Down Among the Dead Men

by Peter Lovesey

  “There’s worse. The writer of the anonymous letter stated that the drunk woman was related to the senior investigating officer. She was the niece.”

  A grunt of distaste came from deep in his throat. “A family connection. That looks bad, I have to say. Is it true?”

  Georgina nodded. “The SIO has been suspended. The entire CID team is under suspicion of corruption. Do you understand now why it was necessary to bring us in?”

  “I understand,” he said, “but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

  9

  Diamond was silent for a long time, telling himself he’d been railroaded into this, knowing deep down that he hadn’t. He recoiled from the idea of investigating a brother-officer. To be fair, Georgina had been upfront with him the day she’d first mentioned the job and that was when he should have refused to have any part in it. She would have said he was insubordinate and disloyal, but he would have been true to his principles. As more details of the case emerged, his uneasiness was increasing. Already he felt sympathy for the hapless fellow officer under scrutiny and he hadn’t even met the guy. He knew the pressure that comes in a long-running murder enquiry. As senior investigator, you call the shots, and sometimes you call the wrong ones. If that wasn’t enough to endure, when family gets involved in some way you’re torn apart.

  “How are you feeling?” Georgina asked during the ferry crossing.

  “Ready to throw up.”

  “It doesn’t seem as choppy as it was on the way over.”

  “It’s not the sea, it’s the job we’re on. I don’t mind hounding killers. Fellow police officers are something else. I should have made that clear at the outset.”

  “You’d have disappointed me.”

  “Not for the first time.”

  “I knew you’d see it like that. I need you, Peter. We won’t be hounding another officer. When corruption is alleged, someone objective has to step in. See it as a professional duty.”

  “Why didn’t Sussex police sort it themselves?”

  “It’s gone too far for that. A possible miscarriage of justice. It might still end up with the IPCC, but the hope is that you and I can get to the truth. If a crisis like this ever happened on our own patch—God forbid—we’d look to another force to deal with it in an unbiased way.”

  “The inquisition.”

  “We can be civilized in our dealings. As I said to you before, I prefer to think of us as troubleshooters.”

  “Dallymore and Diamond at your service.”

  Oh, Christ, there’s two of them.

  “They’re lucky to get us.”

  Trying to be philosophical, he said, “So how do you want to handle it?”

  He heard in her tone that she knew she’d won a little victory. “We’ll start by putting Danny Stapleton’s story to the test, go to Littlehampton and find the Steam Packet.”

  He went along. The way he was feeling, he needed a strong drink.

  LA, as Danny had called it, was midway between the better known seaside towns of Worthing and Bognor, a place with its own latter-day character, a top resort early in the last century when the British had taken their holidays at home and before boarding houses became known as guest houses. Some of those buildings now looked shabby and neglected even if the acres of safe sandy beach hadn’t gone away and the swans still came in numbers to the riverside. Efforts had been made to tempt tourists with powerboat rides, the funfair in Harbour Park, a miniature railway, boating lakes, a golf course and a nature reserve, but the main asset was a natural one. Littlehampton scored over other seaside towns by having the outflow of the River Arun. With a history of boatbuilding and cross-channel ferrying, the town quay still functioned in a modest way as a commercial harbour and more robustly with leisure craft and the fish and chip shops in abundance along the promenade.

  They found the Steam Packet half a mile upriver, looking immaculate, red brick, with attractive hung tiles, hanging baskets and sky blue boards advertising riverside dining. Clearly the Victorian building had been given a recent facelift, an act of faith in twenty-first century Littlehampton.

  “That’s a gorgeous pair,” Diamond said out of nowhere.

  Georgina reddened and folded her arms. “What are you on about now?”

  He pointed upwards, to the ship’s figurehead projecting from the upper storey.

  “That? ” she said with distaste. “If that’s your idea of gorgeous, I despair. Let’s go in.”

  They got some speculative looks from the drinkers inside. There was no denying the fact that they’d driven up in a police car, now parked outside. The man behind the bar asked what they’d like to order. Georgina went for a glass of the house white and Diamond for a pint of Directors.

  “Was this restored recently?” he asked the barman.

  “The place was closed six years. We reopened under new management in 2013.”

  “With the same name. It’s obviously got a history.”

  “The cross-channel ferry service went from here to Honfleur in the 1860s.”

  “How about that? And does your figurehead outside have a history?”

  “If she does, she’s not telling.”

  “Smart lass. We want an outside table overlooking the river. And something to eat.”

  “Okay. Menu’s on the board and table’s through there.”

  They found themselves on the small terraced area Danny had described. From their table they overlooked the road and a line of parked vehicles and beyond them the river.

  “Presumably that’s where the BMW pulled in,” Georgina said.

  Diamond glanced over and said nothing, yet to be convinced.

  Georgina added, “The one car Danny was equipped to steal. He must have thought the gods were smiling on him.”

  “If his story is true.”

  “This is why I brought you here, to check the location and see if it fits in with what he had to say. Sitting here, I must say I can picture the events he described. It’s exactly as he told us.”

  “Is that surprising? He was talking about the place he lives in. This is his local.”

  She smiled. “So you don’t dismiss everything he told us.”

  “I’m willing to believe he lived here, yes. As for the rest of the story, the only thing we know for certain is that the BMW was nicked in Arundel the day before and was listed as stolen, which is why the patrol car stopped it.”

  “Yes, we have independent evidence for that. Are you thinking it was Danny who stole the car in Arundel?”

  He swirled his drink. “It’s the simple explanation.”

  “In that case the driver in the hoodie and everything that’s supposed to have happened here in Littlehampton would be a lie.”

  He shrugged.

  Georgina wanted it laid out more clearly. “Why would he have concocted an elaborate story like that?”

  “To put distance between himself and the murder.”

  “Are you suggesting Danny is the killer as well as a car thief?”

  “Impossible to say.” Playing his own words over in his head, he decided he was being a touch too rigid. “On balance, it seems more likely he was brought in later as the disposal man. That would explain why he had the two grand in banknotes.”

  “So when he was stopped, he was on his way to dump the body somewhere?”

  “Well away from Arundel.”

  Georgina plainly wasn’t persuaded. “At his trial, he didn’t admit he had a minor role in the crime. He pleaded not guilty and denied all knowledge of it. If he’d co-operated, he would still have got the mandatory life sentence, but with a shorter term before being considered for release. Personally, I can’t see him as the killer and I don’t believe he knows the identity of whoever did it. These small-time criminals tend to stick to what they do. A car thief remains a car thief.”


  “With rare exceptions,” Diamond said. He was keeping every option open.

  The food arrived, sausages and mash for Diamond, lemon sole for Georgina. The big man’s appetite was fully restored.

  “Will Danny be told about the latest development—the DNA match?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “And the niece?”

  Georgina took a sharp breath as if she’d burnt her tongue. “If he hears about her he’ll take it as proof positive that we’re corrupt.”

  “He’ll hear about it some way.”

  “Not officially, not before we are certain it has some bearing on the case. All we know is that this young woman’s hair was found in the car. There may be some innocent explanation none of us is aware of.” Georgina paused for inspiration. “She could have travelled in the car as a passenger before it was stolen.”

  “On a date with an eighty-year-old man?”

  “Now you’re being silly. Be serious, Peter.”

  “Okay. The presence of DNA doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Ah, but it might help to validate Danny’s story. You pointed out yourself that the hooded youth he saw may have been female.”

  “Has anyone questioned this young woman?”

  She shook her head. “She’s gone missing.”

  The last piece of sausage fell off his fork. “Great! That’s all we need. How recent is this?”

  “She hasn’t been seen for several weeks, according to Archie.”

  “The niece of the senior investigating officer has done a runner? This gets worse. Hasn’t any attempt been made to find her?”

  “She’s not a child any more. She may be traveling abroad according to Archie.”

  The drip, drip of information was getting to Diamond. At some point soon he would say so. For the present he suppressed his annoyance. “I’m beginning to think we should take Danny’s story more seriously.”

  After they’d eaten, Georgina suggested a walk along the river bank towards the beach, but Diamond said he’d rather go over the footbridge. “Let’s see where the hoodie is supposed to have gone.”

  They settled their bill. There was a general murmur of relief as they left the pub.

  The river was wider than it appeared from the terrace. They’d walked over the metal bridge for half a minute before they were anywhere near the middle.

  “This may be a sexist remark,” Diamond said, “but I can’t picture a young woman carrying a corpse all this way.”

  “Come to that,” Georgina said, “I can’t picture your average young man managing it either. He’d need a helper—or a trolley. Even then it would be obvious what was happening.”

  “I don’t know about that. It’s a quiet spot. We were the only people on the terrace while we were eating and I don’t remember anyone coming by.”

  “They wouldn’t risk it in broad daylight.”

  “Under cover of darkness they might.”

  She gave a superior smile. “It isn’t only women who change their minds.”

  “It’s academic, isn’t it? Even if Danny can be believed, the body didn’t end up in the river. It didn’t happen.”

  But in his mind Diamond wasn’t quite so dismissive. This was a quiet spot that might appeal to anyone wanting to get rid of evidence. Even now, at the height of day, nobody else was about, either on land or water.

  “There isn’t much room for boats passing underneath,” Georgina said, looking over. “Anything with a mast would be in trouble.”

  “The middle section rolls aside,” Diamond said. “It’s retractable. See the rails up ahead?”

  “Now you mention them, I can. Do you want to go all the way across?”

  She was inviting him to make the decisions, he noticed. This was no bad thing when he was used to giving orders. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what there is on the other bank. The hoodie was heading over there when last seen—so we were told.”

  “Looks like a boatyard, some jetties and not much else,” Georgina said.

  “I saw a car moving along there. Must be a road. Not sure where it leads. Let’s find out.”

  They reached the opposite bank and started along a narrow road between hedges.

  “Desolate,” Georgina said. “I can’t think what he or she came here for, unless it was to meet someone.”

  In a few hundred yards they came to some wooden buildings in a wire mesh fenced enclosure.

  “The Arun Yacht Club,” Georgina read aloud from the sign outside. “I imagine this is not your scene, Peter.”

  “True.”

  “But it’s the only place the hoodie could have been making for if she turned in this direction.”

  “If she existed.”

  “Let’s assume she did.”

  “Well, I doubt if she was here for the sailing.”

  They went through the gate. There was parking for cars at the back of the club buildings and mooring for boats at the front along the river bank, four pontoons with berths for about a hundred, enough to be called a marina.

  “No use asking inside if anyone remembers her from seven years ago,” Georgina said.

  A pretty obvious comment that he didn’t bother to answer.

  “I’m wondering why she came across the bridge at all,” she added.

  “Leaving the car containing a body and two thousand pounds in cash and failing to double-check that it was locked. Yes, she had to be very careless or into some trickery I don’t understand.”

  “It was a risk.”

  “A mistake.”

  They were about to retrace their route to the bridge. Diamond hesitated. “What if the plan wasn’t to drop the body off the bridge? Wouldn’t it be smarter to take it on a boat and get rid of it at sea?”

  “That’s the first intelligent observation you’ve made all day,” Georgina said. “I do believe you’re starting to function. Maybe she was here for the sailing.”

  He’d come up with the theory, but he didn’t like it. “We’d need to find out if she can handle a sailing boat and if she had any connection with this place.”

  “She could have stolen someone’s dinghy. Well, borrowed it.”

  “And sailed it over to the opposite bank and discovered the car was missing? It’s all rather tenuous, ma’am.”

  “I’m going to see if anyone is about.” Suddenly she was the boss again. She strode towards the clubhouse, with Diamond following.

  Inside was a bar and lounge. A solitary drinker on a high stool turned to see who had come in.

  “Good afternoon, we’re police officers. Assistant Chief Constable Dallymore and DS Diamond.”

  The man said, “Pollux.”

  “Well, really!”

  “Yes, really.” He must have had the reaction many times before. “Edward Pollux. Care for a drink?”

  “Not at the present time. We’re interested in a missing person, a young woman, who may have been a member of the club at some point.”

  “Try me, then,” Pollux said. “I’ve been a member twenty-three years. I’ve met just about everyone who came through those doors.”

  “Mrs. Jocelyn Green.”

  The casual mention of a name he hadn’t heard of was yet another rebuke for Diamond. How much more was Georgina keeping to herself?

  “Sorry. Doesn’t mean anything to me,” Pollux said. “When was she supposed to have been here?”

  “Seven years ago.”

  “Do you have a picture?”

  It wouldn’t greatly have surprised Diamond if Georgina had produced one.

  “Unfortunately, no. How is the security here? The boats, I mean. Is there any risk of someone stealing one?”

  “Unlikely. We’re not so vulnerable to casual visitors, being on this bank. It’s the quiet side, as you’ll have noticed. I was surprised to see yo
u two walk in just now.”

  “I expect it’s busier at weekends.”

  “True. Dinghy racing every Sunday through the summer.”

  “At sea?”

  “Oh, yes. And there’s an annual race upriver and back for the cup.”

  “Upriver? Where to?” Diamond asked.

  “The Black Rabbit at Arundel. They have lunch there and then come back.”

  “Arundel? Is that far?”

  “Half an hour or less if you can handle a boat with any skill.”

  “And with an outboard motor?”

  Pollux gave him a pained look. “We’re a yacht club.”

  Diamond was seething and not because of the putdown from Pollux. On the walk back he didn’t trust himself to say anything until they’d almost reached the footbridge and then it was Georgina who cued the exchange that followed—and in a way that stoked his anger.

  “Penny for them.”

  “Mm?”

  “Your thoughts. You haven’t said a word since we left the club.”

  “Isn’t it bloody obvious?” he said. “I’m not used to being treated like a ten-year-old.”

  “Ah. You’re in a strop because I knew the niece’s name and hadn’t told you. It hadn’t come up. If it had meant anything I would have shared it with you. It’s no big deal, Peter. You don’t want to burst a blood vessel over something as trivial as that.”

  He took a moment to contain himself. “It isn’t trivial. It’s the name of someone involved in the case, someone who may turn out to be a suspect. I was entitled to be given her name.”

  “You know it now.”

  “I’ll try and say this calmly, ma’am. If you and I are going to work together, there has to be respect between us. You outrank me, and I understand that. We’ve known each other a few years, long enough to tell that we’re never going to be twin souls. But ours is a professional relationship, or should be.”

  “Must be.”

  “You asked me to work with you on this case. Your decision, and it’s put an extra strain on that relationship. Back in Bath you give me the freedom to run CID in my own way. Here, with the two of us, I’m tagging along like Dr. Watson.”

  “That isn’t remotely true,” she said. “Let me remind you it was your decision to cross the bridge. I was all for a gentle walk along the promenade.”