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:
She felt the towels and the facecloths. They had the fluffy texture that you only find straight from the shop. The toothpaste tube was new. The shampoo and the shower cream hadn’t been used. Did he insist on everything being fresh each time he came in here?
Her suspicion grew that this bathroom wasn’t all it appeared.
What if the guns were stored out of sight? They could be in the vanity cupboard or behind the cladding around the bathtub or even in the toilet cistern.
There were drawers and a cupboard in the vanity unit below the hand basin. The cupboard contained spare toilet rolls. Too bloody obvious, she told herself. If this was built to frustrate a search, you wouldn’t use the cupboard. That was the first place anyone would look.
She opened each of the drawers and found more towels. As silently as possible, she removed all three drawers completely from the unit and stacked them on the floor. The space inside was dark. Kneeling on the mat, she reached inside and felt with her hand. Her palm flattened against the solid wall. She probed up and down. Nothing was hidden there. Nor was there any kind of opening in the floor.
The wood cladding was more promising. The bath had been plumbed into a corner and had substantial space around it. Moreover, it was set into a platform at the end of the room with two low steps up from the floor level, all built with the same veneered board. Behind and out of sight there was enough room for several rifles and assault weapons as well as handguns.
Was there a simple way of getting inside? Presumably Nathan needed easy access to show his wares to his customers.
On hands and knees Ingeborg made a search for a panel that could be lifted, or a hidden hinge. She spent the next fifteen minutes examining the joins. Everything appeared to be tightly screwed in and each piece was flush with the next. Whoever had made this had done a professional job, which encouraged her to think there must be a clever way in, a sliding panel or a loose board that lifted up.
She broke two fingernails trying.
Finally she accepted that if there was a trick, she hadn’t detected it. The only way she would get a look behind the cladding was by forcing a piece out. Any damage would then be obvious.
It didn’t take long to come to a decision. Tonight’s opportunity wasn’t likely to be repeated. But what could she use as a tool?
In the toilet bag was a manicure set, with scissors and a nail file.
The nail file would make a serviceable screwdriver. She chose a large panel in front of the bath and got to work. Getting the screw to move at all wasn’t easy, but with strength born of desperation she got it to turn. Out it came.
She started on the screws directly below. They would have been driven in using a power tool and she had only muscle power and a four-inch nail file. Each one was a brute to move. Only the extreme urgency and her persistence finally brought a result. The two extra screws came out and she was able to prise out one end of the panel. It made a horrible squeak and she gasped and froze.
No sound came from along the corridor.
She got her fingers behind the panel and tugged. The gap widened.
She put her arm right in and groped in the space. Nothing was there. Her fingertips made contact with the underside of the bathtub.
No guns. All this effort had achieved nothing.
In despair now, she pushed the panel back into position. It would have to be left without screws. She didn’t have the strength to replace them.
One last possibility remained: the cistern. Every police officer who has ever done a drugs raid knows water tanks are favourite hiding places for items wrapped in waterproof bags and strapped to the sides.
Maybe a handgun or two could be secreted in this one.
She stepped close and lifted the heavy porcelain lid.
It was a normal, functioning cistern filled with water. Nothing was in there that shouldn’t be.
At this of all moments, the cramp in her leg returned, rock-hard and agonising, sending a shockwave through her entire body. Her fingers flexed and lost their grip on the cistern lid. It slammed down with an impact loud enough to wake the entire population of Bristol.
In panic and in pain, Ingeborg’s reaction was to get out fast. She limped to the door and started along the corridor towards her own room.
Before she’d hobbled more than three steps, she heard the door at the end thrust open, followed by Nathan’s voice yelling, ‘Stop right there,’ followed immediately by a shout from Lee: ‘Don’t run, Ingeborg. He’s got a gun.’
She wasn’t stupid. Hand-held guns are never wholly accurate, but there was a strong chance of being shot or hit by a ricochet. She raised her arms and waited. Ahead of her, someone else appeared, one of Nathan’s minders wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He, also, was pointing a gun.
‘Grab her,’ Nathan ordered.
She backed against the wall, hands spread in a calming gesture. ‘It’s okay. I’m not in for a fight.’
The minder made sure by stepping up to her side and pressing the muzzle of the gun into her neck.
The bathroom door was still open and the light was left on. Nathan — in silk floral pyjamas — padded towards it and looked inside. Lee, in a baby-doll nightdress, was framed in the doorway of their bedroom looking terrified.
‘I should have known better than to let a fucking journalist sleep in my house,’ Nathan said. ‘How the fuck did you get hold of my keys?’
Before Lee could say a word, Ingeborg said, ‘You were both asleep so I crept in and took them. I need drugs. I thought you must have some hard stuff hidden in the locked room.’ In the situation, this was the best story she could think up. If nothing else, it shifted any blame from Lee.
‘You’re a bloody junkie?’ Nathan said. ‘You came to my house looking for drugs? I don’t believe this. Roll up your sleeves and show us your arms.’
‘Cocaine,’ she said at once. ‘I snort coke.’
‘Cobblers. You wouldn’t come here if you wanted coke.’
‘It’s got to be somewhere,’ she said, at full stretch to sound convincing. ‘You live in style. Everyone says you’re importing. How else could you make it so big?’
‘Someone’s been stringing you along,’ he said, giving just a suggestion that he believed her. ‘Drugs are a filthy trade. I wouldn’t lower myself to deal with the scum who take them. Tell her, Lily. She’s got it all wrong.’
In a strained, small voice, Lee said, ‘Nathan doesn’t sell drugs.’
Nathan advanced on Ingeborg and she thought he was going to strike her. Instead he put his face so close that she could feel and smell his bad breath. ‘You made one hell of a mistake coming here, Miss so-called Smith, telling a load of shit to Lily about getting in the papers, when all you wanted was to invade our privacy, abuse my hospitality, nick the keys from my trouser pocket and look for flake in my bathroom. You don’t have a clue who you’re dealing with. I ought to feed you to the dogs, but I’ll think of something better.’ To the minder holding the gun, he said, ‘She can go in the tower room for the rest of the night. Get her out of my fucking sight.’
22
Locked in the tower room, Ingeborg refused to give way to despair. There had to be positives. She was still in the place where she needed to be, Nathan’s mansion, even if she no longer had the guest room. She remained undercover. No one knew she was a police officer. If her hastily concocted story was believed, she was a cokehead journalist on the hunt for drugs. And she still had an ally in the house. By telling Nathan she’d actually entered the bedroom to steal his keys, she’d removed any blame from Lee — provided Lee had the inner strength and wit to deny any part in the incident. But she wasn’t pinning her hopes on Lee. She had to find her own way of dealing with the setback.