The Stone Wife

by Peter Lovesey

  “I was exaggerating. But you know what I mean. It’s a picture postcard. All those old buildings and quaint little lanes down to the river. It’s not ripe for development.”

  “Bernie seems to think it is.”

  “He must know something we don’t.”

  Halliwell drove through Calne—not a picture postcard—and out into open country again.

  Neither man spoke about Georgina’s rare appearance in the CID room and the conversation behind the closed door of Diamond’s office. Halliwell must have guessed Ingeborg had been under discussion and decided not to ask. And Diamond preferred to wrestle silently with his thoughts and fears. He couldn’t understand why Inge had parked her car at the dockside overnight. Such a dumb thing to do. If you’re going undercover, you don’t leave an obvious trail. He racked his brain for an explanation. She may have gone there on surveillance, acting on a tip, and then got distracted in some way. He hoped this was the case, but feared she might be in trouble. He’d been checking his phone repeatedly for a text and nothing had come through. He kept reminding himself that she’d urged him to trust her and he was trying. But he wished he understood what was going on.

  “Makes you feel desolate, doesn’t it?” Halliwell said suddenly.

  “Not at all. I’m going to be positive.”

  “Nothing personal, I was speaking about the landscape. Miles and miles with scarcely a sign of life.”

  “I can’t agree with that. It’s teeming with life. Grass, sheep, butterflies. That’s Wiltshire. I like it. I’m a green fields man myself. Don’t need to see housing estates.”

  “Have you ever lived in the country, guv?”

  “No, but I appreciate it when I see it. You could take this more slowly. You don’t have to drive as if you want to leave it.”

  “We’re only doing fifty-five.”

  They drove through Avebury and soon the distinctive Bronze Age mound called Silbury Hill appeared on their left.

  “There’s your sign of life,” Diamond said.

  “It’s a burial mound, guv.”

  “Man-made, I meant.” He glossed over that one. “Almost there. Do you know where to make for?”

  “She gave me some directions. Shouldn’t be difficult to find. Marlborough is built around the High Street, basically. We drive right through and look for a field that comes off on the left.”

  “Should have brought my wellies. What’s happening in this field?”

  “Nothing much. It’s a project under discussion. Bernie is meeting the landowner there.”

  But plenty was happening when they had driven through the town and turned up a side road that Halliwell believed would bring them to the proposed building site. Cars—expensive cars mostly—were backed up as far ahead as they could see. They were parking on the left, leaving only a narrow through-way.

  “We’d better join them,” Diamond said. “Something must be on.”

  Halliwell parked behind a Range Rover and they got out and joined the stream of pedestrians all heading one way. “Do you think it’s a meeting?” he asked Diamond.

  “Could be a march. Some of them are carrying banners.”

  “They won’t march far in wellies.”

  Wellingtons, Barbours, cords and flat caps were clearly the dress code of the day. Diamond, in his trilby, suit and walking shoes, stood out, and Halliwell had no headgear at all. It didn’t seem to matter while they were on the move. The mood was hearty, with plenty of raised voices in well-bred accents hailing friends by name. Some distance up the road was a gate and everyone was filing through it. By the time Diamond and Halliwell reached there at least a hundred people were standing about in a large field.

  Some of the banners were visible now. One said: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH and another: STUFF YOUR PLAN.

  “We’re not the only ones with something to say to Bernie,” Diamond said.

  “Be lucky if we get a word in.”

  Just to be certain, Diamond turned to a man in a tweed jacket with leather shoulders and said, “Is this about the Wefers development?”

  “We’re all in the wrong place if it isn’t,” the man said. “And who are you?”

  “We’re not locals.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Down from Bath.”

  “Nothing to do with the Wefers lot, I trust?”

  “Far from it,” Halliwell said.

  Diamond nudged his colleague and said, “We can watch it from over there.” He didn’t fancy being put through more questions.

  A section of the field had been staked and roped and a huge whitewashed letter H marked inside. A man with a loud-hailer was telling people with the utmost courtesy, “Kindly keep well back from the landing area, ladies and gentlemen. We don’t want any accidents.”

  Two of the local police were watching from a distance, appearing content to leave the stewarding to the great and the good of the town.

  “The British at their best,” Diamond said to Halliwell as they took up a new position. “No other nation on Earth could stage such an orderly demo.” He took out his mobile to check once more whether Ingeborg had sent a text. Normally she was a regular texter. She’d even taught him the basics.

  Nothing.

  No use trying to reach her and risking blowing her cover. He pocketed the phone just as the leather-shouldered man approached them again.

  “I say, you people, what exactly is your business here?”

  Diamond looked up in surprise. He’d quite forgotten that the well-educated aren’t all polite. They can be downright rude.

  Halliwell said, “Just observing at this stage.”

  “I think I have a right to ask.”

  “I’m not sure that you do, but I’ll tell you anyway,” Diamond said to silence him. “We’re police officers.”

  “You’re not in uniform.”

  “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “And a moment ago you were taking pictures with your phone.” This busybody was cranking himself up into quite a state. “Is that what you’re up to, covert surveillance, getting a record of decent, law-abiding people on a peaceful demonstration?”

  “Not at all. I was checking for a text.”

  Halliwell added, “If we were doing surveillance, we’d use better equipment than a mobile phone.”

  Diamond told the man, “I suggest you aim your protest at the cause of all the fuss. That speck in the sky seems to be heading in this direction.”

  The interrogator moved off.

  Others had seen it and the anticipation mounted as the helicopter announced itself with the engine drone and the flash of sunlight on its fuselage. On the ground, jeering began and banners were raised.

  “Please stand well clear of the landing area,” the man with the loud-hailer appealed once more.

  But there was a bigger hazard.

  From behind them at the edge of the field, a black four-by-four with lights on full beam powered through the gate and made swift, bumping progress across the turf, horn blaring to force a passage through the crowd. Fitted with a bull bar, it could do that if necessary. Word quickly passed round that this was the owner of the field making a last-minute appearance. If so, he must have been parked just outside, ready for this. He wouldn’t have wanted to announce his presence any sooner. A chorus of booing from the demonstrators left no doubt what they thought of the maneuver. The British at their best were getting fractious. Some young men ran at the vehicle and thumped the bodywork. A banner was smashed over the bonnet. This made not a jot of difference. The black Jeep came to a skidding halt at the edge of the landing space and brought down one of the iron stakes and a length of the rope. Wisely, the driver remained in the vehicle with the engine running.

  Meanwhile the small silver helicopter had swooped in and was hovering about fifty feet overhead, the pilot evidently taking stock of the scene below. The long grass in the marked, enclosed area was flattened by the action of the rotor blades. A few hats were dislodged.

  Two men we
re seated at the front of the aircraft: the pilot and a passenger in a blue windbreaker and black knitted cap. If this was Bernie, he didn’t look bothered by the scene. In fact he was grinning. His face was close to the side window, getting a sight of what was going on.

  “Look at him, the smug bastard,” the man with the leather shoulders said to no one in particular. “You can tell it’s a done deal.”

  The helicopter descended the last few feet and touched down.

  “You know what’s going to happen?” Halliwell yelled to Diamond. “Bernie will transfer to the Jeep and be driven off. They’ll have their discussion well away from all this.”

  “If they escape,” Diamond said.

  The door of the four-by-four opened and a short, slight figure in black jumped out and was practically knocked over by the downdraught from the rotor blades.

  “Bloody hell—it looks like a woman,” Halliwell said.

  No question about it. The headscarf she was wearing was wrenched off by the draught and a mass of blonde hair fanned out behind her. She looked far too young to be a landowner.

  Her youth and gender didn’t stop a chorus of jeers from the crowd.

  The door of the helicopter opened and Bernie jumped out, an agile, middle-aged man with cropped hair going grey. Years in a hard trade had left their mark. It was a weatherbeaten face, coarse-skinned and deeply creased. Several gold chains nestled in the chest hair revealed by his open Hawaiian shirt. His swagger suggested he would yield to nobody and certainly not a crowd of nimbys in a field he was shortly to claim as one more piece of his empire.

  Without so much as a handshake, Bernie and the blonde climbed inside the Jeep and slammed the doors—the signal for the crowd to close in and try to stop them. But the blonde was having none of it—as she made clear by jamming her foot down and punching the horn. Her acceleration wouldn’t have disgraced a rally driver. The best the protesters could manage was to flail with their banners, and even then several slipped over. It was more by chance than design that nobody fell under the wheels.

  With the engine revved to screaming level, the clear winner in this contest surged across the field to shouts of “madman” and “swine.” A few brave souls tried blocking the exit gate until it was obvious they were inviting serious injury, if not death, and they leapt aside. The targets of all the mayhem were through and away.

  “What did you make of that?” Halliwell said. “Who the hell was she?”

  “How would I know? The crowd seemed to think it was the landowner, but she looked too young to me. Could be one of the staff. In any case, she’s a tough lady. She wasn’t taking prisoners.”

  “So what now, guv? We can’t give chase.”

  “While the chopper is here, we’re okay. He’s got to come back some time to return to London.”

  Among the crowd the outrage at how dangerous the escape had been was giving way to disappointment. Some insisted they had made their point by being there. Others said they had been cheated out of a chance to put their arguments to Bernie Wefers—as if there was a code of behaviour for demonstrations and it had not been observed. Muttering groups discussed what to do next and a number gave up and left. Some looked over their shoulders at the helicopter, now standing silent, with the pilot still in the cabin.

  As if they sensed the threat of damage or even injury, the two uniformed police officers moved towards the landing space and raised the fallen stake and forced it into the turf again. Then they stationed themselves inside the rope and started making calls on their hand radios.

  A large section of the crowd remained, debating what to do next. The mood wasn’t friendly.

  “They’re looking for someone to blame,” Halliwell said. “Might be wise to put your phone out of sight, guv.”

  Diamond was checking once again for a text. He looked up and saw what his colleague meant. “A good moment to make ourselves known to the local fuzz, I think.”

  They moved fast, brandished their IDs, and stepped over the rope. The men on duty greeted them as brother officers volunteering to help out. One said, “There’s a fair amount of anger out there. I asked for some back-up.”

  His mate said with a grin, “Didn’t think they’d call up Avon and Somerset.”

  “Sorry, my friend,” Diamond said. “We’re not the US cavalry. We’re on an enquiry. We’re going aboard the chopper to interview the pilot. But it’s nice to know we have you guys protecting us.”

  The pilot appeared to be asleep. Diamond reached up and tapped the glass and pressed his ID against it when the pilot showed signs of life. The door opened, the steps were let down and they climbed up to the cabin.

  “Nothing to worry about. You’re in the clear,” Diamond said, sensing this as a promising unplanned opportunity. “What’s your name?”

  “Sinclair. Percy Sinclair.”

  “Good to meet you, Percy. Any idea when Mr. Wefers is expected back?”

  The pilot hesitated, torn between loyalty to his paymaster and submission to the law. “Couldn’t say, except he wants to be back in London before tonight, so he shouldn’t be all that long.”

  “We’ll sit down then.” Diamond parked himself in Bernie’s seat and Halliwell squeezed through to one of the passenger seats behind. “Who was the blonde with the Jeep? Do you know?”

  Percy Sinclair had decided to cooperate. “She’s the one selling the land. Miss Thompson. Her father died suddenly and left everything to her. She’s an air stewardess, I believe, with no interest in farming, so she wants a quick deal.”

  “She’s got guts, in addition to her other assets. I’d think twice about driving into a demo like that.”

  “They have to be confident in her job, don’t they?”

  “You have to be confident in yours,” Diamond said. “You landed the chopper to perfection and there was a lot to put you off. How long have you been flying for Bernie Wefers?”

  “Couple of years, no more.”

  A couple of years would be sufficient to get the pattern of Bernie’s trips.

  “You’ve got to know his sites like the back of your hand, I’ll bet.”

  “Most of them, anyway.”

  “All over Britain?”

  “Just about.”

  “We’re from Bath. Where’s the best landing spot there?”

  “Down there we always go to Castle Combe,” Sinclair said. “He picks his hotels. If they’re comfortable and have a helipad he keeps going back. Do you know the Manor House Hotel?”

  “By reputation. Nine or ten miles from where we work.”

  “Yes, if he visits Bath, he’ll be driven in from there.”

  “Do you get to stay in the Manor House as well?”

  “I do.”

  “Lucky you. Have you done the trip recently?”

  “Two or three weeks ago, maybe. Bristol first, then Bath.”

  “Where do you stay in Bristol?”

  “Some way outside. Thornbury Castle. They have the helipad there.”

  “Not slumming, exactly. You say you were there recently. I expect you keep a log of your trips?”

  “I do.” A cautious note had entered the pilot’s voice.

  “Do you have it with you?”

  He was right back in his shell now. “I can’t show it to you without Mr. Wefers’ permission. He doesn’t allow me to discuss his business.”

  “We wouldn’t be doing that,” Diamond said as if he, too, thought it was an appalling liberty. “It’s just a matter of knowing who was where on a particular date last month. Where do you keep it—somewhere within reach?”

  Sinclair flexed his legs and tucked his heels in.

  “Under your seat?” Diamond said.

  “I can’t show you.”

  “I know exactly how you feel, but we have a duty here, and there’s an offence known as obstruction.”

  Sinclair was tight-lipped for a few seconds as the words sank in. Then he exhaled sharply, leaned forward and felt under his seat. “You won’t tell him?” />
  “Percy, it’s entirely between ourselves.”

  With definite misgivings, a battered notebook was handed over.

  Diamond opened it at random and quickly got a sense of what the columns represented. He turned several pages in rising anticipation. “All the flights are logged here?”

  “Every one.”

  His finger went down the left column and up again. But there was crushing disappointment here. “That trip you mentioned to Bristol and Bath was all of four weeks ago.”

  “Sorry. It seemed like less.”

  “Nothing more recent? I’m interested in the week beginning the twelfth.”

  “Whatever is written there is correct,” Sinclair said.

  “According to this, you didn’t fly anywhere on the fifteenth.”

  “There are days when I’m not needed. He tells me in advance, so I can take time off if it’s due to me. We’re often away at weekends and I make up my rest days when I can.”

  Diamond exchanged a look with Halliwell. The fifteenth had been the day of the auction.

  “Does he ever travel by other means?”

  “Short trips, around London.”

  “But if he wanted to visit Bath, he’d ask you to fly him there?”

  Sinclair nodded. “He isn’t one for spending hours in a train or car.”

  “On the sixteenth, you flew to Norwich.”

  “Yes, he’s got a big building project there. Do you want to know where we stayed?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Diamond said in a mood of resignation. A promising line of enquiry had led nowhere. “Did you ever fly his ex-wife Monica anywhere?”

  “Monica?” He blinked several times. “There were trips when she joined us. She’d visit friends or go shopping. That was way back last year. There was a serious falling out.” He stared back at Diamond. He’d finally made the connection. “Is this about her new husband getting shot?”

  Diamond nodded.

  “Tragic.”

  “Indeed. Did you ever meet him?”

  “The professor? No.” Sinclair made it obvious he wanted to end this conversation, shifting in his seat and glancing left and right as if deciding whether to open the door and leap out.

  “I expect you heard about him from Bernie. He talks to you on these flights, doesn’t he?”