Peter Diamond - 09 - The Secret Hangman

by Peter Lovesey

  Three more vehicles had arrived in the Avenue, one belonging to the Mendip cave-rescue team. They’d brought enough hard hats and overalls for the police as well as themselves. Diamond briefed them on the operation and they briefed him and his officers on safety procedures. Roof collapse was a real possibility. Natural fractures in the limestone meant that the slightest disturbance could cause a rock fall.

  He had to give an assurance that none of his men were armed and that he doubted if the suspect had a gun.

  They levered back the iron barrier and went in, three cavers and nine policemen.

  ‘How big is this mine?’ he asked while they were going down some steps.

  ‘Twenty-five acres or more. Firs is the biggest and it links up with Coxe’s,’ the senior caver said, ‘but it’s not so much the size, it’s the complexity. It’s a warren. They worked any number of faces.’

  Flashlights were in use from the start, picking out the way ahead. The roof at the bottom of the steps was some ten feet high and supported by massive pillars left by the miners as they cut their way deep into the bedrock. To left and right the lights exposed tunnels of variable depth.

  ‘Shouldn’t we send someone into these?’ Diamond said.

  ‘If you do, I won’t answer for their safety.’

  He doubted if anyone’s safety was guaranteed, but he didn’t say so. In this situation he had to defer to the experts. The caver who’d just spoken seemed to know what was on Diamond’s mind. He stopped by an odd-shaped pillar much narrower at the base than the top. ‘You find this near the entrances. It’s called pillar robbing. After the mines were abandoned, the locals would come in and hack off slabs of stone for their own use. Some pillars got shaved down to spindles.’

  They moved on and crossed an intersection where you could see the tramlines of the old transport system for moving the blocks to the surface.

  ‘Before we go on,’ Diamond said, ‘I wouldn’t mind looking at what we’re walking over, in case of footprints.’ The floor was thick with dust.

  ‘Good thinking,’ the caver said. ‘Let’s have some more light here.’

  Nothing obvious was revealed. Diamond didn’t admit to his inner misgiving that nobody had been down here in years. ‘Maybe he was ultra careful.’

  ‘Could be,’ the caver said. ‘Want to go on?’

  ‘Of course.’

  They entered a narrow passage where they were forced to stoop. It soon opened into a bigger area where a rusty hand-cranked crane had been abandoned, still attached to the face with steel cables. Saw lines were visible in a bed of stone that for some reason had not been cut right out. A huge heap of rubble lay to their left, partly blocking their route. They crunched over it.

  There was a choice of tunnels ahead. Each decision was like the toss of a coin with the chance of making the wrong call. Diamond flicked his flashlight from one to the next and tried to sound confident.

  ‘That way.’

  The earlier sense of awe at the surroundings was waning and some of the party were starting to talk. He stopped and asked for silence.

  What he got was better than silence. Somewhere ahead came the definite sound of a movement that could have been somebody kicking a small piece of stone. They all heard it. The party moved on at a faster rate.

  The senior caver said to Diamond, ‘I wouldn’t get too excited. Bits of stone are falling all the time.’

  He didn’t answer. He pressed on for another fifty yards or more and then stopped because he’d heard another sound, more drawn out and heavier.

  ‘T Rex,’ some wag said.

  ‘Shut up.’

  The caver said, ‘It’ll be traffic overhead. The roof is shallow here. We’re right under the Bradford road.’

  ‘Let’s move on, then.’ But he stopped a moment later, a Robinson Crusoe moment. His light had picked out a set of footprints in the dusty stretch ahead. They were not made by some miner a century ago. They had the zigzag pattern of modern trainers and they led into a side-tunnel.

  Another vehicle drumrolled overhead as if dubbed in to emphasise the drama. Nothing needed to be said. Everyone appreciated the significance.

  The tunnel looked no different from others the cavers had declared too dangerous to enter. Diamond didn’t give them the chance to object. He dipped his head and went in first, shining the beam as far ahead as possible. His hard hat struck overhanging parts of the roof more than once. The way through had been roughly hewn, suggesting it was a trial cut, or a passage linking with another part of the mine. He could just about walk without going on his knees, but he didn’t fancy stooping like this for long.

  Suddenly he heard the scrape of stones only a short way ahead. He raised the torch beam and it caught the gleam of white trainers moving scarcely less than forty yards in front.

  He shouted, ‘Police! Stop where you are, face down on the floor.’

  If he was heard, he wasn’t heeded. The trainers moved on and disappeared.

  He didn’t understand how, unless there was a side-passage. He didn’t think he could be outpaced that rapidly, although Lang was presumably a fit man. All he could do was press on and hope for another sighting. The flashlight showed nothing yet. More tunnel, but nothing else.

  He shouted, ‘Harry Lang?’

  There was just an echo.

  But the tunnel ended not far beyond the point where he’d sighted the man ahead. It opened out into a far larger space where stone had been mined extensively and there were massive pillars supporting the roof . He stepped out and straightened up and the others emerged as well and stood with him, taking in the new situation, a roof ten to fifteen feet high and a choice of directions.

  It was a relief to stand upright, but with it came the depressing realisation that Lang could have gone any one of six ways. No footprints here. Any dust was confined to the edges of the working.

  ‘I spotted him,’ Diamond said. ‘I definitely saw him.’

  ‘This is Coxe’s mine,’ the senior caver said, as if it was the other side of the moon. ‘We’ll be somewhere under Fox Hill.’

  ‘Is it large?’

  ‘Large enough. I’d say the odds are stacked in his favour now, but it’s your call.’

  Whatever else you could say about Diamond, he wasn’t a quitter. ‘In that case, we split up. Three teams of four. A caver with each. Do we have enough lights? Meet back here in half an hour. The team that brings back Harry Lang gets free drinks at the pub.’

  38

  The tunnel Diamond had picked was one of the main arteries of the system, so at least it wasn’t as back-breaking as the previous stretch. Harry Lang could well have chosen the same way believing it offered the best chance of putting distance between himself and his pursuers. They were moving at the best speed they could, a brisk walk. One hunted individual will generally travel faster than the pack, but there would surely come a point when they would corner him – if this was where he’d headed.

  Maybe it was a promising sign, Diamond thought, that he could feel particles of grit in his mouth and nose. If Lang had come this way he must have disturbed some dust.

  ‘Let’s have another listen.’

  The team stopped. There was definitely a sound, but it was from behind them, a distant voice from one of the other teams.

  Diamond looked to his left. The caver now at his side wasn’t the senior man.

  ‘Do you know this mine?’

  ‘Most of it.’

  ‘How far does this tunnel run?’

  ‘I’d say another quarter mile, no more.’

  ‘Is there any way he can get out?’

  ‘Not without climbing gear.’

  One of the bobbies said, ‘Plenty of places to hide, though.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch – just what I wanted to hear,’ Diamond said.

  About half a minute on, they stopped again, this time because a piece of stone the size of a dinner plate crashed down in front of them and broke into pieces. The caver spread his arms to stop anyone g
oing forward. He shone his flashlight on the section of roof the slab had come from. ‘This is the problem. See the hairline cracks? There’s more to come.’

  ‘We can’t stop now,’ Diamond said.

  ‘I’m saying this part is unstable.’

  ‘Let’s get past, then.’

  ‘I don’t advise it.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking for advice. What are hard hats for?’

  He didn’t check to see if they were following. This wasn’t a boy scout trip. They were hot on the trail of a man who’d killed five people. You don’t give up when you’re that close. He pressed on, dipping the flashlight beam at intervals to check for footprints.

  Then there was a sound from up ahead. Unlike anything they’d heard up to now, it was certainly not the rumble of traffic. This was a cracking sound followed immediately by a five-second boom.

  They barely had time to react before a cloud of dust surged along the tunnel towards them. The force pitched Diamond against the man behind and they both fell backwards. Fine sand whipped their faces and invaded their eyes and noses. The flashlight had fallen and gone out.

  ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘Roof collapse,’ the caver said. ‘We’re out of here.’ He’d managed to get his light going and it was pointing the way they had come.

  If Diamond had remained, he would have been alone. The team was already in flight. Even he wasn’t that stubborn. He remembered the image that local man had conjured of half a garden disappearing down a huge crater. He got up and staggered after the others. They didn’t stop until they reached the end of the tunnel at the place where everyone had agreed to meet.

  ‘Didn’t I warn you?’ the caver said. He was red-eyed, but so were they all. ‘We could have been buried alive.’

  ‘Maybe someone is,’ one of the officers said. ‘He must have triggered the fall.’

  ‘If it’s a rescue situation, we won’t have you lot buggering it up,’ the caver said. ‘The rest of my team will be here soon. They must have heard it. They’re not that far away.’

  Diamond said nothing. He was shaken. The young caver was right. Four lives had been put at risk and he was mainly responsible. Even the probable capture of a serial killer wasn’t worth so much.

  The two other groups weren’t long in returning to the main area. It was agreed that the roof fall had almost certainly been caused by the suspect running through an unstable stretch of tunnel. The cavers were rescue experts and it was their duty to get the man out alive if at all possible. Diamond said the police, too, had an interest in saving the life of Harry Lang.

  ‘The best help you can give,’ the cavers’ team leader said, ‘is to get out and let us get on with our job.’

  ‘You might need to shift some heavy stuff.’

  ‘We’ll deal with that.’

  ‘He’s a dangerous man.’

  ‘If he’s under a ton of rock he won’t give any trouble. Go to the top and get them organised up there. We need picks and spades, a phone line, stretcher, paramedics and ambulance waiting. And more cavers to work from the other side of the fall.’

  This was an expert speaking and Diamond knew he was right.

  A bunch of untrained policemen would be a hindrance. The priorities had changed.

  ‘You don’t have to go all the way back into Firs,’ the team leader said. ‘There’s a way out which is quicker.’

  They took it, a short walk, a steep climb up a ramp into the bliss of fresh air. Daylight, too, unreal after the darkness underground.

  With mobiles working again, he put out the necessary calls. Soon ambulances would be waiting at two of the mine entrances and a second team of cavers lowered by rope through an airshaft. The theory was that Lang might be alive on the other side of the roof fall. This would be the only way to reach him.

  Someone saw the state of them and offered the use of a shower. Kettles were boiled and tea provided. Crowds were gathering now. Most of Combe Down seemed to know that a wanted man was underground.

  John Leaman drove up to the house where the police had freshened up. He wanted to be updated. Diamond said like a veteran caver, ‘These things take time. Safety considerations.’

  ‘I’ll radio the CAD room. Do we need more help?’

  ‘We’ll cope. Get Lang’s car transported for a full forensic check.’

  ‘Already in hand, guv.’

  More than half an hour had passed since Diamond and his dusty team had emerged from the mine. A scratchy phone line was in place underground. The original team of cavers had found the tunnel totally blocked by a fall about two hundred yards beyond the point Diamond had reached. The second team, working from the other side, had located the site of the collapse without yet finding Lang.

  ‘Doesn’t look good for him,’ Leaman said.

  ‘Doesn’t look good for any of us if he’s dead meat,’ Diamond said. ‘We know sod all about him.’

  Another twenty minutes passed before a message came from underground. The original team had reached a man under the rubble. He was out cold, but they’d found a pulse. A doctor was in attendance.

  Harry Lang was stretchered to the surface and driven to the Royal United Hospital to be put into intensive care. He hadn’t recovered consciousness.

  39

  ‘Now I know how an expectant father feels,’ Diamond said as a nurse came out and walked past without even making eye contact.

  Leaman thought about that for a while. ‘You want five?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A break. Five minutes. I don’t mind hanging on here.’

  Diamond turned to face him. ‘John.’

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘If I’d wanted five, I’d have taken it.’

  ‘Oh, cheers.’

  They’d been here twenty-five. In that time they’d checked Harry Lang’s discarded clothes and found little of interest. At the time of the accident he wasn’t carrying a wallet or a mobile. All that was found with him was a hand-torch. It was likely, Diamond suggested to Leaman, that during the chase Lang had thrown away anything that might link him to the crimes. The clothes would be checked at the forensics lab but if there was anything apart from limestone dust it would be remarkable.

  Yet another trolley was pushed along the corridor. This wasn’t the tea urn or medicines. It was library books. Diamond snapped his fingers and said, ‘Hey.’

  The man with the trolley looked round. ‘Sorry, the books are for inpatients.’ Then he did a double-take and said, ‘Peter, what brings you here?’

  For Leaman’s benefit, Diamond said, ‘Jerry Kean, John Leaman. I have news for you, Jerry. Remember those names you gave me – the personal trainers? One came up trumps.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Lang. Harry Lang. I was going to speak to your mother, ask her to pass on my thanks. As a matter of fact, we’re waiting to interview Mr Lang any minute now.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘He’s in intensive care.’

  Jerry’s eyes swivelled.

  ‘Not what you’re thinking,’ Diamond said. ‘We’re not the heavy mob. He had an accident.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Long story. We just hope he pulls through.’

  ‘Poor guy,’ Jerry said. ‘I’ll pray for him. By the way, I’ve got something for you.’ He ducked and pulled out a book from the bottom shelf of the trolley. ‘Here. A Murder is Announced.’

  One of Steph’s Agatha Christies.

  ‘Unsuitable?’ Diamond said.

  ‘No. Open it and you’ll see.’

  A bookmark was inserted at the title page. There, Diamond saw, in his own writing, To my one and only love, on her birthday, from Pete. He felt a stab of self-reproach and his eyes moistened. So easy to be ambushed.

  Jerry was saying, ‘One of the patients noticed. You wouldn’t want it doing the rounds, would you?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Jerry rummaged in the bottom shelf again and produced a black totebag. ‘Put it in this. You don’t
want to be seen walking around with an Agatha Christie. Not in your job.’

  He had a point.

  Diamond thanked him and dropped the book in, noticing as he did that the word ‘Hosannah’ was written in gold lettering on the bag.

  ‘A plug for my church,’ Jerry said. ‘If you want the matching T-shirt, just ask. Look, if you don’t mind I’ve two more wards to get round.’ He steered his trolley away and rejoined the flow along the corridor.

  This was the busy time, visitors with flowers and grapes making their way to the wards. One of Diamond’s neighbours gave a wave as she walked past.

  ‘I get the feeling if we sit here long enough everyone we ever met will come by,’ he said to Leaman.

  ‘I don’t follow that.’

  ‘No, with your logical mind you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Was your friend serious about praying?’

  ‘Since we’re being precise, he’s not so much a friend as the son of a friend. Is he serious? I believe he is.’

  Leaman’s mouth turned down in distaste. ‘Pray for a serial killer?’

  ‘We’re all sinners, aren’t we?’

  ‘Are you a church-goer, guv?’

  ‘I went to Sunday school a few times. I was trying to see it from his point of view. He’s a believer. Praying is what they do.’ He took the bookmark from the Agatha Christie. He’d noticed all the books in the trolley had one sticking out. It read: Hosannah Free Church, Green Park Road, Bath, reaching out to one and all. Lord’s Day Services at 8 a.m., 11 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. Join us and be joyful.

  He handed it to Leaman. ‘Get the message?’

  Leaman gave it a glance and handed it back. ‘The joyful bit puts me off. But I’ll say this for your friend. He’s not just a Sunday Christian.’

  ‘Yes, it humbles you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What, other people going to church?’

  ‘Doing their best to save sinners when toerags like me are hoping they’ll save someone else, not us. His mother isn’t quite so caught up in it, I’m glad to say.’

  ‘Are you agnostic, guv?’

  ‘Not really.’