The Secret Hangman pd-9

by Peter Lovesey

  O n fine mornings like this one, Giuseppe Tosi liked to imagine he was back in sunny Padua. In reality George Street, Bath, didn’t much resemble Via Angelina, but when Tosi leaned on the railing at the top of the basement stairs with the warmth on his face he had no difficulty picturing blue shutters on the windows across the street and tiling the roofs in terracotta. Humming ‘O Sole Mio’, he beamed at everyone passing as if they were friends and neighbours. This was how he failed to recognise the policeman who had called before.

  It was excusable. This time Diamond had Ingeborg in tow, and any full-blooded male from Padua was going to have eyes only for a woman as stunning as she.

  Diamond greeted Tosi by name and got an, ‘Uh?’ in response.

  ‘Remember me?’ Diamond prompted. ‘Detective Superintendent Diamond?’ To Ingeborg he said, ‘He’s the owner, and he has less English than any of them.’ To Tosi, he said, ‘Carabinieri.’

  Tosi said, ‘Mamma mia.’

  ‘There’s a waiter called Luigi who speaks English,’ Diamond said to Ingeborg.

  Tosi heard the name. ‘You come take Luigi?’ He beckoned with his hand and led the way downstairs.

  They followed. Before going inside, Diamond pointed out the bike resting against the wall under the stairs. ‘Good, Luigi’s in work.’

  This was early in the restaurant day. No cloths were on the tables. Tosi pushed a vacuum cleaner to one side to let them through. Luigi, in T-shirt and jeans, came from the back and recognised Diamond and gave Ingeborg the up-and-down with those large brown eyes. ‘More questions?’

  ‘A few things we didn’t cover last time. Do you mind?’

  ‘No problem.’ COOL IT was written on Luigi’s shirt. He wasn’t even making eye contact. Not with Diamond, anyway.

  ‘So how long has this restaurant been going?’

  Luigi shrugged and asked Tosi in Italian and then translated the response. ‘He says six years last September.’

  ‘And when did you start?’

  There was hesitation and Diamond recalled that Luigi disliked personal questions. ‘I don’t know. About four years ago, I guess.’

  ‘And the cook, Carlo?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him. He was here before me.’

  ‘So all three of you were working here for at least four years. When did Delia start?’

  He folded his arms. ‘Are you still investigating Delia? I read in the paper that her boyfriend did it and hanged himself.’

  An attempt to divert that didn’t work with Diamond. ‘Answer the question, please. When did she start?’

  ‘What is the problem with Delia?’

  Diamond waited, saying nothing.

  Luigi rolled his eyes and then gave Ingeborg a long-suffering look. ‘Two and a half years, maybe three. Do you want me to ask the boss? He may have it on paper somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Another question. What happens about reservations in this place? Is there a book?’

  ‘We went over this,’ Luigi said. ‘The night Delia died, we had only nine people in all evening.’

  ‘I’m not asking about that night.’

  ‘Sure, there’s a book.’ He went over to the bar, a small counter framed in plastic vine leaves. It doubled as the reservations desk.

  Tosi said something in agitated Italian and Luigi replied and there was much shrugging and hand gesturing before the book was handed to Diamond.

  He turned to the front. ‘This only starts in September. Where are the earlier books?’

  More consultation. Then Luigi said, ‘He chucked them.’

  ‘Threw them out? Are you sure?’

  ‘He just told me.’

  Ingeborg, silent up to now, said, ‘That’s right, guv. I know enough to follow what was said.’

  Luigi flashed her a big, approving smile. ‘It’s only reservations. It’s not like he threw away the accounts.’

  ‘But the accounts wouldn’t show the names of customers, would they?’ Diamond said.

  ‘Nothing gets past you.’

  Diamond bit back a rebuke. There was another way to go. Taking out the photo he had been given by Harold Twining, he asked, ‘Recognise this couple?’

  Luigi, so adept at ducking, said straight away, ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Never mind. Have they eaten here? It would have been some while back, say two or three years ago.’

  ‘A long time.’ He sidestepped the question by passing the photo to Tosi.

  A nice moment followed. Tosi’s big bulk started to wobble. He made a crowing sound and extended his hand and stretched all the fingers wide as if catching the memory. ‘My friends. Good friends.’

  ‘They came here?’ Diamond said.

  ‘Plenty times,’ Tosi said, turning to Luigi for an animated exchange.

  ‘What are they saying?’ Diamond asked Ingeborg.

  ‘He seems to be telling Luigi he’s bound to remember these people because they always gave good tips. But Luigi is saying they must have been before his time.’

  Tosi gave up on his waiter and shouted towards the kitchen. ‘Carlo, Carlo.’

  ‘This should be interesting,’ Diamond said.

  Carlo surfaced, wiping his hands on a cloth. Tosi gave him an earful of Italian and handed him the photo. Carlo was slow to react. He peered at the picture for some seconds. Then his mouth curved and he made a sound like a steam train leaving the station. Finally he said, ‘Si.’

  ‘Is he faking it just to please the boss?’ Diamond asked Ingeborg.

  Luigi must have overheard what was meant to be a quiet aside, because he grinned and nodded at Diamond.

  ‘I’m sure about Signor Tosi,’ Ingeborg said. ‘He’s positive he’s seen them before.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Luigi said for the second time.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, does it?’ Diamond said. ‘You obviously haven’t met them.’

  Then Tosi clicked his fingers and said, ‘Cristina.’ He grabbed the photo from Carlo and said with an air of triumph, ‘Cristina.’

  ‘Pretty close,’ Diamond said.

  ‘Cristina e Giovanni.’

  ‘Not so close.’

  Ingeborg said, ‘Closer than you think, guv. Giovanni is John in Italian.’

  On the walk back to the nick he told Ingeborg, ‘Tosi remembered them. I’d bet my house on that. They came to the restaurant often enough for him to know their first names.’

  ‘The first real link we have,’ she said.

  ‘“Link” is putting it strongly.’

  ‘OK, let’s say their paths may have crossed.’

  ‘More like it. The Twinings were customers and Delia could have been their waitress.’

  ‘Which was when?’

  ‘They died two years ago, didn’t they?’

  ‘Two to three years ago, then?’

  ‘Maybe before then, if Luigi had no memory of them.’

  ‘But can we believe Luigi?’

  Diamond nodded. ‘Shifty character, isn’t he? The first time we interviewed him, I had him down as a suspect. He was on duty the night Delia was murdered, the last one to see her alive. The others had gone home. There were just the two of them. He said he locked up the restaurant and they went their different ways.’

  ‘If he came on to Delia and was cold-shouldered he could have turned nasty. He’s used to getting his way with women.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Trust me, guv. I can tell.’

  ‘You think he strangled her and rigged it up as a hanging?’

  ‘It does sound a bit far-fetched, put like that,’ she said. ‘Particularly as he’d need to move her and he only has the bike.’

  ‘He has a Honda at home in Twerton. I asked him.’

  ‘Do you still rate him?’

  ‘What interests me more,’ Diamond said, ‘is what we were talking about — this blank spot about the Twinings.’

  ‘When you pressed him, he said he started at Tosi’s four years ago. He must have met the Twin
ings if they were regulars.’

  ‘That was my thought, too.’

  ‘He’s not the sort to have a blank spot, guv. He’s sharper than broken glass.’

  ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t believe a word he told me.’

  They reached the bottom of Milsom Street before Diamond spoke again. ‘My problem with Luigi is that there’s more to this case than a man trying it on and getting the frost. We’re pretty certain there’s a link with the Twinings.’

  ‘Which he’s in denial about,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Could it be that he murdered Christine Twining and strung her up the same way and nobody at the time suspected it was murder?’

  ‘And the husband hanged himself because he couldn’t bear to live without her?’

  ‘No, guv. Luigi killed the husband as well.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To cover up the first crime.’

  He said with disbelief, ‘And it wasn’t picked up at autopsy?’

  Ingeborg seized on that. Her journalistic training was in play. Her words came in a burst. ‘The same pathologist carried out both autopsies.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I sent for the reports, if you remember.’

  ‘And I was impressed by them. Unlike our friend Dr Sealy, he set out his findings in a way I could follow.’

  ‘Shinwari,’ she said as the name came back to her. ‘Dr Manzoor Shinwari.’

  ‘Correct, and he isn’t available to speak to us. He returned to Pakistan and the Medical Council have lost contact with him.’

  Her eyes were saucer-wide. ‘Why? Was there a scandal?’

  ‘None that I heard of.’

  ‘Maybe he got out in time. There were all these high-profile cases involving mistakes by pathologists. What if Dr Shinwari saw the writing on the wall and did a runner?’

  ‘You’re speculating, Inge.’

  ‘I’m going to check.’

  ‘You’ll find that difficult. The medical profession is notorious for looking after its own.’

  ‘We’ve got copies of the autopsy reports. Can we get a second opinion?’

  ‘Like I said, they stick together. This isn’t a second opinion on someone’s medical condition. This is asking one doctor to pick holes in another’s work.’ As he spoke, he was thinking of Jim Middleton, the ballroom king, the obvious man to ask. The prospect of approaching Jim once again didn’t appeal.

  ‘Suppose Dr Shinwari got it wrong,’ Ingeborg pressed him. ‘Suppose both Twinings were murdered. We could be dealing with a serial killer. We can’t take the risk, guv.’

  27

  P olice headquarters was twenty miles off, at Portishead, ridiculously inconvenient whenever Diamond was summoned there, ideally placed whenever Georgina attended and was gone for the day. But she could still use a phone and did this afternoon after Diamond forgot to call about Operation Fleece. She gave his ear a blasting for ten minutes, after which he decided she’d had her say. It was a fine judgement when to cut Georgina off. He reckoned at four fifteen in the afternoon she would be thinking about the tailbacks on the approach to Bristol and not wanting to dial the CID room a second time.

  She would have no luck if she did, because he was making another call. He reached Jim Middleton at home, and knew from the tone of voice that Jim’s home was Jim’s castle. The retired pathologist had pulled up the drawbridge and was ready on the battlements with boiling oil. Appealing to his better nature wasn’t going to work this time.

  Diamond went for the weakest point. He said this was going to sound like a bad joke, but someone had lodged an official complaint about the Melksham tea dances. It seemed they were against the law, or at least against a by-law governing the use of the Melksham assembly hall, a carry-over from Victorian times, when public dances were thought to encourage immorality and maybe did. All was not yet lost, however. Fortunately he knew one of the Wiltshire magistrates and she had the power to issue a special licence making the dances into private functions.

  Jim was relieved to hear this. He was quite disarmed. Diamond said there was no need for Jim to do anything or speak to anyone about the threat. But as a quid pro quo, would he give an opinion on two more autopsy reports? Jim swore at him and called him a conman, but there was just enough in the story to cause him doubt. He was hooked.

  Diamond arranged to have them delivered to Jim within the hour.

  After that, an early getaway beckoned. The big man emerged from his office into the open-plan area.

  ‘Are you leaving, guv?’ Paul Gilbert said. The lad had so much to learn.

  ‘What if I am?’

  ‘No problem. It can wait till tomorrow.’

  This time it was Diamond who was hooked. ‘What can wait?’

  ‘Probably nothing. A burnt-out vehicle up at the racecourse. Kids, I expect.’

  ‘Who is this from?’

  ‘Uniform checked it out this afternoon. Call from someone out walking his dog. It’s all right, there was no corpse inside. I just thought you might be interested because we know the ram-raiders burn cars, and this was a four-by-four.’

  ‘Do we know the make?’

  ‘Nissan Pathfinder.’ Gilbert had a sudden thought. ‘Isn’t that the make you were interested in?’

  Interested? It was sod’s law that this would be Paloma’s son’s car. ‘Registration?’

  ‘The plates were removed.’

  ‘I might as well take a look at it. Not far off my route.’

  He drove up to Lansdown with the evening traffic and soon spotted the burnt-out wreck in the first car park you can see from the road. He swung off and drew in alongside. When there is no race meeting the only people who park up there are those wanting a walk.

  The Pathfinder was gutted. No doubt they’d used some kind of accelerant. He didn’t want to mess his hands wiping away soot, but he could just make out that the original colour had been blue, like Jerry’s. He walked around the wreck thinking how he would handle this.

  Paloma came to the door in a white bathrobe. ‘You!’ she said. ‘Well, at least it isn’t the Jehovah’s Witnesses.’

  ‘It’s obviously not a good time,’ he said. ‘I should have phoned ahead, but I was on the road.’

  ‘I was showering after a long day in the office, that’s all,’ she said. ‘No, in point of fact I was out of the shower and cutting my toenails if that makes you feel any better. Come in, Peter, it’s good to see you any time.’

  He hesitated. ‘This is semi-official.’

  ‘And I’m semi-dressed. Do I have to stand on my doorstep?’

  He stepped inside and she closed the door. In her large sitting room she said, ‘Now tell me what’s up.’

  He told her about the burnt car on Lansdown. ‘We don’t know for sure that this was Jerry’s.’

  ‘But it’s the same make and colour?’ She had her hand to her throat. ‘He’s going to be inconsolable. He was so proud of that thing.’

  ‘Obviously we haven’t informed him. It was only found this afternoon. When we check the chassis number, if it’s still visible, we’ll know.’

  ‘He’s with clients all afternoon and doing the rounds of the wards with the library trolley this evening. Do you think I should call him, or leave it till tomorrow?’

  ‘If it were me, I’d like to know the worst as soon as possible.’

  The worry was creasing her face. ‘I wish I could think of some way of softening the blow.’

  ‘If his insurance company is any good, he’ll get a replacement. They usually cover theft and fire.’

  ‘That’s a thought.’ She released a nervous breath. ‘I’ll break it to him now. Do you mind if I phone from the next room? Mothers say the silliest things to sons.’

  ‘Can I get a drink ready?’

  ‘What a good idea. A whopping great vodka and tonic. The cupboard in the corner.’

  Left alone, with the drinks poured — his own more tonic than vodka — he looked at the art on the walls. No cheap reproductions, the
se. Abstract, large, in muted colours, they may not have been his choice, but they testified to the success of Once in Vogue. If he’d dabbled in shares he would have been asking if her company was open to investment.

  She returned and said, ‘Whew! That was tough. Give me a hug.’

  He didn’t just hug her, he kissed her as well.

  ‘Now where’s that drink?’ she said.

  He handed it to her. ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘Pretty badly, poor old lad. It wasn’t his first car, but the first he’d really treated like a pet. He said he’ll drive up to Lansdown after he’s finished at the hospital.’

  ‘He’d do better tomorrow in some daylight.’

  ‘Try telling him. That was his baby.’ She’d emptied her glass. ‘I need more vodka in this, I think.’

  He took the bottle across to her. She’d sat on the sofa. ‘Is this your favourite tipple?’

  ‘In times of stress. I was all of a tremble, seeing you and getting that unwelcome bit of news.’

  ‘A double shock?’

  She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I didn’t mean…’ She put the glass on the floor. ‘Oh, come over here and shag me to bits.’

  She’d opened her bathrobe and was naked under it. She lay on the sofa in total confidence.

  The speed of the invitation might have troubled many a man. It didn’t hamper Diamond. He did pretty much as asked.

  They showered and Paloma found a bathrobe for him. Down in the kitchen she cooked a pasta dish with cream and chopped bacon and spinach. Fast food, but not from a packet. An Italian red wine came with it.

  ‘You’ll stay the night, won’t you?’ she said.

  ‘That wasn’t what I had in mind when I called.’

  ‘You simply planned to tell me about the wretched car and leave?’

  ‘It’s a mean man who takes advantage of a lady in distress.’

  She said, ‘It was me who took advantage. I’m like that, I’m afraid. Don’t miss an opportunity.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  ‘Peter Diamond,’ she said. ‘You may be a red-hot detective, but you don’t know the half of it where I’m concerned. You can’t have any idea how much I wanted you.’

  He smiled. ‘Detective work doesn’t apply here. You made your intention pretty clear.’

  Now she was shaking her head and he could see she wanted to make a serious point. Her face had turned pale and she was twisting her fingers into knots. He wondered if he’d upset her. He wasn’t much of a hand at flirting.