some spy from the social security office, so I kept a low profile. But eventually she nailed me. I was living in a squat in Trim Street at the time and she waited on the corner and stepped out as I was going past. I remember being extremely abusive, but she wouldn’t back off.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“Right off. She told me she was a journalist researching a story about Trim Street. Flashed her press card. It didn’t open doors with me, I can tell you. I didn’t want to be written up in the tabloids.”
“But she wasn’t from the tabloids.”
“Would you believe anything a press reporter told you?” G.B. said as he tossed teabags into three mugs. “She insisted it wasn’t me personally, it was the squat that interested her and that made me even more suspicious. When you’re living in a squat, you need publicity like Custer needed more Indians. I told her exactly that and she offered me fifty quid for an exclusive, with pictures of the squat and no names to be published. She said the story wouldn’t appear for six months and then only in upmarket magazines selling abroad. I was mystified, I can tell you. Why the hell should someone in France or America want to read about a bunch of crusties squatting in Bath?”
Diamond dearly wanted to know. “Did you ask?”
“Actually, no.”
“You didn’t want to talk yourself out of fifty pounds?”
G.B. grinned. “It was enough to keep me sweet. This lady was loaded. Smart clothes, much too snazzy for the social worker I’d first thought was on to me. When she handed me a tenner just to set up another meeting, I didn’t give it back.”
“You got into negotiations?”
“I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that. We met a couple of times in Victoria Park.”
“But by arrangement?”
“Naturally.”
“Why in the park? Why not in Abbey Churchyard where you people congregate?”
He said with a sly grin, “The park was more private, wasn’t it?”
“You didn’t want your fellow squatters to know you were doing a deal?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you meant it.”
The kettle had suddenly become altogether more interesting to G.B. than his visitors.
Diamond kept the momentum up. “This was during the summer of 1990?”
“September or thereabouts,” G.B. answered without looking up. “The weather was still okay. We sat on the grass and talked.”
“Britt sat down with you? Did she fancy a bit of rough?”
A blank stare. Even Diamond decided on consideration that it was a tactless remark.
Partly to soften it, he turned to Julie and said, “I hope you’re not a feminist.” Then he told G.B., “Let’s face it, she was extremely attractive and she wanted a favor from you. You’re telling me that all you two did was sit down together in Victoria Park and talked? You just said the park was private.”
“Compared to the Abbey Churchyard it is. Are you trying to pin something on me, Mr. Diamond? Britt and I were not lovers. Okay, we got into a clinch once or twice and yes, I fancied her, but Victoria Park isn’t that private.”
“I didn’t know you were bashful.”
“It takes two.”
“She was bashful?”
“She was class.”
Diamond said after a pause, “So the upshot was that Britt had her way, but you didn’t?”
He laughed. “You mean she screwed me? Yes, that sums it up. She got the deal she wanted.”
“I wouldn’t say she screwed you if you got the fifty pounds.”
“I earned every penny. I had to talk my Trim Street mates into posing for poncy photographs. That wasn’t easy. They all had a share of the fee,” G.B. was quick to add.
“So what happened?”
“She turned up one evening with her fat photographer and took masses of pictures.”
“We’ve seen some of them,” said Diamond.
“That’s more than I have. She dropped me like a stone after the photo session. Black or white?”
After the tea was poured and handed out, Diamond picked up the thread again. “Did I get the impression that you wished you’d seen her again?”
“Britt Strand was a prick-teaser,” G.B. said in a nonchalant way. “She fooled me and I reckon she fooled plenty of others in her time.”
“Did you try to see her again?” Diamond pressed, increasingly convinced that there was more to come. For all his efforts to play it down, G.B.’s vanity had been badly injured by Britt Strand.
G.B. took time over his response. Finally he said, “Yes, a couple of times I tried. I found out where she lived, in Larkhall. Looked her up in the phone book. Journalists have to have phones, don’t they? I tried calling the number a couple of times and all I got was an answerphone.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“No. I wanted to speak to her in person.”
“Because you were angry?”
“No, because I’m an idiot. I still thought she fancied me. It was only after she was dead that all that stuff came out about the blokes she’d strung along-the pop music man and the show jumper and that poor sod Mountjoy.”
For the moment, Diamond resisted the urge to ask about Mountjoy. “You couldn’t reach her on the phone, so what did you do about it?”
“I went to the house a couple of times and she wasn’t in, or wasn’t answering. Nobody was answering.”
“When exactly was this?”
He gave a shrug. “Can you remember things from four years back?”
“The photo session in Trim Street was ten days before she died,” Diamond prompted him, “and you say you went to the house a couple of times after that. By day?”
“Twice. And once at night.”
“At night?”
He sighed as if it was all too tedious to relate. “One evening one of the crusties from the squat was in Queen Square with a couple of mates and a bottle of cider. They happened to spot Britt with some man going into that French restaurant, the Beaujolais. Thought it was a great joke, knowing I fancied my chances with her, and came back to the squat to give me a hard time.”
Julie started to say, “This must have been-” before Diamond silenced her with a look.
G.B. completed the statement for her: “… the night she was topped. Right. Mountjoy was her date.”
“How do you know it was Mountjoy?” Diamond asked.
“I haven’t finished, have I? As I explained, back at the squat those guys really took the piss, saying the bloke she was with was a middle-aged wimp and stuff like that. I walked out after a bit, said I was taking the dog for a walk, and you know where I went, of course. The restaurant is only a short walk from Trim Street. I wanted to see if it was true. I was in a foul mood and ready to make a scene, so I marched straight into the place with my dog and looked around, but she wasn’t in there. This was getting on in the evening, I suppose. A couple of hours or more had passed since my so-called mates had seen the couple going in. I could see some of the tables had been cleared. I felt cheated. I wanted to know for sure if she’d started up with someone else. So I hoofed it up to Larkhall, where she lived. Just to satisfy myself, okay?”
“Okay,” said Diamond. “What happened?”
“It’s about a mile to walk there and I calmed down a lot, but I was still too curious to give up. I got to the street.”
“What time?”
“No idea. I didn’t carry a watch in those days.”
“Before midnight?”
“More like eleven. There was a light on upstairs, but I couldn’t be sure it was Britt’s flat. All I had was the
