Showstopper

23

Ingeborg ignored the police officer trying to wave their car into the field where everyone had parked. She drove on to where the action was — if action is not an exaggeration. The searchers were still spread across the field progressing slowly forward and the CSI team in the taped-off area were scarcely moving at all. Diamond got out and shouted to Wolfgang.

The small figure in his forensic suit was stooping in the cordoned area. He looked round, straightened up and ambled over. Diamond gave him the news of the find in the marina and said, “Hop aboard our car and we’ll take you there.”

“Please — it’s not as simple as that. If the suitcase has been underwater for any appreciable time, I’m not going to be of much use to you.”

“You’re a crime scene investigator. What’s the problem?”

“For one thing, we don’t know for certain if a crime was committed. And for another the marina isn’t necessarily the scene.”

“Oh, come on, Wolfgang. Give me a break. I simply want to see what’s inside and I need someone like you to make it official.”

“You’re better off getting a forensic pathologist. If there is, indeed, a body, they’ll want to see the remains in situ and then move them to wherever they do their autopsies.”

“I’ll feel an idiot if I call out a pathologist and the case is full of old saucepans.”

“And you won’t feel an idiot with me. Is that what you’re saying? You’re going to need other people anyway. A photographer for a start and possibly a locksmith. You won’t want to force it open.”

“For God’s sake. It’s got straps round. I don’t suppose it’s locked.”

“If I was disposing of a body in a suitcase, I’d lock it and I’m sure you would do the same. How can I impress on you that there are no short cuts, superintendent? You must definitely find the right experts to help you. I don’t mind being there. I can supply a forensic tent. You’re going to have an audience otherwise.”

“All this will take hours to set up.”

“A pathologist usually gets to the scene quite soon. I can’t come until later anyway. I’m making casts of tyre treads. What time is it?”

So much had already happened this morning that Diamond was surprised it was only a few minutes after eleven.

“Use the time to get your head around what’s happening,” Wolfgang said. “You don’t want to lose your grip.”

Diamond could have felt patronised, but the advice was good. He was in shock. The find in the marina called for a rethink. He’d been ready to pull in Will Legat as soon as his guilt was confirmed by a DNA match. But Legat had no conceivable connection with the marina. It was almost impossible that he would dispose of bodies there. The focus switched to the people who lived there: Fergus and Candida.

Wolfgang raised a hand in farewell. “Let me know what you arrange.”

Back in the car, Diamond told Ingeborg through gritted teeth, “Change of plan. This is going to take longer.”

He phoned the only pathologist he could think of and that was the sarcastic Bertram Sealy, who had made his life a misery on several previous cases. The earliest Sealy could manage was two o’clock and that, he said, would be as a favour for a regular customer.

“You can’t make it any sooner?”

“And ruin my lunch?” Sealy said. “The suitcase won’t walk away.”

“I hope not.”

“I assume the divers are already looking for more evidence. They may bring up another while I’m having my Big Mac.”

The thought of a second suitcase hadn’t crossed Diamond’s mind. Another one hidden under the jetty was a real possibility. He settled for two o’clock and went back to tell Wolfgang the decision.

Next, he phoned the incident room and updated Keith Halliwell on the morning’s developments. “It’s almost certain Candida has seen the suitcase on the jetty by now and alerted Fergus. He’ll be on another day’s filming. The way he reacts will be worth knowing. Find out where they are and get someone out there ASAP. I suggest Paul. Tell him to take someone with him and observe from a distance.”

“Don’t you want to collar Fergus?”

“Not yet. His movements will tell us a lot. And I need back-up at the marina. Who do you have?”

“Leaman and Sharp.”

“You have some civilian staff in the office, right? They can hold the fort. I’ll meet you three as soon as you can get here. There’s a pub called the Riverside Inn.”

After he’d ended the call, Ingeborg asked, “Where to, guv?”

“Didn’t you hear? We’ll grab a pint and some lunch and be ready for them.”

At the marina he went straight to look at the suitcase. Big enough, for sure. It was the kind you see people struggling with at airports. Faded red and part-covered in slime, it stood broadside down on the jetty close to where Candida’s narrowboat was moored. Two leather straps held it together, and there were telltale bulges in the fabric.

“Was it heavy to lift out?” he asked Earnshaw.

“It took two men and a winch.”

“And where was it found — right below where we’re standing?”

“Near enough. Under the front of the second narrowboat. It had to be dug out from the silt. Been there some time, I’d say.”

He thought of Dave Tudor, missing from four years ago. “Has anyone been by?”

“A couple of the boat owners and the woman from the office.”

“Any press people?”

“Not yet.”

“The Deck the Halls lady?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No.”

“Or seem surprised?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Where is she now — inside?”

“I think so.”

Phoning Fergus with the bad news, no doubt.

Diamond informed Earnshaw that the suitcase would be opened at two, when everyone who needed to be there was present. “We’re going to screen off this part of the jetty. We don’t want an audience. Are you continuing the search?”

“Does it look like it?” Earnshaw said. “I gave them a break after they brought up the booty. They earned it.”

“Get them back in the water as soon as possible. We’re dealing with multiple crimes. There could be more suitcases down there. If you need me, I’ll be in the pub.”

“Oh yeah — while we do all the bloody work?”

The man was far too lippy for Diamond’s liking. He felt more in command now. The dive team couldn’t complain they’d been brought here under false pretences. “Any more of that, Earnshaw, and this is the last job you supervise.”

In the pub, he sat with Ingeborg in a window seat after ordering drinks and food for them both.

“So, another twist,” he said before she did. “This is turning into an Agatha Christie.”

“You’re thinking Fergus is our man now?” she said.

“With the help of Candida. She was the lure in the hi-vis and he was the executioner waiting in the field.”

“An hour ago we were ready to arrest Will for three murders. Does this let him off the hook — or are we dealing with two sets of killers working independently?”

“Spare me that, Inge. No, the MO is basically the same each time: the sudden disappearance of someone connected with the show, a knifing and a method of disposing of the body that we haven’t cracked... until now.”

“We hope,” she said.

“It was smart, stuffing them into suitcases and sinking them here where the narrowboat is moored.”

She smiled. “Until you brought in the divers. So you’re assuming Candida was an accessory from the start?”

“She must have known what was going on.”

“How do you plan to play this, guv?”

“Largely off the top of my head. Let’s see how Fergus reacts. That should tell us a lot. Will he leave work and rush back here, or play cool and deny everything, or go on the run? Paul is shadowing him.”

“Shall I make sure Candida stays put?”

“Good thinking, yes.”

Their lunch was served, a salad sandwich for Ingeborg, a beef and ale pie for him, with a double helping of chips.

He said after a few seconds to appreciate the first bite, “What you said about being ready to nick Will Legat, I’d rather you didn’t mention it to Keith or the others. Not good for morale, knowing the boss almost screwed up.”

“Understood,” she said, looking at the ceiling.

“You don’t think I’m losing my touch?”

“Why would I think that, guv? It made sense at the time.”

“Be honest with me. Did you ever believe Will was the killer?”

Ingeborg took time to think about her answer. “Maybe it’s the effect he has on people. I haven’t seen as much of him as you have. I know you were suspicious of him from early on. I rather admire him. He makes me smile and it’s difficult to picture him as the man who stabbed Greg Deans. My head said he must be a killer, but my heart felt differently.”

From the window, they saw Jean Sharp drive into the forecourt in her husband’s Volvo. Keith Halliwell and John Leaman were passengers. Diamond would have stood them drinks, he said when they came in, but he was sure they wouldn’t want his pie to get cold. Halliwell was quick to say he needed to update Diamond on Fergus and couldn’t get the drinks in either. Jean had done the driving, which left Leaman to stump up for the round. “Mine is a real ale, John,” Diamond called after him. “I don’t mind which.”

The news of Fergus was that he was at the new film location on the ribbon of steps known as Jacob’s Ladder that lead up Beechen Cliff to Alexandra Park, one of the best viewpoints in Bath. Nothing was allowed to stop the show, not even the demise of the producer. “Paul should be there by now,” Halliwell said. “I’ll get him for you.” And before Diamond could take another mouthful, he was handed the phone.

“Paul? Where exactly are you?”

“About halfway up, guv.”

“I can hear you breathing.”

“It’s steeper than I thought. Stupidly I didn’t start from the top. It was a slog. We had to hurry. But we’ve found the film unit and they’re shooting a chase scene with Swift on the run from the inspector, riding down the steps on her motorbike.”

“Sabine?”

“She’s here for the close-ups, and the stunt double, Ann Bugg, is doing the dangerous stuff.”

“Is Fergus there?”

“Busy with another guy putting down rails for a tracking shot. They’ve got their work cut out. The ground’s so uneven.”

“He can’t leave?”

“No chance in the next half hour.”

“Where are you — out of sight, I hope?”

“With some people who’ve gathered to watch. He’s not aware who we are, I’m sure. I can take a video if you like.”

“Just keep me informed and don’t let him out of sight. He will have heard what’s going on here from Candida. The first chance he gets, he’ll be off. Are there cars there?”

“It’s too steep for that. Sabine is complaining about sitting on the bike even when it isn’t moving.”

“Don’t get distracted. Follow Fergus if he moves off. And take care. He’ll be carrying the knife.”

After the drinks arrived and the pie and chips were eaten, Diamond brought the team up to speed on what to expect at 2 P.M. “The focus is firmly on Fergus and Candida now. We’ll nick them as soon as the suitcase has been opened.”

“There’s the child, guv,” Jean Sharp reminded him.

“Yes, I’ve asked social services to send someone over. If they don’t get here in time, would you take care of Bart until they come?”

“No problem.”

“That’s a phrase I never use,” he said. “Problems have a way of rearing up, especially with kids. It’s how we deal with them that matters.” He heard his own words echo worryingly in his brain. He was dealing with his own problems by assigning duties. Halliwell was to get aboard the Daisy Belle, the boat moored next to Deck the Halls, force the lock and find out what was inside. “Be prepared for horrors, Keith. I have a hunch this is where they store the bodies.”

Some minutes later, general conversation had taken over and Sharp moved to the empty seat beside Diamond. She said she’d been waiting for the right moment to mention something.

“You’re okay?” he asked her.

“It’s not about me, guv. Are you still suspicious about Mary Wroxeter’s death? It doesn’t seem to fit in with the three men who went missing.”

“True, but I haven’t forgotten her. I’m concentrating on the men because we seem to be making real progress with them.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry. This isn’t a good time.”

How could he help her get over her lack of confidence with him? “It’s as good as any, Jean. I’m listening.”

“Well, you said Candida is in the frame now.”

“I mean it. She’s got to be involved.”

“The other day when you and I went to see her, you let me question her about the evening Mary died.”

“And you did a fine job,” he said, seizing on a chance to show appreciation. “Thanks to you, we now know why Candida offered to drive Mary home after the evening in the pub. She wanted her to be the first to know she was pregnant. Has something else cropped up?”

“Er... yes. She told us the truth, but not the whole truth, I think.”

“Oh?”

“I felt there must be a bigger reason why she was so keen to share her news with Mary before she told anyone else.”

“You found it — another reason?”

“I think so. Mary was her mother.”

He slopped ale on the table. “Candida’s mother? How on earth...?”

“I got her date of birth from the film office. They keep records even of staff who have left.”

“And...?”

“I ordered a copy of her birth certificate and it came this morning. You have to supply the date and the names of the parents. I took a chance with both and I was right about Mary.”

“That is a discovery.” He pressed his fingers against his mouth as another mystery presented itself. “Who was the father, then? Wait, I think I know. Candida is mixed race. He must be the guy who played Paul Robeson. The Welsh tenor.”

“Aubrey Jones.”

“Aubrey Jones. Candida Jones. What an idiot I am. Why didn’t I make the connection?”

“There was no reason to,” she said. “We weren’t asking ourselves who Candida’s parents were.”

“So how did you get on to it?”

She lowered her eyes and turned self-conscious again. “By being nosy, more than anything. I wanted to know why it was that Candida had this loyalty to Mary as long as three years after she’d left the job, so I got thinking.”

“To some tune — that’s brilliant, Jean. And now we know, it begs all kinds of questions. Why keep it secret that they were mother and daughter?”

“I guess it could have looked like favouritism while she was working as her production assistant. Other people in the company could complain.”

“And maybe Mary didn’t want it known she had a love child. Racism could have played its part as well, remembering the attitudes of thirty years ago.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“But she couldn’t have been all that ashamed. She gave her a theatrical name. Isn’t Candida the title of a play?”

“By George Bernard Shaw.”

“You have done your homework. I’m seeing this differently now.” He paused to take it in more fully. “Surely Candida wouldn’t have plotted to kill her own mother.”

“It’s not unknown,” Sharp said with a detachment Diamond hadn’t seen before. “We don’t know what bad blood there was between them. And we only have Candida’s account of what happened the night Mary died.”

“You’re ahead of me.”

“I’ve had longer to get my head around it.”

Diamond was spurred into speaking his thoughts aloud. “She claimed she didn’t go into Mary’s house after driving her home, but we can’t rely on anything she told us. If she did go in and added pure ethanol to the vodka her mother was drinking, it would have been enough to kill her. It makes your blood run cold.”

He could see he wasn’t telling Jean Sharp anything she hadn’t been through in her mind already. She was able to speak rationally about the probability that they were dealing with matricide, among other crimes. “Until she’s arrested and questioned, we won’t know what happened to make her like that.”

He nodded. “And the fact that everyone else seemed to regard Mary as angelic would only have ramped up Candida’s bitterness.” He heaved a large sigh, confronting the chasm of malice that had just opened up. “You’re right. More will come out, I’m sure. We could go on speculating indefinitely. We’ll pull them both in and get the truth of it. This is a huge help, Jean. You’ve given us enough to crack the case.”

She almost fled from the table, she was so relieved to have got the story off her chest.

Through the window, Diamond saw more vehicles arrive in the car park. Dr. Bertram Sealy got out and started pulling on his pale blue forensic suit. The photographer Diamond remembered from the crime scene in the field at Combe Hay had also driven in.

“Drink up, everyone. We’re going outside.”

He asked Ingeborg to call Paul Gilbert and find out whether Fergus was still at the shoot on Jacob’s Ladder.

“He would have told us, guv.”

“Do it.” The tension was getting to him. “And keep watch on the narrowboat in case Candida appears.”

On the way to the jetty, Ingeborg offered Diamond her phone. “It’s Paul. Do you want to speak to him yourself?”

“Has he got Fergus in sight? That’s all I need to know.”

She nodded.

“Tell him to stick with the jerk whatever happens.”

Wolfgang had already erected a forensic tent not much bigger than the sort boy scouts use. “It’s the width of the jetty,” he explained. “You can’t anchor the sides to air.”

“We won’t squeeze three people in there as well as the suitcase,” Diamond said.

“Take it down if you like,” Wolfgang said, “but if you do, you’ll be all over the papers tomorrow.” He jerked his head in the direction of a cluster of press photographers who had set up their tripods on the opposite bank.

“They get everywhere,” Diamond said.

Wolfgang handed Diamond a forensic suit. He put it on without complaining. He wouldn’t tell anyone he was more excited than a kid on Christmas morning.

Sealy adjusted his face mask, dipped his head and went inside the tent, followed by the forensic photographer. Diamond had to observe from outside with his head between the tent flaps — an undignified pose destined to be picked by several picture editors for next morning’s editions.

The small space already smelt musty.

“So how long has it been out of the water?” Dr. Sealy asked, starting to loosen the straps.

“Three to four hours,” Diamond said.

“Prepare for an interesting fragrance, then.”

“Is it locked?”

“That won’t stop me. Suitcases are easy to force. I always padlock mine when I go on holiday. No, it isn’t locked. Hold your noses.”

Sealy unzipped the case. The clicks of the camera shutter provided a kind of incidental music.

He lifted the lid and the foul smell of rotting flesh filled the tent.

Sealy said, “Ha.”

The lid was masking Diamond’s view. “I can’t see from here.”

Sealy said, “You won’t want to.”

“Why?”

“It’s not what you led me to expect. It’s organic, I’ll give you that. It appears to be dead. But you don’t need me. You want a zoologist. What you’ve got here is a large reptile. I’m no expert, but I would say this is a reticulated python.”