The Secret Hangman

48

P aloma sat beside him as he drove down Lyncombe Hill. She wasn’t speaking, but she’d stopped crying. She had insisted she wanted to help, and Diamond could see the usefulness of having her with him. An arrest is the ultimate confrontation. Her presence might be a calming influence. She had a good rapport with her son.

The Brassmill Trading Estate, off Brassmill Lane, was familiar territory, almost his own back yard, just down the road from Lower Weston. Raffles the cat had once gone missing for two days and turned up there at a printer’s, where they had a tabby of their own on a diet of gourmet beef fillet in sauce. Raffles, used to cheap chicken chunks in jelly, climbed up the curtain and claimed sanctuary when it was time to go home.

When last there, Diamond hadn’t noticed a book depot on the estate. Easy to overlook, though. Every building looked the same.

He’d called Leaman and cars were converging on Brassmill from several points of the city. There was still a hope that Martin Steel was alive. It had turned midnight already, but the MO suggested he would be taken out and executed later in the night.

‘Not far now,’ he said — the sort of bland remark that gave Paloma the chance to say something if she wished.

After a pause she said, ‘I wouldn’t have thought of this place.’

‘Tucked away, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve never seen it. He scarcely ever speaks of it.’

‘Everything closes down at six. Tailor-made for keeping a hostage.’

That drew a line under the conversation.

The streetlights dwindled when they turned off the Upper Bristol Road at Weston and headed into trading estate country, where functional ‘units’ were rented at a fraction of city-centre prices. The Locksbrook Estate came up first. Brassmill Lane was just a continuation on the road. A police car with lights turned off was parked at the first entrance.

He braked and lowered his window. ‘Anyone gone in?’

‘DI Leaman and two RRVs, sir. Take a left by the tyre-fit place and you’ll see them.’

He drove in and located the other police vehicles parked in front of a carpet outlet. Leaman came to meet him, stooped at the open window and saw Paloma, but didn’t get introduced.

‘What do you reckon?’ Diamond asked.

‘The book depot is right behind this warehouse, guv. There’s a Shogun Warrior parked outside.’

‘That’s his motor.’

‘We’ve disabled it.’

‘Good. What sort of back-up do we have?’

‘A rapid response team. The place is surrounded.’

‘Let’s go in. I’m not expecting a shoot-out. He isn’t that kind of animal.’

He got out and so did Paloma. He asked her to stay well back unless she was needed. Then he walked round the side of the carpet warehouse and saw the Shogun parked in front of a row of three small cabin-style buildings with flat roofs.

Leaman pointed to the one on the left. The windows were screened with slatted blinds. A light was on.

Diamond signalled with palms down that he wanted no action from the armed back-up. With Leaman at his side he walked up to the door, looked for a bell-push, found none and rapped with his knuckles.

No response.

He eyed Leaman, shrugged, and tried again with more force. Same result.

‘It has to be the fifty-pound door key, then.’

Leaman motioned to one of the men in Kevlar body-armour.

An enforcer, a police battering ram, was brought over. ‘It’s a crime scene inside,’ Diamond warned. ‘I don’t want you going in like the SAS.’

The locks must have been stout because three swings were needed to gain entry.

A foul smell hit them when the door swung inwards. Diamond pressed his hand to his face.

His way in was blocked by Jerry’s trolley. He had to trundle it to one side, and even then he was faced with a fully stacked bookcase reaching almost to the ceiling. To get further in you had to sidle around it.

He took a step in and spoke Jerry’s name. Trying to sound reasonable with a message that suggested the opposite, he said, ‘There are armed men with me. I want you face down on the floor.’

No sound came back, and he had a strong sense that the place was empty.

He edged round the bookcase.

No one.

But if any doubt lingered about Jerry’s guilt, this scene removed it. The bookcase was literally a front that screened off a primitive cell, with slop bucket, mattress, plastic plates and water bottles.

Scraps of food were scattered about the floor along with shoes, Kleenex tissues and Hosannah totebags.

Leaman came in behind him.

‘Don’t ask.’

‘But his car’s still outside, guv.’

‘Hole in one, John. He drives here in the Shogun and uses the van to transport his victims. He’s already on his way to another hanging.’