The Stone Wife
- Автор: Ловси Питер
- Серия: Peter Diamond #14
- Год: 2014
- Язык: английский
- Год: Sphere
- ISBN: 978-0-7515-5405-2
- Жанр: Полицейские детективы
Электронная книга - «The Stone Wife». Краткое содержание книги:
‘We haven’t looked into his background. There could be other stuff we don’t know about.’
‘Do it, then,’ Diamond said.
Leaman continued to study his board. ‘Is there anyone else from the auction we might be overlooking?’
‘The glass lady,’ Diamond said.
‘Who’s she?’ Halliwell asked.
‘Miss Topham, from Brighton. The only witness able to give us anything useful on the gunmen, a scar like a moon crater on the back of the neck of the one who stopped the auction. She’s known as the glass lady because she specialises in glass objects.’
‘We don’t have a picture of her, unfortunately,’ Leaman said, ever the perfectionist.
‘I’m not losing any sleep over that,’ Diamond said. ‘I can’t see Miss Topham having anything to do with the shooting.’
‘The auctioneer?’ Halliwell suggested.
‘I got his picture from the internet,’ Leaman said, pointing to the beaming apple-cheeked face above a pink cravat. ‘Denis Doggart. He’s well known.’
‘And in the clear,’ Diamond said. ‘I can’t think of any reason why he would sabotage his own auction, can you?’
‘Who’s left?’ Halliwell asked.
Apart from the victim, the only other individual displayed on the board was the Wife of Bath.
Two hours on, they remained in the CID room. Diamond had sent out for beer and sandwiches. He didn’t want to leave without hearing from Ingeborg. But he was in a better frame of mind now, satisfied that she must have got inside the Hazael mansion. Her silence was understandable.
Finally, about nine thirty, his phone went.
It wasn’t a text this time. He was grateful for a real, old-fashioned call. But not so thrilled to see on the display that it was from Paul Gilbert.
‘Yes?’
The voice was little more than a rustle.
‘Is that you, Paul? Speak up. Where are you?’
‘Leigh Woods.’ He was still barely audible.
‘At Hazael’s place?’
‘I told you I was going there.’ The voice trailed away.
Diamond turned to Halliwell. ‘It’s no use. I can barely hear him.’
Halliwell took the phone and worked the keys.
The volume improved by a few microdecibels. Gilbert was saying, ‘… up a tree.’
‘I missed some of that,’ Diamond said. ‘You did what?’
‘Climbed over the wall.’
‘You said something about a tree.’
‘I’m up the tree now. There’s a guard dog.’
‘And now a dog has got you trapped?’
‘For the time being. It’s getting dark here. I’m hoping it will lose interest and I can make a run for it.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it. Didn’t you get my text?’
‘Yes, but too late. I was already inside. I thought I was doing the right thing, guv. Ingeborg is with this singer, Lee Li, who was being filmed on the ship. They all think Inge is a journalist.’
‘You didn’t let on that she isn’t?’
‘To Marcus the director? No. But there was an ugly scene on the horned bridge at the quayside. The thing is, Lee Li wants out. She’s been trying to escape from Hazael. Marcus was roughed up and both women were driven away by Hazael and his minders. It’s likely they’re being held here. I came to check, but the place is a fortress.’
‘No one told you to go there.’
‘I used my initiative, guv. Sorry.’
‘You’d better use it to get out, you pillock. And without anyone knowing. I can’t send a rescue party and risk a major alert. Keep us informed.’
With a sigh and shake of his head, Diamond pocketed the phone. He liked young Gilbert, but this was a near disaster. He told the others to leave. He’d stay on for a while and see this through. They knew better than to argue.
He would use the time catching up on emails and paperwork in his office. There was sure to be masses of stuff to be got through. He stepped inside and sank into his comfortable leather chair and eyed the in tray without disturbing it. He reached out to touch the spacebar on the keyboard and watched his screensaver light up, an old film poster of the Margaret Lockwood and James Mason classic from 1945, The Wicked Lady. After today, the title had extra resonance. He continued to gaze at it and thought about Monica and her talent for picking up unsuitable men, a brute of a builder, a one-track professor and a diphthong. With better judgement, she might have had a long, fulfilling marriage. Too lusty for her own good, she’d made terrible choices. But was she a wicked lady? He couldn’t see it — yet.
A sense of unease with his surroundings was keeping him from opening the emails. Something wasn’t right. Subconsciously he’d noticed an abnormality, but subconscious it remained. He scratched his head, rotated his chair and looked at the ceiling for inspiration. His eyes returned to the screen and the film title.
Then he knew.
The Wife of Bath was missing from the room.
20
The shower was bliss.
Ingeborg lingered longer than she normally would, trying all the adjustments, especially the massage, easing her back against the powerful jet and enjoying the relief on her aching neck and shoulders. She didn’t think Marcus had caused any serious damage yanking her head back, but some of the muscles had stiffened. It wasn’t much consolation that her attacker would be nursing a sore leg.
Taking a shower always stimulated her brain. Better be honest with myself, she decided, and admit that the undercover work hasn’t yet delivered anything, in spite of all the action in the last twenty-four hours. The good news is that I’m in Nathan’s house and on speaking terms with him, but I still have no proof that he supplied the Webley that killed Professor Gildersleeve, a necessary step before — hopefully — winkling out the identity of the killer.
So she wouldn’t be calling Peter Diamond to report on progress.
Not yet.
Even so, she was tantalisingly close to finding out. She wanted keenly to be the one who nailed the killer. It could be as simple as getting the name from Nathan. How cool it would be to pull the rabbit from the hat and let the CID team conclude that all the painstaking work at the crime scene and by forensics, all the interviews and statements, the trips to Reading, Bridgwater and North Petherton, were superfluous. In reality they wouldn’t be, because evidence is needed for the trial, but it would feel like a triumph. She could picture the long faces, hear the comments, taste the bitterness. Mean — but understandable. John Leaman’s face would be a picture.
Getting the information was another thing. Extracting the name of the secret client was a tough call. She doubted whether Nathan kept records on paper or computer of his dealings. He’d shown in the car that he was canny, well capable of discussing how he operated without giving anything away that could incriminate him or anyone else. He hadn’t amassed his fortune by shopping his clients.
How could it be done, then?
She ran through the possibilities. Talking to the staff was an obvious one, except that they acted as if they’d rather cut their own throats than give anything away even if they knew it. She was pretty certain Lee wasn’t privy to all of Nathan’s secrets even though she’d said something about telling all. Loosening his tongue with drink was another option she rejected. He wasn’t going to be around for drinks. He’d said he had business to deal with.
Then an idea came.
If Nathan had a weak point, it was his enchantment with Lee. The pretty little singer had obviously got to work on him to further her music career. More recently she’d put her efforts into plotting her escape. He’d already forgiven her. She wouldn’t welcome it, but he was in thrall to her.