Bloodhounds

Chapter Thirty-two

Back at Manvers Street, there was a message waiting from the police surgeon; Rupert's blood alcohol level had been high, at lOOmg/ 100ml, but not excessively high. Diamond screwed it up and tossed it into the bin. "I'd have expected double that figure if he was legless."

Julie pointed out that lOOmg was above the legal limit for a driver, and Diamond said offhandedly that this wasn't about pinching a dead man for drunk driving.

She was treading on eggs, but she wasn't going to let him get away with a cheap jibe. "It's worth remembering when the blood sample was taken, about eight this morning. We don't know when he had his last drink, but the alcohol must have been metabolizing for some time. It would have been a higher reading if we'd got the blood earlier."

He rolled his eyes at her use of the word metabolizing and said, "Too bad we didn't, then. You must be right, I suppose. I'm a dead loss at science. You've got to make allowances, Julie."

She surprised him by saying, "You, too, Mr. Diamond."

"What?"

"You've got to make allowances."

"What for?"

"For the metabolic factor."

"Ah." He grinned faintly.

Still unhappy with the result, however, he arranged for a driver to collect the sample and take it at once to the Home Office forensic laboratory at Chepstow. They would check for other substances; it was not inconceivable that one of Rupert's drinks had been spiked. But of course a test for drugs would take time. He hated delays.

His mood didn't improve when he looked into the incident room. The impetus seemed to have gone out of the inquiry, as if everyone there was just cruising now. The general idea was that Rupert's hanging had confirmed him as the murderer, even though no confession had yet come to light. Diamond, they felt, was just being bloody-minded now, and he added more fuel by ordering an immediate search for witnesses and yet another check of all the suspects and the people they lived with, this time to establish their movements since seven the previous evening-an exercise guaranteed to create more resentment and hostility.

He said he would take his share of the flak by checking on Jessica Shaw and the men in her life. Halliwell and a detective constable were sent to the Paragon to interview Miss Chilmark. Julie went off to the Badgerline offices to find where Shirley-Ann Miller was this morning, and after that to the Sports and Leisure Center to check on Bert. DS Hughes and DC Twigg were dispatched to Claverton to call on Polly Wycherley. And, just for the record, as Diamond put it, DS Mitchell went out to the boatyard to talk to Milo Motion.

Instead of going directly to the Walsingham Gallery, Diamond started at the Locksbrook Trading Estate, west of the city, where Jessica's husband rented a unit for his ceramics business. It was high time to meet that patron of the arts, Mr. Barnaby Shaw.

Asked to wait in the showroom, he felt like Gulliver in Lilliput, surrounded by what must have been the entire range of miniature buildings in Barnaby's stock: houses by the hundred, stately homes, churches, pubs, and castles. Finely made as they were, to a man as incorrigibly clumsy as Diamond, such exquisite little pieces represented a thousand potential hazards. He stood uneasily in the only space of any size that he could find, trying to stay clear of the slowly revolving display stands. It was a mercy when Barnaby's assistant called him into the managerial suite.

Having negotiated the showroom without mishap, the big man tripped on an Afghan rug and lurched forward, grabbing Barnaby's welcoming hand and practically dragging him to the floor. Bits of china around the room rattled, but nothing was broken.

"Never look where I'm going," he admitted. "When I was a kid, my knees were permanently covered in scabs."

The p.a. escorted him to an armchair.

Barnaby looked more shaken than his guest. Trim in a gray suit, with a maroon shirt and toning tie and pocket handkerchief, he wasn't dressed for wrestling. Diamond watched the way he scooted back around his desk; he looked used to staying out of trouble.

They discussed the miniatures politely. Barnaby had started making matchstick models thirty years ago and progressed by stages to ceramics. He sometimes did commissions for people who wanted their homes immortalized, but it came rather expensive. Diamond said honestly that he considered it a waste of money, adding tactfully that he was always breaking things.

Barnaby submitted easily to the questioning.

"Yes, I was here until late yesterday evening catching up on the orders. It gets very busy in the run-up to Christmas."

"Christmas already?" Diamond said in mock horror. "Anyone with you?"

"Last night, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Not after six, when the staff left."

"So what time did you get home, Mr. Shaw?"

"Must have been well after midnight. About one thirty, I'd say." He was fluent in his replies, unaware (presumably) of Rupert's death, giving the impression of a small businessman pressed to the limit, but cheerful. But he obviously found time to dress well, even if the three-piece suit seemed a little wasted on the trading estate.

"Did you speak to anyone at all in that time?"

"Certainly-on the phone."

"But you weren't seen by anyone?"

"No."

"When you got in, was your wife in bed?"

"I presume she was."

"You don't know?"

"We sleep in separate rooms."

That fitted, Diamond thought. He was hard pressed to think what Jessica Shaw found attractive in this dull, over-worked man, unless it was the money he made from his titchy houses. No, to be fair, he was dapper. And he took the trouble to tint his hair.

"Do you happen to know how Mrs. Shaw spent the evening?"

"You'll have to ask her. I haven't seen her since early yesterday. She was still asleep when I left this morning." He put his hand to his mouth as a thought struck him. "Look, nothing's happened to Jess, has it?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Someone else? A.J.?"

"I was going to ask you about him, Mr. Shaw. A close friend of the family, obviously."

"Well… yes," said Barnaby, as if he needed to ponder the matter before confirming it. "He's extremely helpful."

"In what way, sir?"

"With the gallery."

"You mean setting up the exhibitions, and so forth?"

"Financially, also. He has a large stake in the business."

This was new information-though Diamond tried to make it seem familiar. "Well, he would want to see it succeed- as one of the exhibitors, I mean."

"I doubt if Jess could keep it going without his help," Barnaby placidly agreed. "I certainly couldn't fund it out of my profits. I chip in when I can, but the overheads are terrific. You wouldn't believe the business rate in the city. The heating bills, the publicity. AJ. takes care of all that."

So AJ. was the patron of the arts. "Out of his sales?"

"Lord, no. He doesn't sell much at all. He's a proficient artist, but not commercial. He has a private income."

"And did he help with the party the other evening-the, em, preview?"

"He was a great help, yes."

"I meant financially. Did he pay for the booze?"

"No. Actually, that was my gift to Jessica. I chip in when I can. It's easier to fund a one-off event like that than meet the regular bills, as AJ. so generously does."

Barnaby's own generosity of spirit was increasingly puzzling to Diamond, trained to look for the jealousies and rivalries in relationships. This wanted probing further. "He does this out of friendship, does he?"

"Essentially, yes," Barnaby confirmed. "He has a stake, in a sense, because he hopes to sell his paintings, and probably he could insist on a oneman show if he wanted. However, he's content to be treated as any other artist wishing to exhibit."

"That is altruistic." Diamond took a deep breath and dived in. "I don't wish to be offensive, Mr. Shaw, but haven't you ever wondered about his motives?"

"I don't understand you."

"Your wife's an attractive woman."

"Oh, I see," said Barnaby coolly. "You're suggesting a liaison of some kind?"

"In your shoes, I would have given it more than a passing thought."

"But you're not-and you don't know Jess."

"I've met her."

"What I mean, Superintendent, is that she can be trusted absolutely. I understand why you mention the matter. She's a modern, intelligent woman, but she has an old-fashioned notion of fidelity. I won't pretend that she and I are locked into a passionate marriage. I just know that Jessica would never be unfaithful."

"That must be a great consolation."

"When she spends so much time in the company of another man, you mean?" said Barnaby. "I know exactly what you're getting at. I've no doubt that she and A.J. are close. Intellectually, they may be flirting outrageously. Physically, no."

"Would you mind enlarging on that?" asked Diamond.

"On what?"

"Flirting intellectually."

Barnaby Shaw smiled. "If you haven't indulged, it's hard to explain. Let's put it this way. The attraction two people feel for each other is channeled in certain ways. If there is sexual energy, it may find an outlet through other means. Music, perhaps. Or food."

"Lunchtime walks?"

Barnaby gave him a sharper look. "I'm not explaining myself very well, am I? Intelligent people-and the two we're discussing are very bright indeed-may indulge in a kind of ritual, finding some means of amusement, some game, that diverts their energy and is fulfilling."

"That's enough?"

"It would be enough for Jessica."

Such sophisticated goings-on were outside Diamond's experience. He wasn't sure that he was convinced by the rationale. It was not impossible that Barnaby was trying to convince himself.

"I'd like to ask you about the graffiti that appeared on the gallery window on the evening of the party," he said.

For the first time, Barnaby was rattled. "Who told you about that?"

"It came to my attention."

"The young woman with the glasses and the fringe? Miss Miller?"

"I think it's fairly common knowledge, Mr. Shaw. There were plenty of people at the party."

"Yes, but they didn't all see the writing. In fact, nobody remarked on it until we noticed it ourselves. It wasn't very obvious with all the lights on in the gallery. One tended to look through the windows, not at them."

"I see. And did your wife have any idea who was responsible?"

"No idea whatsoever, but she was pretty upset about it."

"Which was why you decided to wipe it off without reporting it?"

"Left to herself, Jess would have called the police."

"Why didn't she?"

"Because we persuaded her that it wasn't a serious matter. It was better to ignore it."

"You say 'we.' Who was involved in this decision?"

"AJ. and I and Miss Miller."

"So Shirley-Ann joined in, did she?"

"Jessica brought her out of the party to look at the writing. I think she was the first one of the Bloodhounds she could grab. There were others there, but-"

"Which others?"

"Milo Motion and that character with the beret. Rupert."

"Anyone else from the Bloodhounds?"

"No, the two women, Miss Chilmark and Mrs. Wycherley, aren't on the gallery mailing list."

"Why is that?"

"You'd have to ask Jessica."

Diamond resolved to do that. Before leaving Barnaby, he had one more question of significance. "You saw the message on the gallery window. Has it crossed your mind, just fleetingly, that it might be true?"

"That Jessica did for Sid?" Barnaby was candid. "I gave it some thought later, yes. But I honestly couldn't think of any reason why she would do such an immature thing. My wife is an unusually clever woman."

In the car he took a call from Keith Halliwell, reporting that Miss Chilmark wasn't at home. The old lady upstairs in the Paragon house had said that she might have gone away. She'd seen her the previous evening getting into a taxi-a black cab-and carrying a small suitcase.

"Miss Chilmark did a runner?" Diamond piped in amazement.

"It seems so."

He told Halliwell to start checking with taxi firms and heard the faint sigh of despair.

He drove to Orange Grove, left the car in front of the Empire Hotel, and walked the short distance up the High Street to Northumberland Place. A.J., unflustered, welcomed him to the gallery and offered him a coffee. Jessica, he told Diamond, should not be long. She was with a dealer upstairs. "If your business can wait a few minutes, Superintendent, I'm sure she'll be immensely grateful. It isn't often she gets a chance to do business with the big boys from London."

"I'll start with you, then."

"With me? I shouldn't think I can help much."

"You can save Mrs. Shaw from some tedious questions about things that happened last week."

"Is that all?" AJ. was reassured. The smile was reinstated. "Fire away, then. I thought this must be about the frightful business this morning in Sydney Gardens."

"You heard about it?"

"From Shirley-Ann Miller a short time ago. Of course, we know nothing firsthand."

"She was quickly onto it," said Diamond, slightly deflated.

"The jungle telegraph works well in Bath. I think she works in public relations, doesn't she?"

"Tourism."

"Well, she's pretty hot at public relations as well. Did you say you'd like a coffee?"

"No, thanks."

He was shown to the tall-backed Rennie Mackintosh chair. After making up his mind that it really was a chair, though unsuited to his physique, he tried his weight on it, perched awkwardly, and then got up saying, "I'm happy to stand. You knew Rupert Darby, sir?"

"A slight acquaintance only," said AJ. "Jessica invited him to the preview we had here. Rather a carrying voice, which can be an asset at a party, because everyone else then raises the volume, and it all sounds wildly successful."

"You hadn't met him before that?"

"No. I'd seen him around in Bath. Easy to recognize from Jessica's description. The beret, the voice, the dog."

"Was the dog at the party?"

"No, I'm speaking of seeing him in the street. You want to know about the party. He and I didn't exchange more than a few passing words as he came in. He isn't the sort who waits to be introduced to people. He was in there straightaway. I wouldn't have thought he was the suicidal type."

Diamond gave a shrug. His thoughts were no longer on Rupert's personality. At this minute AJ. interested him more. He might have stepped out of a holiday brochure with his welcome-to-paradise smile and designer shirt and jeans. Barnaby had spoken of a private income, and some of it must have gone on the teeth, which were as even as computer keys. Was this young buck likely to be content with "intellectual flirting"?

"I understand you have a large stake in the gallery, Mr. er…?"

"AJ. will do."

Diamond was shaking his head. "Not any longer, sir. I'm gathering evidence, you see. I have to insist on full names."

AJ. frowned. "Does it really matter? The A is for Ambrose. I cringe each time I have to own up to it."

"And the J?"

"Jason. Hardly much better."

"That isn't your surname, is it?"

"No. That's"-he cast his eyes upward-"Smith. Ambrose Jason Smith. Now can we talk about something more important, for pity's sake?"

This business over the name had quite upset AJ. All the more incentive for Diamond.

"Are you a local man… Mr. Smith?"

A glare. "No. Born in Devon, but the next twenty years I spent in and around Winchester. I went to school there."

"The public school?"

"Yes. If you want the whole sordid truth, I was not a credit to them. Got expelled eventually. Went to art college and then had a few poverty-stricken years in Paris."

"And now you're stricken no longer?"

"That is correct."

Diamond waited.

AJ. explained, "The family forgave me."

"To come back to my question, you have a large stake in the gallery. Is that so?"

"I help out with the overheads. I'm also a regular exhibitor. I wish you would tell me what this has to do with the police."

"You're a close friend of Mrs. Shaw's."

"That's a sinister-sounding phrase. She's a married woman, Superintendent. If you're inferring what I think you are, you'd better have a care what you say."

"Some words were sprayed on the gallery window on the night of the preview party."

A.J.'s reaction was less dramatic than Barnaby's. He was still well in control. His brown eyes looked into Diamond's and then toward the window. "How did you hear about that?"

"The words, I was informed, were 'She did for Sid.' "

"So?"

"You were one of the people who decided to remove them without reporting the matter."

"To put it in context," said A J., adopting a lofty tone, "it was obviously a piece of misplaced fun. We were having a party. People have a few drinks and do daft things. We thought it was in bad taste and wiped the window clean. If that's a crime, you'd better arrest us all."

From above came the sound of footsteps. Jessica was about to descend with her dealer.

"Another question," said Diamond. "Where were you last night from seven onward?"

"God, you really are taking this seriously. In the bar at the Royal Crescent Hotel and afterward at the Clos du Roy Restaurant, where I dined alone. But if you wish to make inquiries, a dozen bar staff and waiters can vouch for me."

"And after you'd eaten?"

"I went home and watched television. Would you like me to tell you what the program was?"

Jessica's black-stockinged legs and blue strappy shoes appeared at the top of the spiral stairs. She led down a small silver-haired man in a black overcoat and a bow tie. Quick to sense that the deal she'd been doing upstairs might be undermined if she introduced a policeman, she said smoothly, "My dear Mr. Diamond, how good of you to call again. This is quite a morning. If you'll forgive me for a moment, Mr. Peake has come specially from London, and he has another gallery to see. I'll just point him in the right direction, and then we'll do business, I promise."

Diamond nodded, allowing the subterfuge to pass, before starting up with AJ. again. "You live in Bath?"

"Queen Square."

"Nice and central."

"Yes."

"Is there anyone…?"

"I am a bachelor."

"Did you go out at all last night?"

"I went home to sleep, Superintendent, and sleep is what I did."

Back came Jessica. "Wonderful. He wants seven, including that big one of yours, AJ. We've got to celebrate. Is there any bubbly left over from the party?"

"Before you do-" Diamond began.

"You're to join us," said Jessica. "It isn't every day we do three grands' worth of business."

"Sorry, but you're joining me," said Diamond, "and there's no bubbly on offer. We might run to coffee in a plastic cup, but that's the best I can promise."

"I don't think I understand."

"I'm taking you in, Mrs. Shaw. For questioning."