The House Sitter

19

Can we speak outside?” Hen said to Diamond.

“Now?” So close to a result, he could think of no reason “ to stop. Surely Hen, of all people, wanted to nail this one?

“Yes, now.”

He was incensed by her interference at this critical stage. If she’d been one of his own team, he’d have brushed her aside. He listened, but only because she’d won his respect in all their dealings up to now. They left Ken Bellman, looking dazed, in the interview room in the care of a uniformed officer.

Out in the corridor, Diamond felt and showed all the symptoms of a dangerous surge of blood pressure.

Hen said, “I have to say, Peter, I’m not happy where this interview is leading. Are you trying to break him, or what?”

“You’re not happy?” he said, shooting her a savage look. “Hen, this is a police station, not the citizens’ advice bureau. He’s a weirdo. He stalked the victim for twenty-four hours before she was strangled.”

“He’s been open with us.”

“He’s had an easy ride.”

“That was easy, was it? You accused him of the crime.”

“At some point, you do. This was the right point.”

She said, “I wouldn’t mind if he was being obstructive. He was talking freely in there. His story fitted the facts.”

“Up to when he met her on the beach and was given his marching orders. Then it departs from what we know to be true.”

“Such as?”

“He said he couldn’t blame her for telling him to move on-as if they shook hands and wished each other good luck. I had to remind him he said ‘What the fuck!’ as he walked away.”

“He’s not going to have perfect recall of every phrase he used.”

“He was angry, Hen. Didn’t blame her? Of course he blamed her. He wasn’t going to admit to us that he was in a strop. Fortunately Olga Smith overheard what was said. According to Bellman’s version, he went tamely across to the café for a sandwich and then drove back to Bath. The man had stalked her since the morning of the day before. Do you really believe he gave up and went home?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted, swayed a little. “But I think we should give him the chance to prove it before you roast him alive.”

“What-challenge him to produce a petrol receipt?”

“If he can, yes. If he can’t, let’s have another go at him.”

“I could crack him now.”

“I’m certain you could. He’s brittle. They’re the ones you treat with caution, Peter. They confess to anything. Only later, when you’re writing it up for the CPS, or being cross-examined by some tricky lawyer, do you discover the flaws. Let’s soft-pedal now.”

Diamond didn’t want to soft-pedal. This was the first real difference of opinion with Hen. “What if he does a runner?”

“We’ll catch up with him. He isn’t a danger to the public. This was a crime of passion if it was anything.”

He shook his head and vibrated his lips. “I’m not happy with this.”

She said, “I want a result as much as you. I’ve had a two-hour drive this morning and I’ll have to come back for another go, but it’s worth it to get everything buttoned up-properly.”

There was a silence as heavy as cement. “I can only agree to this if we take him home now and ask him to produce the petrol receipt.”

“And if he can’t?”

He shrugged. “We’ll do it my way.”

They used Diamond’s car, driving directly to the garage Ken Bellman rented on Bathwick Hill. Little more was said until he unlocked the up-and-over door and opened the car to look inside. His BMW, as he’d stated, had certainly seen better days. “It passed the test,” he said, as if they might be interested.

“Where are those receipts?” Hen asked.

“I slot everything down the pocket in the door.” He scooped out a handful of scraps of paper. As well as receipts there were parking tickets with peel-off adhesive backing. Everything had stuck together. He handed a sticky bundle to Hen. Then he delved down and brought out another.

Hen started separating the petrol receipts and putting them in date order, arranging them in rows along the bonnet of the car. She pretty soon decided there were too many to be so methodical. They went back at least eighteen months. The date of the murder was June the twenty-seventh.

“Give me some,” Diamond offered.

Bellman was still retrieving fading, dog-eared slips from the depths of the car door. He made a point of handing them only to Hen. She passed a batch to Diamond. Expecting nothing, he went through them steadily and found nothing. He shook his head. Hen finished checking hers. She sighed.

“It’s not looking good, Ken,” Diamond commented, as much for Hen’s ears as Bellman’s.

Bellman said, “I’m not a hundred per cent sure I stopped for petrol on the way back.” He ran his hand down the pocket one more time and came up with nothing.

“How do you pay for your petrol?” Hen asked. “With a credit card?”

“Cash, usually.”

“You paid cash at the restaurant, I noticed,” Diamond said. “Don’t you like using plastic?”

“Not much,” he answered. “You hear so much about fraud.”

“Well, my friend, we’re going to have to ask you to rack your brains for something else to confirm the story you gave us.”

“It’s no story. It’s true.”

Hen asked, “Is it possible you put the receipt in your trouser pocket? Could it be somewhere in your flat?”

“I suppose.”

This wasn’t merely prolonging the search. Diamond twigged at once that Hen’s suggestion was a useful one. Without a search warrant, it would get them into Bellman’s living quarters higher up the hill.

He accepted it for the lifeline it appeared to be. He closed the garage and they walked the short distance to the house.

He rented the upper floor of a brick-built Victorian villa, with his own entrance up an ironwork staircase at the side. Considering he hadn’t been expecting visitors, it was tidy inside, as Diamond discovered when he began strolling through the rooms without invitation, saying benignly, “Have a good look for that receipt. Don’t mind me. I can find ways of passing the time.”

There were two computers, one in an office, the other in the living room. Any number of manuals with titles in IT jargon were lined up on shelves. He followed Bellman into the bedroom and watched him take several pairs of jeans from the wardrobe and sling them on the double bed, prior to searching the pockets.

“Did you furnish the place yourself?”

“It’s part-furnished. The newer stuff is mine.”

There wasn’t much newer stuff in the bedroom that Diamond could see. The pictures on the wall, faintly tinted engravings of sea scenes, looked as if they’d been there since the house was built. Perhaps he was referring to the clothes basket in the corner, a cheap buy from one of those Third World shops.

The search of the jeans’ pockets produced a crumpled five pound note and some paper tissues, but no receipt.

“I can’t think where else it’s going to be,” Bellman said with a troubled look.

“Wait a bit,” Diamond pulled him up short. “Not long ago you were doubting the existence of this poxy receipt. Now you make out it’s waiting to be found. Is your memory coming back, or what?”

“What happens if I can’t prove I was on the road that afternoon?”

“We go through it all again, asking more questions.”

“If you do,” Bellman said, “I want a solicitor. I came in today to make a statement as a witness, not to be accused of the crime.” He was getting more confident here, on his own territory.

“Show me some proof that you aren’t involved.”

“So I’m guilty, am I, unless I can prove I’m innocent?”

“In my book, you are, chummy. There isn’t anyone else.”

Hen looked in from one of the other rooms. She’d obviously been listening, and not liking the drift. “Peter, as the SIO on this case, I’m calling a halt for today.”

The eyebrows pricked up, but Diamond didn’t argue. She had the right. It was, officially, her case.

On the drive back to the police station, he spoke his mind to her. “My team went to a load of trouble bringing this piece of pond life to the surface. I don’t look forward to telling them I slung it back.”

“He’s still there,” Hen said. “It’s up to you and me to make the case.”

“Ten minutes more in the interview room and he’d have put his hand up to the crime.”

“That’s exactly what I objected to. Confessions don’t impress the CPS. We need proof. Chains of evidence. A case that stands up in court.”

“You’re asking for the moon,” he said. “You know as well as I do that the tide washed over the body. There’s no DNA. We’ve bust our guts making appeals for witnesses. It was hard enough finding Olga Smith. No one else is going to come forward now.”

“We’ve got Emma Tysoe’s tapes.”

“Right-and who do they incriminate? Ken bloody Bellman.”

“ ‘Incriminate’ is a bit strong,” she said. “She rejected him, yes, but she didn’t say anything about violent tendencies. As a profiler, she should have been able to tell if he was dangerous.”

“We placed him at the scene on the day of the murder. He admits he was there. Freely admits it.”

“Not at the time she was killed.”

“You want a smoking gun,” he said, at the end of his patience.

Hen said, “I’ll tell you what I want, Peter. I want to know what happened to her car, the Lotus he says was in the car park. Emma didn’t drive it out for sure, yet it wasn’t there at the end of the day when I arrived on the scene.”

She’d scored a point. He’d given very little thought to the missing car. “Stolen?”

“But who by?”

“Someone who knew she was dead.”

“And acquired the key, you mean?”

“There are ways of starting a car without a key.”

“Yes, but her bag was taken-the beachbag Olga Smith described, blue with a dolphin design. It’s more likely, isn’t it, that the person who drove away the car had picked up the bag and used her key?”

He weighed that, so deep in thought that he went through a light at the pedestrian crossing at the top of Manvers Street, fortunately without endangering anyone. “That is relevant,” he finally said. “Bellman couldn’t have pinched her car if he drove his own. Why hasn’t it turned up?”

“Not for want of searching,” Hen said. “Every patrol in Sussex has orders to find it.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “You know, there could be something in this. We’ve had cars taken from the beach car park before now. Nice cars usually, like this one. They’re driven around and abandoned somewhere on the peninsula.”

“Joyriders.”

“Right. Teenagers, we assumed. I’d like to nick them, but they’re clean away.”

“But they don’t murder the owners?”

“Well, not up to now.”

“This wasn’t a kid, Hen. You’re certain it wasn’t left in the car park that night?”

“Totally sure. I know the cars that were there.”

“How many?”

“Four. One of them belonged to the doctor, Shiena Wilkinson. That was a Range Rover. There was a Mitsubishi owned by another woman who came along in a rare old state when I was having it broken into.”

“She was on the beach?”

“In the car park, at a barbecue.”

“Unlikely to have pinched the Lotus, then. What about the others?”

“Another Mitsubishi and a Peugeot. The first was owned by a Portsmouth man. His name began with a ‘W’. I can’t bring it to mind. The other was traced to someone in London with an Asian name. Patel.”

“And they were abandoned?”

“Left overnight. The owners picked them up later.”

“Did you follow it up?”

“Oh, yes.” She remembered giving the job to George Flint, the complainer in her squad. “The Portsmouth guy-”

“Mr ‘W’?”

“It was West,” she hit on the name triumphantly. “He was called West. His story was that he ran out of fuel, so he got a lift home with a friend. He came back next day with a can of petrol and collected his car.”

“What about Patel?”

“Went for a sea trip with some friends, and they got back much later than they expected. Like West, he picked up his car the next day.”

“You see what I’m thinking?”

“I do,” she said. “If one of those two was a car thief, they could have driven away the Lotus during the afternoon and returned for their own car the following day.”

“A bit obvious, leaving their own vehicle overnight,” Diamond reflected. “A professional car thief wouldn’t be so stupid.”

“Maybe this was an opportunist crime,” Hen said. “They picked up her bag after she was dead.”

There was a flaw here, and Diamond was quick to pounce. “But they wouldn’t know which car the key fitted, unless they’d watched her drive in. Which brings us back to Bellman. He’s the only one who knew she owned a Lotus. Could he have nicked it after killing her and acquiring the bag?”

Hen was equally unimpressed. “And returned for his own car before the car park closed? I can’t think why he’d do it. If he’s the killer, it was jealousy, or passion, or frustrated pride, not a wish to own a smart car.”

Stalemate.

Hen promised to follow up on West and Patel when she got back to Bognor. Either could turn out to be a car thief. People had murdered for less than a Lotus Esprit.

“We made some headway,” Diamond said as a conciliatory gesture after they’d parked behind the police station. “It’s not all disappointment.”

“Far from it,” she agreed.

There was a gap while each thought hard for some positive result from the morning. Displacement activity was easier. Hen lit up a cigar and Diamond checked the pressure of his car tyres by kicking them.

Inside the nick, a sergeant from uniform spotted Diamond and came over at once. “Everyone’s looking for you, sir. You’re wanted at the Bath Spa Hotel.”

“Who by?”

“An inspector from Special Branch and a lady by the name of Val something.”

“Walpurgis?”

“That’s it.”

“What the hell are they doing at the Bath Spa?” He turned to Hen.

She shook her head.

“Want to back me up?” he asked her.

“Why? Feeling nervous?”

They returned to the car.

The Bath Spa, on the east side of the city in Sydney Road, vies with the Royal Crescent for the title of Bath’s most exclusive hotel. It is a restored nineteenth-century mansion in its own grounds, with facilities that include a solarium, indoor swimming pool and sauna. Diamond and Hen announced themselves at Reception and a call was put through to one of the guest suites. They weren’t invited to go up.

“The gentleman said he’s coming down, sir.”

“Special Branch being careful,” Hen murmured to Diamond. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”

Diamond took a seat in the drawing room under an oil painting of one of the Stuart kings. He wasn’t sure which.

The ‘gentleman’, when he arrived soon after, was in jeans and a black leather jacket, worn, without a doubt, to conceal a gun. He was chewing compulsively. “Tony,” he said to Diamond. “Special Branch.” Pale and red-eyed, he looked as if life in the security service was taking a heavy toll.

“My colleague smokes,” Diamond said. “She’ll join us presently.”

“I gave up,” Tony said, adding unnecessarily, “I chew gum.”

“Whose decision was it to bring Walpurgis to this place?”

“Her own. She expects the best.”

“I’m against it,” Diamond said.

“So was I,” Tony said with a persecuted look. “You haven’t met her yet.”

“Isn’t she aware of the risk?”

“I’m not sure if she’s aware of anything except herself.”

Diamond said he would collect Hen. Tony decided he’d left Anna Walpurgis alone for long enough. He said he would see them upstairs on the top floor in the Beau Nash Suite.

Before going outside, Diamond phoned Manvers Street and spoke to Halliwell. It was agreed that Sergeant John Leaman should be assigned to guarding Walpurgis for the time being.

“Some buggers get all the luck,” Halliwell complained. “Stuck in a posh hotel with a gorgeous bird like that.”

“I’m told it may not be so easy,” Diamond said.

He went into the grounds to find Hen.

Tony from Special Branch admitted them to the sitting-room section of the suite. There was no sign of the main guest.

“Taking a shower,” he explained. “As soon as she’s out, I’m off.”

“Anything we should know about her?” Diamond enquired.

“She’ll tell you.”

“Does she have luggage?”

“Five cases and a garment bag.”

“Five?”

“Can’t be seen in the same thing more than once.”

“Are you confident nobody knows she’s here?”

“In a word, no. Fortunately that’s not my problem any more. I’m told you volunteered to take her on.”

“I didn’t have this place in mind.”

“She did, as soon as Bath was mentioned.”

“Wise woman,” Hen said, to take some heat out of the exchange.

A door opened and, almost on cue, the wise woman emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a white silk dressing gown and with nothing on her feet. She was stunningly pretty, with blue eyes and dead-straight blond hair. “Is it a party?” she asked. “Or maybe a wake, by the look of you.”

Before Diamond could introduce himself, Tony from Special Branch said, “I’m off, then.” He was through the door and gone.

Anna Walpurgis delivered her opinion. “Tosser. He shouldn’t be in the job. Are you the replacements?”

Diamond gave their names and ranks. “More of a welcoming committee,” he explained. “Someone else will be with you shortly.”

“Another kid, I suppose,” she said. “I so prefer mature men. You’re, like, over fifty, yah, approaching your prime? My husband-rest his soul-was well over sixty when I married him. And to save you asking, we were a perfect match and the sex was wicked. Do you like shopping?”

“Depends,” said Diamond.

“Don’t be coy, big man. I’m addicted. I want to hit those Bath shops before they close tonight. Milsom Street first, and no prisoners.”

“That may not be such a good idea,” Diamond started to say.

“Why? You know a better place for shops? I’m thinking clothes at this point.”

“I’m thinking safety, ma’am,” he said. “There’s a man who means to murder you.”

She flapped her hand. “Yeah, and like that’s the only threat I ever received in my life?”

“We take it seriously, and so should you.”

“The only thing I’m taking is a taxi to the town centre,” she said, refusing to be sidetracked. “After two weeks banged up, I’m suffering serious withdrawal from Harrods and Harvey Nicks. Don’t look so glum. It’s my AmEx Gold they’ll be swiping, not yours. What’s your first name anyway? Let me guess-something nice and codgery. Barnaby?”

“If we’re going to get on, Miss Walpurgis-”

“Anna.”

“If we’re going to get on, Anna, you’ve got to be serious about what’s happening. It’s not a good plan to go shopping. You’ll be recognised. It’ll get around that you’re in Bath. He’ll follow.”

She said as if she hadn’t heard, “Not Barnaby? How about Humphrey, then?”

“It may be necessary for you to stay here for the first night,” he explained. “After that, we move you to a private address.”

“A private address,” she repeated with mock excitement. “Would that be yours, by any chance? You’re pretty confident for an old guy, huh?”

“You’ll have the place to yourself.”

“There goes the last of my reputation, I guess.”

“With a guard outside.”

Blue eyes are not supposed to flash with such intensity. “So it’s another safe house? No way will I spend the rest of my life locked away with some gun-toting boy with a short haircut and no conversation. Pathetic is what it is.”

Hen said, “It’s not the rest of your life, Anna. It’s just until this killer is caught.”

“And how long exactly is that?”

“This won’t be anything like the regime in a safe house. If you’re willing to help us, it can be over in a short time.”

“They all said that.” She turned to Hen. “Is he married?”

Hen hesitated, then shook her head.

“Funny,” Anna said to Hen, “but I’m quite attracted by the stiff upper lip. Sort of brings up all those old British movies on cable, Kenneth More and Jack Hawkins.” She flashed a look at Diamond. “That you, is it? Cool in a crisis? The sort I could trust with my life?”

He said, “This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

“Yeah, you know all about me. Everyone knows about me, the gold-digger who married an elderly millionaire when her singing career was on the slide. The tabloids have done it to death. Nobody ever asks me if I love Wally. That’s not in the script. I shut my eyes to the wrinkles and went for the wedge, wrote off two years of my life for the legacy. It’s in the papers, so it must be true.”

The bitterness was inescapable. Diamond had to respond in some way. “I never read that stuff. I’ve heard you sing. I respect you for that.”

“Per-lease,” she said. “You obviously know how to press all the right buttons. Why don’t we do a deal, you and me, Humph? If I keep my head down until tomorrow, stay away from the shops and take all the meals in my room, will you come shopping with me tomorrow?”

“All right,” he said at once. It was the best trade he would get. “And the name is Peter Diamond.”

“As in…?”

He sighed. “Yes-a girl’s best friend.”

She flapped her hand in front of her face. “Too much. Too, too, too, too much.”