The Secret Hangman

39

‘N ow I know how an expectant father feels,’ Diamond said as a nurse came out and walked past without even making eye contact.

Leaman thought about that for a while. ‘You want five?’

‘What?’

‘A break. Five minutes. I don’t mind hanging on here.’

Diamond turned to face him. ‘John.’

‘Guv?’

‘If I’d wanted five, I’d have taken it.’

‘Oh, cheers.’

They’d been here twenty-five. In that time they’d checked Harry Lang’s discarded clothes and found little of interest. At the time of the accident he wasn’t carrying a wallet or a mobile. All that was found with him was a hand-torch. It was likely, Diamond suggested to Leaman, that during the chase Lang had thrown away anything that might link him to the crimes. The clothes would be checked at the forensics lab but if there was anything apart from limestone dust it would be remarkable.

Yet another trolley was pushed along the corridor. This wasn’t the tea urn or medicines. It was library books. Diamond snapped his fingers and said, ‘Hey.’

The man with the trolley looked round. ‘Sorry, the books are for inpatients.’ Then he did a double-take and said, ‘Peter, what brings you here?’

For Leaman’s benefit, Diamond said, ‘Jerry Kean, John Leaman. I have news for you, Jerry. Remember those names you gave me — the personal trainers? One came up trumps.’

‘Which one?’

‘Lang. Harry Lang. I was going to speak to your mother, ask her to pass on my thanks. As a matter of fact, we’re waiting to interview Mr Lang any minute now.’

‘Here?’

‘He’s in intensive care.’

Jerry’s eyes swivelled.

‘Not what you’re thinking,’ Diamond said. ‘We’re not the heavy mob. He had an accident.’

‘What happened?’

‘Long story. We just hope he pulls through.’

‘Poor guy,’ Jerry said. ‘I’ll pray for him. By the way, I’ve got something for you.’ He ducked and pulled out a book from the bottom shelf of the trolley. ‘Here. A Murder is Announced.’

One of Steph’s Agatha Christies.

‘Unsuitable?’ Diamond said.

‘No. Open it and you’ll see.’

A bookmark was inserted at the title page. There, Diamond saw, in his own writing, To my one and only love, on her birthday, from Pete. He felt a stab of self-reproach and his eyes moistened. So easy to be ambushed.

Jerry was saying, ‘One of the patients noticed. You wouldn’t want it doing the rounds, would you?’

‘Thanks.’

Jerry rummaged in the bottom shelf again and produced a black totebag. ‘Put it in this. You don’t want to be seen walking around with an Agatha Christie. Not in your job.’

He had a point.

Diamond thanked him and dropped the book in, noticing as he did that the word ‘Hosannah’ was written in gold lettering on the bag.

‘A plug for my church,’ Jerry said. ‘If you want the matching T-shirt, just ask. Look, if you don’t mind I’ve two more wards to get round.’ He steered his trolley away and rejoined the flow along the corridor.

This was the busy time, visitors with flowers and grapes making their way to the wards. One of Diamond’s neighbours gave a wave as she walked past.

‘I get the feeling if we sit here long enough everyone we ever met will come by,’ he said to Leaman.

‘I don’t follow that.’

‘No, with your logical mind you wouldn’t.’

‘Was your friend serious about praying?’

‘Since we’re being precise, he’s not so much a friend as the son of a friend. Is he serious? I believe he is.’

Leaman’s mouth turned down in distaste. ‘Pray for a serial killer?’

‘We’re all sinners, aren’t we?’

‘Are you a church-goer, guv?’

‘I went to Sunday school a few times. I was trying to see it from his point of view. He’s a believer. Praying is what they do.’ He took the bookmark from the Agatha Christie. He’d noticed all the books in the trolley had one sticking out. It read: Hosannah Free Church, Green Park Road, Bath, reaching out to one and all. Lord’s Day Services at 8 a.m., 11 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. Join us and be joyful.

He handed it to Leaman. ‘Get the message?’

Leaman gave it a glance and handed it back. ‘The joyful bit puts me off. But I’ll say this for your friend. He’s not just a Sunday Christian.’

‘Yes, it humbles you, doesn’t it?’

‘What, other people going to church?’

‘Doing their best to save sinners when toerags like me are hoping they’ll save someone else, not us. His mother isn’t quite so caught up in it, I’m glad to say.’

‘Are you agnostic, guv?’

‘Not really.’

‘So what would you call yourself?’

‘Fat and lazy.’

Having sorted out religion, they lapsed into another period of people-watching.

‘Changing the subject,’ Leaman said, ‘while you were underground, Ingeborg called in from Midford wanting to speak to you.’

‘She’s still there?’ Brookview Lodge seemed as remote as last week’s news. ‘What was she on about?’

‘She wouldn’t say. I sensed she’d found some little item and didn’t want you hearing it second-hand.’

‘That would be the journalist in Inge. They like their credits.’

‘She’s supposed to be one of us now.’

‘Don’t take it personally, John. She’s a team player in every other way.’

A doctor came out of the ward, hesitated and looked round. Diamond was on his feet at once. ‘Are you looking for us?’

‘Are you from the police?’

‘I am.’ He identified himself. ‘Is there any improvement?’

‘He opened his eyes ten minutes ago.’

‘Can we go in?’

The doctor shook his head. ‘You’ll get damn all out of him. Leave it an hour. He’ll come back to us by degrees. There’s a canteen for outpatients downstairs.’

‘An hour — as long as that? Someone else’s life is on the line, Doctor.’

Such statements don’t carry much weight with doctors in intensive care units. ‘Didn’t you hear me? He’s not coherent yet. What’s he been up to — if it isn’t a state secret?’

Diamond stepped closer and lowered his voice. ‘He’s a suspect in a murder case. It’s vital we interview him at the first opportunity. He may know the whereabouts of a missing person every police force in the region is looking for.’

‘You won’t get two sensible words out of him. What was he doing down the mine?’

‘On the run.’

‘Well, he won’t be running anywhere tonight. Both legs are broken below the knee. You’re sure of your facts — his name, and so forth?’

‘Harry Lang.’

The doctor looked thoughtful. ‘This was definitely the man you were pursuing?’

‘I saw him on the stretcher.’ Diamond frowned. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Just that Harry Lang sounds such a British name. When he came round a few minutes ago he was talking gibberish, as they do, only it wasn’t English gibberish. I’m no linguist myself, but I’d say it was one of the Slavic languages.’

Down in the canteen they tried making sense of this latest twist. Leaman asked if it really mattered if the man was Polish or Ukrainian. ‘He may have given himself an English-sounding name because his own was unpronounceable. It doesn’t stop him being the main suspect.’

Diamond was shredding a Bath bun as if it contained a hidden message. He didn’t respond.

Leaman went on rationalising. ‘It fits in quite well with the personal-trainer thing. These guys from Eastern Europe love their sport. I bet the female clients are impressed by a foreign accent, too.’

‘I saw the birth certificate. Harry Lang was born in Lewisham.’

Leaman flushed and sat back in his chair.

Some seconds passed before Diamond said, ‘When he did a runner I assumed it was because he was our suspect. He was out of that house and through the neighbour’s as soon as we turned up. He drives out to Combe Down and goes underground. It’s the action of a guilty man — isn’t it?’

‘Is there any doubt?’

‘I’m less confident than I was.’

‘Why? His kit was in the car. It can’t be anyone else.’

Diamond reached into his back pocket and took out the photo he’d found in Lang’s flat, the 9.85 points pose. No question this was the man he’d seen stretchered into the ambulance.

‘Is that him? Jocelyn Steel’s trainer?’ Leaman said.

‘Yep.’ He was still looking at the photo. ‘Where we found this there were also a couple of letters in a foreign language. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

‘We haven’t been here twenty minutes, guv. You haven’t eaten your bun.’

Diamond was on his feet and making for the exit.

Two nurses were in the intensive care unit when the detectives walked in. Diamond showed his ID and said he’d spoken to the doctor and now he needed a word with the patient — a justifiable economy with the facts.

Harry Lang had his eyes closed and was tubed and wired. His face had been cleaned up since he was on the stretcher. Instead of dust, bruising on his cheek and forehead bore witness to the rock fall.

‘Harry.’

No reaction.

‘Harry Lang.’

The lips moved and spoke something incomprehensible. Polish? It could have been anything.

‘I’m a police officer. Police, do you understand?’

He did not. One of the nurses stepped forward and said, ‘I don’t know what the doctor said to you, but this is too soon. He’s getting it together, but slowly. There’s a canteen downstairs.’

‘Has he said anything at all in English?’

She shook her head. ‘He sounds like a foreigner to me.’

They left the unit. Instead of taking a seat outside, Diamond marched on through a set of swing doors and turned right into one of the general wards. Leaman, uncertain what this was about, followed. Diamond took one look along the ward, turned about and almost collided with his colleague.

‘Not this one.’

He moved on. Halfway up the next ward with his trolley was Jerry Kean, helping someone choose a book. Two patients in dressing gowns were by the trolley leafing through novels.

‘Jerry.’

The young man looked back over his shoulder and saw Diamond and Leaman. ‘What’s up?’

‘You put me onto Harry Lang. Do you know him well?’

‘Look, I’m doing my job here.’

‘Understood. So am I, and I need help. What can you tell me about the man?’

Jerry gave the patients an apology and turned back to Diamond.

‘Harry’s been around a year or so. Works for an agency. I haven’t heard anything bad about him.’

‘But you’ve met him?’

‘At the gym a few times. You asked if I know him well and I wouldn’t say I do.’

‘Spoken with him?’

‘Like I said.’

He put the key question to Jerry. ‘The accent. He’s a foreigner, isn’t he?’

Jerry scratched his head and frowned. ‘His English is pretty good, but yes, there’s something about the accent.’

‘He’s never mentioned coming from anywhere else?’

‘All we’ve talked about is football and cars.’

‘He drives a nice car, a new Subaru.’

‘There’s nothing remarkable in that. It’s about image. The clients don’t expect you to turn up in some old banger.’

‘Yes, but he lives in a council flat.’

‘No mortgage. He can afford a good car.’

Diamond had heard enough. ‘Thanks, Jerry.’

He went to the quiet end of the ward and used his new mobile to call Keith Halliwell. ‘Did you get the search warrant?’

‘Sorted. The scene of crime team are in Lang’s flat already.’

‘That birth certificate. They’ll have that, presumably?’

‘It’ll be bagged up by now, guv.’

‘Just my luck. Do you remember the details?’

‘Not everything. Harry Spellman Lang, wasn’t it? Born in Lewisham, 1978.’

‘Did it look genuine to you?’

‘It was a copy certified by the General Register Office.’

‘But anyone can apply for one.’

‘They’d need the name and details.’

‘Which are in the index in the search room at the Family Records Centre. What I’m saying is if someone wanted to pass himself off as Harry Lang all he has to do is get the details and apply for a certificate. You could call yourself John Lennon and ask for a copy of the birth certificate.’

‘What’s this about, guv?’

‘This character in intensive care is speaking in some foreign language. I don’t think he was born in Lewisham. I’m wondering if the reason he did a runner is because he’s an illegal.’

The call stopped there because a hand clutched Diamond’s arm and forced the phone away from his ear. The ward sister had taken over. ‘Can’t you read?’ she said. ‘There are notices all over the hospital telling you not to use mobiles.’

‘Sorry, Sister,’ he said.

She was staring at the bag he was carrying. ‘I hope you haven’t been harassing the patients.’

‘I’m a senior police officer.’

‘I don’t care if you’re God. Out.’