Down Among the Dead Men

27

When DI Montacute got back to his office in Chichester police station at the end of his demanding day, he found Peter Diamond in occupation. Nothing is more certain to induce insecurity than finding someone seated in your office chair.

‘Don’t stand on ceremony,’ Diamond said with all the warmth he could muster for this dislikeable detective. ‘Come on in. I’ve finished, anyway.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Chatting to your helpful member of the public, the boatman who reckons all the missing people are at the bottom of the sea.’

Montacute must have forgotten already. ‘Oh, him.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t mind if I brought him into your office. So much more homely than the interview rooms.’

‘Is it?’

‘Jim Bentley is from Emsworth. Nice man. Retired civil servant. Owns a small boat and goes fishing with his friend Norman, an ex-lecturer. Not one of your fantasists, I’d say. His information is reliable, such as it is.’

Montacute gave the grimace of a policeman who wants it known that he will not be suckered. ‘He saw a body being dropped overboard?’

‘No. He saw an empty inflatable anchored in the sea and a diver coming up, a lone diver who told Jim and Norman to sail into the sunset, or words to that effect.’

‘Is that all?’

‘They took a photo, fixed the spot with the GPS and did as they were asked.’

‘And he thinks that’s worth reporting to us?’

‘It’s a personal tribute to you. He saw your sparkling performance on TV and felt compelled to respond.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ That grimace again.

‘And how did you get on with Davy the model?’ Diamond asked.

‘Same as all the rest. He didn’t see Mel at the party. Not one of them did.’

‘And did the dive team find anything?’

‘No.’

‘It’s a big lake.’

‘They searched the obvious area closest to the house.’

‘Maybe they should try the less obvious parts.’

‘I’ve laid them off now. It’s bloody obvious we’ve wasted our time at Fortiman House. Someone out of all those people would have seen the girl.’

‘Didn’t you learn anything at all?’

‘I’m in the wrong job, that’s what I learned. I’d do better as an artists’ model. Did you see that yellow Lamborghini on the drive? It belonged to Davy. I watched him drive off in it at the end of the day.’

‘If he owns a thing like that, he doesn’t need to model.’

‘It gives him pleasure.’

‘The modelling or the car?’

‘The modelling. He enjoys being looked at. As he put it to me, he’s an average bloke with an average body who doesn’t get noticed by anyone when he’s in his clothes. This way, he’s the centre of attention.’

‘Strange. Rather him than me.’

‘It takes all sorts. And now if you’ve finished with my office...’

Diamond didn’t move.

‘Where’s your boss?’ Montacute asked, making it sound like a threat.

‘Back at the hotel, taking a shower and arranging for her clothes to be dry-cleaned. She got in a mess stomping around the lake chasing a trespasser who turned out to be your boss.’

‘Hen?’ he said with disapproval. ‘What was she doing there?’

‘She heard the art group were under investigation. She’s anxious to find her niece, Joss. Is there any news?’

Montacute shook his head. ‘All the focus is on the schoolgirl. Hen’s off the case. She’ll get into worse trouble if this gets back to headquarters.’

‘It won’t, will it?’ Diamond said.

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re going to forget I told you. You’re a hard man, but my reading of you is that you wouldn’t shaft your own boss.’

In the privacy of his room back at the hotel, he called Sussex police headquarters and asked to speak to Commander Hahn.

‘It’s Saturday,’ the duty officer said.

‘I know that.’

‘He isn’t here, I’m afraid.’

‘For the whole weekend?’

‘He’ll be in Monday.’

Excellent. If Diamond hadn’t been holding the phone he would have rubbed his hands. ‘Unfortunately I can’t wait for Monday,’ he said, launching into one of those hectoring speeches he could make without trying. No duty officer could withstand them. ‘I’m speaking on behalf of Assistant Chief Constable Georgina Dallymore, working on a top-level assignment at Commander Hahn’s personal request. How shall we do this? I don’t suppose you want to call him on his mobile and I guess you won’t let me have the number. Are you empowered to take executive decisions?’

‘Depends what they are.’

‘My chief needs to use the search and rescue unit for a sea search tomorrow morning. A dive about a mile off Selsey Bill.’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid. The SRU aren’t available. There’s an ongoing operation.’

Gotcha. Diamond smiled to himself. ‘Not ongoing any more if it’s the one at Fortiman House. I just spoke to DI Montacute at Chichester. He no longer needs the dive team. So would you ask them to get in touch with me at the Ship Hotel and we’ll arrange a time and place?’

An hour later, Diamond was stretched on the bed waiting for someone from the dive team to call. His neck started itching. He flicked it with his fingertip and felt a faint contact and realised he’d disturbed a living thing, an insect of some sort, now wriggling on the quilt. He sat up fast.

A ladybird, upside down, its little legs going like pistons. Invading ladybirds are easier to forgive than most other bugs.

He righted it, took it to the window and released it.

A second one was crawling up one of the window panes.

‘It’s an invasion,’ he said, letting the little creature move on to his finger. ‘Where are you guys coming from?’

He had the answer the moment he turned back. The old wax jacket from the garden shed at Holly Blue Cottage was draped over the armchair in the corner. He’d given the thing a shake before bringing it indoors, but it must have contained some tiny hostages. It wasn’t impossible that some less attractive wildlife was harboured there, so he decided to check.

The jacket was in a bad state. His intention had been to go through the pockets, but he didn’t fancy putting his hands inside now that insects were on his mind. The answer, he decided, was to turn the pockets inside out. It was just possible that Joe Rigden — if he had been the owner — had pocketed something of interest. So he started methodically pulling out the linings. Most were empty and probably had never been used.

Some green garden twine fell out of one of the large side pockets along with a copper coin turned green and some bits of black organic material, dry and shrunken, that might have been the remains of fungi. The opposite pocket yielded some walnuts, surprisingly well preserved. All in all, nothing likely to explain the unanswered questions aboutjoe Rigden and his violent death.

Then the phone rang.