The Stone Wife

32

The motorcade that set out from Manvers Street on Saturday morning didn’t, in the end, have outriders, but its status was not in question. At the front, a Land Rover with Avon & Somerset police markings contained Peter Diamond, Denis Doggart, the auctioneer, and George, the driver. They were towing a trailer bearing the Wife of Bath, stoutly roped and covered with a tarpaulin. Next, Ingeborg’s red Ka, with Keith Halliwell as passenger. And at the rear a white Volvo driven by Erica, Monica’s sister. Beside her was Monica, clutching the plastic urn containing John Gildersleeve’s ashes.

Diamond had chosen the route: the A39 across country by way of Wells and Glastonbury rather than using the motorway. ‘No speeding,’ he told George. ‘We’re on a sensitive mission here. Let’s do it with respect.’

In his tweed suit and salmon pink tie, Doggart brought some sartorial quality to the occasion. Diamond, even more domineering than usual, had browbeaten the auctioneer into making the trip by insisting over the phone that he was still the custodian of lot 129. Although the Blake Museum at Bridgwater remained the owners, the Wife of Bath had been brought to Morton’s for a sale that hadn’t been completed, so the auctioneers had a duty of care and if they had any doubts they should speak to their insurers. The fact that the carving had been parked for a couple of weeks in the police station was immaterial. Until she was handed back to Bridgwater she was Morton’s responsibility. The police were doing them a massive good turn by arranging the transportation. The least Doggart could do was witness the handover.

But a cloud of unease hung over the Land Rover as it cruised across Churchill Bridge and along the Lower Bristol Road. Doggart must have suspected there was more on the agenda than he’d been told. Diamond waited until they joined the Wells Road at Corston before saying any more.

‘You didn’t tell me you’re a Chaucer man yourself.’

‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ Doggart said. ‘My job is to know a bit about everything that comes under the hammer. I can’t be much of a Chaucer man. My valuation was well short of the bidding.’

‘Excusable, isn’t it? A sculpture such as that doesn’t often come up for sale.’

‘That I can agree with.’

‘What I’m getting at,’ Diamond said, ‘is that you were the owner of another Chaucer item, a portrait drawing.’

The face suddenly turned the colour of the necktie. ‘I still am. How do you know about that?’

‘I’m a detective. You stood to make a six-figure sum from the National Portrait Gallery, but it didn’t happen.’

A pause for thought. ‘This was years ago and has nothing to do with the matter you’re investigating.’

‘I’m surprised to hear you say that, Mr. Doggart. We both know there’s a connection. Your Chaucer portrait was examined by John Gildersleeve, who downgraded it.’

‘ “Downgraded” isn’t a word I recognise. He identified the sitter as Chaucer’s son, that’s all.’

‘And knocked a fortune off the value.’

‘Revaluing is a fact of life in the antiques world. Gildersleeve was the expert and he was right. There was nothing personal in it.’

‘Except a personal disaster for you.’

More red snapper than salmon now, Doggart said, ‘Oh, I begin to see what this is about. You think I bore a grudge against Gildersleeve. I didn’t.’

‘Did you meet him at the time?’

‘I did. I was asked to take my drawing to Reading for his inspection. It was a civilised meeting over sherry. I left the portrait with him and collected it a few days later.’

‘When he gave you the bad news?’

‘I’d already heard.’

‘Did he get the sherry out a second time?’

‘No. The drawing was left for me to pick up. Can we talk about something else now?’

‘Did you meet him again?’

‘Not until the day of the auction.’

‘A blast from the past when he appeared, I should think.’

‘It wasn’t like that at all. I’m a professional. I had a job to do. And I’m not even sure he recognised me, he was so caught up in the auction.’

‘What do you remember about the incident?’

‘Everything in vivid detail. It isn’t every day a man is murdered a few feet in front of you.’

‘By all accounts you were remarkably cool under fire. You handled the arrival of the gunmen rather well.’

Alert for anything that smeared him, Doggart took a sharp, outraged breath. ‘What are you insinuating — that I knew they were coming? I most certainly did not. I didn’t panic. When you’re at the rostrum, you’re in charge. You deal with whatever happens and I did, to the best of my ability.’

‘Telling three armed men their behaviour was intolerable? That was either foolhardy or exceptionally brave.’

‘I didn’t stop to think.’

‘What were they like, these three hitmen?’

‘How can I answer that? They were disguised in masks.’

‘I’m hoping for some of that vivid de tail you just mentioned.’

‘Balaclavas with holes for the eyes and mouth. Black T-shirts and jeans. They were brandishing black revolvers. The first of them, the man who interrupted the auction, was the only one who spoke. He shouted, “Nobody move.” When I protested, he told me to shut up. He said if we all remained where we were no one would get hurt. I said it was intolerable and he told me once again to shut it, as he crudely put it.’

‘You’d know his voice again, would you?’

‘I can hear it now in my head. There was a definite trace of the West Country in the accent.’

‘Anything memorable about his build?’

Doggart shook his head. ‘A bit above average in height. Quite slim.’

‘And the others?’

‘Similar.’

‘You were defiant at the start, but you soft-pedalled soon after. You told the professor to let them be.’

‘By then I’d seen how real the threat was. I was doing my best to control a dangerous situation — unsuccessfully, as it turned out.’

‘Was it deliberate, do you think? Was it always their intention to shoot him?’

He hesitated, as if playing the words over. ‘That has never occurred to me. At the time it seemed very clear that Gildersleeve contributed to his own death by taking them on.’

‘They panicked?’

‘He panicked and so did they.’

‘Which was why they fled without taking the stone?’

‘That was my reading of it.’

The stress was showing in the second car as well. Ingeborg had been muttering for some time about being forced to brake repeatedly when they were on an open road with no sign of an obstruction. ‘This is going to take till the end of the century. If we got out and walked we’d get there quicker. He’s got the horsepower. Why doesn’t he use it?’

‘Don’t blame George the driver,’ Halliwell said. ‘He’ll be under instructions.’

‘Would the boss kick up if we overtook? We know where we’re going. We could be there and get a coffee before they arrive.’

‘I wouldn’t risk it. He was all smiles when we started out. That’s worth encouraging.’

‘I noticed. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Paul appeared.’

‘There’s more on his mind, I think.’

‘Is it because he’s finally getting shot of the Wife of Bath? She was the bane of his life at one point.’

‘That’s part of it, for sure, but the main thing is he’s ready to wrap up the case.’

Her voice shrilled in surprise. ‘Really? Did he tell you?’

Halliwell dug into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. ‘He asked me to bring these.’

She took a glance and then a longer look and almost hit the trailer in front. ‘Who for? Did he say?’

‘Likes to keep us in suspense, doesn’t he?’

‘Denis Doggart?’

‘Don’t know. It’s a bit extreme even by his standards, taking the guy all the way to Bridgwater to pinch him.’

‘Thinking about it,’ Ingeborg said, ‘sitting in the back of the Land Rover with Doggart for an hour or more—’

‘At least an hour or more.’

‘—it’s an ideal chance to question him.’

‘He could do it at the station.’

‘Not in such a relaxed way.’

Halliwell laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

‘Would you be relaxed, sitting beside the guv’nor all the way to Bridgwater?’

‘Possibly not. I’m stuck with you instead.’ She watched the two heads through the rear window of the Land Rover. ‘I’d be surprised if Doggart does get pinched. He’s the only suspect we know who couldn’t have fired the fatal shot.’

‘That wouldn’t have stopped him setting the whole thing up,’ Halliwell said. ‘You said he lost a load of money when Gildersleeve rubbished his Chaucer portrait. As the auctioneer, he was better placed than anyone to oversee the hold-up.’

‘The whole thing was staged, you mean?’

‘He would have known the professor was going to be a main bidder. What sweet revenge to watch the prize being snatched away from his enemy just as the bidding was coming to an end.’

‘So was the shooting staged as well?’

‘I don’t think so. It all went wrong. But the man who hired the robbers is as guilty as the guy who pulled the trigger.’

‘And at this minute the boss is teasing the truth out of him?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘There could be other factors.’

‘A history between Doggart and Gildersleeve?’

‘If it’s there, he’ll find it,’ Ingeborg said. ‘As a matter of fact, he made sure I brought cuffs as well.’

In the Volvo, Erica asked Monica, ‘Why are we going so slowly?’

‘It must be Mr. Diamond’s idea of respect.’

‘What for?’

Monica caressed the side of the urn. ‘You mean “Who for?” My poor John, of course.’

‘This isn’t the funeral,’ Erica said. ‘We had that. Even hearses go faster than this between towns. We’ll be hours getting to Petherton Park at this rate.’

‘We’re making a stop at Bridgwater first, to unload the carving.’

‘That doesn’t show much respect. I thought the purpose of the trip was to scatter the ashes.’

‘He told me what he planned to do. He’s doing me a favour by showing me the site. We have to go through Bridgwater to get to North Petherton.’

‘We could have stopped there on the way back.’

‘I don’t suppose it will delay us much. Besides, we haven’t got to be there at a particular time.’

‘They ought to have more consideration. It’s a sad duty you have to perform and this prolongs it.’

‘I don’t think of it as sad,’ Monica said. ‘I’m taking him where he would most like to be, close to Chaucer.’

‘The last I heard, Chaucer was buried in Westminster Abbey.’

‘Did he fix a time for the handover at the museum?’ Ingeborg asked.

‘I expect so. Tomorrow, at the rate we’re moving.’

‘How are we doing? I’m on automatic here.’

‘Soon be at Wells. Roughly halfway.’

‘Only as far as that? I’m getting dangerously close to boiling point.’

‘You’re dangerously close to the trailer again. God knows what would happen if we gave it a nudge.’

She shook with laughter. ‘Chunks of old limestone all over the road, that’s what, and the guv’nor dodging in and out of the traffic trying to rescue them.’

‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Halliwell said.

‘It’s hilarious. And if Monica got out to help and tipped the ashes over…’

‘Is Monica still with us?’ He turned in his seat. ‘She is. You’re going to tell me she and her sister were two of the robbers with their hair tucked into the balaclava masks.’

‘I have to say I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Is this what today is all about? Are we nicking Monica and Erica after they finish scattering the ashes?’

‘How many pairs of handcuffs did you bring?’

‘The building on the right that looks like a church is Chilton Priory,’ Diamond announced. ‘It used to be a museum. The Wife of Bath was an exhibit there in early Victorian times.’

Denis Doggart said in what was plainly meant to be a crushing retort, ‘It’s not unknown to me. I mentioned it in the sale catalogue.’

But Diamond rose above it. ‘So you did. Thought you might not have noticed. It means we’re coming into Bridgwater shortly.’

Doggart twisted in his seat, unable to contain himself any longer. ‘What’s the real reason I’m here, Mr. Diamond?’

‘If you haven’t worked it out by now, I’m surprised. But I’ll tell you.’