Showstopper

7

“Is this your doing?”

“Indirectly, ma’am,” Peter Diamond answered in a contrite tone. He was now at an upstairs window of Concorde House, the police building in Emersons Green. At his shoulder was his boss, Georgina Dallymore, the Assistant Chief Constable, along with most of his team. A strange scene was unfolding in the yard below. A tall, disreputable-looking, white-bearded man had emerged from a small police van. He waited for the driver to open the rear doors. Between them, they unloaded various items, an old-fashioned pram, a bedroll and a rucksack. Then a dog the size of a Shetland pony put its head out, took a long look at the yard, and jumped down.

Georgina gasped and said, “Oh my sainted aunt!”

Some of the others used more colourful language.

Georgina was outraged. “Does he think he’s coming in with that enormous animal and all his paraphernalia? He looks like a vagrant. We could get infested with fleas and heaven only knows what else. Peter, I hold you responsible for this.”

“We believe he can assist with an ongoing inquiry, ma’am. I didn’t know he was bringing everything but the kitchen sink.”

But as they watched, the pram and the other things were reloaded in the van. All except the man and the huge dog.

“Whose doing is this?”

Ratting on colleagues wasn’t in Diamond’s character. “The buck stops here, ma’am.”

“Someone must have brought them in.”

On cue, a figure on a moped putt-putted into the yard and stopped beside the van.

“Who’s that on the scooter?”

DCI Halliwell, Diamond’s deputy, said, “I don’t suppose there was room in the van.”

“Send someone down to stop them entering the building. We’re a police office, not a dog pound.”

“I’ll handle this myself,” Diamond said, spotting the chance to escape.

“You won’t.” Georgina turned to Halliwell. “You can do it.” Then, to Diamond, “In my office. Now.”

The barring of Will Legat and Caesar was never going to succeed. They were already inside the entrance hall of Concorde House when Halliwell came running downstairs, an action Caesar interpreted as hostile. The barking, echoing off the tiled floor, must have been heard all over the building. Halliwell came to a cartoon-style skidding stop and Legat leaned back in a tug-of-war effort to keep a grip on the rope lead. Repeated shouts of, “Sit!” had no effect.

Only when Caesar decided he’d barked enough did Halliwell succeed in being heard. “We have a no-dog rule here.”

“He’s with me,” Legat said as if that answered everything. “No use telling him to sit. He doesn’t like this cold flooring. Have you got a carpet somewhere?”

“Can’t you put him back in the van?”

“If I do, I won’t answer for the throat of the first man to open the doors.”

At this point, Paul Gilbert arrived, crash helmet in hand.

“This isn’t going to work,” Halliwell told him. “The ACC is on the warpath.”

“Why? The dog? He’s not causing any trouble.”

“Before you came in, he was.”

Gilbert couldn’t resist offering Caesar the back of his hand for drooling over. “He’s a lamb.”

“He can’t stay.”

“It’s all right. I’m taking them to Keynsham after this. I’ve already called and they have a spare cell in the custody suite.”

“Why bring him here, then?”

“I have a tracksuit bottom in my locker. Mr. Legat is going to change into it. I’m sending the belt and his trousers to forensics. I think the belt belonged to a rigger and I want it checked for DNA.”

“The missing man?”

“Wouldn’t that be terrific? Forensics already checked the bloodstains from his flat at Fairfield, so they’ll see if there’s a match.”

“What will you use as a changing room?”

“The staff locker room. Step this way, Will.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to take the dog outside while this is going on?” Halliwell suggested.

“Would you like to be holding the rope when his master walks away?”

There was no argument. “Get it done quickly, then.”

Upstairs with Georgina, Diamond was hard pressed to justify the investigation. “The missing man is just the latest in a long run of serious incidents, deaths and disappearances, ma’am. There may be nothing in it, but anyone in my position has a duty to check.”

She wasn’t at all convinced. “What’s in it for you? A chance to meet the glamorous actress who plays Swift?”

“Not at all.” He put a comforting spin on the story to ease Georgina’s mind. “I’ve got a watching brief, which is why I’m here with you and not down there with the dosser they brought in. CID’s involvement is low-key, small scale at this stage. A chance for one of my less experienced men to cut his teeth as investigating officer. I like to share out the duties.”

“Who is he?”

“The tramp?”

“The man on the moped. He appears to be one of ours.”

“Like you, I didn’t recognise him under the helmet.”

“Do you expect me to believe you don’t know who you sent?”

“I delegated the job, ma’am. As I explained, it’s a low-level enquiry.”

“He’d better have a very good reason for bringing that vagrant and his animal into Concorde House.”

“Absolutely. I haven’t had a chance to speak to him.” He saw an opening he hadn’t planned. “I’ll go down directly and find out.”

Georgina gave a flat no. “Now that you’re here you will tell me precisely and without evasion how we became involved in all this nonsense about a jinx, transparently a story cobbled together to sell newspapers.”

She had him over a barrel. They both knew the real reason. He couldn’t resist a puzzle and this was a humdinger, a real challenge. Some of it might be nonsense, as she said, but there was enough mystery in it to stretch his brain.

He took a deep breath.

Unfortunately, the next twenty minutes revealed that Georgina had a different agenda. A deeply troubling one.

Down in the staff locker room, Gilbert had positioned himself by the door in case anyone entered unexpectedly and got savaged. Caesar, a study in innocence, was lying on his side taking up most of the floor. Behind, Will Legat had removed the combat trousers and belt. His legs were chalk-white, but beefy, testimony to the many miles they’d covered. They could have been carved by Michelangelo. But a pair of oversized Mickey Mouse boxers spoiled the effect.

“I’ll need my keys and things.”

“I can unfasten them,” Gilbert said and asked the question he’d puzzled over all afternoon. “Why does a homeless man need so many keys?”

“For overnight stays,” came the answer. “It’s so much more considerate to one’s benefactor if one doesn’t break in.” Legat reached across Caesar’s recumbent form to hand over the belt. “Why are you wearing the rubber gloves?”

“Because we don’t want my DNA corrupting the evidence.” With tact, Gilbert added, “If the belt turns out to have had more than one owner.” He unhitched the keys, jackknife and bottle-opener, dropped the belt into an evidence bag and sealed the top. A despatch rider would get it to the lab within the hour.

“Life never ceases to be interesting,” Legat said. “One learns something new every day.”

“I’d be glad if you’d get into the tracksuit bottom before anyone else learns something new. This room is unisex.”

Diamond was back in his own office licking his wounds after the bruising encounter with Georgina. He’d been ordered to drop all interest in the jinxed TV company and apply himself to the real business of running an efficient department. She’d told him to get up to speed with the directives from headquarters he’d ignored for months, if not years. He was to make sure everyone on the team was taking up the career opportunities open to them. By this, Georgina meant refresher courses. A modern detective force needed to be conversant with every element of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act; cybercrime; counter-terrorism; powers of search and removal; the giving of evidence; record-keeping; interaction with the public; and equality and diversity. He was to report back by the end of the month with a list of names and the courses they’d booked. His own name was to head the list.

Refresher bloody courses.

Privately he thought the blast from Georgina was sour grapes. She’d attended more refresher courses than she’d had hot dinners and still hadn’t been upgraded to Deputy Chief Constable when the job became vacant.

All of that paled beside her final swipe. After softening him up by accusing him of being out of touch with modern policing, she hit him with the killer punch.

“It’s time you thought about retirement.”

Retirement?

He’d rather roast in hell than end up watching daytime television. His record as a crime-solver was second to none. He’d given his best years to Bath CID. It wasn’t as if he was standing in the way of someone who wanted the job. Keith Halliwell, his deputy, was a sweet guy and a huge support with absolutely no desire to lead the team. Ingeborg Smith was as smart as a whip and would cope, but she hadn’t enough experience yet. She hadn’t long been made up to sergeant. John Leaman, brainy as he was, had bipolar issues and couldn’t relate to colleagues. You could send any of those people on courses until they screamed for mercy and they wouldn’t be ready to take over.

Grinding his teeth, he reached for one of the stacks of paper that formed a wall on his desk.

But his mind wasn’t on the job any longer. He was picturing the sad old men in suits who sat on benches watching the world go by.

Paul Gilbert drove the van with Will Legat, the dog and all his belongings to the custody suite at Keynsham.

“What’s he in for?” the sergeant-in-charge asked.

Legat was in no doubt what he was in for. “A shower, a cup of cocoa, a good night’s sleep and a hot breakfast, if you please.”

“Vagrancy,” Gilbert said.

“What about the dog?”

Legat said, “He’s more of a vagrant than I am, but I wouldn’t advise giving him a cell to himself.”

“He can’t go in with you.”

“Why not? How long have you been here? We’ve always managed before.”

The sergeant looked at Paul Gilbert, who shook his head. “We don’t have our own dog pound.”

“You could take him to the kennels in Redlynch Lane.”

Legat didn’t like the suggestion. “The last time somebody tried keeping Caesar in kennels he leaned against the side, walked free, and two chihuahuas and a French bulldog were never seen again.”

True or not, that seemed to persuade the sergeant. Another sensitive moment came when the guest prisoner was asked to empty his pockets. The jackknife was given a filthy look. “You can’t bring that in.”

“What else can I use to butter my toast in the morning?”

“We’ll give you a plastic knife. What are all these keys for?”

“I’m a bit of a ladies’ man.”

The sergeant was starting to realise this man had been asked the same questions many times over. The only way to deal with him was to fall in with his plans.

Caesar had the floor of the cell and Legat the bunk. The pram was put in the evidence room.

“What are we supposed to do with him in the morning?” the sergeant asked Gilbert before he left.

“I promised him a good breakfast, if you would, sarge. He’ll feed the dog himself.”

“I mean after. You don’t want him up before the beak?”

“No, but he’d appreciate a lift in the paddy wagon with the other offenders.”

“He’ll need a bloody van to himself.”

“What a good idea,” Gilbert said.

“Are you related to this fuckwit by any chance?”

At the end of the day, when Paloma switched off the TV, she said to Diamond, “Something on your mind?”

“Why?”

“You’ve scarcely spoken all evening.”

“Tired, I expect.”

“Wasn’t anything I said?”

“God, no.”

“Problems at work?”

“There are always problems at work.”

“That’s what you enjoy, isn’t it, solving them? I expect a night’s sleep will help. I’ll get my drink and go on up, then.”

“Sure. I won’t be long.” He pottered about, checking that the cat’s litter tray was ready and the doors and windows were closed. After a bit, he poured himself a glass of water and went upstairs to visit the bathroom. Paloma used the en suite. She was already in bed reading when he changed into his night things.

“I heard that sigh,” she said after the lights were out. “I’ve always envied you because you can shut off when you leave work. Not this time apparently.”

He didn’t comment. Usually he didn’t mind telling her if he had a problem.

A few minutes later, she said, “I was thinking.”

“What?”

“How long have you been in that job?”

“Don’t go there,” he said. “Don’t go there.”

He said no more and neither did Paloma. In the darkness, tears were rolling down his cheek.