Killing with Confetti

12

They wasted no time. A large envelope marked PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL and labelled Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond was propped against his computer screen when he got to the office next morning. He ripped it open and took out the wedding invitation, a textured pink card with the wording inside a floral frame.

A handsome invitation to his shittiest assignment ever. He stared at it with distaste. He’d been well and truly fitted up. Being recruited to watch the back of a serial lawbreaker had to be the low point of his career. He’d not crossed swords with Joe Irving, but everyone in CID knew of this hardhead’s reputation. The man had a stake in most of the organised crime in Bath and Bristol. Over the years he’d done a few stretches in prison, never for anything that would put him away for life. He was more slippery than a cowshed floor.

The job didn’t sit well at all, but Diamond understood why he’d been chosen. George Brace wanted absolute discretion, a senior detective capable of mingling with the guests and alert to every suspicious incident at the wedding. He might well be right in assuming Sid Felix or some other villain would see it as the perfect opportunity to take a shot at Joe Irving. And if they did, what could anyone do to stop it?

Even if the wedding passed off without so much as a dropped hymnbook, George Brace was baying at the moon if he thought his career could be saved. He was obviously an intelligent man. In his heart of hearts, poor sap, he knew the truth about his daughter-in-law’s family was sure to get out. You can’t bury a news story as big as that. He was papering over the cracks for the young couple’s sake.

And what of Diamond’s reputation? Once Brace was forced to resign, questions were sure to be asked about the man who conspired with him to keep the whole thing under wraps. Georgina would look away and say nothing.

He needed to wriggle out of this.

The door opened. The caller hadn’t knocked so she had to be Georgina, belligerent in the black and silver today, another presence altogether than yesterday’s schmoozer in the summer frock.

‘I found this on my desk,’ Diamond told her.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I put it there.’

‘I worked that out, ma’am. What’s the point of giving me this? I thought I was supposed to be going undercover.’

‘The invitation is your cover, Peter. You’re a wedding guest. There’s no need to reply. Your presence is taken for granted.’

‘Too bloody true.’

‘Come now.’

‘I don’t have a choice.’

‘That’s no way to deal with this. The Deputy Chief Constable picks you out for a special assignment. Anyone else in this place would sell their birthright for such an opportunity.’

‘Will you be there?’

‘At the wedding? I don’t expect so. It’s a family occasion and there’s a limit to the number they can seat in the Roman Baths.’ She wasn’t selling her birthright, for sure.

‘You’re welcome to take my place.’

‘That isn’t amusing, Peter.’

‘A family occasion, you say. We know what family means to men like Irving. He’ll dredge up most of the pond life in the city. Some of them are sure to recognise me.’

Georgina was quick to spot that escape route and block it. ‘Highly unlikely. Joe Irving won’t want his criminal friends witnessing his daughter marrying into a police family. To them it would be supping with the devil.’

Made sense. ‘His enemies, then. Sid Felix.’

‘If any of them turn up, they won’t be guests.’

‘You mean they’ll stand out?’

‘I suggest you get hold of a guest list and make sure you can recognise everyone who is invited.’

‘Some hope!’

‘Don’t be so negative. This won’t be one of those huge weddings. I told you a moment ago there’s limited seating.’

‘At the reception?’

‘They’ll be using that gallery overlooking the Great Bath. I’ve been to functions there. You can’t seat more than eighty, maximum.’

‘And I’m supposed to know who they are? Eighty strangers?’

‘Most of them will be the DCC’s people. You can ask him for photos of them all. He’ll have family albums or images from the internet. I’m already thinking you should offer your services as an usher.’

He was open-mouthed.

‘Meeting and greeting the guests as they arrive at the abbey and handing them the order of service,’ she went on.

‘I know what an usher does, ma’am.’

‘It’s a splendid way to vet them,’ she said, pleased with her own suggestion. ‘You could have their pictures on your phone and check them one by one.’

‘I’d rather be inconspicuous.’

She let out a sharp, petulant breath and shook her head. ‘Do it your way, then. I was trying to be helpful.’

‘You were saying most of the guests will be from the bridegroom’s side?’

‘That’s my understanding. The bride will have her own friends, no doubt, but I don’t think there’s much family.’

‘If they’re worried about security why are they using the abbey and the Roman Baths? It’s not exactly keeping the wedding under wraps.’

‘These are people of status in their different ways, Peter. Irving is a very big wheel in the dubious world he moves in. His only daughter is getting married and he wants the best for her. She’ll want it, too, as any bride would. Daddy can well afford it. And of course the DCC is one of Bath’s elite. They can’t possibly go to some backstreet pub.’

‘They could do it abroad, the Bahamas or somewhere.’

Georgina’s tongue clicked in irritation. ‘Get with it. Joe Irving can’t go abroad. He’ll be fresh out of prison and on parole.’

‘Hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Your mind isn’t on the job. You’re too busy trying to worm your way out of it.’

Just like you, he thought, but didn’t say so. ‘As I said to George at the time—’

‘You mean the DCC?’

‘George is what he told us to call him.’ He added, straight-faced, ‘I thought it was George, Georgina and Peter from now on. As I said to George, there could be shooting.’

‘Thank you for reminding me,’ she said. ‘Get yourself a priority booking on the firearms course.’

No mercy.

‘And another thing. I don’t care to be addressed by my first name except when we’re with the DCC. Understood?’

He shrugged.

‘Do you have a better suit than the one you’re wearing?’

‘I have another, yes.’

‘That brown one? I’ve seen it. A better one, I said.’

‘Why? For the wedding? Can I get one on expenses?’

She rolled her eyes.

He added, ‘I don’t suppose I’ll earn any overtime for this job.’

‘You’ll earn the lifelong gratitude of the Deputy Chief Constable.’

‘Won’t buy me a new suit, will it?’

‘You’re such a curmudgeon, Peter. Can’t you be joyful in the Lord, like any other church-goer?’

She meant to harp on about the church-going until she prised out every detail. Well, he thought, harp all you want, Georgina. My personal life is exactly that: personal. ‘I don’t know about the Lord. It’s hard to be joyful in the job.’

She softened a little. ‘You may not want to hear it, but I’m going to give you some advice. Stop resisting and go with the flow. Talk to the DCC and his son and prepare a plan of action. Check the arrangements and each name on the guest list. Do a recce of the abbey and the baths. My firm expectation is that nothing will go wrong, but be prepared. Sign up for the firearms course. Make sure you’re armed on the day and ready to use your weapon if needed. Put Sid Felix under surveillance and any other would-be assassin you know of. Carry a phone to get back-up in an emergency. I recommended you for this because you’re brilliant under pressure. Time and again you manage tough situations. The DCC is in a spot, Peter. He needs a strong, cool-headed man and no one else will do.’

Compliments from Georgina had to be cherished.

‘And if I pull a sickie on the day?’

‘I’ll make sure you really suffer.’

Normal service was resumed.

He passed the rest of the morning being strong and cool-headed and much of the afternoon collecting data on Joe Irving. There was no shortage. The National Crime Agency had an extensive file. Irving’s record on the Police National Computer showed he’d been involved at some level in kidnap and extortion, bribery and corruption, drugs, money laundering, illegal firearms and profiting from prostitution. The best that could be said for him was that he didn’t go in for art theft or forgery. Nobody could accuse him of being artistic.

The prison service had its own dossier on the man, his Prison National Offender Management Scheme file. He’d seen the insides of a large number of jails and had been regularly moved, not for bad behaviour or his own safety, but because of the control he had over other offenders. Typically on arrival he would let it be known that he intended to rule the wing. His reputation went before him and there was no shortage of volunteer heavies keen to make sure he succeeded. They carried out the beatings. Nothing was ever traced back to Uncle Joe, as he was known. Even governors and prison officers respected him and made sure he was given special treatment, a cell to himself in a good position, clothes that fitted, food that was edible, almost no cell searches and certainly no body searches.

The list of prisons he’d honoured with his presence read like a gazetteer of England: Albany, Bedford, Birmingham, Bream, Bristol, Chelmsford, Doncaster, Durham, Exeter, Gartree, Leeds, Norwich, Parkhurst, Pentonville, Thameside, Wandsworth and Wormwood Scrubs. All Category B and none for more than a year and a half. He must have spent a significant proportion of his detention on the road, quite likely in comfort. A few years ago a story had broken in the press about prisoners being transported in stretch limousines when vans weren’t available. If there was a candidate for the stretch limo it had to be Joe Irving.

And now he was about to be released from Bristol and the police service were pulling out all the stops to make sure his daughter’s wedding passed off without a hitch. First-class treatment outside prison as well as in.

But Diamond knew that a powerful man like Irving makes enemies like Felix along the way, rivals for the top spot watching for any sign of weakness, ambitious newcomers and people who had been punished by his thugs or sidelined on his orders. There are no rules of engagement in gangland. You’re constantly under threat.

By the end of the day he knew more than anyone would wish to know about Irving and he’d come around to thinking there was no avoiding this thankless duty. Tomorrow, being Saturday, he’d take his suit to the cleaners and buy a new shirt.

He said goodnight to Sergeant Ingeborg Smith and Inspector John Leaman, the two in his team remaining in the CID room, went out to his car and drove the route that never ceased to bug him, sixteen dreary miles from Concorde House to Bath, where he’d been based until the powers-that-be decided on an out-of-town location. From Keynsham onwards it was nose to tail as usual on a Friday. His blood pressure had risen several millimetres by the time he parked in Manvers Street next to his former workplace. The new owners, the University of Bath, had given it a 4.5-million-pound refit and renamed it the Virgil Building. Virgil was some Roman poet who’d never set foot in Bath. The least they could have done was called it Cop House, after all the fine men who had graced it for more than fifty years.

He didn’t look inside the Virgil Building. Too infuriating. Instead he headed in the other direction, up Pierrepont Street and across Orange Grove towards the abbey.

There was still plenty of activity in the flagged space in front of the west door. Parties of tourists meeting up after free time wandering the streets. Shop workers beelining towards the buses and the station.

The quiet when he entered the abbey church was a total contrast. An immediate calm.

Not many were inside at this end of the day, yet it was one of the best times to be here. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained glass, sending multicoloured beams across the stonework. His mood had altered. He stepped slowly to the right and up the south aisle where he’d come the previous day with Georgina and George Brace. They weren’t in his thoughts now. His mind was wholly on somebody else. He made this personal pilgrimage each Friday after work. Even though he wasn’t a believer, his late wife, Stephanie, had been. He missed her as much as ever. She would come here often for communion and her funeral had been held here. This was his way of honouring her memory.

He approached one of the candle stations, dropped in some coins, held a wick to the flame, placed the candle with the others, stepped back and stood in quiet contemplation.

Of Steph.

A private moment no one else needed to know about, or ever would.