Trying to predict the location was not a practical option.
His phone went again and Ingeborg was on the line. ‘I tracked down the woman who runs Tidy House, guv, and she put me onto Jean Buchan, who cleaned the house last Thursday and has been before. She’s bright and reliable, I’d say.’
‘As a cleaner — or a witness?’
‘Both, probably. She described Jocelyn Steel as friendly and a bit lonely, she thought, but not so depressed she’d want to kill herself. She’d make coffee for them and be happy to chat for half an hour or so out of the time she was paying to have the house cleaned. Said she looked forward to Thursday mornings because it was a chance to chat with another woman.’
‘What about?’
‘Mainly what was in the papers or on television.’
‘Nothing about our victim’s personal life?’
‘I was coming to that. She had a woman friend she’d phone sometimes.’
‘Agnes, who left the message on the answerphone.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Did the cleaner listen in?’
‘Not really, but there was a lot of laughing and a kind of animation in the way she was talking that Jean Buchan took to mean they were discussing men. It’s something you instinctively recognise if you’re a woman.’
‘Nothing more definite?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘We must find this Agnes. Are there stored numbers in the phone?’
‘I’ll check that next.’
‘Good.’
‘Before you go, guv, DI Halliwell is here. He wants a word.’
Keith came on and sounded more buoyant than he had for some time. ‘Those names you gave me, guv.’
‘The personal trainers? Yes?’
‘They weren’t in the computer.’
‘But…?’
‘But what?’
‘You’re holding something back, you bastard.’
‘If one of them works for a firm called Home Workouts we could be on to him. There’s a bunch of invoices in the filing cabinet. Bloomfield Road, Bath. Little logo of a woman doing a side stretch. And there’s a phone number.’
35
I t was after ten next morning before anyone at Home Workouts picked up the phone. The woman was on the defensive as soon as Diamond said he was from the police. ‘Has there been a complaint? We pride ourselves on being very professional. We only employ trainers with a proven record.’
‘No complaint,’ he said. ‘It’s just someone we’re trying to trace.’ He gave her the names.
‘We don’t offer massage.’
‘I didn’t mention massage.’
‘Or anything else that goes under the name of massage. We do get enquiries and you can take it from me that nothing of the sort is offered or considered. It’s strictly fitness training. We’re registered with the Institute of Personal Trainers.’
‘Can we rewind?’ he said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The names I just gave you.’
‘I was coming to that. Even if one of these was on our books and broke the rules I wouldn’t give you particulars without speaking to them first. They have a right to know.’
‘For pity’s sake,’ he said. ‘This isn’t about sex for sale. If anyone’s in trouble, you are, for withholding information. That’s a criminal offence. What’s your name?’
The line went silent.
Diamond said, ‘I told you my name at the beginning. What’s yours?’
She caved in, at least on the point that mattered. ‘Only one of those names you mentioned is known to us.’
‘And who is that?’
‘Harry Lang. He’s been with us about a year. He came with excellent references.’
‘And does he by any chance give personal training to Mrs Jocelyn Steel of Brookview Lodge, Midford?’
There was a gasp. ‘That’s the woman who was on the television. She was found hanging in Victoria Park.’
‘And was she one of your customers?’
‘Clients.’ Even in the face of tragedy the little formalities needed to be observed. ‘I didn’t make the connection.’
‘That was obvious. All I need from you are Harry Lang’s contact details.’
Not wanting to alert Lang, Diamond didn’t phone. He drove out to the trainer’s home address, a council flat in Ballance Street, off Julian Road, above the Royal Crescent and just a few hundred yards from where Jocelyn Steel’s body was found. The block is notorious for being an eyesore built in the 1970s to replace a so-called eighteenth- century slum. Its location on the slope of Lansdown means that its lemon-coloured slabs and sham mansards dominate an otherwise idyllic view. There is a theory that when the planners saw Ballance Street they were so appalled at their own creation that they called time on a dreadful period of architecture, not just in Bath, but across the country.
Keith Halliwell was already there. This wasn’t a one-man job. Halliwell had parked by the church in Burlington Street to avoid being seen too close to the suspect’s flat.
He was rubbing his hands. ‘Watch out, Man Friday, we’re coming to get you. Nice work, guv.’
‘Save it, Keith. What’s the set-up here?’
‘Corridor access. He’s got the ground-floor flat with the broken slats.’
‘Have you checked the rear?’
‘Not yet. But I’ve asked for back-up. Do we know he’s at home?’
‘He’s off-duty. I know that much.’
‘Does he have form?’
‘Nothing on file. Could be using a false name. He’s been with the agency about a year and doing this so-called personal training with Joss Steel since he started. Good references and no complaints from any of his lady customers.’
A police car moved fast up Julian Road, beacon and siren going.
‘Typical. Tell the whole bloody world,’ Diamond said.
But it swept straight past, on its way to another incident. A second, silent car appeared soon after and parked beside Halliwell’s. Two young officers in uniform got out. Diamond pointed out the flat and told them to stand guard at the back. ‘Watch him. He’s fit and if he comes your way it’s because he’s frightened.’
He and Halliwell walked through the communal entrance and found Harry Lang’s door. Some had names on them. Lang’s didn’t.
Halliwell knocked and pressed his ear to the door.
‘Any joy?’
He shook his head.
‘Stand aside.’ Diamond kicked the door in.
Inside, the TV was going and a mug of steaming coffee was on a table in front. The flat was a two-up, two- down and the back door stood open. Diamond pointed to the stairs and Halliwell went up. Diamond ran through the
