The Vault

by Peter Lovesey

  "Which hotels?"

  "You name it. The Hilton, the Francis, the Bath Spa. You can check. They'll remember me."

  "That was in the afternoon?"

  "All day, from eleven on."

  "Until…?"

  "Until my feet cried out for mercy. Do you have any idea how many hotels there are? I got back around five, I guess. Sat in the bath tub for a long time. Had a meal on room service. Watched television until I was falling asleep in the chair."

  "Make any phone calls?"

  He shook his head.

  "Did you see Chief Inspector Wigfull at any stage yesterday?"

  "You don't give up, do you? No, I did not."

  "And now you're proposing to leave Bath and join your wife in Paris?"

  "Tomorrow. You don't have to sound so grudging. I'm a free agent."

  "Where is she staying?"

  "The Ritz. Donna doesn't do things by halves."

  "Have you made your travel arrangements?"

  "Sure. I'm catching the 10.28 to London tomorrow morning. I booked a seat on the Eurostar train."

  "Without Mary Shelley's writing box?"

  He rolled his eyes upwards. "Don't break my heart. I wish I knew what happened to that."

  Before leaving the hotel, Diamond checked on room service to the John Wood suite. An evening meal of asparagus soup, sole meuniere and fresh strawberries and cream had been logged at 6.20 p.m. Saturday. "It still leaves him out of the hotel for long enough to attack John Wigfull and get back," he commented to Leaman.

  "He'd need transport, sir."

  "There and back. Don't say it-the logistics are difficult. If we knew for sure when the attack took place, it would help. My feeling is that it happened in daylight. Wigfull would know there isn't much point in chasing a wanted man across fields after dark."

  "Maybe the house-to-house will turn something up," Leaman said.

  "Maybe." Diamond hadn't much confidence.

  Wiltshire Police were at present knocking on doors to find a witness who had seen someone on the footpath over the fields, or noticed the cars outside the Manor House. There was also a large search-party combing the fields for the weapon used on Wigfull. They had to try.

  They returned to Manvers Street, where the police station was like a prison before an execution. The only news of John Wigfull was that he was still unconscious, his condition critical.

  AT THE time Avon and Somerset Police acquired their helicopter, Diamond was heard to say it was an expensive toy that he would never use. Like many of his stands against technology, this one was fated to be undermined. Strapped into the seat, staring fixedly ahead, he was being flown over the great expanse of Salisbury Plain towards the South Coast. Privileged views of the ancient sites of Stonehenge and Avebury passed unnoticed. He did not enjoy the sensation of flying.

  They touched down on the lawn in front of Montpelier Crescent, Brighton, the address of Ralph Pennycook, the young man who had sold antiques to Peg Redbird on the day of her murder. The journey was done in under an hour. When Diamond looked about him, after stepping down and battling with the draught created by the rotor blades, he had the strange sensation that he had never left Bath. The neo-classical facade of the crescent was, if anything, grander in scale. Each large house with its own pillars and pediment might have been the front of a theatre.

  Helicopter travel is convenient, certainly, but not discreet. People had opened their doors to watch and children were running across the grass towards the chopper. "After this puppet-show, let's hope he's at home," Diamond muttered to Sergeant Leaman.

  He was-already at the front door-and their mode of travel had impressed him markedly. His hand was at his throat, pinching at a fold of loose skin, and his eyes behind the plastic lenses had the staring roundness of a nocturnal creature.

  There was no need to explain who they were. The chopper had Avon and Somerset Police in large letters on the outside. Pennycook ushered them in fast-as if the entire Crescent had not noticed the police making a call on him. Diamond's quick assessment was that he had the look of a young man out of step with his generation. His casuals on a warm Sunday afternoon amounted to a thick yellow cardigan over a black T-shirt, with blue corduroy trousers and brown leather slippers. The cardigan had the label showing; it was inside out.

  The room they were shown into was nicely-proportioned, and that was all that could be said for it. Beer stains disfigured the wallpaper. The furniture amounted to a chipped and rusting fridge and some wood and canvas folding chairs that belonged to Brighton Corporation. He must have nicked them from around the bandstand in one of the public parks. And this was the heir to Si Minchendon's fortune. He could certainly use some money.

  Diamond lowered himself cautiously onto one of the chairs; he had a history of bursting through canvas. It creaked, groaned and just held his weight. He considered how to begin. With a helicopter standing on the lawn outside, he was in no position to say what he would normally have said, that this was just a routine enquiry. "You were in Bath a couple of days ago, sir?"

  "Yup."

  "Would you mind telling us what brought you there?"

  "My uncle's funeral." The voice was toneless and barely audible.

  "That would be the late Mr Minchendon?"

  Pennycook nodded. His fingers were twitchy. He plucked at the sleeves of the cardigan, tugging the cuffs over the backs of his hands.

  "Of Camden Crescent?" Diamond said, more to encourage a response than glean information.

  Another nod.

  "Nice address."

  "If you say so." He ran the tip of his tongue around the edge of his mouth.

  "When was the funeral-one day last week?"

  "Yeah."

  This was like chiselling marble. "Which day was the funeral, Mr Pennycook?"

  "Dunno."

  "Speak up."

  Leaman said, "It was Tuesday."

  "Tuesday," said Diamond. "And you were there, and you don't remember?"

  "I've had a lot going on."

  "So you stayed longer."

  "Things to see to."

  "What things?"

  "Papers to sign, and stuff."

  "Your legacy?"

  "Yeah."

  "I understand your uncle left you everything."

  "Right."

  "Does that make you the owner of the house in Camden Crescent?"

  "More or less."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I have to wait for probate, don't I?"

  "So you're not the legal owner yet?"

  The pallid face registered pain, as if Diamond had struck him. He blurted out a few inarticulate words that sounded very like a confession. "I don't want no aggro. Needed cash in hand, right? Cash in hand. The stuff was coming to me anyway. Ask them, if you like. If you lay off, I'll square it with the bank."

  "You did a deal with Peg Redbird, the owner of Noble and Nude?"

  "Is that her name?"

  Diamond reacted angrily. "Don't play the innocent. You don't do dodgy deals with people without finding out who they are. You went to some trouble to pick a dealer likely to connive at this fraud. Had you met Peg Redbird before?"

  "No, and that's the truth."

  The phrase slipped easily from his tongue and added to Diamond's impatience. He leaned forward menacingly. "Young man, every word you say to me had better be the truth. Understand?"

  Pennycook understood, and showed it. Beads of sweat were rolling down the side of his face.

  "So who put you onto her?"

  Now he gathered himself and launched into a stumbling explanation. "I had some time after the funeral, didn't I? Sniffed around like. Antiques markets and stuff. Got talking to the stall-holders."

  Hard to imagine you talking to anyone, Diamond thought.

  "They gave me the buzz on the trade in Bath. Not the la-de-dahs up Bartlett Street. The other end of it. No questions asked."

  "Nod and a wink?"

  "Right. Her name kept coming up. Pe
g Redbird does the business, I was told. She had this shop in Walcot Street full of junk."

  This was rich, coming from a man who furnished his room with chairs from the local park. "Didn't you want to use the furniture yourself?"

  "Don't go in for fancy gear."

  "I can see that."

  Pennycook saw fit to add, "In case you're wondering, this here was my gran's place."

  Diamond nodded. "Another inheritance? You're a lucky man."

  "I took it over at a peppercorn rent, didn't I? I pay peanuts for this."

  "But you still have a cash-flow problem."

  He glared resentment. "Had to update my computer system, didn't I? Mega expenses."

  Diamond rolled his eyes. This was obviously bullshit. Some of Pennycook's initial nervousness had gone. He was beginning to behave as if he felt he had sidestepped the crisis.

  Time to turn the screw.

  "What are you on?" Diamond asked.

  The face drained of what little colour had been there. He drew his arms defensively across his chest. "What do you mean?"

  "Come on. Look at the sweat on you. People don't wear cardigans in a heat wave. Show us your arms."

  "No way."

  "It's back to front, that cardigan. You only put it on when you saw us coming."

  "That's no crime."

  "Tell you what," said Diamond. "If you're shy about your arms, you can show us something else. Where do you keep this super new computer?"

  Pennycook was starting to shake. He remained seated, staring.

  "It doesn't exist, does it? We know a smackhead when we see one, Sergeant Leaman and I. Keep your needle marks covered, if you want, but the other signs are pretty obvious. Pinhead pupils, the sweats, your body wasting away. I mean, we've only got to look at the state you live in. I guess this place was furnished when you took it over. Are you a registered addict?"

  Pennycook nodded. He looked wretched now.

  "How much are you paying to kill yourself? A hundred a day? Two hundred? Listen, my friend, we're not here to dump on you because you're on the needle. We're not even after the bloodsuckers who supply you, though someone had better be. We want the truth about your trip to Bath. How did you travel?"

  He said in a low voice, "Bummed a lift from a mate of mine, didn't I?"

  "You don't have wheels of your own?"

  "Does it look like I would?

  "This mate. Was he staying with you in Bath?"

  "No chance. He was on his way to Bristol."

  Diamond locked eyes briefly with Leaman. Here was another suspect without his own transport.

  "How long were you there?"

  "Went for the funeral and stayed till the weekend."

  "Stayed where?"

  "My uncle's gaff."

  "The will hasn't been proved yet and they let you stay in his house?" Diamond said in surprise.

  Pennycook looked away, out of the window, towards the helicopter on the lawn. "It weren't a case of letting me."

  "Meaning what?"

  "I fixed it, didn't I?" Now he gave Diamond his full attention, taking obvious pride in the guile he had used. "The bank are the executors, right? They got the front door key. They know he left the whole bloody lot to me. I told them it was Uncle's wish for some of his old mates to go back to the house for a jar or two after the funeral." He chuckled. "They couldn't argue with that. About eight guys came back, said they were his mates. I don't know who they were. He had no family apart from me. Anyway, I found some wine downstairs and handed out cheese biscuits. At the end I was supposed to lock up and return the key to the bank. They sent a geezer in a suit to make sure I did. I give them back their key and kept the key of the basement. So I could let myself in later and save some money putting up in Bath."

  It rang true. The ingenuity of the heroin addict is well known. "Then what?"

  "I already told you."

  "You scouted around for an antiques dealer, and Peg was the obvious choice."

  "Went to look at her place first. Took a walk around and give it the once-over. Then I give her a bell from Camden Terrace asking for a valuation. I knew she'd come."

  "You let her pick out some plums."

  "She got what she wanted. She could have had more, but she was playing it cool."

  "How much cash changed hands?"

  "Grand and a half."

  "She carried that much?"

  "No. She told me to call for it later."

  "Later the same day?"

  "Yeah."

  Diamond's eyes widened. "Thursday evening? Did she now?" This was a detail neither he nor Leaman had included in their picture of events the evening Peg Redbird was murdered. "You went, of course?"

  He shrugged. "What do you think?"

  "What time was that?"

  "Don't know. Don't keep track of time."

  "After dark?"

  "Yeah."

  "That would have been later than eight-thirty, then. Was she alone?"

  Pennycook seemed to sense that he was walking into quicksand. "She was bumped, wasn't she?"

  "Let's talk about your actions that evening."

  "I didn't touch her. I collected my dosh and cleared off back to Camden Crescent."

  "Fifteen hundred pounds?"

  "Like I said. That was the deal." His thin body was starting to shake. "Look, if you think I'm the one who stiffed her, you're bloody mistaken. She was all right when I left."

  "Did you see anyone else?"

  "In the shop? No."

  "Outside? Anywhere near the place?"

  The temptation to steer suspicion to someone else must have been strong. "Don't remember."

  Diamond was as energised as if he had taken a jab from one of Pennycook's syringes. This was crucial evidence: someone who had visited Peg shortly before she was murdered. "You came to the shop some time after dark, but before ten, correct?"

  Pennycook gave a perfunctory nod.

  "Shape up. I'm trying to help you." Encouragement, followed immediately by warning words. "You're under strong suspicion of murder. What you're about to say could convince us you're not the killer."

  There was some doubt whether Pennycook was about to say anything.

  "Tell us all you can remember about that meeting you had with Peg Redbird."

  "There's sod all to tell."

  Not in Diamond's estimation. "You arrive at Noble and Nude to collect your money. You walked, I suppose?"

  "Yeah."

  "Try and remember Walcot Street. Was it quiet?"

  "I told you I didn't see no one. Just cars."

  "Cars going by, or parked outside?"

  "Going by. Nothing was parked there."

  "A van? You didn't notice a van?"

  "You're not listening."

  "So you got to the shop. Was it open?"

  "Course it was, or how would I have got in?"

  "She could have let you in. What was happening when you entered?"

  "She was in there, facing me, behind a big desk with boxes on it. I said-"

  "Hold on," Diamond stopped him. "The boxes. Tell us about them."

  "There's nothing to tell. Boxes, I said."

  "What were they made of?"

  "One was wood, I think, polished wood, dark. She closed it when I come through the door. Locked it up."

  Mary Shelley's writing box. "You're sure of that?"

  "Sure of what?"

  "That the box had been open?"

  "I wouldn't say it if I didn't remember, would I?"

  Diamond nodded mechanically, thinking that this squared with Ellis Somerset's statement. It meant that Pennycook visited Peg after Somerset had left. The hired van was no longer outside and the box was still open. "What size was it? The size of a box file? You know what a box file is?"

  "Yeah. Thicker than that. Like two of them, one on top of the other."

  "And you mentioned other boxes."

  "Rusty old tins without lids. Two or three, up at one end of the desk."

  "
You don't recall seeing anything else on the desk?"

  "Nothing on the desk."

  There was just the suggestion of more to come. Diamond coaxed it out. "But some other thing caught your interest?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Something else you happened to notice."

  "Oh, yeah. On top of the safe I saw some of the stuff I sold her. Two old pictures off the wall. Scenes."

  This clinched it. He had come after Ellis Somerset had delivered the goods to Noble and Nude.

  "Scenes?" repeated Diamond, testing him. "What kind of scenes?"

  "I don't know. Old-fashioned stuff. Not my taste at all."

  "You couldn't tell me the artist?"

  "I know sod all about art. I was telling you what happened," Pennycook said in a tone suggesting he finally understood the importance of giving an account. "I tell her I've come for my money and she says yes, it's ready. She opens a drawer in her desk, takes out a key and opens the safe. She has the money ready in a brown envelope. Fifteen hundred, mostly in twenties. She asks me to count it, and I do. I say something about doing more business with her, how I'd give her a second chance when I got the probate. She doesn't say much. I reckon she wanted to get rid of me and close the shop."

  "What made you think that?"

  "Don't know really. She wasn't so talkative this time. But I got what I came for, so it didn't bother me. I cleared off back to Camden Crescent."

  "And the street outside-was that the same? Nothing waiting?"

  "If it was, I didn't see it."

  Diamond looked towards Leaman. "Anything I missed?"

  The sergeant shook his head.

  "Right," said Diamond, turning back to Pennycook. "That was Thursday night. What happened to you since?"

  "Since?" He frowned. "Is that important?"

  A look from Diamond told him that it was.

  "I stayed in Bath. Friday I had to visit the bank to sign some papers. I hung about the streets until late to see if I could buy some H for less than they charge here in Brighton. No chance. The bastards fix the price all over, the same as cigarettes, or bloody cornflakes."

  "And then half of it is filler, talc or some such," Diamond commented. "So you spent Friday evening there. How about Saturday?"

  "I came back here, didn't I?"

  "What time?"