The Summons

1990?”

“September or thereabouts,” G.B. answered without looking up. “The weather was still okay. We sat on the grass and talked.”

“Britt sat down with you? Did she fancy a bit of rough?”

A blank stare. Even Diamond decided on consideration that it was a tactless remark.

Partly to soften it, he turned to Julie and said, “I hope you’re not a feminist.” Then he told G.B., “Let’s face it, she was extremely attractive and she wanted a favor from you. You’re telling me that all you two did was sit down together in Victoria Park and talked? You just said the park was private.”

“Compared to the Abbey Churchyard it is. Are you trying to pin something on me, Mr. Diamond? Britt and I were not lovers. Okay, we got into a clinch once or twice and yes, I fancied her, but Victoria Park isn’t that private.”

“I didn’t know you were bashful.”

“It takes two.”

“She was bashful?”

“She was class.”

Diamond said after a pause, “So the upshot was that Britt had her way, but you didn’t?”

He laughed. “You mean she screwed me? Yes, that sums it up. She got the deal she wanted.”

“I wouldn’t say she screwed you if you got the fifty pounds.”

“I earned every penny. I had to talk my Trim Street mates into posing for poncy photographs. That wasn’t easy. They all had a share of the fee,” G.B. was quick to add.

“So what happened?”

“She turned up one evening with her fat photographer and took masses of pictures.”

“We’ve seen some of them,” said Diamond.

“That’s more than I have. She dropped me like a stone after the photo session. Black or white?”

After the tea was poured and handed out, Diamond picked up the thread again. “Did I get the impression that you wished you’d seen her again?”

“Britt Strand was a prick-teaser,” G.B. said in a nonchalant way. “She fooled me and I reckon she fooled plenty of others in her time.”

“Did you try to see her again?” Diamond pressed, increasingly convinced that there was more to come. For all his efforts to play it down, G.B.’s vanity had been badly injured by Britt Strand.

G.B. took time over his response. Finally he said, “Yes, a couple of times I tried. I found out where she lived, in Larkhall. Looked her up in the phone book. Journalists have to have phones, don’t they? I tried calling the number a couple of times and all I got was an answerphone.”

“Did you leave a message?”

“No. I wanted to speak to her in person.”

“Because you were angry?”

“No, because I’m an idiot. I still thought she fancied me. It was only after she was dead that all that stuff came out about the blokes she’d strung along-the pop music man and the show jumper and that poor sod Mountjoy.”

For the moment, Diamond resisted the urge to ask about Mountjoy. “You couldn’t reach her on the phone, so what did you do about it?”

“I went to the house a couple of times and she wasn’t in, or wasn’t answering. Nobody was answering.”

“When exactly was this?”

He gave a shrug. “Can you remember things from four years back?”

“The photo session in Trim Street was ten days before she died,” Diamond prompted him, “and you say you went to the house a couple of times after that. By day?”

“Twice. And once at night.”

“At night?”

He sighed as if it was all too tedious to relate. “One evening one of the crusties from the squat was in Queen Square with a couple of mates and a bottle of cider. They happened to spot Britt with some man going into that French restaurant, the Beaujolais. Thought it was a great joke, knowing I fancied my chances with her, and came back to the squat to give me a hard time.”

Julie started to say, “This must have been-” before Diamond silenced her with a look.

G.B. completed the statement for her: “… the night she was topped. Right. Mountjoy was her date.”

“How do you know it was Mountjoy?” Diamond asked.

“I haven’t finished, have I? As I explained, back at the squat those guys really took the piss, saying the bloke she was with was a middle-aged wimp and stuff like that. I walked out after a bit, said I was taking the dog for a walk, and you know where I went, of course. The restaurant is only a short walk from Trim Street. I wanted to see if it was true. I was in a foul mood and ready to make a scene, so I marched straight into the place with my dog and looked around, but she wasn’t in there. This was getting on in the evening, I suppose. A couple of hours or more had passed since my so-called mates had seen the couple going in. I could see some of the tables had been cleared. I felt cheated. I wanted to know for sure if she’d started up with someone else. So I hoofed it up to Larkhall, where she lived. Just to satisfy myself, okay?”

“Okay,” said Diamond. “What happened?”

“It’s about a mile to walk there and I calmed down a lot, but I was still too curious to give up. I got to the street.”

“What time?”

“No idea. I didn’t carry a watch in those days.”

“Before midnight?”

“More like eleven. There was a light on upstairs, but I couldn’t be sure it was Britt’s flat. All I had was the house number. I sat on a wall across the street and watched. After a bit, the light went on downstairs and the front door opened and a bloke came out. I’m certain it was Mountjoy. I’ve seen his picture in the papers.”

If true, this really was sensational and Diamond didn’t conceal the excitement he felt. “Did anyone come to the door with him?”

“She was there, yes. I had a clear view.”

“You mean Britt?”

“Who else?”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Hundred percent.”

“How was she dressed?”

“In a skirt and blouse buttoned to the neck-and if that surprises you, it’s nothing to the surprise I had. What’s more, there was no embrace, nothing. Not even a few civil words. She shut the door fast, before he was through the gate. He didn’t look back, either. Marched off up the street. That was the end of it. He didn’t kill her. You banged up an innocent man, Mr. Diamond.”

“And you withheld vital information from the police,” Diamond retorted, which was an agile reaction considering the force of what had just been said. “Why didn’t you come forward?”

“A crusty? You’re joking. You’d have swung it on me, no problem. I’d have been the poor, benighted sod who did four years in Albany. I mean, I was there in Larkhall. I had the motive and the opportunity.”

“So what’s changed? Why are you talking about it now?”

G.B. fielded the question smoothly. “What’s changed, Mr. Diamond, is that you’re sitting in my mobile home asking questions about the murder. I’ve got to defend myself.”

“Right. How do we know you didn’t go into the house and kill her?”

“Someone else did.”

“That’s easily said.”

“I saw them.”

Diamond’s pulse quickened.

G.B. took his time over continuing, probably sensing the need to pick his words with care. “After Mountjoy left, I thought about going in. I was still pissed off about the way she’d used me and then dropped me. I wanted a civilized discussion.”

It sounded unlikely, but Diamond observed a tactful silence.

“The thing is,” G.B. continued, “I was thrown by what I’d just seen, the way her date had been shown the door. You’d think he’d insulted her mother or kicked the cat, or something. I stood about for a bit, not sure whether to go over and knock on the door or leave it for another day. I must have been deep in thought because I didn’t notice this other old git walking up the street. I don’t know where he came from. There he was, opening the front gate and stepping up to the door like he owned the place. He took a key from his pocket and let himself in.”

“He had a door key? What was he like?”

“I only had the back view. Thin. Average height. Wearing a flat cap and overcoat. Middle-aged, going by the way he moved. I saw him for about ten seconds, that’s all.”

“This couldn’t have been Mountjoy returning?”

“No way. He’s bigger, and they were differently dressed.”

“Was he carrying anything? Like a bunch of flowers, for instance?”

“I didn’t see any flowers.”

“Roses, I’m talking about.”

G.B. shook his head.

“And then what?” Diamond asked.

“I left. Seeing him arrive made up my mind. He was sure to come to the door if I knocked and I didn’t want any hassle.”

“You assumed he was the landlord?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean when you say you didn’t want any hassle?”

G.B. grinned good-naturedly. “I might have thumped him.”

“And after that a civilized discussion with Britt would have been unlikely?”

“Right. It was only later when I read about the murder in the papers that I found out that the owners were away in the Canaries. When they got back they discovered the body, so it couldn’t have been the landlord I saw, could it?”

Diamond took the question as rhetorical. Mentally he was already in another place, putting questions to someone else. He went through the motions of asking G.B. whether he had returned directly to Trim Street on the night of these events. Then he tried for a better description of the mystery caller, but got nothing new. G.B. had said it all the first time.

Diamond led Julie out of the camper. He felt sick to the stomach. What he’d just heard was devastating if it was true: the confirmation that he’d blundered back in 1990 and sent down the wrong man.

“You’d better drive,” he told Julie.