Showstopper

13

“My office immediately,” Georgina Dallymore said in a voice of doom. She had finally caught up with Diamond, collared him as he came out of the CID office and steered him upstairs.

She closed the door and said, “Look at this.”

“I can see straight away, ma’am.”

But this wasn’t the full frontal attack he’d expected.

That day’s Bristol Post had been pushed in front of him, with the headline shouting the story:

While reading, his mind was in overdrive. He’d fully expected Georgina to hit him with the measures he’d taken in open defiance of her instruction. Somehow, all that was dwarfed by this newspaper story. She was so wound up that she hadn’t even noticed his fashion statement.

“So the horse has bolted,” he said. There was an opportunity here.

Georgina frowned. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning we can’t deny we took an interest in the jinx. The truth is out. Our reputation is on a knife edge.” Ingeborg would have shouted, “Clichés!” by now, but each one was making an impact on Georgina.

“I don’t know how you have the nerve to talk to me about our reputation. You’ve put a stain on it forever, getting us caught up in this nonsense in the first place. I ordered you in no uncertain terms to have no more to do with it.”

“And how right you were, ma’am.”

For this, he got a sharp, suspicious look. Georgina was too wily to ask what he meant, so he pressed on. “I called a team meeting and told them to book themselves on refresher courses, just as you said. We agreed to turn our backs on Swift and its problems.”

“It says here that you’re heading a police enquiry.”

“Fake news, ma’am. There was only ever a detective constable keeping tabs on it. I’ll call the editor directly and tell him his story is untrue. We’re not interested in the wretched jinx.”

She shook her head with such force that her cheeks carried on quivering after she stopped. “You can’t say that. They’ll accuse us of failing in our duties. They’ll use it to attack us. This is a public relations disaster.”

“In that case, I won’t call the editor.”

Georgina was in two minds. “People reading the paper will expect us to investigate now.”

He nodded. “Got to agree. And it’s all over social media,” he said as if he constantly checked his phone.

“What do you suggest, then?”

“You’ll find a way through, ma’am. You always do.”

This rare declaration of confidence caught Georgina off guard. It was double-edged, a challenge as well as a compliment.

She blinked several times and reddened. A strained silence followed while she faced this mountainous dilemma. Finally she sighed and spread her hands, forced to put survival first. “The only way out is to do what I least wanted, make a U-turn and put all our efforts into finding what’s behind this so-called jinx.”

“Clever,” Diamond said as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “So clever. A full-on investigation?”

“Regrettably.”

“No expense spared?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I will need a budget for this.”

She snatched up the newspaper and tossed it at him. “Get on with it, damn you.”

The team was jubilant, so full of it that they made Diamond nervous.

“Where shall we have the major incident room?” Leaman asked.

“Er — here will do.”

“Shall we give it a name?” Halliwell asked.

“Give what?”

“The operation, now it’s out in the open. Operation Jinx?”

“The jinx is non-existent.”

Gilbert joined in. “Showstopper?”

“I don’t care for labels.”

Halliwell wouldn’t let it rest. “But you said Georgina wants the public to know we’re doing something. Shouldn’t we be setting the agenda, generating our own publicity?”

Ingeborg raised her hand and waved. “I’m happy to be press officer, if that’s what we want. Personally, I think ‘Showstopper’ is great.”

By common consent, Operation Showstopper was launched.

With Ingeborg preparing a press release and Leaman shifting furniture in the room across the corridor, Diamond was freed to do what he thought of as mending fences. He could see tell-tale lines of concern on Paul Gilbert’s face. The young man was going to need reassurance that he still had a role to play. He took him to one side. “You’re firmly in charge of the Jake Nicol end of the inquiry. Have you notified the UK missing persons unit?”

“I saw to that, guv, and stressed there was real concern about his well-being.”

“That’s for sure. Do you actually believe he’s alive?”

Gilbert shook his head. “You and I think the same way on this. But I haven’t the first idea where the body is.”

“Did you complete your search of the airfield buildings?”

Gilbert nodded. “It’s a big area, but I’m satisfied I didn’t miss anything.”

“Let’s go over what we know. Nicol was last seen at the airfield when they packed up, right? Being a rigger, he was one of the last to leave.”

“And all the trucks were returned to Gripmasters at the end of the day, so it looks as if he was still alive at that stage — but the bloodstained belt was found in the mud where the trucks were parked.”

“What if he was killed there and the killer drove his truck to the depot?”

Gilbert gave a low whistle. “That’s smart, guv. He could carry the body in the back. Then, when he gets to Cold Ashton it’s already dark and he’s the only one in the car park so he transfers it to his own vehicle and drives off. He could dispose of it anywhere he wants.”

This scenario was already in Diamond’s mind and had been for days. “It’s a possibility.”

“And if that’s what happened,” Gilbert said in some excitement, “the tramp isn’t the killer. He can’t be, because he doesn’t have wheels — except the wheels of the pram, and he wouldn’t get far with that.” His mind galloped on. “It also eliminates Sabine. She doesn’t drive.

“Mind you,” he went on — he was on a roll now, “there’s another possibility. She’s a strong, fit woman. Has to be, to play the part. If she was the killer, she could have hoisted the body into the motorhome. Have you thought of that?”

Diamond smiled to himself and let the remark pass. “It crossed my mind when I interviewed her. But there’s a problem with it.”

“Oh?”

“She has a live-in driver called Chen. ‘Driver, hairdresser, cook and chiropodist,’ in her own words. Chen is extremely loyal and protective, but I’m doubtful whether Sabine would share a secret like that with her or anyone else.”

Having poured out all his thoughts, Gilbert was at a loss. He scratched his head.

Diamond prompted him. “So what’s next? Is there any more from the scene-of-crime lot?”

“Nothing helpful. The blood on the belt was the big discovery — and the fact that it matched Nicol’s DNA. They were asked to check the interiors of every one of the trucks used for the Charmy Down shoot and there was no more blood evidence. It doesn’t mean the body wasn’t moved from there. The killer may have been careful.”

“Have you spoken to the other riggers?”

“They all swear they scarcely knew the guy. I’m still thinking Will Legat knows more than he told us. You asked Jean Sharp to look into his background and see if there was any contact in the past with Nicol.”

“Has she found anything?”

“No.”

“She’s thorough.”

“I know. She said it didn’t mean there wasn’t some overlap. Just that it wasn’t there in the written records.”

“Legat is a challenge,” Diamond said. “He likes the sound of his own voice so much that if we let him witter on, there was a good chance he would tell us everything we want to know. That sudden switch to ‘no comment’ when you and I questioned him at Keynsham came as a shock.”

“I can’t remember what triggered the first ‘no comment.’”

“It was when I reminded him he’d told us he’d watched the riggers loading the lorries at the end of the day. I asked if he’d seen Jake Nicol leave and he shut up like a clam.”

Gilbert was frowning. “He didn’t need to. His story was that he’d never met Nicol. If that’s true, he had no way of knowing which one he was.”

A telling point. The DC was shaping up as a canny detective. “Exactly. I’m wondering if he was on the point of saying something else and stopped himself just in time.”

“Like ‘I saw Jake Nicol drive off’ — which would have been the giveaway. Was it a trick question, guv?”

Diamond said in all honesty, “I can’t pretend it was. I was treating him as a witness, trying to find out whether there were threats or violence.”

“But he saw it as a trap.”

“Apparently. And what does that tell us?”

“Either he lied about not knowing the guy, or he saw something he doesn’t want to tell us, or” — Gilbert took in a sharp breath — “he wasn’t just a witness, but the killer.”

“That pretty well sums it up. And I need to look at him as the possible killer of Dave Tudor.”

“Should we pull him in again?”

“We must get more background on them both, but if you want another go at him, don’t let me stop you.”

“I’ll wait,” Gilbert said. “I’ll see what I can get from the other riggers. They’re a cagey lot.”

The major incident room across the corridor was taking shape. John Leaman was in his element, making sure computers were active and desks labelled. Diamond noted his own at the far end with the sign Senior Investigating Officer. If he’d had delusions of grandeur he would have enjoyed seeing how the other desks were sized by status, from Office Manager (Halliwell) to one no bigger than a card table for the Exhibits Officer (one of the civilian staff).

“Quick work, John,” he told Leaman. “Quick and faultless.”

Leaman beamed.

“Did you find time to check on the accident with the stuntmen?”

The sort of question you don’t ask an obsessive compulsive. “Didn’t you see my written report? I put a copy in your in-tray. I know you don’t always read emails.”

“I have a backlog of paperwork to get through,” Diamond admitted. “Can you sum it up in words?”

“Now? I haven’t got my notes.”

“The gist will do.”

The struggle in Leaman’s brain was apparent in his troubled features. He liked to please and he was intensely loyal. “Well, I can try.”

“Thanks. Appreciated.”

“I spoke to the man who coordinates stunts and he told me neither of the pair works on Swift now. They were doing a rooftop chase above the Roman Baths with the woman who doubles for the main actor. She landed safely, but the stuntmen got in a tangle with each other and fell about forty feet.”

Diamond winced, imagining it. He was squeamish about injuries of any sort.

“Luckily they fell in the water.”

“Ah.”

“Unluckily—”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Unluckily one fell on top of the other and broke his own collarbone and three of his mate’s ribs.”

Diamond’s indrawn breath sounded like a burst from a blowtorch. “Nasty.”

“But no one else was involved. It was their own fault.”

“You’re sure?”

“It happened in full view of everyone. It’s on film, in fact.”

“So can we cross them off the jinx list?”

“That’s what I recommended in my report.” Leaman gave one of his penetrating stares. “Will you still want to read it, guv?”

“I can’t wait.”

“I can print a copy now if you want.”

“Don’t bother. I know where to find it. You did well, John. I knew I could rely on you.”

He returned to the office, where Jean Sharp was waiting to speak to him. Another earnest and dedicated team member. “You asked me to look into the circumstances of Mary Wroxeter’s death, guv.”

“Have you got anywhere?”

“I’m not ready to report back in full.”

Why were his best researchers so touchy? he asked himself. “That’s all right. Was there anything dodgy?”

“It’s too soon to say for sure.”

“But...?”

“According to the death certificate, she died of sudden arrhythmic cardiac arrest and chronic alcohol abuse. I contacted the doctor who performed the postmortem and he looked at his notes and said she must have been on a real bender because the BAC was right at the top of the scale.”

“You’re losing me, Jean.”

“Blood alcohol concentration. They measure the number of grams of alcohol in each millilitre of blood. A chronic alcoholic can appear quite sober at a high BAC, but anything over two hundred fifty is dangerous and may lead to coma. Hers was above four hundred.”

“Phew! But you said cardiac arrest. I thought liver disease was the killer for alcoholics.”

“He told me that’s a widespread belief, but recent research has shown that if you drink to excess, the heart is more vulnerable than the liver. In cases of sudden death, cardiovascular disease is the real killer. It’s often misattributed to other causes.”

“I wonder what she was drinking.”

“She liked vodka. It was revealed at the inquest that her bin was filled with empties.”

“You’ve read the coroner’s report?”

“Yes. A couple of witnesses spoke about her addiction.”

“Do you recall who they were?”

“One was Candida Jones, her former assistant, who knew her best. She said she’d never seen Mary incapable in working time, but if you caught a whiff of her breath, the sweet smell of alcohol was always there.”

“After work — was that when she did the heavy drinking?”

“People knew it wasn’t wise to call her in the evenings.”

“So sad,” he said. “A brilliant brain. Was any evidence given about the hours leading up to her death?”

“They’d had a long day filming at Bottle Yard studios and finally got the scene done to Mary’s satisfaction, so Mary and some of the actors and crew celebrated at a nearby pub, the Shield and Dagger.”

“And Candida — was she there?”

“She was.”

“She turned up at the pub that evening, to meet with old friends, I suppose. Mary had about four vodkas and appeared to be well in control of herself. In fact, she organised a taxi for one of the actors who was definitely slurring her words.”

“What time did they finish?”

“It wasn’t late. Before nine.”

“She must have done the heavy drinking at home. Where did she live?”

“A house in Whitchurch village, not far from the studios.”

“Where’s that in relation to the pub?”

“The Shield and Dagger is her local, only ten minutes away.”

“You’ve done well, finding all this. What else do you hope to discover?”

Jean Sharp looked a little embarrassed by the question. As the newest member of the team, had she exceeded her duties? “I just wanted to know why on that particular night she drank so much. We know she was alcoholic. Everyone knew, but she was managing it quite well. She must have been, to make all the decisions she had to.”

“It’s the nature of the condition,” Diamond said. “They’re not really in control. They drink so much of the stuff that their body adjusts and they appear to cope, but there’s a tipping point.”

“But why that night?”

“We need to ask someone who was there.”

“The main witness at the inquest was Candida.”

His thoughts were racing ahead. “Do we know if Mary went home alone?”

“Candida drove her. It wasn’t far, but it was a kindness.”

“We’d better find Candida — unless you’re ahead of me.”

She was.

“That’s a bit of a problem, guv. The TV people seem to think she’s still living in the area, but I haven’t traced her through electoral registers or anything else I can think of.”

“Maybe she doesn’t vote.”

“I tried hospital records because she left the job to start a family and she may have gone into the RUH to have the baby, but they won’t divulge patient details. Day nurseries: same result.”

“Rightly so. You’re up against the Data Protection Act.”

“She hasn’t done anything unlawful as far as we know, so we can’t claim we need the information as part of a criminal investigation.”

“Stymied.” He scratched his head. If Jean Sharp couldn’t root out the information, was that the end of the matter? He’d come to rely on this young officer as a second-to-none researcher. But it occurred to him that all her discoveries were made using the internet or the phone. She rarely left the office. “We must explore the grapevine.”

She looked uneasy at the prospect.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know who to ask. Ingeborg used to be a journalist. She’s trained to know what’s going on. If she’s finished writing the press release, we’ll ask her to put out some feelers. I’m not giving up on this.”