrs McKay broke her neck and his leg. And that’s why the HO called us in. Obviously, it’s a serious security breach because Sir Ian is privy to all kinds of military secrets. It doesn’t help that he was putting the call-girl’s services down on his expenses. Private secretary, if you please. The girl has already been brought in, the coroner has certified that Mrs McKay bore the bruises of strangulation around her neck, and all that’s left is the apprehension of her killer.’
    â€˜So I’m here to help you identify him,’ said May, still a little confused.
    â€˜Oh, I know who the murderer is.’ Bryant cheerily flashed his oversized false teeth. ‘You were complaining about getting old the other day, so I thought this would be a chance for you to test your fading faculties.’
    The old-fashioned Routemaster bus stopped outside Hamley’s toy store and the driver stared impassively ahead as a single Japanese tourist came on board. May looked around. There were now eight passengers seated downstairs. The rain was falling too heavily for anyone to remain on the upper open deck. Bryant checked his ancient Timex. It was 10:44am.
    â€˜You already know the murderer’s identity?’ asked May.
    â€˜Better than that,’ replied Bryant smugly, ‘I can tell you the precise