“Two.”
There was a scream of, “Don’t do it,” from the crowd and somebody sprinted to the bridge and towards them.
A woman. Dark hair, slim, East Asian.
Lee Li.
She must have been among the bystanders, uncertain what to do until the brutality to Marcus got to this intolerable point.
Nathan dropped the leg he was holding and said, “Get her.”
Marcus hit the floor with a thud and the team dashed after their new quarry.
Lee turned to escape, but she only got a few yards. The quickest of the henchmen grabbed her by the shoulder and swung her about. With ease, he grasped her round the waist and carried her, struggling, back to his employer.
“Put her down.”
For a moment, Ingeborg thought Lee Li was going to get a face-slapping, but she did not.
Nathan opened his arms and embraced her. The man really was besotted.
Lee looked dazed and not at all happy.
This touching reunion came to a stop when a police siren sounded. One of the watchers must have used a phone.
“We’re leaving,” Nathan said.
In the black limousine, Ingeborg was allowed to sit beside the driver. Nathan was in the back seat with his arm around Lee, who was grim-faced and silent.
“Some hard things were said back there,” he said to Ingeborg. “Heat of the moment.”
She turned her head. “Is that an apology? I could have been badly hurt.”
“You looked after yourself pretty good. Where did you learn to fight?”
“I did a course,” she said. “Every woman needs to know the basics, journalists even more so.”
“You hear that, Lily?” he said. “If you’d learned self-defence, none of this would have happened.” Apparently he’d persuaded himself that she had been abducted by Marcus, who right now was probably giving his account of the affray to the police response team. And if Marcus had any care for his future well-being, he’d deny all knowledge of his attackers.
“Where are we going now?” Lee asked, staring ahead.
“Back to the house,” Nathan said. “You still want to do that piece for the Sunday Times, don’t you?”
“Not right away. I’m a mess. I need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“No pressure,” Ingeborg said, thinking ahead. “We could do this tomorrow and I’ll still make my deadline.”
Nathan said, “Stay another night and keep Lily company. I have some business back at the house.”
“What is your business?” Ingeborg was bold enough to ask. Nathan’s mood was distinctly friendlier now that he’d rescued his lover. If ever there was a time to get him to open up, it was now.
“I supply the hardware for various projects,” he said, embracing the chance to give an arch response. “I’m a middleman, really, specialising in goods not obtainable from the manufacturer.”
“Who are your clients?”
“That’s confidential. Household names, some of them.”
“Not the government?”
“No, my customers tend to operate independently.” He was basking in the interest and clearly enjoying giving these cryptic answers.
“You obviously made a terrific success of it,” Ingeborg said.
“I always thought the way to get ahead is to corner the market in something and I’ve proved it over and over. They all know me and my reputation—here in the southwest, for sure, and some of them come out from London to get the best service and no questions asked.”
“Are they a bit dodgy, then, some of your customers?”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that, if I was you, not to their faces, anyway. Lily’s met one or two ripe specimens passing through in recent months, haven’t you, my precious?”
“Too true,” she said.
“They wouldn’t get into a garden party at Buck House, if you know what I mean,” Nathan added. “In my line of business, you can’t be too choosy.”
“It sounds intriguing.”
“A job of work, that’s all.”
“Maybe you’d consider letting me do one of my photo features on you. A day in the life of a millionaire middleman.”
“No chance,” he said. “Publicity is the last thing I need.”
“Don’t you advertise?” She was starting to enjoy this game as much as he.
“It’s all done by word of mouth.”
Lee piped up, “And some of the words are unprintable.”
The car arrived at the security gate of Nathan’s house and a volley of angry barking reminded Ingeborg of the dangers of overplaying her hand. They passed inside and up the long drive.
“I may see you before you go, depending on my business arrangements,” Nathan told her. “I appreciate what you did today—more than you bargained for when you took on this project. You can have the guest room tonight, fresh towels and all that. Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll look after her,” Lee said. “It’s a treat for me to have a guest in my part of the house—a female one, that is.”
The last remark drew a sharp glance from Nathan. He got out and walked into the house.
Lee gave a girl-to-girl smirk at Ingeborg. “Let’s freshen up and then we can chill out together. I’m really sorry for all you had to put up with.”
“Not your fault.”
“I know. Nathan doesn’t have a clue about women. Later I’ll tell you how he really earns his money.”
18
Light rain was falling in Marlborough, persuading more of the demonstrators to lower their banners and quit. The diehards amounted to thirty or so and they kept themselves going by taunting the police on the inner side of the rope. Their numbers were now up to ten—excluding Diamond and Halliwell. As often happens in protests, the local bobbies were sympathetic to the cause and uncomfortable facing their own townspeople across a dividing line. Officially, they were protecting the helicopter from potential damage, but their presence gave the appearance of siding with the property developer from London.
The two in plain clothes known to nobody came in for extra derision. Word had been passed round that they were police spies, seen photographing individuals in the crowd.
They needed some allies here. They’d identified themselves to the police, but hadn’t said anything about the investigation they were on. “We wouldn’t be standing with you if we were spies,” Diamond said to the local sergeant. “We’d be mingling with that lot, passing ourselves off as part of the demo.”
“I wouldn’t argue with them, even so,” the sergeant said. “They’re getting in a strop, some of them. It’s been a long afternoon with not much to show for all the shouting.”
“Will Wefers get permission to build here?”
“Likely he will,” the sergeant said. “It’s government policy to stick more houses everywhere, get their figures up, whatever the local needs may be.”
“Houses will sell here?”
“That’s for sure. It’s a nice place to live. But adding a big estate makes it a little less nice for those already here.”
“The march of progress.”
“Which anyone can slow up if they’re well organised. This lot will fight all the way to the courts, if necessary.”
“Expensive, once they employ lawyers,” Diamond said. “Personally, I’d think about a cheaper option.”
“Such as?”
“A dormouse.”
The sergeant’s long look at Diamond suggested he was being sent up. “Dormouse?”
“Protected species. You’re not allowed to build over the habitat of a dormouse.”
“I get you now. I doubt if there’s one to be found in this field.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
The sergeant smiled at last. He seemed to have latched on. “No chance. It wouldn’t wash with the planning people. They’re up to all the tricks. Anyway, a dormouse favours woodland and hedgerows.”
“I’m not a countryman,” Diamond said, �
��but I reckon other protected species make their homes in fields like this.”
Unexpectedly, the helicopter door opened and the pilot climbed out and approached them. “Just letting you know I’m taking off now. You’d better stand well clear. Thanks for the protection.”
Caught unprepared, Diamond couldn’t let this happen. “Taking off without your passenger?”
“Mr. Wefers just phoned me. Change of plans. He’s stopping overnight at the farmhouse.”
“Is he, indeed?” Diamond said with a knowing look at Halliwell. Bernie was living up to his reputation as a stud.
“He told me to move the chopper to a field nearer to where he is. It’s only a short hop and it’ll be safer there.”
This called for a rapid rethink. Bernie could be playing a clever game of avoidance, making his getaway from another location. “Did you tell him about us waiting to see him?”
“No, it was just a short call.”
“And where exactly is this farmhouse?” A new plan was forming.
“A short way north across the fields, he tells me. There are twin silos I should be able to spot from the air.”
“We’ll join you and help you find them,” Diamond said, a statement of intent, not a mere request.
Percy Sinclair plucked nervously at his hair. “I’m not sure about that. He’s expecting me on my own.”
“That’s all right. Tell him we’re police officers and we insisted.”
“He’ll go bananas.”
“You reckon?” Diamond turned back to the sergeant. “Tell the mob the party’s over for today.” He strode towards the helicopter, Halliwell at his side.
Percy Sinclair followed, shaking his head.
Inside, the pilot made one more appeal. “He won’t want to see you.”
“It’s a funny thing,” Diamond said, “but people never do.”
The twin engines spoke, the rotor blades stuttered into action and soon the whirring aircraft was fifty feet above, allowing a fine view of the last action of the demo, much shaking of banners and fists. A pull on the control stick, and they veered sharply away. The excitement of swift movement through the air took over. Speed above ground didn’t trouble Diamond in the way a car moving at more than fifty-five did.
The joyride was short.
Diamond nudged the pilot’s arm and shouted, “Twin silos!” The farmstead was in view, with that squeaky-clean look buildings have from above ground. The house and kitchen garden stood at the end of a lane. A yard beyond contained the silver silos, a large barn, machinery shed and cowshed.
Sinclair was a careful pilot. He circled the area, seeking the best place to touch down. Nobody was on the ground to help. Several speculative rotations took as much time as the rest of the flight. Finally the choice was made and they landed at the edge of a green field that looked like some kind of pasture.
The engines were switched off. The rotor blades flicked round a few more times before anyone could speak with ease.
“Not much of a reception,” Diamond said to Sinclair. “They must have better things to do. Remind me of the lady’s name.”
“Tess Thompson.”
“Okay. Keith and I will see if we can rouse the inmates. You can keep your distance. I expect you have to put this thing to bed in some way.”
Close-up, the farm was more real than it had appeared from the air. The mud, smells and cowpats were all too obvious. Sidestepping where necessary, the two CID men crossed the yard to the square, two-storied house and knocked at the red-painted door.
A long interval passed before it was opened by Tess Thompson, barefoot and holding a glass of red wine. She was a little older than the earlier glimpses had suggested, closer to forty than a blonde in a black satin top with generous cleavage wishes to appear.
“Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting more than one.”
“There are three of us. The pilot will be along shortly.” Diamond showed his ID. “We’re from Bath police, needing a few words with Mr. Bernie Wefers.”
“Someone mention my name?” a disembodied voice said, and the Hawaiian shirt and gold chains materialised in the dim interior.
“They’re policemen,” Tess Thompson said in a tone suggesting they might have been whirling Dervishes.
“What’s wrong?” Bernie asked, stepping forward. He was shoeless and carrying a wine glass. He put his free hand against the doorpost, making it obvious they weren’t welcome. His shoulders filled most of the space.
“Nothing is wrong,” Diamond said. “It’s a routine enquiry.”
“What about?”
“The shooting of your former wife’s husband.”
He didn’t move. He seemed to be absorbing the information slowly.
“Professor Gildersleeve,” Diamond added. “You must have heard.”
Bernie found his voice. “I wasn’t there. Can’t tell you a thing. How the hell did you find me?”
“May we come in?”
“It’s not my house.” Bernie turned and raised his eyebrows at Tess. “It may not be convenient.”
She froze, uncertain what to say.
“We can do it at Marlborough nick, if you prefer,” Diamond said. He’d played this game many times before.
Bernie swore, turned his back and beckoned at the same time. They followed him into a spacious living room that must have been in Tess Thompson’s family for generations. It looked out of the 1930s, a three-piece suite in chintz, dining table and chairs, standard lamp and Welsh dresser laden with crockery. Framed family photos adorned the walls.
Having thrust himself into the main armchair beside the stone fireplace, Bernie said, “This had better not take long.”
The owner of the farm hesitated in the doorway. “Do you want me here?”
“It’s your gaff, gorgeous,” he said. “No reason for you to leave.”
She crossed to the other armchair, leaving the sofa for Diamond and Halliwell.
Diamond came straight to the point. “Do you recall where you were on the day Professor Gildersleeve was shot?”
“Not in Bath, if that’s what you want to know,” Bernie said. “I was home in Maidenhead or London. Can’t remember which.” A problem only ever faced by a man with about five different places of residence.
“So how do you know you weren’t in Bath?”
“I read about it in the paper next day and thought bloody good thing I wasn’t about when that happened, or some of your lot would come knocking on my door.”
“Why? Why would you expect a visit from us?”
“Obvious, isn’t it? He was having it off with my slag of a wife for the best part of two years before I got to know about it. I had good reason to plug him. But I didn’t, because I was a hundred miles away.”
“He was shot by one of three masked gunmen.”
“So?”
“Somebody may have hired them to carry out a contract killing.”
“Oh yeah?” Bernie folded his arms. “And you’re thinking I’d pay good money to rub out a waste of space like Gildersleeve? I’m a businessman. I spend my profits on good causes.”
Diamond’s eyebrows shot up. “Such as?”
“My yacht and my house in Spain. Anyway, I’m not a violent man.”
“That isn’t true, is it?” Diamond said.
Bernie didn’t answer.
“You have a criminal record.”
A moment of tension was broken when he laughed. “Pathetic. That’s ancient history. Kids growing up do daft things. They all do. Me, I was unlucky, got caught, paid my dues and reformed. I’m a success story, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Diamond chose not to mention the violence to Monica. There was no advantage in stoking up aggression before he’d explored another avenue. “Four weeks ago, you travelled to Bath and Bristol. What were you doing there?”
“You’re well-informed,” Bernie said, looking less confident. “Who told you that?”
“We have our sources. It wasn’t a secret trip, w
as it?”
“You must be joking.” He reached for the wine bottle and topped up his glass, trying to recover his poise. “I was checking previous work we undertook. We always follow up, however small the project, just to make sure our clients are well satisfied.”
“Dealing with complaints?”
He shook his head and glared. “Come off it, mate. We finish to a high standard.”
“What was the project in Bath?”
“Outside the town. You probably know it, if you come from there. Two hundred houses off the A46, forty percent of them affordable.”
“What are the other sixty percent—millionaires’ row?”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me. You bloody know it’s government speak, affordable homes for first-time buyers.”
“And then you went on to Bristol.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“More business?”
“A satisfied client took me for a meal. We built a major extension for him six months ago—fitness suite and sound studio. All the latest gear. He was well satisfied, but I’ve handled jobs for him before and he knows it’s always top quality.” He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “This is getting us nowhere. Any more questions? Because I want to get on with my evening.”
“Here’s one,” Diamond said. “Did you ever meet Professor Gildersleeve?”
“Only once, at the divorce court. I wasn’t impressed.”
“You threatened him. You said you’d make him pay.”
Bernie leaned forward and stabbed the air with his finger. “Listen, I was the mug who did the paying. My ex came out of it ten million quid better off.”
“The words said to Gildersleeve weren’t about money. It came across as a physical threat.”
His voice became a growl. “How would you know what I said? Has Monica stitched me up?”
“The law works on hard evidence, not hearsay, Bernie. If it wasn’t said, it can’t harm you.”
“Loads of things are said in the heat of the moment. Doesn’t mean shit.”
“So you used the words—about making him pay—and did no more about it?”
He seemed to regard the question as too trivial to answer. “If that bitch decided I had Gildersleeve killed, she’ll do everything in her power to frame me. She hates my guts. I’m no angel, but this won’t stick. I wasn’t there and I didn’t put a contract on the guy.”
The Stone Wife Page 19