Peter Diamond - 09 - The Secret Hangman (3 page)

Diamond nodded. ‘So shall we speak inside?’

The interior was open plan, a vast space with toys for all the family: giant teddies, an exercise bike, plasma television, a music system and the grand piano. Corcoran led them across the wood floor to an area with a large Afghan rug surrounded by sofas.

‘This is bad news, I take it. Is it the worst?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Diamond sketched the circumstances. He said he couldn’t say for certain that the woman in the park was Delia Williamson, but she closely resembled the photos.

People given news of sudden death are often reduced to one-word questions – When? Where? How? – and this was how it played with Ashley Corcoran. No hint of foreknowledge. He was cool, as Ingeborg had said, yet anxious to hear precisely what had been discovered.

‘I’ll be asking you to identify her later,’ Diamond said. ‘Probably not today.’

‘Is she still . . . ?’

‘Being driven to Bristol by now.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘The post-mortem.’

‘I see.’ Still cool.

‘There are two daughters, I’m told.’

‘At school until three thirty.’ Corcoran raked a hand through his hair. ‘Oh, God, I’ll have to tell them.’

‘That had better wait until we’re a hundred per cent certain. What about their father. Where’s he?’

‘I said I’ll tell them. They treat me as their dad.’

‘Yes, but he’s got to be informed.’

‘I guess you’re right.’ Corcoran’s thoughts were played out on his face. ‘This changes everything.’

‘Has he been seeing his daughters?’

‘He’s written them off.’

‘I gather you don’t know his surname or present address?’

‘Danny? No idea.’

‘Would Delia have it written down somewhere?’

‘Can’t say. Far as I know, she hasn’t heard from him in years.’ He opened his hands in appeal. ‘Listen, I can keep the girls, can’t I?’

‘They’ll need someone else, at least while things are sorted out. Their grandmother sounds like a caring person. She was the one who notified us that Delia was missing.’

‘Amanda’s OK,’ he said. ‘A worry-guts, that’s all.’

Diamond moved the conversation on. ‘Is it possible Delia left a suicide note somewhere in the house? Nothing was found in the park.’

‘I haven’t seen one.’

‘Have you looked? I understand you weren’t too concerned that she went missing.’

He shifted in his seat. ‘That makes me sound uncaring. I didn’t dream she’d do anything like this.’

‘Was there an argument before she left?’

‘No. We were fine.’

‘But she lives here. Has she gone missing before?’

‘We don’t keep tabs on each other.’ Corcoran sighed. ‘Look, I’m a musician. I’m on a deadline for a new TV drama. I work unsocial hours, right? I find night-time is the most creative. We don’t see so much of each other when I’m working.’

‘Are you saying you didn’t notice she was gone?’

He shrugged. ‘The first I knew was when Amanda called me yesterday afternoon.’

‘Excuse me butting in, guv,’ Ingeborg said, unable to stay silent, ‘but what about the girls? How did they get to school in the morning?’

Corcoran said, ‘We have a Filipino girl who helps out. She comes in at seven and sees them off with a packed lunch. Then she comes back and does some housework until midday.’

Diamond asked, ‘And what’s Delia doing in the morning?’

‘She sleeps in.’

‘Doesn’t she have a job?’

‘Waitress, in Tosi’s, the Italian restaurant just up the street from here.’

Diamond’s spirits took a plunge. A simple case was suddenly complicated by Italian waiters and restaurant customers. ‘Full-time?’

‘Six evenings a week.’

He looked around at the expensive furnishings. ‘Did she need the money?’

‘She didn’t want to be kept, as she put it.’

‘From what you were saying earlier, am I right in thinking she had her own room? If so, could we take a look at it?’

A gallery extended around three sides of the upper level and the bedrooms led off it. Delia had a walk-in dressing room and en-suite bath and shower. The bed was queensize with an empire-style arrangement of drapes on the wall at the head. The quilt had been thrown back and a nightdress tossed across the pillows. Underclothes were scattered on top of a basket inside the door. These signs of occupation made Delia Williamson seem more real than the corpse in the park.

‘I respected her privacy,’ Corcoran said. ‘This is the first time I’ve looked in here since she went missing, except on the afternoon her mother phoned. I put my head round the door in case she was ill, or something.’

‘We all kiss goodbye to privacy when we die.’ Diamond pulled open a drawer of the bedside cupboard and told Ingeborg. ‘See what you can find.’

Almost at once she handed him two birth certificates. The children’s names were Sharon and Sophie. More importantly, the full name of their father was Daniel Geaves.

They traced Geaves to an address in Freshford, a village between Bath and Bradford on Avon best known to Diamond for its pub, named logically enough the Inn at Freshford. He’d been there a couple of times with Steph.

Ingeborg did the driving again. Unfortunately the man they had come to see was not at home. The cottage he rented looked as if it hadn’t been used for some days, and the neighbour said she hadn’t seen him all week. Diamond had a hunch, he told Ingeborg, that someone at the inn might have some information.

What he didn’t tell her was that his hunches rarely amounted to anything. His real purpose in going in was a late lunch of fish and chips. The landlord said Danny came in sometimes, but never stayed long. He’d take his drink and a packet of crisps to an empty table. He usually had a paper with him and did the crossword.

Afterwards they took their drinks outside and sat on the wall of the packhorse bridge listening to the ripple and gurgle of the Avon. Across a green field, the steep side of the Limpley Stoke Valley was covered in lush foliage. ‘Not bad, eh?’ he said. ‘Better than watching your friend Dr Sealy doing a post-mortem.’

‘Give me a break, guv. He’s no friend of mine. He’s pathetic.’

‘I can’t disagree with that.’

Ingeborg took a sip of lager and stared down at the waterweeds rippling in the flow. ‘I don’t know if it’s me, but the blokes who seem to fancy me are the ones I’d rather avoid.’

He was reminded of his secret admirer. For one mad moment he considered taking the letter from his inside pocket and showing it to Ingeborg, but the moment slipped by.

Back in Manvers Street what passed for an incident room was more like the quiet room in a silent order. Halliwell was hand-feeding a pigeon on the window ledge.

‘What progress?’ Diamond said, trying to energise someone.

Halliwell turned and said, ‘
What
progress?’

One of the civilian computer operators said, ‘There’s something on your desk, Mr Diamond.’

‘Desk work. That’s not progress,’ he said. ‘That’s punishment.’ He went into his office to look.

He’d never had anything so organised as an in-tray. Items for attention were heaped on his desk. On top now was a parcel with
THIS WAY UP
written in large letters and his name underneath. No address. It was wrapped in brown paper fastened with Sellotape and was about the size and shape of a box file. One end had been unsealed. Nothing suspicious about that: every package was security-checked downstairs. More damned paperwork, he guessed, though why it was done up as a parcel he couldn’t fathom. He picked the thing up and was relieved to find it didn’t weigh too heavily. He put it to one side and looked to see what else had come in.

Three pages of minutes from a meeting he’d managed to miss of the Police and Community Consultative Group. A reminder from Georgina that the overtime figures for last month hadn’t been presented yet. A request from the new boy, Paul Gilbert, for the firearms course. He was riding for a fall, that lad.

The rest of the heap could wait. He reached for the parcel and tore it open. Inside was a cardboard box and when he lifted the lid he found several layers of loosely crumpled red tissue paper. He removed them.

A chocolate cake.

‘What on earth?’

‘Is it your birthday, guv?’

He looked up. Ingeborg, Halliwell, Leaman, Gilbert and the civilian staff had gathered in the doorway.

‘Is this anything to do with you lot? Because I can tell you it isn’t anywhere near my birthday.’

‘We’re being nosy, that’s all,’ Halliwell said.

‘Security tipped you off, is that it?’

‘Someone thinks you deserve a treat, that’s obvious,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Is there a note with it?’

He lifted out the cake – which looked to have a black cherry filling – and went through the tissue paper and the wrappings. No message.

‘It looks yummy,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Do you like chocolate?’

‘I can take it or leave it.’ He added in an afterthought, ‘If I had a knife I’d offer some around.’

‘Got one in my drawer,’ Halliwell said almost too quickly.

‘A cake knife?’

‘A flick-knife confiscated from a nine-year-old. It’ll do.’

‘Get it then.’

‘You don’t have to, guv,’ Ingeborg said. ‘It was meant for you personally. You should take it home.’

‘And eat all of this myself? What kind of guts do you take me for?’

Halliwell did the slicing. Everyone agreed the cake went down a treat. It was rich and light-textured.

‘I don’t know when I last had chocolate cake,’ Diamond said.

‘You’ve obviously got a secret admirer,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Oops, get the boss some water.’

He was choking on the crumbs.

3

N
ext morning Diamond turned to the back page of the postmortem report, expecting it to tell him all he wanted in words he could understand. What’s the point of a summary if it doesn’t save you wading through pages of medical jargon? Dr Sealy had put it in a nutshell all right. The trouble was that he’d stated only what everyone knew, that Delia Williamson had been strangled with a ligature and later suspended from the swing. What use was that?

He phoned the hospital and was given Sealy’s mobile number. Rightly or not, he pictured the little pipsqueak taking the call at home, reclining on a sun-lounger in the garden.

‘How much later?’ he asked. ‘Was she strangled in the park and then strung up?’

‘Unlikely.’

‘We agree on that, then. Did you find any medical evidence to back this up?’

Sealy sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. ‘That’s what an autopsy is for. If you’d bothered to read my findings, you wouldn’t ask.’

‘Tell me, then.’

‘The trouble with you policemen is that you only bother with the conclusion, and then you want it all in one-syllable words. In my description of the external findings on page two, which you seem to have ignored, I mention indications of hypostasis on the right side of the back and buttocks.’

‘Hypo . . . ?’

‘. . . stasis. It wasn’t pronounced, but it was there. You have to allow for secondary gravitation, and that diminishes the effect.’

‘We’re talking about pressure marks?’

‘Essentially, yes. They show up as pale areas after a couple of hours or so in one position. If the body was suspended directly after being killed I wouldn’t expect to find hypostasis where I did.’

‘The right side, you said. As if she was lying on her side for some time?’

‘I would say so.’

‘Curled up in a car boot, perhaps?’

‘Speculation.’

‘She’d have to be transported to the park. A car is the obvious way to do it.’

‘You tell me,’ Sealy said.

‘No, I’m asking.’

‘Not my job, squire. She could have been brought there on the back of an elephant for all I know.’

‘What about the time of death?’ Diamond asked with little expectation of an answer. Even the friendliest of pathologists can be guaranteed to baulk at that one.

‘How long have you been in the job, Mr Diamond?’

‘The approximate time, then?’

‘More than three hours before I examined her at the scene. Probably less than fifteen. And now you’re going to ask me about secondary injuries, and you could have found them listed in the report if you’d bothered to read it instead of turning straight to the conclusion. There were not many. A couple of broken fingernails, but that could have happened post-mortem. She didn’t put up much of a fight. However, she was not sexually assaulted. The usual forensic tests are being carried out. If any of the killer’s DNA was recovered we’ll let you know, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

‘I’d like to bring her partner out to Bristol to make the identification.’

‘Bring who you like. I’ll be on the golf course.’

‘These days,’ Diamond said to Ashley Corcoran on the drive back from Bristol after viewing the body, ‘we have a family liaison officer to help you through a tragedy like this.’

‘I’m all right.’

‘It’s the children I’m thinking of. They’ll have to be told now we’re certain it was their mother.’

‘Sure.’

The casual attitude was not unusual. In the first few hours and days, Diamond knew from experience, the practicalities take over and you believe you can get through without anyone’s support. That stage passes.

‘If I were you, I’d ask their grandmother to be present.’

‘Sorted. They’re staying with her now.’

So the man had done something right. Those two small girls were much on Peter Diamond’s mind. Steph’s hysterectomy had meant his own marriage had been childless, but that had never stopped him empathising with other people’s kids. ‘We’ll do our best to keep our distance. But the story is going to break this afternoon. I’ll have to call a press conference.’

Corcoran turned to look at Diamond, the overconfidence replaced by creases of concern. ‘You don’t want me there?’

‘No. What I’m saying is make sure the girls are told before they see it on TV – or their friends do.’

‘I’ll do that.’

‘The press will be a pain in the arse in the first days. Take a firm line, refuse any offers to tell your story and they’ll get the idea.’

‘I’ve got sod all to say to anyone.’

‘Good. Hold fast to that.’ He let a second or two pass before adding, ‘But if you have anything helpful to tell me, I’d like it now.’

‘I’ve told you all I can.’

That old cliché wasn’t stopping Diamond. ‘We do a reconstruction of her last twenty-four hours. You’re certain, are you, that she didn’t make contact?’

‘Not with me,’ he said, ‘and not with Marietta, the child-minder.’

‘I have to ask this, Ashley. Do you have any suspicion that Delia was seeing anyone else?’

He looked away, out of the car window. ‘Oh, come on.’ But there was something in the tone that undermined the words.

‘Was she like that, one for the men?’

Corcoran scraped his fingers through his hair and gripped the ponytail. The answer was a long time coming. ‘Guys liked her. She was something. She really was. She laughed a lot. But we trusted each other, right?’

Diamond gave a nod to that ‘right’, but he wasn’t sure if Ashley Corcoran’s trust had been well founded.

‘And you’re quite certain, are you, that there wasn’t any dispute with the girls’ father about custody?’

‘Danny? He’s a jerk. He’s never shown any interest. If he surfaces now and wants them back, he can go to hell.’

‘I’d take a more cautious line if I were you. As the father, he has more rights than you.’

Back at Manvers Street police station, the investigation machine powered into motion. Extra civilian staff were brought in to deal with statements. A press conference was scheduled. Halliwell was sent to Tosi’s, the Italian restaurant where Delia had worked, to see how much they knew of her missing days. Ingeborg continued to try and trace Danny Geaves.

Georgina, the ACC, liked to think of herself as a hands-on executive. Diamond liked the high-ups to keep their hands off. ‘Leave it to me, ma’am,’ he said when she looked in for the second time that day. ‘Have I ever let you down?’

‘We’ve had our moments, Peter. I put you on to this one, remember? Amanda sings with me. What’s the motive here? Have you thought about that?’

‘I will when I get a moment,’ he said.

‘The woman was strangled first and then suspended from the swing to make it look like a hanging,’ Georgina said. ‘That’s not the behaviour of a professional crook. Any villain worthy of the name would know forensics can tell the difference. I think we’re dealing with a first-time murderer who panicked when faced with a dead body. He didn’t think it through.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind, ma’am. And now if I can get on . . .’

‘An amateur, in other words. But the motive is the problem. I don’t understand the motive.’

‘Neither do I, yet.’

‘It doesn’t seem like panic,’ she said without realising she’d just contradicted herself. ‘It wasn’t manual strangulation. He used a ligature. And it’s pretty cool to transport the body to the park and string it up, however naïve it was.’

‘It beats leaving it in his car.’

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘Neutral ground. Nothing to connect him.’

‘Good point.’ She weighed it before speaking again. ‘Perhaps he
is
a professional. This is shaping up as a beast of a case.’

‘Thanks, ma’am.’

She gave a sideways smile. ‘But I have every confidence.’ And that was her exit line.

He crossed the room to where Ingeborg was using a computer. ‘Any progress?’

She shook her head. ‘This Danny seems to have gone to ground, guv. We’ve asked at all his usual haunts. No one knows him well enough to have heard of his plans. He isn’t a loner exactly, but he gives nothing away.’

‘There’s no talk of a girlfriend?’

‘Not in Freshford anyway. He does a lot of walking, serious walking, with a backpack.’

‘I’ve seen you with a backpack and I wouldn’t call you a serious walker.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Mine is a fashion accessory.’

‘Does he work for a living?’

‘No one seems to know.’

‘See if he’s on the social.’

Keith Halliwell, when he returned from Tosi’s, had more to report. ‘Delia did her waitressing as usual on Tuesday, the night she went missing, guv.’

‘Did she now? But according to Dr Sealy she was killed Wednesday night or early Thursday morning, so where was she?’

‘That’s a mystery. I spoke to the owner, Signor Tosi himself. He said she was the best waitress he’d ever had, dependable, a lively personality and popular with the customers. He’s very emotional about the murder. Even wept a little while we were talking about it.’

‘What time did she leave after work?’

‘He thinks about eleven.’

‘Thinks?’

‘He’d already gone. His wife wasn’t well, so he left the restaurant early and his head waiter Luigi closed the place.’

‘Did you speak to this Luigi?’

‘I’m going back later. He’s on at five.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

Before that, he spoke to the entire murder squad, seated around the incident room. ‘The press are waiting downstairs and I’m going straight to them after this. What I won’t be telling them at this stage is that the victim was fun-loving, as they say, and not getting much fun from her partner. Ashley is so wrapped up in his work he doesn’t even notice when she isn’t home. She has a child-minder for her two kids, and they don’t fret when she’s away. Why? Because she’s done it before. She’s that kind of mother. She needs space, according to Ashley. We have no clue where this space was, and if it involved another man. We’re damn sure it involved someone else on the night she was strangled.’ He spread his hands. ‘Of course it won’t take the press boys long to work this out for themselves, but I want to start with the shock of the young working mum strangled at night and left hanging in the park. We’ll issue her photo and hope to get some feedback from the public. She was a waitress, so we’re sure to hear from people who remember her, who could have spotted her with a man in the hours leading up to her death. We may even get lucky and hear from someone who saw her with her killer. The phone lines are ready. It’s a crucial time and we’re up for it, right?’

The phone on his desk was beeping when he returned to his office. He gave his surname, as always.

A woman said, ‘Hi, Peter.’

He couldn’t place the voice, but she seemed to know him and she wasn’t going to help by saying her name.

‘Er, hi.’

‘So how was the cake?’

‘What?’

‘They did give it to you?’

‘Ah.’ The response was verging on ‘arrgh’ now he realised who was on the line. After the rousing speech to his squad he was in no mood for trivial chat with his secret admirer.

‘It was meant for you.’ She paused, and her tone changed. ‘The blighters. If they had it themselves, I’m going to raise hell.’ She was ready to go to war with the desk team downstairs.

He had to deal with this. ‘Oh – the cake?’ All experience told him to say the minimum, but he’d been trained in good manners since he was a kid. After clearing your plate you say thanks. He’d eaten the damned cake and forgotten it. Where was his gratitude? ‘Am I speaking to the lady who made it? Very tasty. The cake, I mean.’

She laughed.

He didn’t. He wasn’t trying to be amusing.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m not fishing for compliments. I know I’m not the greatest cook.’

The good manners took over again. ‘Everyone said it was the best. I shared it round.’

‘You should have taken it home.’

‘I did – what was left of it.’

‘Let’s not talk about the wretched cake,’ she said. ‘You’re not daft. You know who I am.’

‘Do I?’

‘The woman you didn’t meet at the Saracen’s last night. Did my letter put you off?’

‘It’s nothing to do with your letter, nothing personal,’ he said. ‘That’s the point. It can’t be personal because I don’t know you. And you certainly don’t know me, or you wouldn’t bother.’

She wasn’t giving up yet. ‘I told you quite a bit about myself in the letter.’

‘Yes, ma’am, and now I know you make a fine chocolate cake, but it doesn’t mean we’d enjoy a drink together.’

‘Why not? We haven’t tried.’

He was getting annoyed. ‘Because I don’t do that stuff.’

‘What stuff?’

‘Going out with women I haven’t met.’

‘But how do I get to meet you? I’d really like to.’

‘Sorry, ma’am, but it’s not going to happen. Goodbye.’ He hung up.

Confused emotions churned inside. He felt mean, heavy-handed, unchivalrous. She’d gone out of her way to be friendly and he’d slapped her down. But she had no right to demand a meeting. He was entitled to say no, wasn’t he?

He went straight out. There was serious work to be done. The little voice inside him said Diamond you’re a coward, walking away from the phone in case she tries again.