Killing with Confetti

28

Two flood lamps on stands. Several figures at work in white protective suits under the cones of light on the far side of the otherwise murky hypocaust. One of them spotted Diamond and waved.

‘Hi, guv.’

Ingeborg Smith’s voice — and no apology for sounding so cheerful at this hour of the night.

‘What do you have?’ he called back.

‘Gunshot to the head. Male. Weapon beside him. You’ll need to wear the kit if you come down.’

It was 12:40 A.M. and one day on duty had morphed inexorably into another. The cops called to search the hypocaust had confirmed the truth of the bridesmaids’ story. The senior people in CID had been contacted and learned that their night off was cancelled. On arrival, they had sealed the crime scene before the last guests had left the disco upstairs.

Diamond was kicking himself for not taking the small girls more seriously. His attention had been so taken up with Irving that he could scarcely comprehend a different killing in the same building. This new development called for a whole rethink.

Joe Irving had detained his minder until the disco finished. The father of the bride had stayed the course for the last hour and a half. When Leticia had called time, he had danced with Caroline. This full-on wedding had been his show, as much a celebration of his release as the joining of bride and groom. Finally, with a look of contentment on his spent face, he had sunk into the back seat of a car and been driven home.

Duty done for Diamond. He should have been pleased. The old lag’s survival was something to celebrate. Against all expectation, he had come to tolerate the man a little, if not actually to like him. Psychologists have identified a phenomenon known as Stockholm syndrome, a process by which hostages form a bond with their captors over time. Given longer together — perish the thought — Diamond might have regarded Joe as a twin soul. In reality, the mood in that last ninety minutes hadn’t been fraternal. Diamond had been impatient to go down into the hypocaust. When the DJ finally called time on the disco and the lines were turned up and the farewells exchanged, there was no more than a nod between the father of the bride and his minder.

As for George Brace, he’d been hit by a new emergency.

‘I need to get Leticia home. She’s had a few drinks too many and she doesn’t want the party to end. She’s talking about forming a conga line of all the people who are left here and dancing through the entire museum.’

‘She’s serious?’

‘You’ve met her, Peter, and some of the others are up for it. If I don’t stop her, she’ll lead everyone blithely into the hypocaust.’

‘Not a good idea.’

‘So we’re leaving as of now. Are you game to carry on?’

‘My job, isn’t it, see what’s down there?’

‘Good man. I want to know, too. I’ll be in touch early Sunday morning.’

The fact that Sunday morning had already begun seemed to have escaped George.

Taxis had been laid on for the last of the revellers. Diamond had watched them off the premises and hurried down to find out the truth.

A box of forensic gear had been left this side of the viewing barrier. He stepped into the suit, tugged it over the ample contours of his body and zipped it, pulled the hood over his head and put on the latex gloves and mask, and climbed over the barrier, thinking of the overcurious bridesmaids and their exploration earlier. Just getting over and letting themselves down among the stacked tiles must have needed a team effort.

The stacks of terracotta tiles stood hip-high, in parallel rows, like blocks of high-rise buildings in a miniature city devastated by bombing. Many had taken damage and been reconstructed. Some were stunted and even the tallest looked ready to topple on contact, so he threaded his way through with caution. He was notoriously clumsy and stumbled at one point. Fortunately, the nearest column supported his weight. Destroying sixteen centuries of history wouldn’t have helped his reputation.

Another of the masked and suited figures spoke. ‘Had a few drinks, guv?’

Keith Halliwell’s voice echoed off the stonework.

‘Hardly any. I was on duty.’

‘How was the reception?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘No aggro?’

‘Only in my head.’

Forensic tape had been draped over the stacks that enclosed the body, leaving one narrow access for the professionals to use. Under the glare of the floodlight the deceased lay on his back, arms angled against the nearest stacks, hips twisted awkwardly. A bullet wound in the left temple. Some seepage of blood below the head on the other side where the exit wound must have been. The corpse was clothed in T-shirt, jeans and trainers, entirely in black.

‘What’s that on the ground by his head?’ He pointed to what looked like a piece of black cloth.

‘A balaclava. He was wearing it. The police surgeon removed it to examine him.’

He had little doubt who the dead man was — the gunman who had dominated his thoughts in all the hours since they had found Paul Gilbert. The description matched. Gilbert had talked about a masked man in black who had pulled a handgun on him.

‘So the doc’s been by?’

‘Came and went. She confirmed that life was extinct — which we all knew — and that was all, really.’

‘You said the weapon was beside him.’

Ingeborg spoke up again. ‘To the left between the stacks of tiles. You can’t see it from where you are. A Glock semi-automatic, gen five.’

‘Have a heart, Inge.’

‘Generation five, the latest model.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Have a look for yourself. It could be important.’

He wouldn’t know a generation five from a blunderbuss, but he took a step sideways and peered between the stacks at what was basically an automatic pistol of the sort he’d tried to master at the firearms course.

Ingeborg said, ‘This one differs from pre-2017 models in several details, and the most obvious is the protruding lip on the floorplate of the magazine which improves the grip and the reloading.’

‘Where did you pick up that bit of technobabble?’

‘Black Rock, last winter.’

‘I was there last month. I noticed my instructor’s protruding lip. Can’t remember much about the gun.’

‘You passed?’

‘They offered me a job on the staff.’ He didn’t add that he’d spent most of the course trying to master the draw from holster and his success on the short range had been laser-assisted. ‘We must get the gun checked for prints and DNA and test-fired by the ballistics people, see if they have it on file. There’s a chance it’s been fired before. Have you found bullets?’

‘Only the one.’

‘Are you sure?’

She said with a trace of impatience, ‘That’s all it takes for a suicide.’

‘That’s your assumption, is it?’

Ingeborg spread her hands. ‘Gun held close to the head and found nearby. An empty holster attached to his belt.’

‘A holster?’

‘For the gun.’

‘I know what a holster is. I’m wearing one myself. I’m surprised a suicide victim has one, that’s all. And this is an odd choice of place to top himself, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Can’t argue with that, guv.’

‘I’m thinking we need a forensic pathologist.’

‘We won’t be popular this time of night if it is just a suicide.’

‘They’re used to night calls.’

Halliwell came to Ingeborg’s aid. ‘What can they tell us that we don’t know already?’

‘If I knew the answer to that,’ Diamond said, ‘I wouldn’t suggest it. Make the call.’ Tempers were getting frayed at this hour.

While Inge was using her phone, Diamond asked Halliwell if a search had been made of the victim’s pockets.

‘Nothing helpful, guv. A few coins and a packet of chewing gum. He didn’t want anyone to know who he is.’

‘Or his killer didn’t — and removed his wallet.’

Halliwell blinked. Clearly he had some catching up to do. ‘We’ll be relying on DNA, no doubt.’

‘Takes up to three days and then we need a match with some criminal already on the national database.’

‘If you can think of a better way...’

‘Okay, okay. I’m tired. We’re all tired. But I’d like to get this underway tonight. They’re going to want to open this place to the public in the morning, which means shifting the body out of here. If the likely prognosis is suicide, which it appears to be, I can’t justify treating it as a murder scene and closing the hypocaust to visitors indefinitely.’

‘Murder?’ Halliwell said, frowning. ‘Doesn’t seem likely.’

‘Suicide takes some explaining. The set-up may look like it, but why would our gunman take his own life?’

‘Don’t know. Because he failed to kill Joe Irving?’

‘He’s a professional. A hard man.’

‘Hard on himself?’

‘I can’t see it. Has the scene been photographed?’

‘We made sure of that before the mask was removed.’

‘Oddly enough, the guy who photographed the wedding used to work on crime scenes.’ Any significance? he asked himself. Maurice would have arrived early at the Baths to set up. He knew how crime scenes were managed. What if he and the dead man had some history?

Ingeborg pocketed her phone. ‘Dr. Sealy will be here within the hour.’

‘Dr. Sarky.’

‘Sealy.’

‘I heard the first time. Fair enough. If Sealy is the guy on call, we’ll take him. He knows his stuff. We’ll use the time making a search of the place for evidence someone else was here. Did any of you bring a torch?’

Everyone except Diamond himself. ‘I’ll borrow yours,’ he said to one of the CSI people working under the arc-lamp. ‘We can divide up the space by the rows of tiles. I’ll take the three in the middle.’

He hadn’t gone far when a tiny pink circle on the ground was caught in his torch-beam. ‘God Almighty, how about this?’

‘What is it?’ Ingeborg called across.

‘Confetti.’

‘Who discovered the body?’

‘The bridesmaids.’

‘There you are, then,’ she said and spiked his bubble.

Bertram Sealy arrived soon after 2:15 A.M. and insisted on being helped over the Perspex barrier. ‘I’ll hand you my guts bag,’ he shouted to Diamond. ‘And you my coffee flask,’ he told Halliwell. ‘And you, young lady — I can see you’re splendidly robust even in the unbecoming zipper suit — can help me down.’

‘You don’t miss a trick, do you?’ Diamond shouted back. ‘Keith will help you down and Ingeborg can bring the flask.’

While they were making their way towards the pathologist through the columns they could see him squirming into a superior-looking blue forensic suit.

Sealy was more hot air than substance and Halliwell had no trouble supporting his weight.

‘What have you got for me this time?’ Sealy asked when he was at their level.

‘I’d prefer you to tell us.’

‘Thank you, young lady,’ Sealy said to Ingeborg as he held out a hand for the flask. ‘I need my caffeine kick. I was into my deep cycle of sleep when the phone rang. I’m sure you have no problems with arousal.’

For a moment Diamond thought Ingeborg would empty the flask over the annoying little man’s head. She seemed to be in two minds before passing it across.

‘What time was this discovered?’ Sealy asked.

The smell of coffee was tantalising.

Diamond had noted when the bridesmaids had announced their find. ‘About ten-fifteen.’

‘And you waited until the small hours to call me?’

‘It was found by some children and they weren’t really believed. I was upstairs myself. There was a wedding reception going on here and nobody else went to look. We didn’t want to ruin their day.’

‘So you ruined my night instead. Has the body been handled in any way?’

‘The police surgeon removed a balaclava mask.’

‘Obviously up to no good, then. The deceased, I mean, not the police surgeon. Do you know who he is?’

‘Not yet. He wasn’t carrying any ID.’

‘Open and shut case, isn’t it? He was the bride’s former lover driven to desperate measures when she married another. He planned to murder the bridegroom but had a last-minute crisis of conscience and turned the gun on himself.’

‘You do your job and we’ll do ours,’ Diamond said.

For a man plucked from his slumbers, the piddling pathologist was far too bouncy. Only the need to keep from tripping quietened him down as he followed Diamond up one of the narrow alleys between the tiles.

Inside the taped area Sealy crouched to examine the head wound. He was using a voice recorder. ‘Middle-aged male. Well nourished. In need of a shave. Dark hair turning grey. Bullet wound with signs of contact discharge. The gun was held against the left temple and the bullet made a neat circular hole with an abrasion collar.’ He raised the head and bent closer to see the exit wound. ‘Not much doubt what killed him. So it seems the deceased was left-handed. I expect the crime scene people found some GSR on the hand and arm.’ He lifted the left hand and looked at it. ‘Powder particles can be very indicative, especially if you find them on the hands of the perpetrator. When did they get here?’

‘The gunpowder particles?’

He clicked his tongue. ‘The first responders.’

‘The crime scene lot? Soon after midnight.’

‘That’s no use. You said the shooting was at ten-fifteen.’

‘No, that’s when the body was first seen.’

‘Far too long, then. All residue will have dissipated inside two hours. Should have called me earlier, shouldn’t you?’

‘You’ve made that point several times over,’ Diamond said. ‘Can you tell me anything else?’

‘Going by the state of the hands, he wasn’t used to manual work, but he seems to have done some recently. There’s some slight damage to the fingernails and abrasions to the soft flesh of the fingers and palms.’

‘Manual work? Like climbing a stone wall?’

‘That’s well possible. These aren’t defensive marks in my opinion. The bruising and scrape on the right forearm are consistent with the fall after he was shot. All the damage would appear to have been self-inflicted, including the fatal shot.’

‘You’re certain?’

Sealy wagged a finger at Diamond. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth. “Would appear to have been” is what I said. Is there any evidence of a second individual being here?’

‘We made a search in case. Visitors are coming through by the thousand every day and there are scraps of paper, chewing gum and so forth near the viewing barrier, but nothing notable in this area.’

Sealy stood up. ‘What’s tomorrow? I lose track when I get woken in the night.’

‘You mean today. Today is Sunday.’

‘I’ll inform the coroner at a civilised hour and do the autopsy on Monday. Don’t expect anything sensational. You can get him moved to my mortuary as soon as you like.’ He made the RUH mortuary sound like home sweet home.