Everyone was in a huddle at the far side. The noise level wouldn’t have disgraced Epsom on Derby Day and mercifully they were sounds of joy. At the centre of the crush, smiling, shaking his head, at a loss as to how to accept such an outpouring, was Paul Gilbert, alive and back with the team.
Diamond went forward, wrestled his way through, grabbed the lad and hugged him. He couldn’t find words, there was such a huge lump in his throat.
The team insisted Gilbert come for a drink in the Royal, even though he should have been seeing a doctor. All he wanted was a bottle of water, he told them. He’d been given a shower and fresh clothes in Bristol and plenty to drink, but he was still dehydrated. The rest of them celebrated until Diamond put his arm around the young man and steered him out.
Much of Gilbert’s story had been extracted piecemeal in the pub, but not in any connected way. In the sanctuary of Diamond’s office, with only the stone carving for company, a more coherent version emerged.
“It’s like I was two different people, guv,” he explained. “There’s what I remember before I was hurt and there’s what happened after, with a gap in between that’s a total blank. I’ve been trying to remember, but it won’t come back.”
“It never will,” Diamond said. “It’s the way concussion affects you. I had it more than once in my rugby playing days. Could never be sure which thug from the other team knocked me out. Retrograde amnesia. With all the knocks I took, it’s a miracle I can remember that. Give me the story in sequence, from when you were up the tree at Nathan Hazael’s place.”
Gilbert took a swig of water first. “I felt like such a wuss, stuck up there with the dog waiting underneath, but it would have had me. I know those Dobermanns. They don’t take prisoners. They go for your throat.”
“No one’s blaming you for staying where you were.”
“But you can blame me for being there. I exceeded orders and what happened was all my stupid fault. If I’d done what I was asked and just checked the state of Ingeborg’s car at the dockside, I’d have saved everyone a load of hassle.”
Diamond shrugged. The lad had got the message. It didn’t need repeating.
Gilbert went on, “I spoke to someone who told me about this video shoot on the Great Britain and it was obvious Ingeborg must have been there. I was talking to the local security lads, getting all the information I could, and one of them was on about a bit of a fight nearby involving a blonde and the director of the video. They said he was a local guy called Marcus Tone and it sounded nasty, so I thought I’d better follow it up. But when I spoke to Tone at his house in Clifton I found he’d been doing his best to help her meet the pop star from the video and both women had been snatched and driven off by Nathan Hazael and his thugs.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was in a real sweat about her. We all know Nathan’s reputation. I thought someone needed to get there fast and report back to you.” He rolled his eyes upwards. “I’ve only just learned she was your undercover cop and it was all part of her plan to get inside the place. What a mess.”
“Not entirely your fault,” Diamond said. “I should have briefed you more fully.”
“Well, I left my car a short way off and climbed over the wall. I got to about a hundred and fifty yards from the house before the dog found me. I was up that tree like a squirrel, I’m not kidding. After a bit the damn thing stopped barking, but it didn’t go away. I can’t tell you how useless I felt. I was there most of the night.”
“You still had your phone, didn’t you?”
“At that time, yes, but after the bollocking you gave me I didn’t dare trouble you again. You told me to use my initiative.”
Diamond felt a stab of guilt. “I remember.”
“I thought the sensible thing was to stay up the tree and wait for the dog to go away. My best chance would be if it was used to being fed in the morning. Nothing much happened, but at one point I saw someone in the moonlight. They were on the roof.”
“That was Ingeborg.”
“And not long after that the bloody dog started barking again and all hell broke loose. An alarm went off at the house and people came out with guns and started running towards the tree.” Gilbert opened his hand. “That’s the last thing I remember.”
“Lee Li thought you fell from the tree. That’s what she was told.”
“It’s possible.”
“But unlikely. Did you have any injuries apart from the head wound? You’d have been badly bruised at the very least.”
“Nothing like that.”
“My best guess is that they forced you down at gunpoint and clubbed you with a rifle butt. As far as we can tell, you were out to the world for some time after. It appeared you were dead. Then they shoved you into the back of a limo and slammed down the lid. We expected to find a body somewhere in Leigh Woods. The place was searched from end to end. Bristol deserve medals for the efforts they made to find you.”
Gilbert put his red, weathered fingers to his mouth. “I know. They told me at the Julian Trust. I’m gutted to have caused so much trouble to everyone.”
“Like us, they’ll be mightily relieved you were found alive. I’m fascinated to know how it happened.”
The young man took a moment to collect his thoughts. “This is the other me, the idiot found wandering the streets of Bristol.”
“Is that the first memory?”
“No, when I came to, I was in woodland, feeling terrible. I was cold and sick. Disgusting.”
“Any idea where?”
“On the Leigh Woods side of the gorge. They must have dumped me. I don’t know if they knew I was alive. I got up and staggered along for a bit. It’s amazing I didn’t fall right down the side. I have a memory of walking across the suspension bridge.”
“Didn’t you try and stop a car?”
“I couldn’t think of a reason to stop one. I didn’t know who I was or how I’d got there. They’d emptied my pockets. My phone had gone. I was filthy. I can’t believe any driver would have stopped for me. Eventually I met up with some other rough sleepers. I hung about with them until this afternoon when my head began to clear.”
“Something triggered your memory?”
“They got to talking about stone pillows and made some sort of joke about me needing a stone wife, and I remembered this.” He leaned over his chair and rested a hand on the Wife of Bath. “She’s not all bad, guv. Once I got the picture of her in my head, other stuff started to come back as well. I remembered your name and Ingeborg’s. I could picture this place. The guys I was with had become friendly by then and they took me to the dosshouse.”
“The night shelter.”
“Right. The brain was ticking over again and I told the people at the shelter who I was. This was outside the hours they operate but they took me in as a special case and let me take a shower and get into some less disgusting clothes. They’d been told to look out for me as a missing person. I believe they phoned the local police and told them I was alive and basically okay. Then they arranged for one of their outreach people to drive me back here. I won’t forget the reception I was given.”
“To say we were worried is an understatement.”
“Did anyone speak to my mum?”
“She’s been away all week. She has no idea.”
“I’d forgotten. Thank God for that.”
Diamond got up from his chair. “You should get that head wound checked. It seems to have dried up, but it may need some kind of attention. Take the rest of the week off, catch up on some sleep and we’ll expect you in on Monday. Oh, and it might be a nice idea to write a letter of thanks to Bristol Central for all the man-hours of searching.”
“A bottle of wine?”
“Not unless you can afford twenty cases of the stuff.”
32
The motorcade that set out from Manvers Street on Saturday morning didn’t, in the end, have outriders, but its status was not in question. At the front, a Land Rover with Avon & Somerset police markings contained Pet
er Diamond, Denis Doggart, the auctioneer, and George, the driver. They were towing a trailer bearing the Wife of Bath, stoutly roped and covered with a tarpaulin. Next, Ingeborg’s red Ka, with Keith Halliwell as passenger. And at the rear a white Volvo driven by Erica, Monica’s sister. Beside her was Monica, clutching the plastic urn containing John Gildersleeve’s ashes.
Diamond had chosen the route: the A39 across country by way of Wells and Glastonbury rather than using the motorway. “No speeding,” he told George. “We’re on a sensitive mission here. Let’s do it with respect.”
In his tweed suit and salmon pink tie, Doggart brought some sartorial quality to the occasion. Diamond, even more domineering than usual, had browbeaten the auctioneer into making the trip by insisting over the phone that he was still the custodian of lot 129. Although the Blake Museum at Bridgwater remained the owners, the Wife of Bath had been brought to Morton’s for a sale that hadn’t been completed, so the auctioneers had a duty of care and if they had any doubts they should speak to their insurers. The fact that the carving had been parked for a couple of weeks in the police station was immaterial. Until she was handed back to Bridgwater she was Morton’s responsibility. The police were doing them a massive good turn by arranging the transportation. The least Doggart could do was witness the handover.
But a cloud of unease hung over the Land Rover as it cruised across Churchill Bridge and along the Lower Bristol Road. Doggart must have suspected there was more on the agenda than he’d been told. Diamond waited until they joined the Wells Road at Corston before saying any more.
“You didn’t tell me you’re a Chaucer man yourself.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Doggart said. “My job is to know a bit about everything that comes under the hammer. I can’t be much of a Chaucer man. My valuation was well short of the bidding.”
“Excusable, isn’t it? A sculpture such as that doesn’t often come up for sale.”
“That I can agree with.”
“What I’m getting at,” Diamond said, “is that you were the owner of another Chaucer item, a portrait drawing.”
The face suddenly turned the colour of the necktie. “I still am. How do you know about that?”
“I’m a detective. You stood to make a six-figure sum from the National Portrait Gallery, but it didn’t happen.”
A pause for thought. “This was years ago and has nothing to do with the matter you’re investigating.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Mr. Doggart. We both know there’s a connection. Your Chaucer portrait was examined by John Gildersleeve, who downgraded it.”
“ ‘Downgraded’ isn’t a word I recognise. He identified the sitter as Chaucer’s son, that’s all.”
“And knocked a fortune off the value.”
“Revaluing is a fact of life in the antiques world. Gildersleeve was the expert and he was right. There was nothing personal in it.”
“Except a personal disaster for you.”
More red snapper than salmon now, Doggart said, “Oh, I begin to see what this is about. You think I bore a grudge against Gildersleeve. I didn’t.”
“Did you meet him at the time?”
“I did. I was asked to take my drawing to Reading for his inspection. It was a civilised meeting over sherry. I left the portrait with him and collected it a few days later.”
“When he gave you the bad news?”
“I’d already heard.”
“Did he get the sherry out a second time?”
“No. The drawing was left for me to pick up. Can we talk about something else now?”
“Did you meet him again?”
“Not until the day of the auction.”
“A blast from the past when he appeared, I should think.”
“It wasn’t like that at all. I’m a professional. I had a job to do. And I’m not even sure he recognised me, he was so caught up in the auction.”
“What do you remember about the incident?”
“Everything in vivid detail. It isn’t every day a man is murdered a few feet in front of you.”
“By all accounts you were remarkably cool under fire. You handled the arrival of the gunmen rather well.”
Alert for anything that smeared him, Doggart took a sharp, outraged breath. “What are you insinuating—that I knew they were coming? I most certainly did not. I didn’t panic. When you’re at the rostrum, you’re in charge. You deal with whatever happens and I did, to the best of my ability.”
“Telling three armed men their behaviour was intolerable? That was either foolhardy or exceptionally brave.”
“I didn’t stop to think.”
“What were they like, these three hitmen?”
“How can I answer that? They were disguised in masks.”
“I’m hoping for some of that vivid de tail you just mentioned.”
“Balaclavas with holes for the eyes and mouth. Black T-shirts and jeans. They were brandishing black revolvers. The first of them, the man who interrupted the auction, was the only one who spoke. He shouted, ‘Nobody move.’ When I protested, he told me to shut up. He said if we all remained where we were no one would get hurt. I said it was intolerable and he told me once again to shut it, as he crudely put it.”
“You’d know his voice again, would you?”
“I can hear it now in my head. There was a definite trace of the West Country in the accent.”
“Anything memorable about his build?”
Doggart shook his head. “A bit above average in height. Quite slim.”
“And the others?”
“Similar.”
“You were defiant at the start, but you soft-pedalled soon after. You told the professor to let them be.”
“By then I’d seen how real the threat was. I was doing my best to control a dangerous situation—unsuccessfully, as it turned out.”
“Was it deliberate, do you think? Was it always their intention to shoot him?”
He hesitated, as if playing the words over. “That has never occurred to me. At the time it seemed very clear that Gildersleeve contributed to his own death by taking them on.”
“They panicked?”
“He panicked and so did they.”
“Which was why they fled without taking the stone?”
“That was my reading of it.”
The stress was showing in the second car as well. Ingeborg had been muttering for some time about being forced to brake repeatedly when they were on an open road with no sign of an obstruction. “This is going to take till the end of the century. If we got out and walked we’d get there quicker. He’s got the horsepower. Why doesn’t he use it?”
“Don’t blame George the driver,” Halliwell said. “He’ll be under instructions.”
“Would the boss kick up if we overtook? We know where we’re going. We could be there and get a coffee before they arrive.”
“I wouldn’t risk it. He was all smiles when we started out. That’s worth encouraging.”
“I noticed. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Paul appeared.”
“There’s more on his mind, I think.”
“Is it because he’s finally getting shot of the Wife of Bath? She was the bane of his life at one point.”
“That’s part of it, for sure, but the main thing is he’s ready to wrap up the case.”
Her voice shrilled in surprise. “Really? Did he tell you?”
Halliwell dug into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “He asked me to bring these.”
She took a glance and then a longer look and almost hit the trailer in front. “Who for? Did he say?”
“Likes to keep us in suspense, doesn’t he?”
“Denis Doggart?”
“Don’t know. It’s a bit extreme even by his standards, taking the guy all the way to Bridgwater to pinch him.”
“Thinking about it,” Ingeborg said, “sitting in the back of the Land Rover with Doggart for an hour or more—”
“
At least an hour or more.”
“—it’s an ideal chance to question him.”
“He could do it at the station.”
“Not in such a relaxed way.”
Halliwell laughed.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Would you be relaxed, sitting beside the guv’nor all the way to Bridgwater?”
“Possibly not. I’m stuck with you instead.” She watched the two heads through the rear window of the Land Rover. “I’d be surprised if Doggart does get pinched. He’s the only suspect we know who couldn’t have fired the fatal shot.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped him setting the whole thing up,” Halliwell said. “You said he lost a load of money when Gildersleeve rubbished his Chaucer portrait. As the auctioneer, he was better placed than anyone to oversee the hold-up.”
“The whole thing was staged, you mean?”
“He would have known the professor was going to be a main bidder. What sweet revenge to watch the prize being snatched away from his enemy just as the bidding was coming to an end.”
“So was the shooting staged as well?”
“I don’t think so. It all went wrong. But the man who hired the robbers is as guilty as the guy who pulled the trigger.”
“And at this minute the boss is teasing the truth out of him?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“There could be other factors.”
“A history between Doggart and Gildersleeve?”
“If it’s there, he’ll find it,” Ingeborg said. “As a matter of fact, he made sure I brought cuffs as well.”
In the Volvo, Erica asked Monica, “Why are we going so slowly?”
“It must be Mr. Diamond’s idea of respect.”
“What for?”
Monica caressed the side of the urn. “You mean ‘Who for?’ My poor John, of course.”
“This isn’t the funeral,” Erica said. “We had that. Even hearses go faster than this between towns. We’ll be hours getting to Petherton Park at this rate.”
“We’re making a stop at Bridgwater first, to unload the carving.”
“That doesn’t show much respect. I thought the purpose of the trip was to scatter the ashes.”
The Stone Wife Page 33