The Vault

Joe thought before he spoke, as if deciding how much to say. 'There was something I was interested in buying, an antique writing box about two hundred years old. I found it in the afternoon, rummaging around, only it was locked and the key was missing. The lady had hundreds of keys in her office. We looked for one that fitted, but couldn't find one. I had to get back to the hotel to take Donna out to dinner. I promised to go back after and see if the lady had found the right key. That's all.'

'You explained this to your wife?'

'Of course I did.'

'And…?'

'She thought it was stupid. Couldn't it wait until next day? You know how they go on.'

'You argued.'

'I promised her the trip to Wilton House.'

'But she had a point. Couldn't it have waited?'

'If you know anything about antiques,' Joe said as if to a child, 'you see something you want, you'd better buy it. If you go back later you can bet your life it won't be there. It might have been sitting in the store collecting dust for ten years, but some wiseguy will have moved in and beaten you to it. That's the first law of antique- buying.'

'Did you get it, then?'

Joe shook his head. 'No, sir. It's still down at the store. The lady won't part with it until she finds the damned key. So it was a wasted evening, and you can imagine how I feel about the whole fiasco.'

Wigfull weighed the explanation, studying the little man's face: creased with the ordeal, vulnerable and nervous.

What else was he hiding?

'You were there until what time?'

'Eleven, or soon after.'

'Trying keys?'

'Sure. By then, I figured Donna would be getting anxious about me, or apeshit, to be honest, so I beat it back to the hotel.'

'Walked?'

'Yes, sir. No taxis in sight. I carried a map. I was back by eleven-thirty, easy. And Donna wasn't in the room. I told myself there must be some rational explanation and she would soon come back. I got more and more worried and asked the hotel staff to make a search. They couldn't have been more helpful, but we didn't find her. At two in the morning, I called the emergency number.'

'We have it logged at two-ten.'

'I'm being approximate here.'

'Understood,' said Wigfull. 'I was just confirming your statement.' Aware that he could not much longer delay telling Joe about the corpse in the river, he leaned back in his chair and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his big moustache, tracing the shape, as if to make sure it was still there, hiding his own insecurity. He had never been good at breaking bad news to people. 'I, em, was down at the river an hour ago. It's probably someone else, but we have to check in a case like this.'

Abruptly, Joe opened his eyes wide. 'What are you saying exactly?'

'A woman was found.'

'You mean in the river?'

'By the weir.' Wigfull tried to soften the remark by adding, 'Do you know Pulteney Weir?' Even as the words left his mouth, he realised how crass they sounded, like some conversation-piece at a cocktail party.

Joe gripped the arms of his chair. 'She's dead?'

'It may not be your wife. This woman wasn't wearing a raincoat.'

The detail made no impression on Joe. He covered his face and cried out, 'Oh, Jesus, I can't believe this.'

Wigfull looked down at the table and wondered what to say next.

Joe said, more to himself than Wigfull, 'What have I done? So help me, what have I done?' When he opened his eyes they were streaming tears.

Wigfull was in turmoil himself. He didn't know how to react, whether to say something reassuring or lean harder on the man in the expectation that he was about to confess to murder. Finally he blurted, 'I'll get you a coffee,' got up and quit the room.

sixteen

'WHAT'LL IT BE.MrD?'

What else could it be after the morning's breakthrough? 'Bangers and mash.'

Pandora, the catering assistant known as Pan to everyone who used the police canteen, gave Diamond a beguiling smile and picked up the largest, gleaming sausage with her tongs. 'Does this one look like yours?'

'How did you guess?'

'Inside information, Mr D. Another one?'

He held up three fingers.

She heaped sausages and mash onto his plate, winked and said, 'One thing I always say about a big man. He's no use if he can't keep it up.'

'Talking from experience, Pan?'

'His strength, I mean. Isn't that a fact? Next.'

He took the tray to a table. Nobody would be joining him. His spiky personality was enough to ruin anyone's digestion. So he sat alone, making short work of the meal and wondering if, after all, the mystery of the hand in the vault was capable of solution. It would please him immensely to crack it.

He went back for jam roly-poly-setting Pan off on a whole new flight of innuendo-and shortly afterwards, needing to dispose of some calories, stepped outside and took a walk along Manvers Street. Still the heat-wave persisted. He was over- dressed in his suit and soon had the jacket slung over one shoulder.

He had not gone far when he was conscious of a blonde head bobbing at his side. Ingeborg, the newshound, songbird and partygoer, was dressed more sensibly than he, in what he old-fashionedly thought of as running-kit and gym-shoes.

'Any progress, Superintendent?'

'You haven't given up, then?'

'Why, have you?'

He caught some extra inflexion in the words that made him turn to look at her. 'Should I?'

'Just that it was obvious yesterday you didn't share in all the excitement about the vault. It made me wonder if you're going to switch to another case.'

'It doesn't work like that, unfortunately.'

'I meant in view of the body found this morning.'

His face was flushed already from the heat. Now it caught fire. 'What did you say?'

'The body. Haven't they told you? Some poor woman dragged out of the river at Pulteney Weir. Your Chief Inspector Wigfull seems to be handling it.'

'Oh, that body,' Diamond extemporised, completely in the dark.

'Do you happen to know if she's the missing American?'

Instead of giving her the satisfaction of asking which missing American, he said, 'I've been flat out on other things.'

Ingeborg laughed. 'Don't tell me you got lucky at the party.'

It was a cheap joke and he ignored it.

She said, 'I wouldn't have mentioned it, but as the woman in the water seems to have been the wife of that professor who talked his way into the vault the other day, I thought there might be some overlap.'

'Not necessarily,' he managed to say quite smoothly, 'but we follow everything up, as you know.'

They had stopped at the top of Pierrepont Street. Diamond had stopped, anyway. Manvers Street was exerting