The Vault

nocturnal creature.

There was no need to explain who they were. The chopper had Avon and Somerset Police in large letters on the outside. Pennycook ushered them in fast-as if the entire Crescent had not noticed the police making a call on him. Diamond's quick assessment was that he had the look of a young man out of step with his generation. His casuals on a warm Sunday afternoon amounted to a thick yellow cardigan over a black T-shirt, with blue corduroy trousers and brown leather slippers. The cardigan had the label showing; it was inside out.

The room they were shown into was nicely-proportioned, and that was all that could be said for it. Beer stains disfigured the wallpaper. The furniture amounted to a chipped and rusting fridge and some wood and canvas folding chairs that belonged to Brighton Corporation. He must have nicked them from around the bandstand in one of the public parks. And this was the heir to Si Minchendon's fortune. He could certainly use some money.

Diamond lowered himself cautiously onto one of the chairs; he had a history of bursting through canvas. It creaked, groaned and just held his weight. He considered how to begin. With a helicopter standing on the lawn outside, he was in no position to say what he would normally have said, that this was just a routine enquiry. 'You were in Bath a couple of days ago, sir?'

'Yup.'

'Would you mind telling us what brought you there?'

'My uncle's funeral.' The voice was toneless and barely audible.

'That would be the late Mr Minchendon?'

Pennycook nodded. His fingers were twitchy. He plucked at the sleeves of the cardigan, tugging the cuffs over the backs of his hands.

'Of Camden Crescent?' Diamond said, more to encourage a response than glean information.

Another nod.

'Nice address.'

'If you say so.' He ran the tip of his tongue around the edge of his mouth.

'When was the funeral-one day last week?'

'Yeah.'

This was like chiselling marble. 'Which day was the funeral, Mr Pennycook?'

'Dunno.'

'Speak up.'

Leaman said, 'It was Tuesday.'

'Tuesday,' said Diamond. 'And you were there, and you don't remember?'

'I've had a lot going on.'

'So you stayed longer.'

'Things to see to.'

'What things?'

'Papers to sign, and stuff.'

'Your legacy?'

'Yeah.'

'I understand your uncle left you everything.'

'Right.'

'Does that make you the owner of the house in Camden Crescent?'

'More or less.'

'What does that mean?'

'I have to wait for probate, don't I?'

'So you're not the legal owner yet?'

The pallid face registered pain, as if Diamond had struck him. He blurted out a few inarticulate words that sounded very like a confession. 'I don't want no aggro. Needed cash in hand, right? Cash in hand. The stuff was coming to me anyway. Ask them, if you like. If you lay off, I'll square it with the bank.'

'You did a deal with Peg Redbird, the owner of Noble and Nude?'

'Is that her name?'

Diamond reacted angrily. 'Don't play the innocent. You don't do dodgy deals with people without finding out who they are. You went to some trouble to pick a dealer likely to connive at this fraud. Had you met Peg Redbird before?'

'No, and that's the truth.'

The phrase slipped easily from his tongue and added to Diamond's impatience. He leaned forward menacingly. 'Young man, every word you say to me had better be the truth. Understand?'

Pennycook understood, and showed it. Beads of sweat were rolling down the side of his face.

'So who put you onto her?'

Now he gathered himself and launched into a stumbling explanation. 'I had some time after the funeral, didn't I? Sniffed around like. Antiques markets and stuff. Got talking to the stall-holders.'

Hard to imagine you talking to anyone, Diamond thought.

'They gave me the buzz on the trade in Bath. Not the la-de-dahs up Bartlett Street. The other end of it. No questions asked.'

'Nod and a wink?'

'Right. Her name kept coming up. Peg Redbird does the business, I was told. She had this shop in Walcot Street full of junk.'

This was rich, coming from a man who furnished his room with chairs from the local park. 'Didn't you want to use the furniture yourself?'

'Don't go in for fancy gear.'

'I can see that.'

Pennycook saw fit to add, 'In case you're wondering, this here was my gran's place.'

Diamond nodded. 'Another inheritance? You're a lucky man.'

'I took it over at a peppercorn rent, didn't I? I pay peanuts for this.'

'But you still have a cash-flow problem.'

He glared resentment. 'Had to update my computer system, didn't I? Mega expenses.'

Diamond rolled his eyes. This was obviously bullshit. Some of Pennycook's initial nervousness had gone. He was beginning to behave as if he felt he had sidestepped the crisis.

Time to turn the screw.

'What are you on?' Diamond asked.

The face drained of what little colour had been there. He drew his arms defensively across his chest. 'What do you mean?'

'Come on. Look at the sweat on you. People don't wear cardigans in a heat wave. Show us your arms.'

'No way.'

'It's back to front, that cardigan. You only put it on when you saw us coming.'

'That's no crime.'

'Tell you what,' said Diamond. 'If you're shy about your arms, you can show us something else. Where do you keep this super new computer?'

Pennycook was starting to shake. He remained seated, staring.

'It doesn't exist, does it? We know a smackhead when we see one, Sergeant Leaman and I. Keep your needle marks covered, if you want, but the other signs are pretty obvious. Pinhead pupils, the sweats, your body wasting away. I mean, we've only got to look at the state you live in. I guess this place was furnished when you took it over. Are you a registered addict?'

Pennycook nodded. He looked wretched now.

'How much are you paying to kill yourself? A hundred a day? Two hundred? Listen, my friend, we're not here to dump on you because you're on the needle. We're not even after the bloodsuckers who supply you, though someone had better be. We want the truth about your trip to Bath. How did you travel?'

He said in a low voice, 'Bummed a lift from a mate of mine, didn't I?'

'You don't have wheels of your own?'