‘On the run.’
‘Well, he won’t be running anywhere tonight. Both legs are broken below the knee. You’re sure of your facts — his name, and so forth?’
‘Harry Lang.’
The doctor looked thoughtful. ‘This was definitely the man you were pursuing?’
‘I saw him on the stretcher.’ Diamond frowned. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Just that Harry Lang sounds such a British name. When he came round a few minutes ago he was talking gibberish, as they do, only it wasn’t English gibberish. I’m no linguist myself, but I’d say it was one of the Slavic languages.’
Down in the canteen they tried making sense of this latest twist. Leaman asked if it really mattered if the man was Polish or Ukrainian. ‘He may have given himself an English-sounding name because his own was unpronounceable. It doesn’t stop him being the main suspect.’
Diamond was shredding a Bath bun as if it contained a hidden message. He didn’t respond.
Leaman went on rationalising. ‘It fits in quite well with the personal-trainer thing. These guys from Eastern Europe love their sport. I bet the female clients are impressed by a foreign accent, too.’
‘I saw the birth certificate. Harry Lang was born in Lewisham.’
Leaman flushed and sat back in his chair.
Some seconds passed before Diamond said, ‘When he did a runner I assumed it was because he was our suspect. He was out of that house and through the neighbour’s as soon as we turned up. He drives out to Combe Down and goes underground. It’s the action of a guilty man — isn’t it?’
‘Is there any doubt?’
‘I’m less confident than I was.’
‘Why? His kit was in the car. It can’t be anyone else.’
Diamond reached into his back pocket and took out the photo he’d found in Lang’s flat, the 9.85 points pose. No question this was the man he’d seen stretchered into the ambulance.
‘Is that him? Jocelyn Steel’s trainer?’ Leaman said.
‘Yep.’ He was still looking at the photo. ‘Where we found this there were also a couple of letters in a foreign language. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
‘We haven’t been here twenty minutes, guv. You haven’t eaten your bun.’
Diamond was on his feet and making for the exit.
Two nurses were in the intensive care unit when the detectives walked in. Diamond showed his ID and said he’d spoken to the doctor and now he needed a word with the patient — a justifiable economy with the facts.
Harry Lang had his eyes closed and was tubed and wired. His face had been cleaned up since he was on the stretcher. Instead of dust, bruising on his cheek and forehead bore witness to the rock fall.
‘Harry.’
No reaction.
‘Harry Lang.’
The lips moved and spoke something incomprehensible. Polish? It could have been anything.
‘I’m a police officer. Police, do you understand?’
He did not. One of the nurses stepped forward and said, ‘I don’t know what the doctor said to you, but this is too soon. He’s getting it together, but slowly. There’s a canteen downstairs.’
‘Has he said anything at all in English?’
She shook her head. ‘He sounds like a foreigner to me.’
They left the unit. Instead of taking a seat outside, Diamond marched on through a set of swing doors and turned right into one of the general wards. Leaman, uncertain what this was about, followed. Diamond took one look along the ward, turned about and almost collided with his colleague.
‘Not this one.’
He moved on. Halfway up the next ward with his trolley was Jerry Kean, helping someone choose a book. Two patients in dressing gowns were by the trolley leafing through novels.
‘Jerry.’
The young man looked back over his shoulder and saw Diamond and Leaman. ‘What’s up?’
‘You put me onto Harry Lang. Do you know him well?’
‘Look, I’m doing my job here.’
‘Understood. So am I, and I need help. What can you tell me about the man?’
Jerry gave the patients an apology and turned back to Diamond.
‘Harry’s been around a year or so. Works for an agency. I haven’t heard anything bad about him.’
‘But you’ve met him?’
‘At the gym a few times. You asked if I know him well and I wouldn’t say I do.’
‘Spoken with him?’
‘Like I said.’
He put the key question to Jerry. ‘The accent. He’s a foreigner, isn’t he?’
Jerry scratched his head and frowned. ‘His English is pretty good, but yes, there’s something about the accent.’
‘He’s never mentioned coming from anywhere else?’
‘All we’ve talked about is football and cars.’
‘He drives a nice car, a new Subaru.’
‘There’s nothing remarkable in that. It’s about image. The clients don’t expect you to turn up in some old banger.’
‘Yes, but he lives in a council flat.’
‘No mortgage. He can afford a good car.’
Diamond had heard enough. ‘Thanks, Jerry.’
He went to the quiet end of the ward and used his new mobile to call Keith Halliwell. ‘Did you get the search warrant?’
‘Sorted. The scene of crime team are in Lang’s flat already.’
‘That birth certificate. They’ll have that, presumably?’
‘It’ll be bagged up by now, guv.’
‘Just my luck. Do you remember the details?’
‘Not everything. Harry Spellman Lang, wasn’t it? Born in Lewisham, 1978.’
‘Did it look genuine to you?’
‘It was a copy certified by the General Register Office.’
‘But anyone can apply for one.’
‘They’d need the name and details.’
‘Which are in the index in the search room at the Family Records Centre. What I’m saying is if someone wanted to pass himself off as Harry Lang all he has to do is get the details and apply for a certificate. You could call yourself John Lennon and ask for a copy of the birth certificate.’
‘What’s this about, guv?’
‘This character in intensive care is speaking in some foreign language. I don’t think he was born in Lewisham. I’m wondering if the reason he did a runner is because he’s an illegal.’
The call stopped there because a hand clutched Diamond’s arm and forced the phone away from his ear. The ward sister had taken over. ‘Can’t you read?’ she said. ‘There are notices all over the hospital telling you not to use mobiles.’
‘Sorry, Sister,’ he said.
She was staring at the bag he was carrying. ‘I hope you haven’t been harassing the patients.’
‘I’m a senior police officer.’
‘I don’t care if you’re God. Out.’
40
