'I mean an independent witness, Mr. Darby.'
'No one I can think of. Look, you don't seriously suspect-'
'Have you got wheels?'
'What?'
'Wheels. A car.'
'Now, come on,' said Rupert, drawing the blanket closer around him.
'Have you?'
He sighed. 'An ancient Lada that I keep in Beehive Yard by special arrangement with a drinking chum who has a business down there. I suppose you'd like to know if it's taxed and insured.'
'No,' said Diamond. 'I'd like to know if you used it last Monday evening.'
'Absolutely not, seeing that the tax ran out in August.'
'Would that stop you?'
Rupert wasn't meant to respond, and didn't. Most of the questions he couldn't have answered more directly, thanks to the conditioning of his education. He was a pushover, the type of suspect Diamond generally found easy to entrap-when there was anything inconsistent. There was the police record with this one, too. Yet he was a fellow who made you smile, even when he was on the defensive. His comments on the other Bloodhounds had brought them vividly to life. It would be almost a pity to put the boot in.
'Fair enough,' said Diamond. 'Let's talk about Sid Towers.'
'There isn't much to say, is there?'
'Did you ever meet him in any other place than the crypt of St. Michael's?'
'You mean the pub afterward?'
'I mean anywhere at all.'
Rupert closed his eyes in thought. 'Aboard Milo's boat last Christmas. The Bloodhounds' party. Sid was there, trying to merge with the woodwork.'
'Nowhere else?'
'Can't remember an occasion.'
'Perhaps he was in touch some other way,' suggested Diamond. 'A letter?'
'The phone?' Julie contributed.
'What on earth about?' asked Rupert, his gaze moving suspiciously from Diamond to Julie. 'He and I had practically nothing in common.'
Diamond couldn't hold off any longer. He'd kept the goodwill flowing past the point when it was still productive. His voice took on a harder tone. 'I have to think of every possibility, Mr. Darby. Let's face facts. Sid worked with a security firm. They keep files on people. I want to know if he got nasty with you. Demanded money in return for his silence over your prison record.'
A muscle twitched in Rupert's cheek.
'You wouldn't want your literary friends to know you've done bird, would you?' Diamond pressed him. 'Obtaining money by deception. Twice. And the other convictions aren't too edifying. How many fines is it for drunkenness? Indecency? What are you-a flasher? What would Miss Chilmark say about that if she found out?'
'She wouldn't say a word. She'd be hyperventilating again,' said Rupert, buying time with an easy jibe. There was a pause while he adjusted mentally. Then: 'If you want to know, it was a joke that misfired. I was up for the fifth time before Bath Magistrates on a drunk and disorderly charge and it was December twenty-third. After the beak fined me fifty quid I lowered my trousers and treated him to a view of my backside with the words MERRY CHRISTMAS stuck to it. It was a paper decoration off a Christmas cake. I was done for contempt of court and indecency. 'Pull up your trousers and face the bench, Mr. Darby. You may have thought that seasonal goodwill justifies some leniency over this disgusting exhibition, but the law is not to be mocked. You are fined one hundred pounds for the contempt, and a conviction for indecency will be entered on your record. Merry Christmas to you, too, and, let us hope, a sober New Year.' '
Diamond wasn't smiling. His disappointment was crushing; after Julie's work on the PNC he'd really thought he had a handle on Rupert Darby. The blackmail theory had just sunk like a punctured balloon. The man wasn't a sexual deviant. He was a clown. A couple of prison terms for fraudulent deals weren't going to worry an extrovert like this.
He turned to Julie and told her they were leaving.
They passed St. Michael's as they returned down Broad Street. Diamond decided to look into the crypt. 'It's where the bloody thing started, Julie. And the way things are going, we'd better send up a prayer while we're there.'
Inside, a playgroup had taken over for the morning. While three-year-olds were squabbling over wooden trains it was difficult to picture the Bloodhounds in session discussing locked room murders. The woman in charge was monopolized by a tearful girl who wouldn't budge from her lap, so Diamond sorted the problem of the boys and the trains. It was a wonder to Julie that his bulk and his gruff manner didn't frighten children. She'd seen plenty of adults in awe of him. The reason seemed to be that he didn't patronize kids; he listened to them solemnly and talked back to them with sincerity. He'd told her once that his wife, Stephanie, had miscarried several times. He'd said nothing else.
Now that harmony was restored, they looked at the layout of the crypt. There was a row of hooks near the door. The playgroup supervisor had her coat hanging there, and beside it, the children's tiny garments with gloves attached to elastic and dangling from the sleeves.
'This, presumably, is where Sid Towers switched Milo Motion's keys,' said Diamond. 'Fished the bunch out of his coat pocket, slipped the original off the key ring and replaced it with a key he'd bought from Foxton's. He could turn his back to the circle of chairs and make the switch without being seen. Simple.'
'The quiet man. Everyone underestimated him,' said Julie.
'Except wily John Wigfull.'
She smiled. 'That really irks, doesn't it?'
He nodded. 'But I blame myself.'
Back at Manvers Street, there was a message asking Diamond to contact PC Hogarth.
'Who's he?'
'I thought you knew, sir,' said the woman who had taken the call. 'He seemed to know you.'
'Where was he calling from?'
'I'm afraid he didn't say.'
'What was it about?'
'He wanted to speak to you personally.'
'Well, that's a fat lot of use. He isn't one of my detectives, I can tell you that.'
Julie hadn't heard of the man either.
It was another hour before PC Hogarth called in again. 'He said he's down at Avoncliff, sir,' said the woman from the wireless room.
'Avoncliff? Avoncliff?' A lightbulb switched on in his head. 'Jesus Christ. The divers.'
Chapter Twenty-five
Without looking up, Julie was aware of someone in a brown suit, carrying a tray. She was sure from the way he was moving steadily between the tables in the police canteen that he would come to hers. Her first impulse was to leave, but she still had most of her lunch in front of her. Although she rarely ate much at this time-today's meal was just a tuna salad and some yogurt-she knew some food was essential to get her through the afternoon.
'You don't mind?' John Wigfull said, as he pulled out a chair.
She minded, but she knew he wouldn't go away whatever she replied. A grin like broken glass was spread under that great broom of a mustache. He wasted no time over pleasantries. 'I hear your boss goofed over the divers, poor blighters. What was that old catchphrase: 'Don't forget the diver?'
'There was never any question of forgetting them.' Julie found herself distorting the truth in defense of Diamond. 'It was always going to be a long job.'
