The Secret Hangman

35

I t was after ten next morning before anyone at Home Workouts picked up the phone. The woman was on the defensive as soon as Diamond said he was from the police. ‘Has there been a complaint? We pride ourselves on being very professional. We only employ trainers with a proven record.’

‘No complaint,’ he said. ‘It’s just someone we’re trying to trace.’ He gave her the names.

‘We don’t offer massage.’

‘I didn’t mention massage.’

‘Or anything else that goes under the name of massage. We do get enquiries and you can take it from me that nothing of the sort is offered or considered. It’s strictly fitness training. We’re registered with the Institute of Personal Trainers.’

‘Can we rewind?’ he said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The names I just gave you.’

‘I was coming to that. Even if one of these was on our books and broke the rules I wouldn’t give you particulars without speaking to them first. They have a right to know.’

‘For pity’s sake,’ he said. ‘This isn’t about sex for sale. If anyone’s in trouble, you are, for withholding information. That’s a criminal offence. What’s your name?’

The line went silent.

Diamond said, ‘I told you my name at the beginning. What’s yours?’

She caved in, at least on the point that mattered. ‘Only one of those names you mentioned is known to us.’

‘And who is that?’

‘Harry Lang. He’s been with us about a year. He came with excellent references.’

‘And does he by any chance give personal training to Mrs Jocelyn Steel of Brookview Lodge, Midford?’

There was a gasp. ‘That’s the woman who was on the television. She was found hanging in Victoria Park.’

‘And was she one of your customers?’

‘Clients.’ Even in the face of tragedy the little formalities needed to be observed. ‘I didn’t make the connection.’

‘That was obvious. All I need from you are Harry Lang’s contact details.’

Not wanting to alert Lang, Diamond didn’t phone. He drove out to the trainer’s home address, a council flat in Ballance Street, off Julian Road, above the Royal Crescent and just a few hundred yards from where Jocelyn Steel’s body was found. The block is notorious for being an eyesore built in the 1970s to replace a so-called eighteenth-century slum. Its location on the slope of Lansdown means that its lemon-coloured slabs and sham mansards dominate an otherwise idyllic view. There is a theory that when the planners saw Ballance Street they were so appalled at their own creation that they called time on a dreadful period of architecture, not just in Bath, but across the country.

Keith Halliwell was already there. This wasn’t a one-man job. Halliwell had parked by the church in Burlington Street to avoid being seen too close to the suspect’s flat.

He was rubbing his hands. ‘Watch out, Man Friday, we’re coming to get you. Nice work, guv.’

‘Save it, Keith. What’s the set-up here?’

‘Corridor access. He’s got the ground-floor flat with the broken slats.’

‘Have you checked the rear?’

‘Not yet. But I’ve asked for back-up. Do we know he’s at home?’

‘He’s off-duty. I know that much.’

‘Does he have form?’

‘Nothing on file. Could be using a false name. He’s been with the agency about a year and doing this so-called personal training with Joss Steel since he started. Good references and no complaints from any of his lady customers.’

A police car moved fast up Julian Road, beacon and siren going.

‘Typical. Tell the whole bloody world,’ Diamond said.

But it swept straight past, on its way to another incident. A second, silent car appeared soon after and parked beside Halliwell’s. Two young officers in uniform got out. Diamond pointed out the flat and told them to stand guard at the back. ‘Watch him. He’s fit and if he comes your way it’s because he’s frightened.’

He and Halliwell walked through the communal entrance and found Harry Lang’s door. Some had names on them. Lang’s didn’t.

Halliwell knocked and pressed his ear to the door.

‘Any joy?’

He shook his head.

‘Stand aside.’ Diamond kicked the door in.

Inside, the TV was going and a mug of steaming coffee was on a table in front. The flat was a two-up, two-down and the back door stood open. Diamond pointed to the stairs and Halliwell went up. Diamond ran through the back door to the tiled patio behind. Over the gate he could see the chequered caps of his back-up team. They weren’t moving. Obviously they hadn’t seen him yet.

He dashed back inside. The man had to be upstairs. Halliwell would need support.

But Halliwell was on his way down. ‘He’s not here, guv.’

‘He must be.’

They checked cupboards and the backs of furniture. In a boxlike place like this there wasn’t much cover at all.

‘Is there a loft?’

‘No.’

‘The hot coffee proves someone was here.’

‘The invisible man.’

Diamond went outside and checked with the two bobbies. They said he definitely hadn’t escaped through the back gate. He looked up at the flat roof. In theory it would have been possible to scramble up there by way of the bedroom, but the windows appeared to be closed.

Then he noticed how low the dividing walls were between the patios. He looked into next door’s back yard. No one was crouching there, but it would have been a simple matter to step over. Diamond did exactly that and tried the neighbour’s back door. It wasn’t locked.

Inside, an old lady was sitting in an armchair staring at him. He pushed open the door.

‘It’s all right, ma’am. I’m a police officer.’

‘It’s not all right at all,’ she said. ‘It’s disgraceful, invading people’s homes. The other one didn’t even speak.’

‘Someone else was here?’

‘He came running straight through the house without a by-your-leave and out of my front door. Enough to give me a heart attack.’

He had his explanation now. Harry Lang had got clean away and was on the run. ‘What was he wearing?’

‘A black jumper and blue denim trousers. A young man.’

‘What was his hair like?’

‘There wasn’t much of it. Heavily cropped. It’s the fashion, isn’t it? But I’ll tell you one thing about him.’

‘What’s that?’

‘He looked rather familiar.’

‘He would. He’s from next door.’

‘Do you know — I think you could be right.’

He turned and ran to her back gate and told the two bobbies to get round the front and in pursuit. He didn’t have much faith in a result.

Back on Lang’s side of the wall he told Halliwell.

‘He’ll be in his car and away, guv,’ Halliwell said. ‘Do we know what motor he drives? We could put out an all-units.’

‘Silver saloon, according to the stable-lass.’

‘Big deal. Didn’t she recognise the make?’

‘She isn’t interested in cars.’

They spent the next ten minutes trying to get through to the dragon at Home Workouts. She told Diamond curtly that transport was not provided by the firm and she had no idea what make of car Lang used.

‘OK, get rooting through his stuff,’ Diamond told Halliwell. ‘Registration certificate, insurance details.’

‘We don’t have a warrant, guv.’

‘Come on, man. This is a murder suspect on the run.’

The paperwork took some finding. It was in the wardrobe upstairs, in a briefcase. Harry Lang owned a silver Subaru Legacy.

‘Not bad for a council-house tenant. You and I are keeping this scumbag and he has a better car than either of us. What’s the reg?’

Halliwell used his mobile to pass on the details. An all-units alert would go out. There was still a chance Lang would be stopped, even if he’d made it to the motorway.

‘What else do we have in that briefcase?’ Diamond said.

‘Payslips from Home Workouts. A tax return, yet to be filled in. Birth certificate. Henry Spellman Lang was born in Lewisham, 1978, so he’s — what? — twenty-eight, twenty-nine. And some letters and photos.’

‘Photos of what? Let’s see.’

They were amateurish snapshots of middle-aged women in leotards. One seemed to be blowing a kiss. ‘Satisfied punter?’ Halliwell said.

‘Client. We have our standards.’

Diamond glanced through the letters. Someone using a rounded feminine hand thanked Harry for his ‘much-needed visit’ and wrote that she’d been on cloud nine ever since. She couldn’t wait for next Tuesday. After signing off ‘With much love, Kitty’ she’d added a couple of kisses. Whatever that suggested, it wasn’t evidence of serial murders. Two other letters were in a language neither detective recognised. It seemed Harry had linguistic talents on top of his other charms.

At the back of the file was a shot of a man in shorts and singlet standing with arms folded beside an electronic scoreboard showing 9.85. Some high point of Harry’s gymnastic career, maybe. He looked pleased with himself. Diamond slipped the photo into his back pocket.

They searched the flat for a few minutes more. ‘We’ll get a warrant and take this place apart,’ Diamond told Halliwell, meaning, in effect, that it was up to Halliwell to draw up the application and approach a magistrate.

‘On what grounds, guv?’

‘A serious arrestable offence, suspicion of.’

‘Will that wash?’

‘It’s a series of murders, Keith. What’s more arrestable than that?’

‘What else is there to find?’

‘Prints, DNA — stuff you and I are not going to pick up. We believe there’s material evidence on the premises that will link the suspect to the victims. Will that do?’

‘I guess.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if your mother knows you’re out.’

They started the drive back to the nick in silence. Diamond was sorry for that last remark. Halliwell was his closest colleague, the one man he could always depend on. When they were held up by the traffic in Northgate Street, he said, ‘That thing I said just now. It was out of order. I take it back.’

‘No sweat, guv.’

‘You’re on your second marriage, aren’t you?’

‘Er, yes.’ Halliwell kept his eyes steadily on the car ahead. Good thing they weren’t moving, or he might have jerked the steering. The talk with Diamond hardly ever took a personal turn.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, is she much different from your first wife?’

‘Totally, thank God.’

‘And has she changed you at all?’

‘I haven’t thought. I suppose she must have.’

Diamond hadn’t planned this. The moment presented itself and the set-up was as right as he could want, talking at the windscreen, rather than eye to eye. Confiding in an old friend was not just a possibility, it would be a huge relief. ‘Keith, this is between you and me. I’ve been seeing a woman.’

Halliwell said with formal politeness, ‘Congratulations, guv.’

Diamond talked over him. It was cards on the table time. ‘She’s lovely. A bit younger than me, not much. Paloma is nothing like Steph, but it wouldn’t be right to compare them. She’s a businesswoman, self-made, successful. Her marriage didn’t work out. The man found someone else.’

‘So she’s divorced?’

‘Years ago. There’s a grown-up son. Matter of fact, he was the owner of that Nissan four-by-four that was nicked the other night and torched up at Lansdown. I broke the news to him.’

‘If you get on all right with the son, that’s good,’ Halliwell said as it became clear to him that some advice was being sought. ‘That can be difficult, taking on family as well, if you’re serious, I mean. I’ve got two stepchildren. It was no picnic at first.’

‘Easier when they’re grown-up with their own lives to lead.’

‘Is she talking about marriage, guv?’

‘Whoa — not yet, but I guess it will come up. We’ve slept together.’

‘And are you as keen as she is?’

‘You know me better than most, Keith. I’m resistant to change, but I can’t say I enjoy the single life.’

‘Ideally, you’d like to re-run your marriage to Steph?’

‘Dead right, and that’s not fair to any woman. If I move in with Paloma I’m going to have to break with the past.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, now you know what’s bugging me. It doesn’t excuse me for snapping at you just now.’

The traffic was moving again.

‘If it’s any help, I’m well happy at home,’ Halliwell said, shifting the gearstick. ‘That’s how I put up with all the shit at work.’

The desk sergeant beckoned as they entered the nick. With a surge of optimism, Diamond went over. ‘Have we got him?’

‘Got who, sir?’

‘Lang — the man on the run.’

‘I haven’t heard anything.’

‘So why call me over?’

‘You’ve got a visitor upstairs. A Mrs Agnes Tidmarsh, friend of the dead woman. She came in twenty minutes ago and offered to help.’