Each one was answered, and in most cases the matter ended there. A few complainers prolonged the correspondence.
“Do you get any about sponsorships?” he asked. “In particular the money given to Axel Summers, the film man, or the golfer, Matthew Porter?”
“I’ll check, but I can’t say I remember anything so specific,” Mrs Poole said. “Each time a sponsorship is announced, it triggers some letters from people who feel they have a more worthy cause needing money. Some of the letters are heart-rending-when it’s about someone needing medical attention, for example. I try to direct them to a charity who may be in a position to help.”
“That’s different,” he said. “I’m thinking of the sort of letter that carries bitterness with it, openly or between the lines. It’s written by someone so angry that he’ll carry out acts of violence.”
“I’m sure I’d notice a letter like that, and I’m glad to say I’ve never seen one.”
“You’ll double-check for me?”
She sounded efficient and her memory was probably reliable. He didn’t expect to hear any more. Another theory withered and died.
He told Anna he would arrange for someone to bring in lunch and keep her company during the afternoon.
“Do you have to go?” she said, flicking the blond hair and then pushing a hand through it. “I was just getting to know you, and, like I told you, I still dig older men.”
He saw the funny side. “I promised to deal with a pissed-off Persian cat. I wonder if there’s a box somewhere in this house I can put him into.”
Keith Halliwell was the fall guy this time. He arrived with Anna’s order for lunch, a Marks and Spencer salad, an apple and some mineral water. “Doesn’t look like a lunch to me, guv,” he confided to Diamond when they met at the door.
“This is what beautiful blondes are made of, Keith.”
“What’s in the box?” Halliwell asked, eyeing the large carton Diamond was about to carry to his car.
“Top secret, I’m afraid.”
With fine timing, Sultan gave an aggrieved mew from the interior.
Diamond sighed. “OK. Don’t mention this to anyone else. Georgina’s cat is coming home with me.”
“Are you fond of him, guv?”
“Not particularly. We hardly know each other. Anna will tell you about it. You’ve got plenty of time to talk. How many men do you have as a back-up?”
“Three. They’re across the street in the unmarked Sierra.”
“That’s not enough. I’ll have more sent up. For God’s sake be alert, Keith. The Mariner is in Bath already. He won’t wait long.”
There was a problem still to be faced, and the problem was Raffles, his own cat, the official resident at the house in Weston. Raffles was not pure-bred like Sultan. He was a common tabby, frisky and combative. He’d never seen anything like Sultan. How Raffles would react to having this fluffy, blue-eyed lodger in his home was a cause of concern to Peter Diamond. It was essential that Sultan retained every tuft of his snow-white fur, and kept his two perfect ears intact and his pure-bred Persian face unscarred.
Raffles might have other ideas.
In the back of the car were the luxurious cat-bed, the tins of gourmet salmon and tuna, the special dishes with Sultan’s name on them, the large plastic litter-box with its modesty hood, the toys, the grooming comb and brush-and the box containing the user of all these products, who was yowling piteously.
Fortunately, when they arrived at Weston, Raffles wasn’t at home. Having the freedom of the cat flap, he would be out hunting on the farmland at the end of the street.
Diamond gave Sultan a bedroom to himself, installing all his paraphernalia with him. Opened a tin of the gourmet food and found himself promising the steamed fillet of lemon sole if only the yowling ceased. Closed the door firmly before going out again.
Ingeborg Smith was alone at a computer in the incident room when Diamond looked in.
“Hi, guv.”
“Any progress on Ken Bellman?” he asked, forcing his mind back to the Emma Tysoe investigation.
“Quite a bit, actually. What he said about being at Liverpool University in the same year as Emma is true. He was reading electronic engineering and she was a psychologist. They both got firsts. He stayed on to do a higher degree and she transferred to University College, London, to do hers.”
“Good brains, then, both of them.”
“Yes. I’m trying to find someone from their year who would remember how friendly they were. No success so far. She lived in a hall of residence, so I may get something from the warden, or someone on the staff, if they stayed in the job that long. I’m waiting for a phone call about that.”
“Nice work.”
“I went up to Claverton this morning and talked to Helen Sparks, the woman lecturer you mentioned. According to her, Emma never spoke much about Liverpool. She says she was guarded about her private life as well. But she got the impression there was some man in the background. Emma didn’t speak of him, but the confident way she dealt with the men on the psychology staff showed she wasn’t in awe of any of them, even the ones who fancied their chances.”
“That’s something she didn’t tell me,” he said, slightly miffed.
“It’s not a thing a woman would say to a man,” Ingeborg said. “I asked if there were theories doing the rounds of the staff.”
“About Emma’s murder?”
“Yes. The consensus seems to be that anyone who does offender profiling is taking a risk.”
“They think some villain was out to get her before she fingered him?”
“Almost as if it was her own fault, yes. Helen Sparks hinted that there was a certain amount of envy that Emma was the only one approached by the Home Office.”
“Envy, eh?” he said, putting a hand to the back of his neck and easing a finger around his collar.
“But not enough to be a motive for murder.”
“How would Helen Sparks know?”
“She’s a pretty good judge, guv.”
“You’re probably right. Is that it, then?”
“As far as I’ve got. I haven’t yet talked to the people at Knowhow & Fix. That’s next.”
“In short, we haven’t come up with anything that conflicts with what he told us at the interview?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep at it,” he said. “I’m putting more and more resources into the Mariner enquiry. If you can nail Ken Bellman by your own efforts, you’ll do us all a good turn, Ingeborg.”
He went out to get lunch and buy some lemon sole.
On his return he was told there had been a call from Bognor CID. He got through to Hen. She asked if anything new had come up and he told her about the latest note from the Mariner.
She was shocked. “So he’s in Bath already?”
“Yes-sooner than I expected. Still ahead of the game.”
“Could he know where Anna Walpurgis is?”
“I don’t see how.”
“If he wants to find out, all he has to do is follow you, Peter. He knows you’ll lead him there at some point.”
“I hope I’m not so obvious as that,” he said with injured pride.
She switched to the matter she’d originally called about. “Want to hear my news? We’ve found Emma’s car.”
“The Lotus? Where?”
“Only a couple of miles from the beach, in a caravan park. The key was still in the ignition. It was parked beside an empty caravan and hidden under one of those fabric covers people put over cars. It’s at the vehicle centre now, being examined for fingerprints and DNA. The forensic guys are confident.”
“A breakthrough at last.”
