Diamond Dust

by Peter Lovesey

  ‘Before you go on,’ Harry said, ‘these Hatton Garden people aren’t fools. They’ll check with the hotel.’

  ‘And when they check, they’ll find that it’s true. There will be a Kuwaiti prince on the hotel guest-list.’

  ‘You, I suppose,’ Harry said, not over-impressed.

  ‘No. A true member of the blood royal. The Kuwaitis visit London frequently and stay at the Dorchester. They have a financial stake in the City. Anyone checking will find this is totally on the level.’

  ‘Get away. The fifth man is a Kuwaiti prince?’

  ‘No, no. You’re still not listening. The prince isn’t in the plot. We time our heist to coincide with the visit.’

  Harry still needed convincing. ‘How will you know when one of the princes is over here? Private visits by royalty are arranged in secret. They’re very aware of security.’

  ‘Rightly so,’ Zahir said, unfazed. ‘We’ll know because we have a man inside the Dorchester.’

  Harry digested this.

  ‘Clever,’ he said, after a pause. ‘The fifth man?’

  ‘Yes. He’s on the staff, on the catering side. When royalty are coming, they have to order food supplies specially, so he’s one of the few to be entrusted with advance information about VIP guests. He will advise us – through you – when one of the princes has a booking. We will then book one of the best suites for you under the name of Lord this or the Earl of that. Your job. You can impersonate one of the aristocracy, I hope?’

  ‘With ease.’

  ‘Good. I suggest you are disguised. Dyed hair, glasses, moustache. You will check in, and occupy the suite. Presently I will arrive with Ibrahim. Within a short time you will remove your disguise and leave by the back stairs. Your job will be over. It’s as simple as that. Shortly after you depart,’ the Hatton Garden dealer will arrive, and be met in the foyer by Rhadi, posing as the emissary of the Kuwaitis.’

  ‘He may have security with him,’ Harry warned.

  ‘We’re prepared for that. Rhadi will escort him to the suite, where I will be waiting, with Ibrahim, both dressed in the jubbah. If they bring a security officer, he will be ordered by Rhadi to remain outside the door. You don’t bring functionaries such as that into the presence of the blood royal. The dealer takes out his parcel of diamonds and we relieve him of them. As smoothly as possible. Minimum violence. He is tied up and gagged. We leave by another door.’

  ‘Isn’t that the neatest scam you ever heard?’ Rhadi said.

  ‘Sounds all right,’ Harry grudgingly admitted. ‘But why do you need me?’

  ‘For your special talent, and our protection. You have two functions. First, you are the go-between, as I mentioned. Our man on the Dorchester staff will communicate with you, not with Arabs, which might arouse suspicion. There is sure to be a security enquiry after the heist. He will, of course, deny having given information to anybody.’

  ‘And secondly?’

  ‘You are the decoy – the peer who booked the suite. It will take some time for them to realise how it was done.

  For all they know, you may have been a genuine peer abducted by the gang.’

  Harry was silent for several seconds as he reviewed the plan. Certainly it had attractions. No safe-breaking, fiddling with security systems, no guns, no excessive violence. The concept of the dealer being conned into bringing the rocks to the hotel was neat, as was the idea of timing the scam to coincide with a genuine royal visit. Yes, it appealed. His own part didn’t sound too demanding. He’d taken bigger risks in the past.

  ‘And if it all goes to plan,’ he said, ‘how will you fence the diamonds? If they’re tiptop items, they’ll be well known in the trade.’

  ‘These are uncut stones, Mr Tattersall,’ Zahir reminded him. ‘The industry is worldwide now. Huge. There are factories in Bombay, Tel Aviv, Smolensk. Every damned place. There is no difficulty in unloading top quality roughs for a decent price, believe me. They will be out of Britain within hours and cut and polished within days. And once a stone has been cleaved, it changes personality, just as you do for a living, or so I’m told. Are you in?’

  ‘For a hundred K guaranteed?’

  ‘Guaranteed.’

  ‘I’ll incur some expenses.’

  ‘We can take care of that.’

  ‘Over and above my hundred grand?’

  ‘Expenses – yes. What do you have in mind? The disguise?’

  ‘A suit. I can’t walk into the Dorchester in what I’m wearing.’ It was worth the try, Harry thought, and he was mightily impressed when it got a result.

  ‘I was thinking the same,’ Zahir said, looking him up and down. ‘Fifteen hundred in expenses, then.’

  ‘Upfront?’

  ‘Rhadi will see to it’

  They shook hands.

  ‘What next?’ Harry asked, trying not to show his awe at the deal.

  ‘You buy some decent clothes, and then you wait. We all wait.’

  ‘For the word from your fellow in the Dorchester?’

  ‘Which he will give to you.’

  ‘Is this hotel man reliable? One hundred per cent?’

  ‘Be assured of that. He held the Queen’s commission. He was an officer in the Royal Air Force Catering Branch.’

  11

  ‘How did you…?’

  ‘Your door was open.’

  ‘Bloody liar. You put your boot against it.’

  ‘So it was open,’ Diamond said.

  He didn’t usually force an entry when calling on a witness, but the rules change for winos. Warburton clearly wasn’t in any shape to get up and greet a visitor. He was on the floor, his back propped against a greasy leather armchair on which the lurcher was curled up asleep, oblivious of Diamond’s arrival. Maybe it, too, was pie-eyed. Empty cider bottles were scattered about the floor.

  ‘You’re that copper,’ Warburton said through his alcoholic haze, as if Diamond needed reminding.

  There was another chair, an upright one, with a plate on it with the dried remains of a meal of baked beans. Diamond chose to remain standing. He was trying to decide if the man was capable of coherent answers. In vino veritas is a maxim reliable only up to a certain intake of the vino.

  ‘What you want?’ Warburton asked.

  Diamond ignored him and walked through to the second room of this foul-smelling basement.

  A mattress on the floor and an ex-army greatcoat slung across it, presumably for bedding. More empty bottles.

  He stooped and looked under one side of the mattress. And then the other. Nothing except some dog-eared pages from a girlie magazine. He brushed his clothes in case of lice.

  Back in the main room, watched by the still-supine tenant, he sifted through the few possessions. From a carton containing cans of dog food, baked beans and a stale loaf, he picked out a supermarket receipt.

  ‘What’s this? Thirty-eight pounds fifty-three? You had a good splurge on the twenty-third. In the money, were you?’

  ‘Me social, wasn’t it?’

  ‘On a Tuesday? Come off it, Jimmy. This was the day you found the woman in the park. You nicked the cash from her bag, didn’t you?’

  ‘I never.’

  ‘So what did you do with the bag?’

  No answer.

  ‘Where is it, Jimmy? No messing. This is a murder inquiry.’

  Warburton blurted out in a panicky voice, ‘I never killed her. I reported it, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did the right thing, there. And I’ve been asking myself why you bothered, Jimmy. So public-spirited that you felt compelled to raise the alarm? I don’t see it.’

  ‘’S a fact.’

  ‘Now that I have this…’ Diamond held up the till receipt ‘… I’m starting to get the picture. You’re not such a hero. I was asking myself how a down-and-out like you reacts when he comes across a body in a park. Does he get to a phone immediately and report it? Does he hell. He’s on the lookout for goodies. You found the handbag.’

  Warburton shook h
is head.

  ‘It won’t do, Jimmy,’ Diamond told him. ‘The date matches. You raised the alarm, yes, but there can only be one reason. Someone came along when you had your thieving hands in the bag. They saw you right beside the body, maybe even thought you’d fired the shots. You were forced to play the innocent, pretend you were just about to call the police. You stuffed the handbag under your coat and hightailed it to the car park and did the decent thing because they were breathing down your neck. Am I right?’

  ‘Has she been onto you?’

  Diamond pounced. ‘She? It was a woman, then? Better unload, Jimmy.’

  The man looked so sick that Diamond wasn’t sure what he would unload.

  ‘Tell me about her, this woman who spotted you.’

  ‘Nothing to tell.’

  ‘What was she like? Where did she come from? What did she say? Come on, man. Do I have to shake it out of you?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Warburton said. ‘Came from nowhere. I looked up and she was there.’

  ‘What age?’

  He shrugged. ‘Thirty. Thirty-five.’

  ‘Wearing what?’

  ‘Tracksuit. Blue. Dark blue.’

  ‘A jogger?’

  ‘Yeah. Could be.’

  ‘So what colour was her hair?’

  ‘Christ knows. She had one of them woolly hats.’

  ‘Wearing trainers?’

  ‘Didn’t see.’

  ‘How tall?’

  ‘Average.’

  ‘Brilliant. What happened?’

  Warburton dragged his hand down the length of his face, pressing the pale flesh as if to squeeze out some memory. ‘Asked what I was doing and I told her I found the stiff on the ground, which was true. She said we ought to tell someone, so I got up and legged it to the car park-‘

  ‘With the handbag under your clothes?’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about that.’

  ‘Spill it out, Sonny Jim, or I’ll have you for obstructing the police as well as withholding evidence and theft. Have you done any time?’

  He didn’t answer.

  Diamond took a step closer. No one could look more threatening. ‘What happened to that handbag? Is it here?’

  ‘Chucked it, didn’t I?’ Warburton said.

  At least he hadn’t pinned the blame on the jogger.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Diamond took a handhold on Warburton’s T-shirt just below the throat and screwed it into a knot.

  ‘I could have stuffed it out of sight,’ Warburton piped up.

  ‘We know that. Where? The car park?’ There were big collection bins at one end, for newspapers, bottles and cans. Maybe he’d got rid of it there.

  ‘Can’t say.’

  ‘Get up.’

  ‘What?’

  Warburton found himself hauled off the floor. ‘You’re going to have your memory jogged.’

  The lurcher woke up and wagged its tail, uninterested that its master was being forced outside against his will. The chance of a walk was not to be missed. Except that it wasn’t going to be a walk, simply because Warburton wasn’t capable of staying upright that long.

  In the car, the dog stood with its front paws on the back of Diamond’s seat, licking him behind the ear. Warburton immediately fell asleep.

  They drove up Charlotte Street and took the car park turn. Diamond stopped beside the bins. ‘Recognise them?’

  No answer.

  He rammed an elbow into Warburton’s ribs. ‘Is that where you got rid of the handbag?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  Charlotte Street Car Park is vast, the largest in Bath, with tiers of parking space separated by hedges. A hedge wasn’t a bad place to get rid of an unwanted bag, but these had already been combed by McGarvie’s search squad. Whilst Warburton lolled against the headrest with his eyes closed, Diamond toured the car park trying to picture the scene. He drove to one of the higher tiers nearest to the old shrubbery. Every parking slot was taken, so he just stopped between the rows, got out and dragged Warburton from the car. The dog jumped out as well.

  ‘Now. Where exactly did you find the guy with the mobile phone?’

  Warburton looked vaguely about him. He flapped a limp hand that seemed to take in the whole of the car park.

  ‘Do you know who I’m talking about? You asked him to dial nine-nine-nine.’

  ‘Could have been right here… Or over there… Or there.’

  ‘Did you have the handbag with you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Under your coat – did you have the woman’s bag under your coat?’

  No response.

  ‘Listen. I’m trying to get this straight. The jogger came along while you were beside the body going through the bag. She told you to get to a phone, and you made a show of looking for help. You came here, to the car park, and I think you had the bag with you.’

  ‘I did – ‘s a fact.’

  ‘Good. And we know you found the guy with the mobile and he got the number and you spoke to the operator and she put you through to the police and they asked for your name and told you to wait at the scene. Right?’

  ‘Mm.’

  “This was seen by the man who owned the mobile. Must have been. So I don’t think you dumped the handbag here, with him watching. I think you took it back to the park.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So what did you do with it there?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Diamond clenched his fist. The urge was strong. Somehow he suppressed it. Warburton was barely capable of standing upright without support. The fresh air seemed to be sobering him up a little. A poke in the guts wouldn’t help. ‘Okay. We’re going to reconstruct the scene, do the walk, just like you did.’ He opened the car and took out the pack containing the vehicle service record and documents. ‘This will do for the handbag. Where did you have it? In your shirt? Under your arm?’

  Warburton took the pack in his hands, eyed it in a puzzled way, and then looked to Diamond for guidance.

  ‘We’re pretending this is the handbag.’

  ‘Ah.’

  With an effort at cooperation, Warburton lifted the flap of his jacket and shoved the documents out of sight in the front of his jeans.

  ‘Good. What next? You’ve called nine-nine-nine. Do you go back directly to the scene?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘The guy with the mobile – what did he do?’

  ‘Got in his motor and pissed off quick.’

  So much for the great British public. In all probability Warburton would have quit the scene as well if he hadn’t stupidly given his name to the operator.

  ‘So you went back to wait by the body?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Still carrying the handbag?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Let’s walk it through, then.’

  The lurcher led the way up the path. After stumbling a little and being steadied, Warburton began to move rather better. Diamond was trying to think himself into this man’s befuddled brain on the day of the shooting. There was this short period before the patrol car responded to the call. The jogger had moved on and the man with the mobile hadn’t wanted to get involved. This, surely, was the opportunity to see what was in the handbag, remove any money, and then get rid of the bag before the police arrived. But where?

  In the open area beside the bandstand a man was helping a child fly a kite, obviously unaware that someone had been murdered in this place. Victoria Park was back to normal. Life had moved on. Diamond had seen it happen before when murder scenes were reclaimed for everyday use, watched the families of victims unable to understand how the rest of the world could be so unfeeling.

  They reached the spot where Steph had fallen. That sad bunch of flowers was still in place, yellow tulips spread wide, roses dropping their petals.

  ‘Right. You came back here. You had a few minutes in hand. Was this when you helped yourself to the money?’


  Warburton didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m giving you a chance. Tell me what you did with the bag and I may not charge you with theft.’

  The last word sank in. Warburton looked about him as if coming out of a trance and then started walking to the left side of the bandstand where one of the Empress Josephine’s vases stood. He reached under his shirt and tugged out the document wallet. ‘Want me to chuck it in there?’

  ‘In the vase?’ The great stone amphora was large enough to take a dozen handbags. Surely the searchers had looked inside. Or was it possible they’d been so absorbed in their fingertip search of the shrubbery, lawns and car park that they’d omitted something so screamingly obvious?

  ‘If you’re wasting my time ‘Not.’

  Diamond stepped over the railing, pushed aside an overgrown rose bush and climbed on the plinth. Put an arm into the huge vase and groped around. Dead leaves, for sure. He felt for something more solid and brought out a rust-covered lager can and chucked it angrily aside. The lurcher chased it.

  ‘There’s no bag here, you berk.’

  ‘Some bleeder took it, then.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ He climbed down, scratching his hand on the rose. ‘Where is it, Warburton?’

  ‘It was in there. I swear.’

  ‘You don’t even remember, you piss artist. Give me that.’ He grabbed his car documents. ‘Find your own way home. I’ve wasted enough time.’ He turned and marched back to the car, angry and disappointed.

  Driving home, he tried telling himself that it hadn’t been totally fruidess. He was sure now that Warburton had taken the money. Probably the bag had been slung into the river, or a builder’s skip. It might yet turn up.

  The frustration was that he’d appeared to be succeeding where McGarvie had failed. The bag could have been lying inside that pesky vase.

  He was halfway to Weston when he thought of the obvious. Talk about Warburton’s bosky state: what kind of state was he in?

  He did a fast, illegal U-turn, and drove back to the park.