Glazebrook clicked his tongue and gave a snort that could be heard in John O’Groats. ‘Couple of years ago I saw something in a magazine in my barber’s, a feature about illustrators.
There were photos of these guys at work in their studios and one of them was called Mo White. It was definitely Flakey. He was white-haired and wore glasses, but the face hadn’t changed much, the beaky nose and the foxy eyes.’
‘What was he illustrating?’
‘It looked like comics to me.’
‘For kids, you mean?’
‘Who else reads comics?’
‘There are books for adults called graphic novels. They’ve got popular.’
‘Porn, you mean?’
‘Not necessarily. I suppose you don’t recall where he was working?’
‘It didn’t say. And there was nothing about his evil past. I bet his employer didn’t know.’
‘If he was working as an illustrator he must have had a publisher,’ Diamond said, thinking aloud. ‘They ought to have contact details. They have to pay royalties.’
‘Get on the case, then, if you really want to wallow in the mud,’ Glazebrook said.
‘You said you saw this magazine a couple of years back. Can you recall the title?’
‘No chance. And when I say a couple of years I could mean five or six.’
Thanks a bunch, mate, he thought.
‘One other thing, Peter.’
‘What’s that?’
‘When you put the boot in, give him one for me.’
Even Diamond was shaken by that. ‘He must be seventy-five, at least.’
‘So what? He didn’t care about the age of the kids he abused.’
The internet finally came in useful. He found a website devoted to graphic novels and their illustrators. An artist called Mo White was credited with rendering Dickens novels into illustrated books for adults. The latest were
The woman at Stylus confirmed that White had produced the two books for them and she believed he’d retired soon after. The ‘Mo’ stood for his initials: Morgan and some other name beginning with ‘O’. She was guarded when Diamond asked for a contact address. It was company policy not to give out personal information.
Silently he cursed the Data Protection Act. ‘What a disappointment after all the research I’ve done,’ he said, sounding as if his world had caved in. ‘He was my art teacher forty years ago. It’s a school reunion. I was so looking forward to seeing the look on his face.’
She melted. White was living in Forest Close, Wilton.
Wilton, near Salisbury. Only about an hour’s drive from Bath.
The reunion was a must.
A call came in from an unexpected quarter: Duckett, the crime scene investigator, in a skittish mood. ‘How was the fish?’
‘What?’
‘The last thing you said to me was that you had other fish to fry.’
‘Do you want me to laugh?’ Diamond said.
‘You should be on your knees in gratitude. I have information for you. It’s not my full report. You’ll get that when I’m ready. But we found something of particular interest in dressing room eleven and I thought I’d pass it on at the first opportunity. You’ll recall that we established that two people were in the room, one presumably Denise, and one her possible attacker?’
‘Yes.’
‘And there were the base marks of a bottle and two wine glasses in the dust?’
One of the many annoying things about forensics experts was that they kept going over the obvious. ‘Of course.’
‘We analysed the dust nearby and found some particles of a chemical called flunitrazepam.’
‘Really?’ Another annoying thing was that they talked in a foreign language.
‘Better known as the date rape drug, Rohypnol.’
Now Diamond was fully alert. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s a prescription drug ten times more potent than Valium. In its original form it was colourless, odourless and tasteless, but since 1998 the manufacturers have added a blue dye that will appear when it dissolves.’
‘That much I know.’
‘There are still supplies in circulation of the pure version. This tested neutral, so it must be pre-1998. At least one capsule had obviously been opened to disperse the chemical in the drink. Have you had the blood test results
