The Secret Hangman

21

T his time he took a taxi up to Lyncombe. Paloma was ready and looking like one of the nominees on Oscars night, her cleavage framed by a white pashmina. Diamond told her she looked stunning, and meant it. He was glad he’d put on a suit and tie, but now wished the tie wasn’t just the Met Rugby Club stripes.

He was holding a cardboard box marked Heinz. ‘This is not what it may appear,’ he told her. ‘These are for Jerry’s hospital trolley.’ He’d remembered to bring Steph’s Agatha Christie collection.

‘That’s so generous. If you leave them in the hall he’ll pick them up next time he comes by.’

In the taxi she gave his hand a squeeze. ‘This is a lovely idea.’ The embarrassment of their last evening together wasn’t showing at all.

‘I can’t claim any credit,’ he said. ‘The tickets were passed on to me by my boss.’

‘The dragon?’

‘Georgina, yes.’

‘She doesn’t breathe fire all the time, then?’

‘Once in a blue moon she surprises me with something like this. Maybe there’s a payback that I’ll learn about later.’

Sooner, as it turned out.

At the theatre they bought a programme and chocolates and went to the bar for a drink and heard the announcement telling people the performance would begin in ten minutes. When they presented their tickets the usher asked them to step to one side. A tall, thin man appeared from nowhere and said, ‘Ah, you must be the real inspector.’

Diamond raised an eyebrow.

The man said, ‘It’s no mystery. We know from the ticket number. I’m Charles Fetherington-Steel, publicity director. You are Inspector-’

‘Detective Superintendent actually. Diamond is my name. And this is Mrs Paloma Kean.’

‘I was promised an inspector,’ Fetherington-Steel said as if he’d got second best. ‘Never mind. The main thing is that you’re from the police. I’m sorry to be such a pain, but the photographer wants his shots before the performance starts. You know what the press are like. If you’d kindly step this way, we’ll get it over with, and then you can take your seats.’

‘Nobody told me about a photograph,’ Diamond said.

‘Oh, I’m sure I told Miss Assisi. We definitely need some shots. It was made very clear.’

‘I don’t know a Miss Assisi.’

‘If I were you, I’d make a point of getting to know her,’ Fetherington-Steel said. ‘She makes the decisions at the police station. Ah, here he is, camera at the ready. It’s quite painless, officer. Relax and give him a smile.’

Diamond stiffened and gave him a scowl. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said to Paloma. ‘I’m not sure what it’s about, but I think I’ve been set up.’

‘Let me fix your tie. It’s coming loose.’ As she stepped close she said in an undertone, ‘A smile doesn’t cost anything, Pete.’

If she had not been there, they wouldn’t have seen him for dust. He didn’t want another blighted evening, so he stood beside a pillar and submitted to the camera, even managing a twisted grin.

‘Much better. All done,’ Fetherington-Steel said, beckoning to the usher. ‘There’s champagne for you both in the interval. The patrons’ room.’

Their seats were the best in the house, in the centre of the front row of the lower circle. No time to talk. The curtain went up at once, as if the entire production had been waiting for them. Pity the poor players because Diamond took in very little of what was happening on stage. His mind was on what had just happened and might yet happen.

‘Isn’t it gripping?’ Paloma said when the interval lights came up. ‘I’m hooked. Is he behaving like a real inspector?’

‘Shall we skip the champagne with the patrons and have our own later?’ he said. ‘If we move out in the other direction we can give the tall man the slip.’

‘You’re wicked.’

They went downstairs and bought drinks in the crush bar and took in some fresh air by one of the exit doors. ‘What was that all about when we arrived?’ he said.

‘The photography? It’s just a publicity stunt, I imagine,’ Paloma said. ‘They want to get something in the Chronicle about a real inspector calling. No harm in it, is there?’

‘Someone at the nick should have warned me.’

‘That would have spoilt their fun.’

She was right. He remembered showing the tickets to Leaman. The bastard hadn’t let on. They were all in on it, no doubt.

‘I’m trying to think who Miss Assisi is,’ he said. ‘I can’t place her. She’s the one he spoke to.’

‘I’d leave it if I were you. Think what you’re going to say about the play.’

He swallowed hard. ‘What do you mean?’

‘They’ve got your picture. They’ll want a decent quote to go under it.’

‘The newspaper?’

‘There’s sure to be a reporter waiting for you when we come out and I don’t think we should turn our backs on them. Don’t upset the press. You never know when you might need them.’

Wise words, but now he had a moment of panic. ‘I haven’t been giving a lot of thought to the play.’

‘It’s still unfolding, isn’t it? This inspector is investigating a poor girl’s suicide, or so it appears, and nearly all the characters seemed to contribute in some way. You might want to say that real crimes have to pin the blame on one individual, but here the guilt is spread more widely.’

‘That sounds good. Could you write it down?’

‘Better if you put it in your own words. Mind, I have a feeling that the whole play could swing around in the second half.’

‘I’m not sure if I’m up to this.’

‘You are. Think of your workmates in the police opening their papers and finding you carried it off like a professional critic. A couple of sentences will do it. You’ll have the last laugh.’

He watched the second half as if his career depended on it, paying close attention to Inspector Goole and his domineering presence. There were procedural details that grated, but of course the play was written more than sixty years ago and referred back to a much earlier period, before the first world war. Who knows whether detectives worked alone or in pairs in those days? Anyway, as the tension built and the inspector’s questioning increasingly took a moral tone it became clear that Paloma’s ‘or so it appears’ was a crucial insight. Everything was not as it appeared. This inspector was acting more like a judge than a policeman.

The last line of the play confirmed that something very weird had been going on. The Bath police theatre critic wasn’t sure how to take it, or if it could be explained, or needed to be. Probably not. The story was satisfying in a bigger sense.

‘Clever,’ he said to Paloma over the applause.

‘Terrific,’ she said. ‘Have you thought of what to say?’

‘I’m trying.’

‘That inspector’s an enigma.’

‘I can use that.’

As they came down the steps to the foyer, Fetherington-Steel was at the side, waving. He had a young woman beside him, notebook at the ready. As soon as the introductions were over and she was about to start on her questions, Diamond said, ‘I’ll have to be brief because we have a table booked at Woods, but you don’t need much, do you? A fascinating play, brilliantly done. Inspector Goole wouldn’t last long in the modern police, but then he isn’t modern and he isn’t a policeman. He’s an inspector in a different sense.’

‘What?’ the reporter said. ‘Inspecting the corruption of a society that puts profit and self-interest at the top of its priorities?’

‘You took the words out of my mouth. He’s a wily old fox, but if he was in my squad, I’d keep him in the back room. Will that do?’

‘Couldn’t be better,’ she said. ‘I’ll just get your name and make sure I spell it right.’

In Woods, Paloma said, ‘You socked it to them. You were great.’

‘I forgot to mention the enigma bit.’

‘You didn’t need to. You said it in your own words.’

They ordered and the champagne was brought to the table and uncorked.

‘To the drama critic,’ Paloma said.

‘For one night only.’ They sipped, and he said, ‘It’s odd. Just now I’m investigating suicides in my real job. I go about it rather differently, though. A lot of background stuff, pathologists’ reports and so on.’

‘I expect you talk to the families like he did.’

‘Not exactly like he did, but yes. It’s part of the job. And the relatives aren’t always as you expect them to be. That’s one good thing about my life. I meet all sorts.’

‘I didn’t think suicides needed investigating.’

‘We have to make sure they weren’t homicides.’

‘Oh.’

‘Sorry. Not the best topic for an evening out.’

‘I don’t mind that,’ she said. ‘I’m not squeamish. Police work interests me. I watch a lot of police series on television. It’s more exciting than historic costumes, though I do get excited when I find some illustrations I didn’t know existed.’

‘Where do you find them?’

‘In auctions sometimes. And second-hand bookshops. The ones I like are the really disorganised smelly old shops with cartons filled with stuff they haven’t even bothered to unpack and put a price on. We don’t have any left like that in Bath.’

‘No treasures, then?’

‘Hardly ever. But let’s not talk about work. Are you going to spend the night with me?’

He wasn’t sure how he reacted except that his answer was slow in coming. He hoped he hadn’t gone slack-jawed or turned white.

She’d surprised him totally. The possibility of sex was somewhere in his mind, but after the debacle in her garden he’d not been able to imagine how it would happen. Certainly he hadn’t expected it as a question over dinner. Finally all he could manage was, ‘Wow.’

She smiled. ‘Can I take that as a yes?’

‘A strong yes.’

‘That’s all right, then. We can enjoy our meal without all the stress of wondering what will happen after we leave the restaurant. Now let’s talk about something else. What’s the tie you’re wearing? It looks as if it represents something.’

You had to be mentally agile to keep up with Paloma. He told her about his rugby playing until the starters were served. They talked sport for a while, and over the main course covered holidays abroad (she’d travelled widely) and motoring in Britain. They chose to miss the dessert. He settled the bill and the waiter phoned for their taxi.

During the drive back, Paloma leaned towards him and nestled her head against his shoulder. ‘Did you bring your toothbrush?’

‘I wasn’t that confident,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘I bought you one in Boots this morning.’

In the house when the door was closed, she reached for him and they kissed, tentatively at first, and then as if they meant it.

She picked up a remote control and there was music and they held each other like dancers, swaying rather than taking steps. They kissed again, several times. Then she made coffee and poured liqueurs, hers a creme de menthe, his a brandy.

‘A suggestion,’ she told him. ‘We’re not all that young and let’s face it, we’re not the perfect shape, either of us. Showering together might not be the turn-on we’d like it to be. I’m going upstairs presently. My bedroom is the last door on the left. There’s a shower for you in the room opposite if you want. Let’s meet in my bed with the light turned really low.’

‘You’ve twisted my arm,’ he said.