The Vault

'You seem knowledgable.'

'A specialist wouldn't think so.'

With that satisfying sense of things slotting into place, Diamond remembered meeting a specialist only a day or two before. Councillor Sturr had boasted of owning one of the best collections of English watercolours. Hadn't a Blake been the main attraction of those insipid daubs on the wall of the Victoria Gallery?

He returned to the main business. 'You told all this to John Wigfull yesterday, right?'

'I believe I did, yes.'

'Was there anything he asked in particular? Anything we haven't covered?'

'He kept on and on about the American professor. By the time we finished I was wrung dry.'

'Did you tell him anything useful?'

'I haven't the faintest idea.'

'Fair enough. Dumb question. Have you told me everything you told him?'

'Just about.'

'When you got back from Camden Crescent on Thursday evening, was Professor Dougan still there?'

'No, he'd left by then.'

'What time was this?'

'About eight, I suppose. Peg was expecting him back, though. There was this early nineteenth century writing box on her desk that he was extremely keen to buy. I don't know why. It had been gathering dust in the shop for donkey's years. The key was missing-or so Peg claimed.' A thin smile fleetingly surfaced.

Alerted, Diamond leaned forward. 'What are you saying- that she had the key all the time?'

'You can't blame her. She wanted to get the best price she could for the goods.'

'Are you telling me she unlocked the box after Dougan left?'

'It was open when I first got back. I expect she wanted to see what was inside. A private look, while the professor was away. If he was so keen, there could have been something valuable inside, couldn't there? She'd have been daft to part with it without checking.'

'And was there anything in it?'

'Nothing she was telling me about.'

Diamond digested this. If Joe Dougan could be believed, the box had been locked when he returned to the shop after having dinner with his wife. In Peg's absence, he had spent more time fruitlessly trying keys. If he could be believed. This part of his story could so easily be a cover-up.

Suppose, instead, Dougan had returned to Noble and Nude and found Peg there, with the box open, its secrets revealed. Here was a scenario for violence: Peg setting an impossibly high price, or even refusing to sell. Dougan, crazed by the prize being snatched away, striking out.

'Did you tell Chief Inspector Wigfull what you just told us, about the box being open?'

'Yes, that came up in the questions.'

'You said the box was open when you first got back. Did it get locked again?'

'It was still open when I left.'

'What time was that? Before Dougan returned?'

'Oh, yes,' said Somerset. 'I finished unloading the van by nine and then I was off.'

'Off where?'

He frowned, not liking the shift in the questioning. 'To Brock Street, where I live.'

'In the van?'

'Yes. It was due for return by eight the next morning.'

'So you parked it overnight. Where?'

'In Brock Street. There are spaces by that time.'

'Did you speak to anyone? Is there a neighbour or someone who can vouch for you being home at that time?'

'Did you make any phone calls?' Leaman sensibly asked.

Now Somerset gave a nervous, angry sigh. 'No, I don't have an alibi. You'll just have to take my word for it. I was Peg's devoted friend. I wouldn't have harmed her in a million years.' Just to confirm it, a tear rolled down his cheek and made a dark spot on the yellow suit. 'I'm sorry. This is all too much.'

Diamond would be the judge of that. He was not finished yet. 'You left by nine, you say. She was still in the shop, is that right?'

'Yes.'

'Expecting a second visit from Professor Dougan?'

'Not only him. She had other business to attend to.'

'Other business?' Diamond repeated the words in a more animated tone. Somerset had spoken them like a dirge.

'She already had a buyer for those watercolours I mentioned. She'd been on the phone and expected an offer the same evening.'

'Who from?'

'She wouldn't say. She was being mysterious about it. To tell you the truth, I was more than a little upset. She made it sound like an assignation.'

'A what?'

He hesitated, needing to swallow before the words would come. 'As if she was meeting a… lover. She was being mischievous, trying to make me jealous. Her exact words-I remember them clearly-were 'I'm expecting an offer tonight, if that doesn't sound indelicate.' '

'How did you react?'

'I was too hurt to speak. I know she was only playing with words, but they were meant to wound, and I didn't care for that one bit.'

'You don't have any idea who she meant?'

'You're not expecting me to point the finger at someone?'

'Come on, Mr Somerset,' Diamond said, his patience snapping. 'This isn't junior school. Your friend was murdered and dumped in the river.'

He was still reluctant to speak. He swallowed deeply and took a look around the room. 'I could be mistaken. The only serious collector of English watercolours I know in Bath is John Sturr. But he's a well respected figure in the city. He's on the Council.'

Diamond heard this without surprise. He had got there five minutes before, from personal knowledge. But it was still an intriguing link-up. 'Would you cast your mind back and tell me exactly what Peg said about this deal she was setting up?'

'I just did.'

'You repeated one sentence that you found hurtful. I want to know what else she said, about the paintings and the client.'

'That's not easy.'

'Try.'

'Well, she talked about the subject matter, how it seemed to be straight out of Frankenstein.'

'You're serious?' This added an extra dimension. Diamond was beginning to feel plagued by the wretched monster.

'Peg was convinced of it and she convinced me. She knew the book, and she'd brought back a copy from the library. One of the pictures was the meeting of Frankenstein and the monster in a Swiss valley and the other was Frankenstein discovering his bride had been killed, with the monster staring through the window. Incidents straight out of the book.'

Diamond said, 'I remember seeing a film-'

'Forget it,' Somerset cut him short. 'The cinema versions of Frankenstein are a travesty. They make the monster out to be brain-damaged, an unmitigated villain. I've been reading the book again. It's Frankenstein, the creator, who is the true villain. The monster isn't inherently evil. He is driven to cruelty by Frankenstein's neglect and bad treatment. He's deprived of a soul, a friend, a love. It's a very modern story in that sense. A terrible upbringing warps the poor creature's development.'