The Summons

Chapter Three

Sergeant Brown drove as if he wanted to get airborne. The streets of West London were a blur from the backseat of the red Montego heading for the M4. Peter Diamond, never comfortable in cars, tried repeatedly to get a conversation going, but neither of his escorts would be charmed or bullied into disclosing any more about the “major emergency” being used to justify this extraordinary night exercise. By Junction Three Diamond had concluded that they were just dogsbodies who knew nothing.

He changed the subject and asked for news of the current personnel in the Avon and Somerset CID. Evidently a shakeout had taken place since the new Chief Constable had arrived. Of the murder squad of two years ago-Diamond’s team- only two senior detectives remained. As many as seven had been transferred to other duties or had taken early retirement. The survivors were Keith Halliwell, charming, but a lightweight, and John Wigfull, the fast-track career man with the staff college mentality. Wigfull had been elevated to the rank of Chief Inspector. He now headed the squad.

Diamond closed his eyes and told himself it was all behind him. What did it matter to him personally if a toe rag like Wigfull had the top job?

“Good thinking,” said Smith.

“What?”

“Getting some shut-eye while you can.”

“The speed we’re going, it could be permanent.”

However, Diamond did drift off.

When he woke, prepared to find himself in intensive care, they were at Membury Services, sixty miles on. A petrol stop.

“I don’t know about you fellows, but I wouldn’t say no to a coffee,” he suggested.

“We’ll be there in under the hour,” said Smith.

“Under three-quarters,” said Brown. “Have a coffee when we get there.”

“By then I’ll need something stronger than coffee.”

The last stretch, over the rump of the Costwolds on the A46 after leaving the motorway, gave Brown the opportunity to bring the experience to a heart-thumping climax, leaving tire marks at intervals on the winding descent from Cold Ashton, beside what Diamond knew was a sheer drop of several hundred feet if the car left the road.

In other circumstances the night panorama of Bath with its myriad lights spreading out from the floodlit Abbey would have been a welcome sight. He saved his approval for the moment they turned right onto the level stretch of the London Road.

“Good.”

“Good driving, or good to be here?” said Smith.

“What time is it?”

“Just after three.”

“All of two hours. What kept us so long?”

Smith and Brown were easy targets. He looked forward to sharper exchanges presently.

“Who will I see at the nick? Who are the insomniacs on the roster?”

Smith didn’t know, or didn’t care to answer.

The car drew up at the entrance to Manvers Street Police Station and Diamond, buoyant after surviving the trip, went in with Smith to get the answer to his question.

The public reception area had been altered since Diamond’s day, drastically reduced in size by partitioning. The silver trophies won by the force remained on display in a glass cabinet, practically daring the local smash-and-grab lads to have a try. A round mirror was strategically placed to give a view of anyone entering. The desk sergeant operated from behind protective glass, like a bank clerk. He was one of the old hands and his face lit up. “Mr. Diamond! It’s a real tonic to see you again.” A warmer welcome than old acquaintance merited. Diamond wasn’t fooled: it said more about the new regime than his own lovability.

Smith escorted him upstairs to the room the top brass used as an office when they visited. Ironically, it was the same room Diamond had stormed out of the last time he had been here. That ill-starred morning, Mr. Tott, the Assistant Chief Constable, in uniform, every button fastened, had been at the far end of the oval mahogany table to inform Diamond he was being taken off the murder inquiry he was heading and replaced by Wigfull. The offense? He had allegedly caused concussion to a turbulent twelve-year-old who had kicked him in the privates. All he had done was push the boy aside, against a wall. Young Matthew had later admitted he was faking the concussion, but by then Diamond had resigned.

The door stood open.

“Go right in,” said Smith. “Mr. Tott is waiting.”

Diamond slapped a hand against the door frame. “Did you say Tott? I don’t believe this.”

“The ACC,” Smith whispered reverentially.

“I know who he is,” Diamond said in a voice that must have carried into the room. “I don’t wish to speak to him.” He turned away from the door and started back along the corridor to the stairs. He wasn’t sure where he was heading except away from that bloody man he despised. The anger he thought he had dissipated two years ago had him seething.

Smith came after him and caught him by the arm. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“Just enough to prevent carnage.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry. It’s no concern of yours.”

“But it is. I was supposed to bring you to that room. They’re waiting in there to speak to you. It’s the middle of the night, for pity’s sake! Where are you going?”

“As far away from that dipstick as I can. I’m a civilian. I don’t have to grovel.”

He continued downstairs.

“I can’t let you do this, Mr. Diamond,” Smith called after him. “You can’t leave the building.”

“Try and stop me,” the ex-detective shouted back. “Do you have a warrant?”

Upon reaching the ground floor, he walked briskly to the entrance hall, past his friend the desk sergeant without so much as a look, through the double doors and out into the night air.

Tott.

He said aloud, “What kind of plonker do they take me for?”

He strode up Manvers Street in a state of outrage; a case of rocketing hypertension. Some way up the street he realized that spots before the eyes are not a healthy sign, and he had better talk himself into a calmer frame of mind. At least he’d had the gumption to walk out. He ought to be feeling better for asserting his independence. He would try the Francis Hotel in Queen Square; a congenial place to get his head on a pillow until morning, when he would return home by train. At lunchtimes in the old days when things were quiet at the nick he had sometimes popped into the Roman Bar at the Francis for a beer. In more benevolent moods than this he had basked in the plush ambience suggestive of less stressful times. It was easy to picture city worthies in pinstripes, with waistcoats and watch chains, entertaining flighty young ladies in cloche hats.

Bath’s city center was safer for walking than London would have been at that hour. The only people he saw were a group of homeless men huddled around the grille behind the Roman Baths where the warm air was emitted. Safe it might be, but the option of spending the rest of the night on the streets had no appeal. If the hotel wouldn’t give him a room at this hour, he’d make his way to the railway station and wait for the first train.

Ahead was the glass-and-iron portico of the Francis, facing the stately trees and unsightly obelisk of Queen Square. He was within a few paces of the revolving door when a police car with flashing beacon screeched around the corner of Chapel Row toward him, disregarding the one-way route around the square.

There is nowhere to step out of sight on the south side of Queen Square. No lanes, passages or shop doorways. There are just the railings fronting the hotel. Diamond wasn’t built for running or jumping and he didn’t fancy entering the lobby with policemen in pursuit, so he stepped to the curb and waited.

The patrol car stopped and someone in a leather jacket and jeans got out of the passenger seat. Diamond registered first that she was female and second that he had recognized her. His memory for names wasn’t so bad as he had feared. Julie Hargreaves had been a sergeant in the CID at Headquarters when last they’d met. She had impressed him as an able and dependable detective.

Disarmed, he relaxed his posture and grinned. “It’s a fair cop, guv. You’ve got me bang to rights.”

She smiled back. “I was willing to bet you’d make for the Francis.”

“My old watering hole.”

“Smithie’s checking Pratt’s.”

“It takes one to know one,” he commented. “Are you going to put an armlock on me, Julie?”

She said, “I ought to. You’re the most wanted man in Bath.”

Sensing that she might be willing to share some information, he said seriously, “I wish someone would tell me why. Mr. Tott appears to think he still has the right to have me hauled out of bed, driven a hundred and twenty miles and dragged before him in the middle of the night. I foolishly assumed that the Gestapo was a thing of the past.”

She said, “Pardon me, Mr. Diamond. We’ve got a real emergency on.”

“So I was told.”

“It wasn’t Mr. Tott who sent for you.”

“No, that’s true,” he conceded. “It was the Great White Chief, Farr-Jones.”

“Mr. Tott isn’t calling the shots. He’s involved, but only as a victim.”

“A victim?”

“In a sense. Well, strictly speaking, he isn’t a victim himself.” Floundering, she said finally, “But his daughter is.”

“Tott’s daughter?”

“Look, would you forget I told you that?” She glanced over her shoulder toward her driver. He was talking into the intercom, so she added, “They mean to brief you in their own way. They’re counting on your cooperation, absolutely counting on it.”

“What can I do that other people can’t?”

“You’ve got to hear it from them, Mr. Diamond. The whole incident is under wraps.”

He stopped himself from asking, “What incident?” To pump Julie for information that he could get legitimately would be unfair. He knew what he must do. The repugnance he felt at facing Tott was a personal matter. His self-esteem had to be weighed against whatever had happened to the man’s daughter and the fact that for some arcane reason his cooperation was indispensable.

Julie said simply, “Will you come back to Manvers Street with me and hear what they have to say?”

“All right, Sarge. You win.”

In the car she told him they had made her up to inspector last November. He said it was not before time. And he meant it.

Five minutes later, practically vomiting with revulsion, he was eye to eye with Tott, that relic from the days when top policemen were indistinguishable from First World War generals. The others around the oval table were Chief Inspector John Wigfull, Inspector Julie Hargreaves and Inspector Keith Halliwell. The reception he was given was so unlikely that it was alarming. Tott got up, came around the table and said how deeply they were in his debt for coming. Not only did he grip Diamond’s hand with his right, but held his elbow with his left and squeezed it like an overzealous freemason.

Halliwell’s greeting was a tilt of the head and a companionable grin. Wigfull summoned up the kind of smile the losing finalist gives at Wimbledon.

Diamond gave them all a sniff and a stare.

Tott turned to Wigfull. “Why don’t you see what happened to the coffee we ordered?”

Wigfull reddened and left the room.

Tott said immediately the door closed, “Mr. Diamond, this won’t be easy for any of us. John Wigfull is the senior man now. He’s running the show.”

“Seeing that I’m no longer a part of the show, I don’t have any problem with that,” said Diamond.

Tott lowered his face and brought his hands together under his chin. The body language was that of a penitent at confession. “I… I want to make a personal statement. It would be remarkable if you didn’t harbor some resentment against me for matters I hope we can set aside tonight. I want to assure you that my involvement is quite unsought on my part. But I thought I should be here when you arrived. I owed it to you.”

“To me? I can’t think why.”

“And to my… to someone else. Avon and Somerset Police are seeking your cooperation. I, personally, want to appeal to you-no damn it-beg you to listen sympathetically, and as we parted on less than friendly terms when we were last in this room together, the least I can do is-”

“Point taken, Mr. Tott,” said Diamond. “I said what I felt at the time. I didn’t expect to be invited back, but here I am.”

“Thank you.”

“Now will somebody tell me why?”

Tott was overwrought. His voice was faltering. He said, “I think it best if I leave that to Chief Inspector Wigfull. He should be back any second.”

Tott and Wigfull. What a team! Diamond couldn’t think of any two people outside prison he’d rather avoid.

A cadet came in with coffee and cheese and ham sandwiches. Wigfull glided in behind him and took his place at the table. Diamond noted sardonically that Wigfull’s elevation to head of the murder squad had produced one interesting change: his mustache had been trimmed. These days he was more like the former English cricket captain than the Laughing Cavalier.

“I believe you’re going to brief me, John.”

“Presently.” Wigfull waited for the cadet to leave. When the door was closed he glanced toward Tott, an observance of courtesy or bootlicking, depending on how you viewed it, and received a nod. “Ten days ago, as you know, that is on October the fourth, John Mountjoy escaped from Albany.”

“You say ‘as you know,’ but I know damn all,” said Diamond.

Wigfull gave him a disbelieving look. “It’s been in all the papers.”

“I don’t see the papers. I’m a free man, John. I do as I like.”

“Well, he bluffed his way through God knows how many electronically locked doors disguised as a police officer. To be fair to the prison staff there was a disturbance in one of the halls at the time. It hasn’t been established yet whether the trouble was started deliberately as a cover for the escape. Anyway, Mount joy had up to two hours’ start before the alarm was raised. He is either foolhardy or extremely cunning because instead of heading straight for the road he made his way toward the neighboring prison at Parkhurst, which you’ll know is just across a field from Albany. There, he visited the married quarters and stole a Metro belonging to a prison officer’s wife. It was found abandoned two days later at Bembridge.”

“That’s an odd way to go. Isn’t Bembridge way out on the eastern tip of the Island?”

“This man does nothing predictable. While all places north of Albany were being combed, he stole a small sailing dinghy, a Mirror, from outside a holiday cottage near the harbor.”

“Lucky.”

“Not really. He had the choice of several. People are slaphappy with their boats on the Island. The owner left all the gear on board. All Mountjoy had to do was wheel the thing down to the beach under cover of darkness, poke under the cover and take out the sails and rig it.”

“Where did he learn to sail?”

“Does it matter?” said Tott, betraying impatience.

“It must have mattered to him when he launched the boat.”

Wigfull said as if it shouldn’t be necessary to state the obvious, “He went to school at Eastbourne. Public school.”

Diamond-the product of a grammar school-stoutly refused to take anything for granted. “Do they teach the boys to sail?”

“Generally in Mirrors.”

Wigfull’s inside knowledge of the public school system was matched by the expertise he had just acquired in sailing. “He must have launched it under cover of darkness, and sailed hard eastward. There was a flood tide during those nights that would tend to drag him toward Portsmouth and he actually navigated it across fifteen miles of sea to West Wittering.”

“How do you know all this?”

“The owner came down from London to shut up the cottage at Bembridge and found his boat missing. Bits of the hull have been found all along the foreshore at West Wittering. He might have assumed Mountjoy had drowned if a local farmer hadn’t found some sails and a lifejacket bundled in a hedge. Meanwhile there were search teams combing the Island between Albany and Cowes, every ferry was under observation and helicopters were patroling the Solent.”

“And he made his way to Bath?”

Wigfull gave a nod. “Everything I tell you now is under embargo. The media will have to hold off until we resolve it one way or another. Nothing was heard of Mountjoy for almost a week. Then yesterday evening a phone call was taken by the switchboard operator at the Royal Crescent Hotel. The caller was male, an educated voice. He told the girl to write down what he said and see that it reached the police as soon as possible. This is what we were given.” He handed across a sheet from a message pad with the Royal Crescent heading.

Diamond gave it a glance intended at first to demonstrate his reluctance to be involved, but the sight of his name in the message was irresistible. He picked it up and read: Mr. Tott, for the girl’s sake, tell Diamond to be ready with a car tomorrow at 9 A.M. He is to be alone. No radio and no bugs and no one to follow. Remember I have nothing to lose.

“The girl? Is it a kidnap, then?” Diamond said, and without letting his eyes meet Julie’s he went on blandly to ask, “Do we know who she is?”

“My daughter Samantha,” said Tott, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Ah.”

After a deferential pause, Wigfull added, “Which is why we are so concerned.”

“You’d be concerned whoever it was,” Diamond snapped back at him. “Wouldn’t you, John?”

Tott glossed over any embarrassment Wigfull may have felt by saying, “She is a musician. She trained at the Menuhin School.”

“A stunningly attractive young woman,” said Wigfull.

“Is that significant?” said Diamond with a glance toward Julie, who might agree that sexism had just reared its head.

“Yes, it is significant,” said Tott. “Everyone remarks how lovely she is, and if that sounds like a doting father speaking, so be it. About five weeks ago, the Daily Express magazine section ran a feature about talented musicians forced by the recession to work as street entertainers. A picture was published of Sam playing her violin in Abbey Churchyard, outside the Pump Room. I’m sure her looks must have influenced the picture editor. Unfortunately the text mentioned that she was the daughter of the Assistant Chief Constable. We assume that Mountjoy saw the paper in prison.”

“How long has she been missing?”

Wigfull answered, “Since Saturday evening.”

“Officially missing, I mean.”

Tott coughed and said, “Sam is rather a law unto herself. We didn’t take her absence seriously until this arrived.”

“This doesn’t mention her by name.”

Wigfull said, “There are no fresh reports of missing girls. And the message takes it as read that we know who she is.”

“How old is your daughter, Mr. Tott?”

“Twenty-two.”

“How would she bear up under this kind of ordeal?”

“She is pretty strong.” Tott’s mouth twitched. “But there are limits.”

Diamond pressed his hands against the edge of the table and drew back. The role of interrogator was tempting him. He examined the slip of paper again as if he needed to confirm what was written there. “Why me?”

“You put him away,” said Wigfull. “He’s been in Albany all this time. He isn’t to know that you quit two years ago.”

“Yes, but what does he want from me?”

Tott said, “I believe he protested his innocence at the time.”

“Who doesn’t at the time?” said Diamond. “He was guilty. The man has a history of violence to women.” He turned to Tott. “I’m sorry, but we all know this to be a fact.”

Tott nodded and closed his eyes.

Wigfull said, “By coming here instead of holing up somewhere, he’s taking a big risk. We think he must want to bargain with you.”

“Bargain over what? I can’t help him. I couldn’t help him if I was still on the strength. I’m not the Home Secretary. It’s gone through the courts, for heaven’s sake.”

Wigfull said, “Peter, with respect I think you’re missing the point.”

So it was Peter now, qualified quickly by “with respect.” Things had moved on in two years.

“Explain,” said Diamond.

“The latest thinking about kidnap incidents is that you listen to their demands. What matters is that you establish contact and if possible build a relationship with the kidnapper. The aim is to assess the situation. Only then can you confidently form a plan to secure the release of the victim.”

What a pompous sod, thought Diamond. “You play along with him.”

“Exactly. Find out what he wants and keep him from turning violent. His demands may be impossible-we don’t know yet-but we have to appeat to be willing to negotiate.”

“And I’m the fall guy?”

Wigfull shtugged. “He asked for you. As I just said, the first principle-”

“Save it, then,” Diamond cut him short. “You want me to humor John Mountjoy. Seeing that I sent him down, it looks a nonstarter.”

“He asked for you by name.”

“How touching! Let’s face it, he wants the pleasure of blowing me away. What protection would I get? None. I can see it in your eyes.”

“We don’t know that he is armed,” Wigfull said.

Deciding apparently that this was not the best line to pursue, Tott said to Diamond, “My dear fellow, I won’t deny that there is a risk. Of course there’s a risk. I don’t know if you happen to be a father-”

“No,” said Diamond.

“Oh.” Tott wasn’t up to this. His attempt at persuasion ground to a halt.

It was Julie Hargreaves who remarked quietly, “It’s going to take an act of courage to save this young girl.”

Diamond was not an obvious hero; but he had an old-fashioned dislike of appearing a coward, particularly in front of a woman. Instead of backing off completely, he said, “Have there been any sightings of Mountjoy in this area? If his picture has been in the papers, there are going to be sightings.”

“None in Bath,” said Wigfull. “Practically every other city up and down the land, but you know what Bath is like.”

Diamond grunted his assent. Whether the city’s architecture was the distraction, he didn’t know, but the public seemed to lose the capacity to recognize faces. Members of the royal family sometimes shopped in Milsom Street and rarely got a second glance.

“You’ll get sod all help from the locals while you have this press embargo. Have you thought about lifting it?”

Tott gripped the arms of his chair. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“We’d rather keep the incident under wraps for all sorts of reasons,” said Wigfull.

“Like the reputation of Avon and Somerset CID?”

Wigfull was too polished a diplomat to hit back. He gave Diamond a look that was more injured than angry. “The main point is to deny Mount joy the opportunity of manipulating the media. He’s no fool.”

Tott added, “And we don’t want the press or the public to hamper this operation.”

“It’s an operation, is it?” said Diamond.

“Investigation, then. Call it what you will.”

“I’m not bothered about the terminology, Mr. Tott. I’m simply making the point that if you want me in on this, I’m entitled to know the ground plan.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Tott, straightening in his chair, grabbing at what he took to be a lifeline.

“What has happened up to now?”

With a wave of his right hand Tott invited John Wigfull to respond. “We’re following the usual procedure for a kidnapping. Extensive searches of likely places within a five-mile radius of the city center.”

“That’s a lot of places.”

“We’ve got a lot of men deployed. Obviously we’re double-checking all reported break-ins and thefts of vehicles.”

“You believe he’s in the city?”

“He must have come in to snatch Samantha. She was busking in Stall Street.”

“What do you mean by ’snatch’? You wouldn’t snatch a girl out of Stall Street on Saturday afternoon. It’s awash with shoppers and tourists. Was she busking alone?”

“Yes.”

“Positively seen?”

Wigfull nodded. “One of her friends saw her playing at about four-fifteen. That was Una Moon, the same young woman who told us on Monday that she was missing. Miss Tott lives with a number of other young people in a house in Widcombe.”

“A squat, do you mean?”

Tott shifted uneasily. “Yes, it is a property occupied by unemployed young people. She left home almost a year ago, against our wishes I’m sorry to say.”

If Samantha had rebelled against Mr. Tott, she was in good company and there was something to be said for her. “Presumably your search squads have a picture.”

Julie Hargreaves produced a five-by-seven black-and-white print from her folder and passed it across the table. The original must have come from the Tott family album, for it showed a young girl in a taffeta evening gown with old-fashioned bouffant sleeves of the kind favored by young musicians on the concert platform. She was dangling a violin by her right leg and a boy by her left. A striking face with large, dark eyes and a finely shaped mouth that curved upward at the ends and so undermined the formality of the pose. Her hair was sensational-heaps upon heaps of natural curls in a triumphant version of the Afro style. Even more sensational when compared with her father’s flat-to-the-head short back and sides.

“Presumably she wasn’t dressed like this on Saturday?”

Julie Hargreaves answered, “A black knitted top and blue jeans with black tights underneath. Plus long black socks. It gets cold on the streets. And a well-worn pair of Reebok trainers. She had her violin with her, of course, and the case.”

“And the violin hasn’t been found?”

“No.”

Diamond reached for a sandwich. Whether by accident or design he tipped two more on the table and added them to his plate. While the others watched this maneuver he said casually, “What’s the plan, John?”

This bolt from the blue shocked Wigfull into displacement actvity: a hand dragged down the side of his face, a shuffling of shoes and some hefty throat-clearing. “That depends whether we have your cooperation,” he said finally.

“No it doesn’t,” said Diamond. “Look we’re not haggling in a Cairo bazaar. You have a plan and I’m entitled to hear it.”

“True.”

“Well?”

“Em…”

“Yes?”

“We, em, we recommend that you go along with whatever arrangement Mount joy suggests. We’ll supply a car for you fitted with a monitoring device.”

“Mountjoy doesn’t suggest that. He prohibits it. Specifically.”

Wigfull nodded. “But the bugs we use are so incredibly small now that it would be quite impossible for him to locate it, short of dismantling the car in a garage. We can monitor your position and keep a discreet surveillance. I emphasize discreet, Peter. There’s no question of moving in while you are with him. The object will be to track him afterwards.”

“To the place where Samantha is being held?”

“Hopefully, yes.”

“I’m glad you say hopefully,” commented Diamond. “I can’t see Mountjoy falling for this. He’s not so naive as to believe you wouldn’t use bugs just because he asked. My guess is that he’d have a stolen vehicle at the rendezvous ready to drive me off to some remote place where he’d top me before you lot blew the whistle.”

Wigfull shook his head. “He isn’t out to kill you.”

“How do you know what’s in his mind?”

“It would destroy his case. He claims he was stitched up.”

The blood pressure peaked again. “I didn’t stitch him up. Are you suggesting I was corrupt as well as bloody-minded?”

Tott said, “Take it easy, Mr. Diamond.”

“I withdraw ’stitched up,’ “ said Wigfull. “He claims there was a miscarriage of justice, that in fact he was innocent of murder. He has maintained this consistently since he was sentenced. Through his solicitor he has three times asked for leave to appeal. The governor of Albany informed us that the man is untiring in protesting his innocence. This isn’t a thug who wants to murder the officer who put him away.”

“Mountjoy is a killer,” said Diamond. “We all know it-don’t we?”

“Regardless of that-”

“You’re joking!”

Wigfull continued doggedly, “He believes he has grounds for appeal. All his requests have been turned down. We think he wants to canvass your support. I know he’s in cloud cuckoo land. We all remember the Britt Strand case and there wasn’t any doubt. But Mountjoy has pinned his hopes on an appeal. This meeting with you is consistent with that.”

“He’s a killer.”

Julie Hargreaves said, “Which is why Samantha’s life is in danger.”

Diamond gave Julie a look more surprised than reproachful. He hadn’t expected her to wade in as well. She, too, had succumbed to the pressure. Never underestimate the sisterly bond one woman feels for another in trouble.

Tott tried putting the argument into a topical context. “All these verdicts being overturned in recent years. What publicity they get! Everyone in prison draws encouragement.”

“Mountjoy hasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“Agreed, but that isn’t the point,” said Wigfull. “He believes he has grounds for appeal. A few years in Albany would convince anyone that he deserves a retrial. They find any damned thing to pin their hopes on. Look, why else has he come to Bath, where it happened? He had the chance to go into hiding or leave the country. He came here.”

“This is all pie in the sky,” said Diamond. “You don’t know what’s in his mind.”

“I’m interpreting his actions. We’ll know what’s in his mind later.”

“I can tell you now,” said Diamond. “Violence.”

“Agreed. If he doesn’t get this meeting with you he’ll give Samantha a bad time.” Wigfull put a hand on Tott’s arm. “I’m sorry, sir. Shouldn’t have said that.”

Without looking at Wigfull, Tott said, “This has gone on long enough. Will you help to save my daughter, Mr. Diamond? You can state your terms. We’re in no position to object.”

Diamond picked up the sandwich plate and offered it to Julie Hargreaves. She shook her head, so he put it down and collected two more for himself. “Do you still have a room with a bed in this nick? I’d like to get my head down for a couple of hours. Shall we say an eight o’clock call, with tea and a cooked breakfast? When we get word from Mountjoy I’ll let you know my decision.”