remembering when the blood sample was taken, about eight this morning. We don't know when he had his last drink, but the alcohol must have been metabolizing for some time. It would have been a higher reading if we'd got the blood earlier.'
He rolled his eyes at her use of the word metabolizing and said, 'Too bad we didn't, then. You must be right, I suppose. I'm a dead loss at science. You've got to make allowances, Julie.'
She surprised him by saying, 'You, too, Mr. Diamond.'
'What?'
'You've got to make allowances.'
'What for?'
'For the metabolic factor.'
'Ah.' He grinned faintly.
Still unhappy with the result, however, he arranged for a driver to collect the sample and take it at once to the Home Office forensic laboratory at Chepstow. They would check for other substances; it was not inconceivable that one of Rupert's drinks had been spiked. But of course a test for drugs would take time. He hated delays.
His mood didn't improve when he looked into the incident room. The impetus seemed to have gone out of the inquiry, as if everyone there was just cruising now. The general idea was that Rupert's hanging had confirmed him as the murderer, even though no confession had yet come to light. Diamond, they felt, was just being bloody- minded now, and he added more fuel by ordering an immediate search for witnesses and yet another check of all the suspects and the people they lived with, this time to establish their movements since seven the previous evening-an exercise guaranteed to create more resentment and hostility.
He said he would take his share of the flak by checking on Jessica Shaw and the men in her life. Halliwell and a detective constable were sent to the Paragon to interview Miss Chilmark. Julie went off to the Badgerline offices to find where Shirley-Ann Miller was this morning, and after that to the Sports and Leisure Center to check on Bert. DS Hughes and DC Twigg were dispatched to Claverton to call on Polly Wycherley. And, just for the record, as Diamond put it, DS Mitchell went out to the boatyard to talk to Milo Motion.
Instead of going directly to the Walsingham Gallery, Diamond started at the Locksbrook Trading Estate, west of the city, where Jessica's husband rented a unit for his ceramics business. It was high time to meet that patron of the arts, Mr. Barnaby Shaw.
Asked to wait in the showroom, he felt like Gulliver in Lilliput, surrounded by what must have been the entire range of miniature buildings in Barnaby's stock: houses by the hundred, stately homes, churches, pubs, and castles. Finely made as they were, to a man as incorrigibly clumsy as Diamond, such exquisite little pieces represented a thousand potential hazards. He stood uneasily in the only space of any size that he could find, trying to stay clear of the slowly revolving display stands. It was a mercy when Barnaby's assistant called him into the managerial suite.
Having negotiated the showroom without mishap, the big man tripped on an Afghan rug and lurched forward, grabbing Barnaby's welcoming hand and practically dragging him to the floor. Bits of china around the room rattled, but nothing was broken.
'Never look where I'm going,' he admitted. 'When I was a kid, my knees were permanently covered in scabs.'
The p.a. escorted him to an armchair.
Barnaby looked more shaken than his guest. Trim in a gray suit, with a maroon shirt and toning tie and pocket handkerchief, he wasn't dressed for wrestling. Diamond watched the way he scooted back around his desk; he looked used to staying out of trouble.
They discussed the miniatures politely. Barnaby had started making matchstick models thirty years ago and progressed by stages to ceramics. He sometimes did commissions for people who wanted their homes immortalized, but it came rather expensive. Diamond said honestly that he considered it a waste of money, adding tactfully that he was always breaking things.
Barnaby submitted easily to the questioning.
'Yes, I was here until late yesterday evening catching up on the orders. It gets very busy in the run-up to Christmas.'
'Christmas already?' Diamond said in mock horror. 'Anyone with you?'
'Last night, you mean?'
'Yes.'
'Not after six, when the staff left.'
'So what time did you get home, Mr. Shaw?'
'Must have been well after midnight. About one thirty, I'd say.' He was fluent in his replies, unaware (presumably) of Rupert's death, giving the impression of a small businessman pressed to the limit, but cheerful. But he obviously found time to dress well, even if the three-piece suit seemed a little wasted on the trading estate.
'Did you speak to anyone at all in that time?'
'Certainly-on the phone.'
'But you weren't seen by anyone?'
'No.'
'When you got in, was your wife in bed?'
'I presume she was.'
'You don't know?'
'We sleep in separate rooms.'
That fitted, Diamond thought. He was hard pressed to think what Jessica Shaw found attractive in this dull, over-worked man, unless it was the money he made from his titchy houses. No, to be fair, he was dapper. And he took the trouble to tint his hair.
'Do you happen to know how Mrs. Shaw spent the evening?'
'You'll have to ask her. I haven't seen her since early yesterday. She was still asleep when I left this morning.' He put his hand to his mouth as a thought struck him. 'Look, nothing's happened to Jess, has it?'
'Not to my knowledge.'
'Someone else? A.J.?'
'I was going to ask you about him, Mr. Shaw. A close friend of the family, obviously.'
'Well… yes,' said Barnaby, as if he needed to ponder the matter before confirming it. 'He's extremely helpful.'
'In what way, sir?'
'With the gallery.'
'You mean setting up the exhibitions, and so forth?'
'Financially, also. He has a large stake in the business.'
This was new information-though Diamond tried to make it seem familiar. 'Well, he would want to see it succeed- as one of the exhibitors, I mean.'
'I doubt if Jess could keep it going without his help,' Barnaby placidly agreed. 'I certainly couldn't fund it out of my profits. I chip in when I can, but the overheads are terrific. You wouldn't believe the business rate in the city. The heating bills, the publicity. AJ. takes care of all that.'
So AJ. was the patron of the arts. 'Out of his sales?'
'Lord, no. He doesn't sell much at all. He's a proficient artist, but not commercial. He has a private income.'
'And did he help with the party the other evening-the, em, preview?'
'He was a great help, yes.'
'I meant financially. Did he pay for the booze?'
'No. Actually, that was my gift to Jessica. I chip in when I can. It's easier to fund a one-off event like that than meet the regular bills, as AJ. so generously does.'
Barnaby's own generosity of spirit was increasingly puzzling to Diamond, trained to look for the jealousies and rivalries in relationships. This wanted probing further. 'He does this out of friendship, does he?'
'Essentially, yes,' Barnaby confirmed. 'He has a stake, in a sense, because he hopes to sell his paintings, and probably he could insist on a oneman show if he wanted. However, he's content to be treated as any other artist
