Killing with Confetti

31

‘What do you think?’ Diamond asked Ingeborg as they were driving away in her small Ka. ‘Is that a guilty man?’

She laughed. ‘Is the sky blue?’

‘Guilty of murdering the hitman?’

‘That’s more problematical, isn’t it?’

‘Why?’

‘It’s difficult to see how a murder was committed.’

‘It’s either that or suicide — and that’s even more unlikely.’

There was a long pause for thought.

‘But how can it be murder?’ Ingeborg said eventually.

‘I refuse to rule it out.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘There was a famous Victorian murder,’ Diamond said. ‘The beautiful widow Adelaide Bartlett was put on trial and acquitted of poisoning her late husband with liquid chloroform found in his stomach, but no traces of burning were found in his mouth or throat. An impossible crime. Afterwards a leading pathologist wrote, “Now that Mrs. Bartlett has been acquitted of murder and cannot be tried again, she should tell us in the interest of science how she did it.”’

‘You and your famous crimes from the past.’

‘I only brought it up because we have an impossible crime here and Joe Irving isn’t likely to tell us how it was done in the interest of science or anything else.’

‘But you told us at the meeting, guv. The killer fired at point-blank range and arranged things to look like a suicide.’

‘Yes, and John Leaman pulled the rug from under my feet by pointing out that no one could have approached the victim without being noticed. You and I have both tried doing the snake-walk between the tiles and we know he’s right. What did he call it? An obstacle course?’

‘Let’s think laterally, then,’ she suggested. She had a personal mission never to allow Diamond to sink into pessimism. At his best he was amusing company, but he could be a world-class grouch. ‘We need a reason why Joe Irving was able to get close enough to the gunman without being shot, right?’

‘Go on.’

‘Why was the gunman in the hypocaust? He wasn’t expecting to shoot Joe from there.’

‘He was lying up,’ Diamond said. ‘It was closed to visitors and a good place to hide until the wedding reception started.’

‘Agreed. Here’s what I think could have happened. Joe also arrived early to check round and satisfy himself that everything was safe. He came to the hypocaust and saw the gunman without the mask and recognised him.’

‘That’s possible. He knows most of the career criminals round here.’

‘Both men were armed, but at this time neither of them drew a gun. They talked.’

‘What about?’

‘Joe guessed why the other guy was there. He offered to double whatever he was being paid. The hitman said he wanted to see the money. Joe said he could have it now. He was carrying several grand in cash to pay off people like the string quartet and the DJ.’

‘I think I see where this is going,’ Diamond said.

‘That’s good,’ she said, ‘because it’s believable, isn’t it? Joe climbs over the plastic wall and makes his way between the pillars to where the hitman is and instead of producing a wad of banknotes takes out the gun and holds it to his head and fires. Then he sets up the scene to look like a suicide just the way you told us. And takes away the hitman’s gun.’

‘Not bad,’ he said.

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘The psychology, for one thing. I can’t see any hitman falling for a trick like that. It’s not impossible, I grant you, but unlikely. And Joe would be taking a huge risk as well. He’s savvy enough to know he’s giving the gunman the chance to shoot him first and take the money, too.’

She gave a sharp sigh. ‘Put like that, it does seem far-fetched. What else is wrong with it?’

‘You said the mask was off, yet the fatal shot was fired through it.’

‘Shucks.’

‘If there’s anything in this theory, the tests should confirm it. There will be traces of Irving’s DNA on the gun or the body however careful he was to fake it.’

‘Can we arrest him?’

‘On what we’ve got so far? No chance.’

‘He may do a runner.’

‘He’s too smart for that,’ he said. ‘It would really give him away.’

They were heading west on the Upper Bristol Road.

‘Back to base, is it?’ Ingeborg asked.

‘Yep. To find out what that bunch of layabouts have dug up so far — if anything.’

She didn’t rise to the slur on the team. Typical Diamond bluster. She didn’t need to defend her colleagues. Deep down, he respected them more than he ever admitted. ‘Shouldn’t we be making enquiries about some of the other people who were in the Roman Baths between six and seven-thirty?’

‘Such as?’

‘The security staff who toured the building making sure all the visitors were gone.’

‘We had two armed policemen doing the rounds. George Brace made sure of that.’

‘And what did they report?’

‘Nothing suspicious.’

‘They can’t have been all that good if they didn’t find the gunman.’

‘That’s the catch,’ he said. ‘People who can handle a gun aren’t always blessed with brains. Who else are you talking about?’

‘The caterers.’

‘True. They’d need to get the room ready. Can’t argue with that.’

‘Quite a good number of them to look after the champagne reception and get the meal ready upstairs.’

‘I suppose.’

‘The florists, to decorate the room.’

‘All right.’

‘The string quartet will have wanted to get there early to be playing as people arrived.’

‘I’d forgotten them, I admit.’

‘Not that you’d expect classical musicians to be murderers.’

He smiled at a memory. ‘It’s not unknown.’

‘The DJ will have needed to get his equipment in before it started.’

‘You’re making this sound like the rush hour.’

‘And the photographer and his assistant would be setting up.’

‘I met them. Former crime scene photographer by the name of Maurice Ableman. The assistant was a pushy young lady called Dixie who really had me under the cosh.’

‘I can’t believe that.’

‘You should have been there. I’m glad you weren’t. You’re right, Inge. We should be treating these people as potential witnesses at the very least.’

‘Suspects, possibly?’

‘I wouldn’t go that far. The clever money is on Joe.’

She drove in silence for a while before asking, ‘That Victorian woman you spoke about, with the chloroform. Did she ever confess?’

‘Did she hell. After the trial, she vanished.’

Ingeborg’s smartphone buzzed. ‘Would you mind?’ she asked. ‘It could be important.’

He unclipped the phone from the dashboard. He still treated mobile phones as suspicious objects, but he’d mastered the basics. ‘You’ve got a new text. Shall I open it?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘It’s from Georgina.’ Kindly ask DS Diamond to call me directly. ‘What’s she doing at work on a Sunday? She should be at church.’

‘Why didn’t she call your number?’ Ingeborg asked.

‘Mine is switched off.’ A trick he’d learnt to protect his privacy.

‘Why?’

‘I told you. It’s the weekend. What does she want, do you think?’

‘Better ask her, hadn’t you, guv?’

‘When I’m ready. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

Joe Irving took a slow shower after the police had left. If he’d had the energy he’d have cleaned the house as well. Uniformed or in plain clothes, the police were the filth as far as he was concerned.

He was towelling himself when the doorbell rang again. Bloody cheek. They’d go on bugging him until they got a result.

He would ignore it.

In the full-length mirror in the en suite shower room, he studied his physique. The remnant of a six-pack was still apparent when he flexed. Not bad, considering. He sprayed himself liberally with Beckham Homme, a luxury it hadn’t been wise to enjoy in jail, and stepped into his boxers just as the bell disturbed his peace for the third time that morning.

Persecution — that was what this was.

When the ringing began once more, a doubt crept into his head. Could the caller be someone else, some person he actually wanted to see? Offhand, he couldn’t think of anyone on this earth.

They weren’t giving up.

Should have fitted CCTV to get a look at whoever it was. Now that he was likely to be living here some time he’d get around to it. Meanwhile he had his own non-electronic security system: the view from the balcony.

He went out and looked over.

A woman, alone.

Not the blonde female cop.

This one was in a suit and with a shoulder bag. Difficult to tell her age from this angle. She hadn’t seen him yet and he was hoping she’d go away. He guessed she was some sort of do-gooder wanting his money. The only charity he supported was the prisoner’s aid society and the only prisoner it aided was himself.

The woman stepped back from the door and moved along to the next house. Good riddance, lady.

He went inside to look for a clean shirt. Now that he was out of jail, he put on a fresh one each day and felt better for it. There was a heap of used shirts and underpants in the bedroom waiting to be washed. Freedom came at a cost.

Would you believe it? He was on his way downstairs when the fucking doorbell went for the umpteenth time. The reason she’d called at the neighbours’ must have been to confirm that he was at home.

The way to deal with someone like this was to get in their face and tell them to piss off.

He marched through his confetti-strewn hall and flung open the door.

And Claude the kitten came from behind him and dashed out, trailing a pink streamer caught in its leg.

‘Fucking hell, that’s my daughter’s kitten.’

The woman in front of him turned to look as Claude streaked across the road and under a car that was fortunately not moving.

‘That’s your bloody fault,’ Joe shouted as he pushed past and went in pursuit. ‘Claude, come here. Heel.’

Kittens don’t behave like dogs.

Joe clapped his hand to his head. ‘Caroline will kill me.’

The woman had remained where she was, plainly annoyed at being blamed for the escape.

Joe crossed the road and knelt to look under the car. He wouldn’t have wanted any of his underworld contacts looking on as he put on a silly squeaky voice and called, ‘Pussy, pussy, come to Uncle Joe.’ Turning to the woman, he growled, ‘Come and help me catch him. That’s the least you can bloody do.’

She didn’t move a muscle, except to say, ‘You’ll panic him, doing that. He’ll run for the trees and then you’re really in trouble.’ She seemed to know what she was talking about.

‘What am I going to do, then?’

‘Who’s Caroline?’

‘My daughter.’

‘And she’s the owner, right?’

‘She’s on her honeymoon. She left him here for me to look after. He’s not used to me yet.’

‘Tempt him back. Have you fed him yet?’

‘I only just got up.’

‘Back away from the car slowly. Fetch his feeding bowl and some moist food.’

The prospect of losing Claude had robbed Joe of his dignity and banished every other thought from his head. He stood upright. Moving as silently and smoothly as the moon, he did as the woman had suggested, glided past his visitor and into the house, pausing only to murmur out of the side of his mouth, ‘For Christ’s sake keep your eye on him.’

When he emerged with a bowl of freshly opened minced chicken in gravy he could see the kitten still under the car and now resting on its haunches. Probably it felt safe there.

‘Slowly now,’ the woman said. ‘Place the bowl just this side of the car where you can pick him up. Give him a few seconds to start on the food and then grasp him round the middle with both hands and draw him up to your chest. He’ll wriggle, so get a firm grip, but don’t squash him.’

The advice was good. Claude watched Joe’s approach and didn’t run away. When the food was within sniffing distance he ventured out, took a few licks and was snatched. Joe carried his captive triumphantly into the house, through to the kitchen and closed the door.

The woman had picked up the bowl and followed him into the hall. ‘We’d better give him the food now, poor mite. He can’t escape. I closed the front door.’

Joe couldn’t escape either. Obediently he carried the bowl into the kitchen and set it down for Claude. Then he emerged and said, ‘What do you want from me — a donation?’

‘Don’t insult me,’ she said. ‘I want the truth out of you, Joe Irving.’

Hearing his name spoken like that was a shock. Now that their eyes met, her tone of voice reminded him who she was.

Georgina was waiting in Diamond’s chair, drumming her fingertips on the only space she could find on his cluttered desk. ‘You could have called me.’

‘We were on the road, ma’am,’ he said, standing in front of the desk like the schoolkid told to report to the headmistress. And like the cocky schoolkid he had once been, he said, ‘I’m a careful driver, as you know.’ Which was entirely true. She wasn’t to know Ingeborg had been at the wheel.

‘You could have pulled over.’

‘Not on the M4.’

‘You didn’t come by the motorway. We tracked Ingeborg’s phone. You were on the A4.’

Harder to wriggle out of that. ‘Slip of the tongue.’ He moved on fast as if he’d just gone past an amber light. ‘Anyhow, I’m here the quickest I could have been. What did you want me for, ma’am?’

‘I would have thought it obvious. The suicide last night.’

‘That’s why I’m on duty,’ he said, noting her use of the word suicide. ‘I was visiting Joe Irving.’

‘I know. I heard that much from your team. Did he have anything germane to say?’

Germane. What a headmistressy word, ‘Not really. He doesn’t know the dead man, or so he says. He gave an account of his movements yesterday afternoon.’

‘An alibi?’

‘I wouldn’t call it that.’

‘I was told by DI Leaman that you’re toying with the notion that the man was murdered.’

‘“Toying” is about right,’ he said, planning to have words later with John Leaman. ‘I wouldn’t put it any stronger.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Anyone who has ever seen that place with all the tiles will know there’s no possibility that it was anything else but suicide. My information is that the muzzle of the gun was held to his head.’

‘That’s right.’

‘No one else could have pulled the trigger for the simple reason that he would have seen them coming.’

‘Could have been taking a nap.’

‘On a mission to kill? Are you serious?’

‘He won’t have had much sleep.’

‘When you get a bee in your bonnet you won’t give up, will you?’

‘Not until the bee has buzzed off.’

‘Face up to it, Peter. This one doesn’t exist. It’s in your imagination. I can’t stop you from thinking about it, but keep your thoughts to yourself. We don’t want this sensationalised by the media. They’re already asking questions.’

‘Who are?’

‘The local press. The Chronicle. A suicide in the Roman Baths is a strong story for them, regardless of what we know. We must manage it with extreme care, for obvious reasons.’

So that was what was behind this summons. ‘Covering for George and his family?’

‘I wish you wouldn’t call him that.’

‘He started it.’

‘Yes, and I’m sure he’d rather we returned to normality now that the wedding is over. To get back to the point, I believe we should put out a short press release confirming that a man was found dead in the hypocaust early this morning with the gun beside him, without, of course, linking it in any way to the wedding.’

‘Will you be doing that?’ he asked.

‘Good Lord, no. That’s your job.’

‘Because I’d like to issue the photo of the victim at the same time and make an appeal for help in identifying him.’

She consented to that. ‘We can’t do otherwise.’

‘Has the Chronic put anything online about the wedding itself?’

‘Mercifully only a short piece. The rain came to our rescue there. If they got a picture, it wasn’t good enough to publish. A few lines of text are easy to miss without a photo to go with them. We can be grateful for that.’

‘And nobody from the media has picked up on what happened to DC Gilbert?’

Suddenly her small brown eyes turned into avocado stones. ‘Peter, that must not get out. I shudder to think what the press would say about us. Your CID people are the only ones in the know. They had better not leak anything of this.’

Diamond saw red, shocked by such distrust. ‘My CID people — as you call them — are our CID people, and they aren’t blabbers, ma’am.’

‘Perhaps I should have expressed myself another way,’ Georgina said. ‘We’re all a little frayed at the edges today.’

And you weren’t on duty all day yesterday and up half the night, he thought, but stopped himself from saying so.

Georgina seemed to sense that her moment had passed. Headmistresses don’t apologise. She got up and left, muttering something about phone calls to make.

After drafting a press statement as innocuous as a baby’s smile, Diamond, too, moved out of his office, interested to discover if any of the team had yet dug up any useful intelligence on the gunman. They all had their contacts and most of the contacting was being done over a beer. Sunday lunchtimes saw a lot of business done in the local pubs.

Several were still out. Expenses would take a hit today.

Keith Halliwell was looking pleased with himself, so Diamond went over. ‘What have you learned, then?’

‘May be nothing,’ Keith said in a tone suggesting the opposite. ‘How did you get on, guv?’

‘As I expected. Irving playing the innocent. At the critical time between six and seven-thirty, he was in the park talking to trees, rehearsing his father-of-the-bride speech.’

‘Couldn’t he come up with anything better than that?’

‘It’s so off the wall it might be true. He hasn’t got much imagination. And I’ve just had my ear bent by Georgina. She wants to dumb everything down. Come on, cheer me up.’

An artful gleam came into Halliwell’s eye. ‘What’s it worth?’

‘A kick where it hurts most if you don’t cough up.’

‘Well, the word on the street is that a shipment of military weapons was smuggled into the country four weeks ago from Hungary and delivered to an arms dealer in Swindon. They included several cases of ex-army AK-63 assault rifles.’

Diamond whistled in appreciation. ‘What’s his name?’

A shrug. ‘You know how it is working with snouts. Everything is guarded with a triple lock. I offered some extra and this Swindon guy is being tapped for more information.’

‘As we speak?’

‘I made it very clear how urgent this is.’

‘It’s likely you’ve found the supplier. These weapons aren’t much used.’

‘I’ll give you a shout as soon as.’

This wasn’t the full breakthrough, but it was promising.

‘One more thing,’ Diamond said. ‘Where’s Paul Gilbert?’

‘I sent him home. He looked knackered.’

‘I’ll give him a call. I forgot to ask something.’

He returned to his office and called Paul’s number and got a female voice. The young officer lived with his parents. In the economy of modern Britain he’d be drawing his pension when he finally got his own pad.

‘Paul is asleep,’ Mrs. Gilbert said. ‘He was on duty all day yesterday in that dreadful rain and I’m wondering if he caught a cold.’

He caught worse than that, Diamond thought, but the lad can’t have mentioned it to his mother. ‘Feeling below par, is he?’

‘He was a bit out of sorts when he got in last night, insisting on wearing his baseball cap in the house, which he’s never done before. His clothes were wet through and he went to bed almost at once saying he had a headache. I gave him two Ibuprofen tablets but he was up at seven this morning, still in the baseball cap, insisting he would be needed at work. You’d like to speak to him, I’m sure.’

‘That’s all right, Mrs. Gilbert. Don’t disturb him now. Ask him to give me a bell when he surfaces.’

‘He wouldn’t like that. If you’re calling him here it must be important. He admires you enormously, Mr. Diamond. He’d hate to keep you waiting. Hang on and I’ll get him.’

Very little time passed before the young constable’s voice came through. ‘Something wrong, guv?’

‘Not at all. Relax. It could have waited, but your mum insisted on waking you. There was something I meant to ask you and didn’t. My fault entirely. But first, what is it with the baseball cap?’

‘That? It’s to hide the stitches on my head. If my parents saw them, they’d be sure to ask questions. I tried brushing my hair over the patch the nurse shaved, but it still shows.’

‘They don’t know what happened?’

‘It’s my work, isn’t it?’

Diamond wished Georgina had been on the line to hear that.

‘Good man. Now, this may be difficult for you, but I’d like you to cast your mind back to when you were on the roof with the gunman. Try and picture him handing you the water to drink. Was the bottle in his right hand or his left?’

Paul took a few seconds to answer. ‘His right, guv. He was right-handed, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘You’re certain?’

‘Positive. I can’t tell you much else about him, but I know that much. I was with him for more than ten hours, on and off.’

Diamond’s grin was wider than the Royal Crescent. He thanked Paul and put down the phone.

All doubt was removed from his mind. This was murder. A right-handed man doesn’t shoot himself in the left temple. Call it an impossible crime as many times as you want. You’d be wrong. There had to be a way the hitman had been shot at point-blank range.

The only conceivable explanation so far had been Ingeborg’s: a cat and mouse set-up in which the cat didn’t realise he was in fact the mouse until too late. He’d allowed his killer to get near under the pretext of a large wad of money changing hands. A bribe to buy him off. A fatal mistake.

The theory hadn’t washed with Diamond when he’d first heard it and still didn’t. A hitman doesn’t fall for a trick like that. He was a well-armed professional who had made an elaborate plan to kill. Through no fault of his own, the shooting from the rooftop hadn’t been possible and he’d been forced to improvise. Down in the hypocaust he was still committed, still armed and still primed for his opportunity.

Okay, he should have fired first. Why didn’t he?

Could it be the Joe Irving factor? Diamond had seen enough of the gang leader to know he was as cunning as any villain he’d encountered, like a large lizard sunning itself, poised to strike while giving the impression it didn’t much care. He’d insisted on this wedding despite the danger of putting himself in the public eye and at risk of being killed by a contract killer hired by a rival. Instead of surrounding himself with bodyguards, he’d allowed George Brace to manage the security. He’d conducted himself throughout with confidence, as if he were in control and not the police.

At the end of the day, Irving had survived and the gunman was dead. How on earth had he engineered that? Could he cynically have used his own daughter’s wedding as a trap?

Presumably, he’d been given a tip-off by someone in the criminal world that a hitman was definitely gunning for him. Yet in the evening he’d behaved with the supreme confidence of a man who knew any danger had been dealt with. He’d lined up boldly at the edge of the Great Bath for the photos and he’d stood for his speech and taken his time making it. It all suggested he knew his would-be killer was already dead.

So going by Irving’s behaviour, the killing had been done in the time slot after the wedding and before the reception. And his alibi for the afternoon was flakier than the confetti that littered his house.

Diamond lingered in the office another hour and a half in the hope of more information coming in from the team’s boozy lunch dates with the CID’s top grasses, but there was little of help. No one in Bristol seemed to have heard anything about Sid Felix for several weeks. He’d done a disappearing act. There was no word about anyone issuing a contract.

He shut up shop for the day.