Another One Goes Tonight

25

“Another problem,” Diamond said. “If Jessie wasn’t the woman in the river, what happened to her? We know she reported Cyril’s death the morning after Pellegrini visited, but then she upped sticks and left. No one has seen her since.”

“Dead,” Halliwell said as if it was a well-known fact. “He went back and murdered her.”

“At Little Langford?”

“Obviously.”

“How exactly?”

Halliwell shrugged. “We never discovered his method, did we? We looked at all those suggestions on the printout in his workshop-the air bubble in the bloodstream and the sharpened icicle-and none of them fitted the facts.”

“It’s got to be simpler than any of those,” Ingeborg said. “He says so in the journal. They don’t see it coming and they don’t know anything about it.”

“What does he mean by that?”

“Painless, I should think.”

“Like some powerful drug?”

“Look at the logistics for a moment,” Ingeborg said. “You’re saying he killed Jessie at Little Langford the day after Cyril was murdered, right?”

Halliwell nodded.

“First, he had to get there.”

“Taxi, same as before,” he said. “He went to the rank and took a taxi.”

“What, and asked the driver to wait outside the cottage while he committed a murder? ‘I won’t be long, driver. Just got to total the housekeeper.’”

Her sarcasm went unchallenged.

She tightened the screw. “Well? He had to think about getting home afterwards, didn’t he?”

A smile spread across Halliwell’s face. He had the answer. “No, he didn’t tell the driver to wait. He had alternative transport. Jessie had a car of her own. She used to drive Cyril around in it. It wasn’t left at the cottage, so Pellegrini used it for his getaway. We know he could drive. It’s probably still parked on some street in Bath.”

“With her body inside?”

“Christ, I hadn’t thought of that.” He scratched his head. “No, he wouldn’t bring her back to his own territory. He’s too smart to make that mistake. Far better to leave her at Little Langford.”

“Where? You’ve been there. The boss has been there. Neither of you found another corpse.”

“The garden is a wilderness. She could have been dumped in the bushes.”

“Didn’t you make a search?”

“We weren’t looking for another body at the time.”

Ingeborg switched to Diamond. “You started this, guv, asking what happened to Jessie. She hasn’t been seen or heard of in more than six weeks. Do you think he killed her?”

“It looks that way,” he said. “He went to some trouble to plant the hairbrush in her room so we’d get a false DNA result. Keith is right. It’s worth going to Little Langford and making a search. Find Jessie’s corpse, and we’ll have all the proof we need.”

Inside ten minutes all three were heading out of Bath in Ingeborg’s tangerine-coloured Ka. Diamond, being the boss, not to say the largest, was in the front passenger seat. Halliwell, wedged in the back, was not alone.

“What the fuck is this?” he said when he found himself next to Nutty, the monstrous squirrel.

“It shouldn’t be there,” Ingeborg said. “Someone I won’t name promised to transfer it to his car last night. Conveniently he forgot.”

The unnamed someone stayed silent.

“Can you move it?” she said. “It’s blocking my rear-view mirror.”

“What do you want me to do-cuddle it?”

“Good idea. And take it with you when you get out.”

Diamond was oblivious to all this. Mentally he was already at Pellegrini’s bedside having the crucial face-to-face that would settle everything.

The crunch.

He fully intended it should happen before the day was out, whatever the nursing staff said. Another night would hand Pellegrini an advantage, a chance to prepare a defence. Much better to catch him off guard.

He took out his phone and called the hospital. The station-announcer must have gone off duty because the voice on the line was the other sister’s, never a pushover, but approachable, given the right prompts.

“Yes,” he was saying presently, “he’s fine, soon to be reunited with his owner, we hope. How’s the recovery progressing?”

“Better than anyone expected. He was moved this morning to a private room in a general ward.”

“That’s Bradford Ward?”

“Yes, it’s adjacent to this one, so I can slip in and see him. He can hold a conversation now, which is a huge step forward.”

“Does he remember much?”

“A lot, but there are some blanks. That’s to be expected. He can’t at the moment recall anything about the accident that put him here. Par for the course in a case of severe concussion. And although he remembers his home and his friends and his late wife, he’s at a loss when I talk to him about Hornby.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’m sure he’ll get that memory back. He looks more alert by the minute. Are you planning to visit him?”

“Later, I hope.”

“We’ve lifted all restrictions. Well, I have, as soon as I came on duty and saw the improvement. Two of his railway-enthusiast buddies are with him as we speak and a lady friend is on her way. She asked if he’s allowed chocolate sponge. We should all have friends like that. When do you hope to get here?”

“Later. I’m on a trip out Salisbury way right now.”

“Shall I tell him to expect you?”

“Please don’t,” he said at once. “He won’t know me from Adam.”

“But you rescued Hornby. He ought to be told about that.”

“If he doesn’t remember who Hornby is, there’s no point. I want my visit to be a surprise. You can keep a secret, sister, I know you can.”

After he’d ended the call he was braced for the inevitable question.

Halliwell voiced it. “Who the hell is Hornby?”

“Did you ever see a film called Harvey?”

“Before my time.”

“James Stewart.”

“Black and white, I expect, if the boss rates it,” Ingeborg said.

“It was about this guy who befriends a six-foot-three-inch invisible rabbit,” Diamond said.

“Don’t talk to me about rabbits,” Halliwell said. “I’m sharing a seat with one.”

Ingeborg said with scorn. “Squirrel.”

“Squirrel, then.”

“Are you sure?” Diamond said.

“Sure about what?”

“Sure who’s sitting next to you?”

Ingeborg giggled as they overtook another car.

Halliwell said, “Give me a break.”

Diamond said, “I only mentioned it because Hornby, like Harvey, is real to some people and not others.”

They were zipping along in the small car, way too fast for Diamond’s peace of mind, but he couldn’t really object. Already they were through the Warminster bypass and heading up the Wylye valley.

His stress was partially about what lay ahead. He’d never met Jessie, of course, but having seen where she lived and thought a lot about her, he’d formed an impression of the woman. Maybe the Jessie in his thoughts was no more grounded in reality than Harvey or Hornby, yet he could picture her driving Cyril along this same road on the Scrabble afternoons, trying to persuade the old rogue to cut down on his gambling. Some hope! He could see her getting bored in the little cottage with only a ninety-year-old for company, glad of the chance of an evening off when Pellegrini arranged to visit. His Jessie was a believable personality. The possibility that he and his team would shortly find a body was upsetting.

Had she been a thief? he wondered, not for the first time. Had she actually helped Cyril repay some of his debts by stealing items from the Filiput house? With better opportunities than Cyril himself, she may well have done so.

That episode after the funeral-when coffee was spilt on her purple wool skirt and she left the room with Mrs. Stratford, the actor-cum-cleaner, to change-must have given another opportunity to roam the house, but it wasn’t her doing. Pellegrini himself had caused the spillage. Jake and Simon had used the phrase “tipped coffee over her skirt”-as if he’d done it deliberately.

Deliberately?

Was that possible? What a mean trick if it was true. Presumably he wanted her out of the room so that he could get up to something. But what?

Diamond visualised the incident as it had been described, first by Mrs. Stratford and later by Jake. The lawyer, Miss Hill, had explained Max’s last wishes about the railway memorabilia and invited the guests to help themselves to the old posters and photos. Mayhem had followed. Pellegrini had elbowed Jessie in his eagerness (it was said) to get to the precious items on offer.

Jessie had changed into overalls. She hadn’t returned to the funeral reception. It was left to Mrs. Stratford to come in from the kitchen and collect Jessie’s handbag.

And that, surely, was what it had all been about. By accident or design Pellegrini had made an opportunity to go through that bag.

The truth about the killings, the whole ugly truth, shot through Peter Diamond like a million volts.