“Talked, yes. I told him what the policewoman said and what I’d said.”
“And then?”
“He told me he was going away.”
“Where to?”
“Didn’t say. Business things.”
“Was that when he turned violent?”
“Violent?” Olga Smith repeated the word as if it was unknown to her.
“He hit you.”
“No.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Mike didn’t touch me.”
Hen exchanged a glance with Diamond. Was the episode erased from Olga’s memory by the concussion?
“Are you sure of this?”
“He collected some things and left. I saw him drive off.”
Either Olga Smith was fantasising, or this challenged all their theories.
“You’re certain?” Diamond broke into the dialogue. “You watched him drive away? You were OK at that stage?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No.”
“He just walked out? No fight? No violence?”
“I said.”
Out of the range of Olga Smith’s restricted vision, Hen was exchanging disbelieving glances with Jimmy Barneston.
“So what happened next?” Diamond asked.
“Next?” The voice was faint again, as if she was drifting away.
“You were alone in the house, right?”
“That’s right.”
“But you ended up here, in intensive care. You don’t have any memory of being struck on the head? Or breaking your arm?”
She frowned, and a look of panic came into her eyes. Then they closed and her jaw slackened.
Hen said, “I don’t think we’ll get much more.” And as if on cue the sister appeared and ushered them outside.
In the waiting area, Jimmy Barneston said, “What did you make of that?”
“Weird,” Hen said.
“Can we put it down to confusion, or what?”
“She didn’t sound confused. She was very definite. She didn’t blame her husband at all.”
“Are we looking at someone else as the attacker, then? Someone who called at the house after the husband had driven away?”
“Hard to believe,” Hen said.
Diamond was unusually silent. A possible explanation was surfacing, but he needed to check something first. “I’ll be right back.” He left them and returned to the ward.
At his approach the sister stepped protectively forward. “I’m sorry. I said no more questions. She’s had all she can cope with.”
“It’s you I want to speak to,” he said. “When she came in, did you send for her medical records?”
“They’re confidential.”
“Absolutely. But we’re trying to establish whether she was attacked, whether the head injury was caused by someone else, or was accidental. I’m wondering if she’s epileptic.”
“Is this relevant to your investigation?”
“Vital,” he said. “It may well explain the injury, if she suffered a fit.”
“Epileptics don’t very often injure themselves,” the sister said. “They bite their tongues sometimes. This is an impacted blow to the head.”
“She was found beside a table. If her head hit the corner as she collapsed…”
“That’s possible.” She hesitated, and glanced towards the room where Olga Smith was lying. Finally she sighed and said, “Yes, if it helps, I can confirm that Mrs Smith has a history of epilepsy. That’s one more reason why we’re treating her as a special case.”
“Thank you.”
When he passed on the news to the others and they’d had time to absorb it, Hen said, “Who would have thought it?”
Barneston said with a sidewards glance at Diamond that was not too admiring, “He did, obviously.”
She told Diamond, “You could be right about the husband as well. He may not even know his wife is injured.”
Barneston agreed. “If she can be believed, she saw him drive off. She’ll have had the epileptic fit after he left. Have you any idea why he came home at all?”
Diamond told him about the bank statement they’d found. “If the cash deposits are dodgy, as we suspect, he could have panicked.”
“That’s more than likely,” Barneston said. “It’s got to be followed up. And I’m even more doubtful that Michael Smith has anything to do with the killing of Emma Tysoe.” He held out a hand to Diamond. “Good luck with the investigation. You need it.”
After he’d gone, Hen asked Diamond, “What do you make of him?”
“Young for a DCI.”
“They’re getting younger all the time,” she said, grinning. “Too brash for your liking? Plenty of people think so, but he gets results.”
“That’s all right, then.”
“You’re not going to commit yourself, are you?”
“Does he wear suits all the time?”
“Whenever I’ve seen him,” Hen said.
“He makes an impression.”
“But you’re not going to say what sort?”
He smiled faintly and looked away. In his years in CID, he’d seen a few meteors rising high. They looked brilliant for a time, and then they fizzled out. A shooting star is just a small mass of matter made luminous by the earth’s atmosphere. But maybe Jimmy Barneston had more substance to him. Time would tell.
Hen asked, “Was that just a hunch?”
“What?”
“The epilepsy. What made you suspect Olga Smith might be epileptic?”
“The driving ban. At first, I took it to mean she’d been banned by the courts, but I checked with Swansea, and there’s no record of her ever having had a licence. So it crossed my mind that the ban could be on medical grounds. No epileptic can get a licence.”
11
Mr D?”
Diamond squeezed the mobile against his ear, as if more “ pressure would help. He’d heard the voice before, and it was friendly enough, yet he couldn’t put a face to it. “Yes?”
“Is this a good time?”
“A good time for what, my friend?”
“I mean, are you on your own?”
“I am.”
“I thought I ought to tell you I had some visitors this afternoon, two heavies from the CCU.”
The modern over-reliance on initials was enough to drive anyone down the paranoia road. “You’re losing me.”
“The Computer Crime Unit.”
The penny dropped-twice. This was Clive, the computer expert.
“What did they want?”
“They, em”-a long pause-“they seized Dr Tysoe’s hard disk.”
“What-the thing you’re working on?” This was devastating. “For crying out loud, Clive. Didn’t you stop them?”
“I couldn’t do that. They’re part of SO6.”
This was one abbreviation he recognised. “The Fraud Squad.”
“That’s who they work for, but they handle any kind of computer crime. They said they had authority, waved some piece of paper in front of me. It was no use arguing.”
The moguls at Bramshill were behind this, he guessed. If Jimmy Barneston were the instigator, he would have mentioned it, surely. “We’re down the pan, then. And I suppose you were still trying to crack the code?”
“It’s a brute, Mr D. The geeks in the CCU can give themselves a headache now, can’t they?”
“You didn’t succeed, then?”
“Sorry. No.”
“I was banking on you, Clive.”
“I put some hours in, believe me. I could save those guys some time by telling them what doesn’t work, but I guess they want to find out for themselves.”
Diamond said with a sigh, “I’m whacked-flat out on the canvas with my eyes closed.”
Taking him at his word Clive made a silent count of five before asking, “Do you want me to stop now?”
“What?”
“Should I give up?”
“But you have to, if they’ve got the disk.”
Clive said in the same calm tone, “It’s all right, Mr D. I can use the zip.”
“The what?”
“The zip disk. It’s a back-up of everything on the hard disk. I wouldn’t do a job like this without at least one back-up. I can carry on trying to decrypt those files if you want.”
With one bound…
Mightily relieved, Diamond asked, “Do the Fraud Squad know you’ve got this copy?”
“They’d expect it. I’d have to be a complete nerd not to back up something as important as this.”
“Get back to it, then. Pull out all the stops, or whatever you do with computers. You’re still ahead, lad. You’ve done all this work already.”
“What do you mean-‘ahead’? We’re all on the same side, aren’t we, Mr D?”
“Don’t push me, Clive.”
He told Hen the news over a cup of tea made and served by the WRVS in the main waiting area of Crawley General Hospital. The next moves had to be discussed.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “Bramshill gave Dr Tysoe the job, so they’re entitled to know what progress she made. The files could tell them.”
“I might be reading too much into this, but I thought it was a cynical move to stop us finding out stuff they want to keep secret.”
“Such as?”
“The names of the two other people this killer is out to get. She could have named them.”
“Let’s hope she did. And let’s hope your computer wizard delivers.” Hen gave an unexpected chuckle. “It would be a hoot, wouldn’t it, if this encrypted stuff turns out to be some other secret enterprise she was working on, like a thirty-something novel? Or erotic poetry?”
He winced. “You’re not helping my confidence.”
“Look on the bright side,” she said. “A window into Emma Tysoe’s thinking will be fascinating, whatever’s there. Up to now I haven’t felt I know her.”
“Me neither.”
“It could be a diary. We might get all the dirt on the Psychology Department.”
“Spare me that. I had five hours in the car with Dr Seton. I can only take so much.”
But he was forced to agree that Emma Tysoe’s university colleagues had to be investigated further. And Hen promised to make another effort with the beach staff at Bognor, the lifeguard and the car park attendants and café staff.
Hen was stubbing out her cigar prior to leaving when one of the tea ladies came over to the table and asked if they were from the police.
“At your service, ma’am,” Diamond said, uncertain what was coming next.
“Because we just took a phone call from Sister Thomas in intensive care. She said would you please go back directly?”
Diamond saw the flash of alarm in Hen’s eyes. Tragedy had leapt into his mind as well. No words were exchanged. They got up from the table and moved fast to the exit.
The sister was waiting for them outside the intensive care unit.
“Thank God you’re still here.”
“Bad news, Sister?”
“We had a man here.”
“What?” Neither of them had anticipated this.
“Just a few minutes ago. He came to the desk insisting he was the patient’s husband, and I think he was, because she seemed to recognise him. We were very alarmed, knowing the circumstances.”
“Couldn’t you stop him?” Hen said.
“I tried. I told him visitors weren’t allowed. He didn’t get really close to her. There was a bit of a scuffle as he tried to go past me. He shouted her name from the door and then he left. I called Crawley police, and then I thought you might still be here, because I heard you say something about tea as you were leaving.”
“What’s he like?” Diamond asked.
“Dark-haired, thirtyish. He could do with a shave.”
“He went which way?”
She pointed along the corridor. “And he’s in a rather crumpled black or grey striped suit.”
“Can he get to the car park that way?”
“Yes.”
Diamond started running.
The big man in quick motion was a danger to the public. In his rugby-playing days faint-hearted defenders had been known to step aside claiming they were sold a dummy when he charged at them. In a hospital corridor he was a potentially lethal force, dodging wheelchairs and trolleys and patients on crutches. Convincing himself this was for the greater good, and he was in control, he powered ahead, bursting through swing doors and around corners trusting to God he wouldn’t meet a freshly plastered leg-case being wheeled towards him like a scene out of a Charlie Chaplin classic.
By good fortune he made it to the main exit without mishap and dashed along a covered walkway towards what looked like one of the main car parks. Michael Smith had the use of a car, and it was likely he’d driven here after hearing that his wife was in intensive care.
Three hundred or more cars were parked in neat rows and others were in the aisles waiting for spaces. It was the time late in the afternoon when out-patients were leaving and visitors arriving. A few pedestrians were visible, but nobody remotely like the tall, mean-looking man Diamond knew he ought to recognise from the photo in his pocket.
He slowed to a walk and stopped altogether, catching his breath. The chase was over. The sister’s estimate of a few minutes must have been unreliable. Or Smith had slipped out by some other route.
More cars were streaming in on the far side, through a gate system that seemed unable to prevent the congestion. Diamond watched the striped arm go up and down a couple of times before realising it could be his salvation. A pay system was in operation here. Each driver had to pay something at the automatic exit. So there was only one way out-and it was possible Smith hadn’t got there yet.
Another dash, this time across the car park among slow moving, but still hazardous vehicles. Twice he had to swerve around a reversing car as if he was handing off a tackle. But it was worth the risk. At the exit was a queue of five or six waiting to pay, and the fourth in line was a white Honda Civic. Heart and lungs pounding, he approached the driver. Definitely the man in the photo. And the car couldn’t move out of line.
Smith had his window down. One look at Diamond’s warrant card said it all. He knew he was caught. Without any conviction he said, “What’s up?”
Diamond told him to switch off the engine and step out.
The questioning took place in a room normally used by the hospital almoner, with flowers on the desk and holiday posters on the walls-a distinct improvement on the average police interview room. This was a coup for Diamond and Hen. They would hand the prisoner over to Crawley police at the end of the day, but they had first crack at him.
Tired and scruffy, Smith now appeared not so mean, or guarded, as he had in the photographs. He’d evidently slept in the suit. But to his credit he seemed to have some concern about his wife’s condition.
“Is she going to be all right?”
“They think so,” Hen said.
“She fell and cracked her head, didn’t she? Do they know she’s epileptic? You can never tell when a fit is going to happen.”
“She’s going to be fine,” Diamond said. “But you’re under strong suspicion.”
“Of what?”
“Attacking her.”
His eyes stood out like cuckoo eggs. “Me, attack Olga? I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“You were seen at the house yesterday afternoon. She was found there later when your daughter came home from school.”
“I’m not violent, I tell you.”
“You’ve got to tell us a whole lot more than that. Where were you last night?”
“Does it matter what I was doing? You’re way off beam if you think I had anything to do with this.”
“Answer the question, Mr Smith.”
He sighed as if all this were too tedious to relate. “I drove miles, and slept in the car. Salisbury Plain, I think. When I turned on the radio
about midday I heard someone say Olga was injured and in Crawley General and they were looking for me. I drove here to try and see her.”
“Why were you on the run if you’re innocent?”
“That’s something else.”
“Come on. We’re not arsing about here.”
“I panicked. That’s all.”
“Why? What is there to panic about?”
“She told me on the phone the police had been to the house.”
“Is that so scary? What’s the scam, Mr Smith? What have you been up to?”
He shook his head. Suddenly the eyes were more defiant than panic-stricken. It was obvious he wasn’t going to roll over easily.
Diamond gave Hen an enquiring look, a slight lift of the eyebrows that said, in effect, shall we pursue this? Whatever racket Smith is in, banking large amounts of cash, there are more urgent matters to discuss before DI Bradley arrives.
Hen nodded. They had a good understanding already.
Diamond said, “You know there’s a lot of interest in the dead woman who was found on Wightview Sands beach?”
Smith stared back in alarm.
“We’re in charge of that investigation.”
“You’re not trying to swing that on me?”
“You’re a key witness. You called the lifeguard, I understand.”
“Yes.”
“And then you quit the scene. And you haven’t responded to any of the calls for help.”
“I couldn’t tell you anything. I didn’t want to get involved.”
“For the same reason you spent last night on the run?”
“Well, yes.” He held out his hands in appeal. “But what do you expect from me? All I did was tell the lifeguard guy she was down there and helped him lift her off the beach and into a hut, and then I left.”
The next logical step was to remind him that he’d been requested to remain until the police arrived, but this wasn’t a blame session. They needed cooperation.
“Now we’ve got you here, can you tell us anything else about the dead woman? Did you notice her before this?”
He took his time over the question. That day on the beach had been obscured by more vivid recent experiences. “She was there most of the day. Arrived not long after we did, around eleven thirty, I suppose.”
“Alone?”
“Sure. There was no one with her.”
The House Sitter Page 14
