Authors: Peter Lovesey
Diamond pocketed his phone and helped himself to a warm sausage roll. The business end of the investigation was working out as he had expected, some compensation for his wrong assumptions earlier. Royston had surfaced at the Tasker house while the funeral was in progress. The murder weapon was now in police hands. It could be test-fired and used in evidence. Sean Willis had declared his intent by arriving at the house with a key. He’d always seemed a character with a secret.
The family member who was acting as host appeared with a plate of sandwiches. ‘You know it’s a free bar?’
‘I do,’ Diamond said, ‘but I’m limiting myself.’
‘Diet?’
‘Duty, actually.’
‘But you’ll have a sandwich?’
‘Thanks.’ He took two. ‘Are you related to Harry?’
‘I’m Gordon, married to one of his sisters, Agnes – going round with the spring rolls. Sad occasion. I believe you caught the son of a bitch who did this.’
‘Not yet.’ Diamond said.
‘Oh?’ Gordon’s eyebrows popped up. ‘I heard he was in the cells. Some foreigner shooting you chaps more or less at random, just because you represent law and order.’
‘He shot the other two, not Harry.’
Gordon almost dropped the sandwiches. ‘How on earth can that be?’
‘Everyone assumed all three crimes were by the same hand, me included, for a time. It’s what we were meant to think, that the so-called Somerset Sniper shot Harry as well. Harry wasn’t shot at random. It was deliberate.’
‘And you know who did this?’
‘We do. And an arrest is expected shortly.’ He turned his head to check who was still there. ‘Have you seen my colleagues, the three guys in uniform?’
‘They had to leave, unfortunately. Something about duties.’
‘Ah.’ A little of Diamond’s laid-back manner ebbed away.
‘They had a drink and a bite to eat. You’re not rushing off too, I hope?’
‘Not yet, but I must make a phone call.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ Gordon appeared glad he had the plate in his hand as a reason to move away. You meet some strange people at funerals.
A minute later, Diamond spotted the neighbour Betty’s enormous black hat and went over to where she was standing with Emma. ‘Excellent choice of pub,’ he said. ‘Do you use it much?’
The question was addressed more to Emma than Betty. ‘Not often. Harry wasn’t one for going out, as I told you.’
Betty then used what was becoming her catch-phrase. ‘I’m off.’
Emma said quickly, ‘There’s no need.’
‘There is, dear,’ Betty told her. ‘A pressing need, to put it delicately.’ She left at speed.
With Emma to himself, Diamond said, ‘Nearly over, then.’
She remained in control. ‘Just about.’ Then she gave him an opening for a polite leave-taking. ‘It was good of you to come.’
Leaving wasn’t in his plans. ‘I wondered why you invited me.
Aside from the obvious fact that I’m charming enough to make a success of any occasion, however sad, what could I possibly contribute? I’ve worked it out.’
‘You’d better tell me,’ she said, but her gaze was elsewhere.
‘As I’m here, I can’t possibly be somewhere else – keeping watch on your house.’
‘Is that so?’ she said with only a slight show of interest.
‘In the force we look after our own, as I don’t have to tell you’ he said. ‘It’s one of those sad reflections on humanity that people’s homes sometimes get broken into while they are out at events such as this. I couldn’t keep an eye on your place myself, so I sent a few of my team.’
She frowned slightly. ‘To my house?’
‘You needn’t worry,’ he said. ‘All’s well. They’ve been in touch. You had a visitor, but apparently he was expected. He knew where to find the front door key. Under the mat, right? Young Royston let himself in, picked up something belonging to him and left.’
Emma didn’t comment.
‘One of the many items Harry confiscated in the course of duty. Your husband had his own unofficial way of keeping the streets safe.’
She appeared unmoved.
‘You made an arrangement with the boy, didn’t you?’ Diamond went on. ‘Royston had been pestering you ever since he knew Harry was no more. I saw him near your house on Tuesday when you asked me over. He almost knocked me down making his escape on the motorbike. Decent of you to put his mind at rest. His father is a scary man and of course the rifle belonged to his father. And it suited you to send it back to where it belonged. A neat solution.’
Now Emma said with more of her old thrust, ‘This is neither the time nor the place.’
‘There’s never a time or place,’ he said, matching her steel. ‘The funeral’s over. We’ve taken leave of Harry in a civilised way. You’re ex-police yourself. You know I have a job to do.’
But Emma wasn’t interested in hearing any more. She shook her head so violently that the thick, black hair briefly covered her face. Then she took a sidestep and darted past him at a rate he hadn’t expected, around a table of startled mourners and out through the gate at the bottom of the garden.
Diamond could have used those three officers who had left early. Alone, he wasn’t sure he could cope. Pursuing Emma would
be next to impossible. There wasn’t time to get on the phone for reinforcements. He’d already lost sight of her.
But it struck him that one thing was in his favour. She’d get no further than the river. Wide and deep, it flowed parallel to the road. Going after her might, after all, be worth it. A few hundred yards, no more.
He crossed the garden at the best speed he could, followed through the gate, across rough ground below the Argos car park, and saw her veer towards the right.
Why that direction?
He’d miscalculated.
The iron bridge.
A narrow, one-way track called Midland Road snaked down to the river and provided a crossing. It was used mainly by vehicles heading south to the Lower Bristol Road.
To chase, or not to chase? For the present his damaged leg was holding him up. He couldn’t rely on it.
Ahead, Emma had reached the brick wall that separated the open ground from Midland Road. It looked high for her, but she was agile. At the second attempt she drew herself up, clambered over and dropped out of sight.
Diamond lumbered after her, taking shallow breaths. He actually caught up a little while she was scaling the wall. Being taller, he reckoned he’d find it less of a barrier. He attacked it at his best speed, grabbed the top, hauled himself up and over, making sure as he dropped that he didn’t land on the sore leg.
She’d already put more space between them and she was still running strongly. Catching her would be a lost cause once she was across the river. The iron bridge came up sooner than he expected. Dry-mouthed and gasping, he watched her dash under the first arched strut without looking back, her dark hair rising and falling.
What now? Phone for reinforcements? Wave down a car? Any more delay and she’d be out of sight again. The Lower Bristol Road gave her options of side streets that made any pursuit pointless. He was forced to flog himself harder and try and keep her in sight.
He reached the bridge and trudged across at the best speed he could. He remembered that on the opposite side of the river the road made a sharp left turn. She was about to vanish from view.
Then chance threw in a different possibility. A silver van ahead of Emma braked and signalled as if to go right.
Right?
The turn was left. What was going on?
Emma hesitated, and at first Diamond thought the driver was stopping to pick her up. He was wrong. On the right side, a gate had opened in the tall metal fence at the angle of the bend and the van was driving through. Emma had seen the opportunity of following it off the road and into the large yard beyond.
That was her choice. She nipped through that gate faster than the van.
As Diamond approached, someone was in the act of slamming it shut.
‘Leave it,’ he shouted with as much voice as he had left.
He came to a juddering halt when the gate slammed in his face. It was a barrier built with security in mind, set into ten-foot fencing and topped with barbed wire. The man on the other side was threading through a chain and padlock.
‘Police,’ Diamond said in a gasp. ‘Open up again.’ He felt for his ID and shoved it at the mesh barrier.
After an unendurable pause for thought, the gatekeeper allowed Diamond through.
By this time, Emma was not in sight.
He stood in uncertainty, wondering if she had turned sharp right and doubled back to the river. From there she could scramble down the steep bank to a narrow footpath.
He covered the few yards to check. No one was down there. She hadn’t chosen this escape route. So where was she?
Again he took stock of his surroundings. Then his heart pumped in his chest as if it was ready to burst out. So intent had he been on watching Emma run away from him that he’d missed the biggest thing in view inside this compound, the thing nobody could fail to miss: the gasholder. The enormous buff-coloured cylinder in its rusty iron framework dominated the scene this side of the Avon. In the heyday of the Bath Gas, Light and Coke Company, the fuel had been brought up the river in barges and three gasholders had stood expanding and contracting to meet the demands of the entire city.
He had spotted a movement near the base. A small figure in black was on the lowest section of the iron surround moving up a diagonal traverse that was evidently a set of steps.
He broke into a stiff-legged run again, powered by the knowledge that this was the end of the line for Emma, She had trapped herself. He would catch her now.
Then his confidence plunged again. The yard containing the gasholder and some brick buildings was enclosed by yet more metal fencing. So much security. How the hell had she got through? As he got closer he saw the gate open to admit the same silver van that had passed through the other entrance. Gratefully he hobbled through.
At the base of the gasholder steps, he took out his phone.
John Leaman answered.
‘Emma Tasker is climbing up the gasholder in Twerton. Don’t ask. Get a patrol here fast.’
He grasped the hand-rail and looked up. She had already scaled the first level and was on the narrow landing staring down at him.
‘It’s all over, Emma,’ he shouted up. ‘Better come down.’
Her response was to run to the next staircase and start on the next set of steps. What was she thinking of?
With a chilling certainty, he knew. She meant to throw herself off.
He had no other choice than to follow, if only to reason with her. The steps were a severe test for his knees after all the running. He toiled upwards to the first landing.
‘Emma, this is crazy,’ he yelled. ‘You’re going nowhere.’
Altogether there were four staircases and three landings. She stopped halfway up and turned again to watch him.
He continued upwards. And so did Emma. She made it to the second landing and dashed straight to the next staircase.
Soon she would reach the exposed section above the top tier of the great metal cylinder. The gasholder itself was about one-third below capacity. The supporting framework rose much higher, into space.
And she was still climbing.
Far from certain if he had a head for heights like this, Diamond continued to mount the steps, even when he could only see daylight instead of solid metal through the spaces between. Three landings up, he gripped the handrail and drew breath. She was about to go up the final set of steps. No doubt there was a panoramic view of Bath from up here. He didn’t care to see it. He tried to focus on what his feet were doing.
There came a point more than a hundred feet up when even
Emma sensed that this ascent was finite. A few steps short of the crown of the entire structure, she came to a halt. Diamond was following slowly now and he hadn’t faltered, but he made sure he stopped a safe distance from her feet.
Down at ground level he hadn’t been conscious of any wind at all. Up here, it tugged at his clothes and rasped his face.
Even with the rushing in his eardrums, he thought it possible to exchange words, extraordinary as the situation would be. He needed to get his breath first, and find a way of keeping Emma from panicking.
No threat. No confrontation. Get her talking.
Finally he managed to say, ‘You should have brought the three sleuths up here.’
‘I didn’t think of it,’ she said.
He was encouraged that she was willing to speak at all.
‘You read the blog, then?’ she said. ‘Someone told you about it?’
‘They did.’
‘What do you think?’ She was keen to get an opinion on her imaginative effort. She wanted praise.
‘Compulsive reading once I got into it,’ he said. ‘You must have started writing it some time before Harry was shot.’
‘At least a week.’
Which left no question that the murder was premeditated, but he chose not to say so at this juncture. ‘You’ve got a lively imagination. It was clever, the way you wove in the clues about Bath and Wells and Radstock towards the end. I soon cottoned on that the real story you wanted to get across was about Tim, pointing the finger at a fictitious man.’
‘He wasn’t entirely fiction,’ she said.
‘All right, there were elements of Harry in the character, the non-communication and so on, but Harry wasn’t ex-army and the only outings he had at night were when he was on beat duty. You wanted us to read the blog and think Tim was the Somerset Sniper.’
‘Did I?’
How bizarre is this? he thought, trying to analyse a work of fiction on a rusty old staircase a hundred feet off the ground. But his show of interest seemed to be working. She’d invested a lot in the blog and this was her chance to find out how well she’d succeeded. Keep talking, he told himself. Pitch it calmly and she may not think about jumping.
‘So let’s sum up the real situation. When we first met and I informed you Harry was dead, you were straight with me, remarkably straight. You let me know it was a failed marriage. He was a non-communicator with no ambition and when he was off work he slumped in front of the telly or went fishing. You convinced me you were an honest, hard-done-by woman. It didn’t cross my mind that you had a lover, not until much later. I only twigged when I spoke to one of his neighbours, the blonde on the ground floor. She told me Sean Willis had a night visitor sometimes. Was that while Harry was on the night shift?’