Upon A Dark Night

by Peter Lovesey

  ‘Our lager,’ stressed his wife.

  ‘You mean the fellow was large, with dark hair?’ asked Diamond.

  Allardyce took this as humour and smiled. ‘The man, yes.’

  ‘How large?’

  ‘They were seated, of course, but anyone could see from the width of his shoulders and the size of his hands that he was bigger, say, than any of us.’

  ‘Drinking lager, you say. Lager from a can?’

  Treadwell said in his withering voice, ‘It wasn’t the kind of party where glasses were handed out. The blighters helped themselves.’

  Allardyce was more forgiving. ‘Let’s face it, Guy. Most of those people were under the impression that we’d won a fortune and opened our house to them.’

  ‘Was the woman drinking, too?’ Diamond asked.

  Allardyce answered, ‘I believe she had a can in her hand.’

  ‘And how was she dressed?’

  ‘A pink top and dark jeans. She had short brown hair. Large brown eyes. Full lips. One of those faces you had to notice.’

  ‘You did, obviously,’ said his wife with a sharp glance.

  ‘I’m trying to be helpful, Sally.’

  ‘Good-looking, you mean?’ said Diamond.

  ‘Attractive, certainly.’

  ‘Jewellery?’

  ‘Can’t remember any.’

  ‘Let’s come to the crunch,’ said Diamond insensitively, considering the nature of the incident. ‘When did you learn that someone was on the roof?’

  Emma Treadwell spoke up. ‘Getting on for midnight. Eleven-thirty, at least. Someone who was leaving told me they’d looked up and seen a woman up there, sitting on the stonework, dangling her legs.’

  ‘They came back especially to tell you?’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you? It was bloody dangerous,’ said Guy Treadwell.

  Allardyce said, ‘Most of the people there were decent folk. If you saw someone taking a stupid risk, you’d want to do something about it.’

  ‘Who was it who told you?’ Diamond asked Emma.

  ‘A stranger. A man in his thirties, with a woman about the same age. He must have known I lived here because I was trying to protect my things, asking people to use the ashtrays I’d put out.’

  ‘He found you especially?’

  ‘Yes. I told Guy…’

  Treadwell nodded. ‘And I spoke to William.’ He looked over his half-glasses at Allardyce.

  Diamond said, ‘And you investigated and found nobody?’

  The PR man blushed. ‘I went straight upstairs to check. The window was open-’

  ‘This is the attic window?’

  ‘Yes. But nobody was out there. I was too late. At the time, I had no idea, of course. I thought she must have come to her senses and gone downstairs. It didn’t enter my mind that she’d jumped.’

  ‘Did you step outside, onto the roof?’

  ‘I leaned out.’

  ‘But you didn’t step right out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could you see enough from there?’

  ‘It was a dark night. A new moon, I think. But the street-lamp helps. I could see nobody was out there.’

  Diamond thought about challenging this assumption and then decided there was more of value to be learned by moving on. ‘You viewed the body this morning?’ he asked Allardyce.

  ‘This morning, yes. What happened was that the paperboy found her first. He knocked on Guy’s door-’

  ‘Repeatedly, about seven-fifteen, when I was feeling like death myself,’ Treadwell pitched in, unwilling to have his part in these events reported second-hand. ‘When I got up to look and saw her lying there, it was obvious that she was past help. I called the police and then went up to tell William.’

  ‘I came down and we were together when your patrol car arrived,’ Allardyce completed it.

  ‘So you both saw the body?’

  Treadwell answered for them, ‘We were asked by your people to go down the basement stairs and look. Not a pleasant duty when you’re totally unused to the sight of blood. We confirmed that we don’t know who the poor woman is.’

  ‘Other than my seeing her on the stairs with her friend the evening before,’ Allardyce added. ‘But as to her identity, we can’t help.’

  Diamond nodded to register that he’d digested all of that. ‘We’d like to see how she got onto the roof. I expect our people have already been up there?’

  ‘I think half the police force have been up there,’ Allardyce said. ‘The access is from the attic room, which is above the room we sleep in. I’ll show you. You’ll have to excuse the chaos. We haven’t even had time to make our bed.’

  ‘There were people in here while the party was on?’ Diamond asked in the bedroom, a vast high-ceilinged room with pale blue drapes on the wall above a kingsize bed.

  ‘They were everywhere. You can’t imagine how crowded it was. When we finally came to bed, there were beer-cans scattered about the room. We pushed them to the edges, as you see. I don’t like to contemplate what else we’ll find when we begin to clear up properly.’

  ‘But you won’t do that until I give the word,’ said Diamond.

  ‘Save your breath. We’ve had our instructions.’ Allardyce escorted them across the room to the door leading to the attic. He offered to show them up.

  Diamond said there was no need. He and Julie went up the stairs to what must once have been a servant’s room. Now it was a junk room largely taken up with packing-cases and luggage. The window was open and it took no great effort for Diamond to shift his bulk across the sill and stand outside.

  ‘Fabulous view,’ said Julie as she joined him.

  ‘That isn’t why we’re here.’

  ‘But it is terrific, you must admit.’

  He gave a nod without actually facing the view. ‘Where did you learn about eighteenth-century plasterwork?’

  ‘I didn’t. We’ve got an acanthus in our garden.’ She leaned over the balustrade. Quite far over. ‘It is a fair drop.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, Julie.’

  She drew herself back and gave a faint smile with a suggestion of mockery. ‘Do you have a fear of heights, Mr Diamond?’

  ‘No, no. Not at all.’

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘I said I’m all right. I only spoke because…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your skirt’s undone.’

  ‘Oh, hell.’ Blushing deeply she felt for the zip and pulled the tab over a small white V of exposed underwear.

  Diamond was tempted to make some remark about the view, but for once he behaved impeccably. ‘The woman was seen sitting here on the ledge, apparently. It doesn’t suggest she was forced over.’

  ‘She could have been pushed.’

  ‘True. But she’d got herself into a dangerous position. The odds are that she meant to jump.’

  ‘Or fly.’

  He let that sink in. ‘You’re thinking drugs?’

  ‘It was a party.’

  ‘We’ll see what the blood shows.’

  ‘The other possibility is that she fell by mistake,’ said Julie. ‘She could have been sitting here to show off, made braver by a few drinks, and then lost her balance. Easy to do.’

  They returned to the living-room where the shocked tenants sat in silence.

  ‘How much did you win?’ Diamond asked no one in particular.

  ‘Win?’ said Sally Allardyce.

  ‘The lottery.’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ said Treadwell. ‘It won’t be much. The mob who descended on us seemed to think we’d won the jackpot.’

  ‘Four numbers should get you something over fifty pounds,’ said Diamond. ‘Maybe as much as a hundred. Enough to get your carpets cleaned.’

  ‘Not enough to pay for the food and drink we were robbed of last night. Where did we go wrong?’

  Treadwell’s wife reminded him, ‘Our problems are nothing beside the tragedy of the young woman’s death.’

&
nbsp; Treadwell grasped how insensitive his remark had been. ‘What a fatal chain of circumstances. If we hadn’t shouted about our winnings in a public bar, she’d still be alive.’

  ‘We were all looking out for the numbers on the TV,’ said Sally. ‘We couldn’t have kept quiet, Guy.’

  ‘Who picked the numbers?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘Guy,’ said Sally. ‘We all have faith in Guy. He’s one of those amazing people who win things all the time.’

  ‘That’s an exaggeration,’ Treadwell pointed out.

  ‘Have you won the lottery before, then?’

  ‘It was our first time as a syndicate.’

  ‘First time winners. You should do it again.’

  ‘No way,’ said Emma.

  Diamond adopted a sagelike expression and commented, ‘“He who can predict winning numbers has no need to let off crackers.”’

  ‘What are you on about?’ said Treadwell.

  ‘I was quoting from Kai Lung.’

  The relevance of the saying – if relevant it was – escaped them all.

  ‘So how does this lucky streak manifest itself, Mr Treadwell?’

  There was a huff of impatience from the lucky man.

  Sally said, ‘Own up, Guy. There was that inheritance that came out of the blue. Five grand from a cousin in the Channel Islands you hadn’t even met. And that Sunday paper that featured you as the architect of the nineties. A big spread in the colour supplement.’

  ‘That wasn’t luck,’ said Treadwell.

  Emma chimed in, ‘The lucky bit was that you went to the same Cambridge college as the editor.’

  He snapped back, ‘So are you inferring it wasn’t in the paper on merit?’

  ‘Of course not. We’re saying you’re a winner, and you are. You go on your digs and you’re the only one who finds anything all weekend.’

  “What’s this,’ said Diamond. ‘Archaeology?’

  ‘A pastime, at a very amateur level,’ said Treadwell.

  ‘You found those gorgeous old bottles on the river bank,’ said Emma.

  ‘They’re nothing special,’ said Treadwell.

  ‘Admit it, Guy. You get all the breaks.’

  Allardyce said gallantly, ‘And your luckiest break of all was getting hitched to Emma.’

  Emma blushed at the compliment, but her churlish husband said nothing.

  Sally added for Diamond’s benefit, ‘He’ll go on denying he has a charmed life, but just don’t get into a poker game with him.’

  Diamond asked what time the gatecrashers had started arriving and was told they first appeared around 9pm and soon it became unstoppable. The pressure only eased about 10.30, after the two policemen had called, following the complaint from a neighbour. By that time all the drink was gone and the clubs and discos were opening in town.

  ‘And some remained?’

  ‘Plenty,’ said Sally. ‘For hours.’

  ‘But you had no knowledge that anyone was on the roof?’

  ‘Not until we were told.’

  Diamond went downstairs and talked to the sergeant at the door, a grizzled man with a face you could have struck a match on. ‘Do you have a personal radio?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Want to use it?’

  He might as well have invited Diamond to perform brain surgery. ‘No. Has there been any word about the victim? Has anyone reported her missing?’

  ‘Nothing’s come through to me, sir.’

  ‘Were you here when they took her away?’

  ‘I helped put her on the stretcher, sir.’

  ‘In that case, you can tell me what she was like.’

  ‘A right mess, to tell you the truth. The crack in her head-’

  ‘Yes, I know all about that,’ Diamond firmly cut him off. ‘I was wanting some idea of her normal appearance.’

  ‘She was a brunette, sir. Quite short hair actually. Good figure.’

  ‘Clothes?’

  ‘She was covered with a blanket when I arrived.’

  ‘But you helped lift her onto the stretcher, right? What did you take hold of? Her arms?’

  ‘The legs. Well, the feet. She had black jeans, white socks, black and white trainers. Only one trainer, in point of fact. One was missing.’

  ‘Fell off, you mean?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Was it in the yard? Did anyone pick it up?’ Diamond’s voice had an edge of urgency that produced a nervous response from the sergeant.

  ‘Em…’

  ‘Think, man.’

  ‘I couldn’t say, sir.’

  The missing trainer had galvanised Diamond. ‘Get on that radio of yours and find out if anyone has the shoe. Tell Manvers Street from me to contact everyone who was here at the scene, including the SOCOs, the police surgeon, the mortuary. If we have the shoe, I want to know exactly where it was found, on the roof, in the basement, or any other place. Do it now, Sergeant.’

  Sixteen

  Early the same afternoon, the filming of The Pickwick Papers was abandoned after two minibuses joined the other police vehicles in front of the Royal Crescent and a dozen officers emerged. The director said he would be consulting lawyers.

  Inside the house the reinforcements began a ‘sweep’; collecting, bagging and labelling each item discarded by the party-goers the previous night. The residents took turns to make tea and coffee, and tried without much conviction to behave as if it were a normal Sunday. Diamond had asked them to remain indoors until the sweep was over. Complications could occur, he said darkly, if people weren’t present when their house was being checked for evidence. To encourage co-operation, he asked Julie to stay there. Any hope she had of lunch with Charlie had long since been abandoned.

  The big man himself made a reluctant appearance at the Royal United Hospital mortuary. The corpse of the young woman, still in her bloodstained clothes, was wheeled out for his inspection.

  He held his breath, but the injuries were less disfiguring than he had prepared himself for. The back of her skull had taken the main impact. Blood had congealed and encrusted in a patch not strikingly different from the dark brown of her hair. The unmarked face had the look of wax. Its serenity was an appearance, not an expression, confirming the melancholy truth that a detective’s job is doomed to be unsatisfying, for the best it can do is reconstruct facts and determine what happened and who was responsible. Nothing he could discover or deduce, however brilliant, would diminish the tragedy of a young life lost.

  He stepped away for a moment, and the attendant asked if he’d finished.

  ‘Far from it.’ He approached the other end of the trolley and spent some time examining the black and white Reebok trainer on the left foot and the white sock on the right. The remaining shoe was fairly new, with little wear. It fitted snugly and was laced and tied with a double bow. The sock on the other, shoeless foot had been tugged down a little, so that the heel was hanging slackly. He attached no importance to this. It could easily have been done as the body was being moved. But he was intrigued to find the underside of the sock perfectly clean.

  ‘What it shows clearly,’ he told DCI John Wigfull in his Manvers Street lair, ‘is that she didn’t put her foot on the ground without the shoe. The dirt runs off the roof and collects in the gully behind the balustrade. You can’t avoid stepping in muck.’

  ‘What did she do, then? Hop?’

  Diamond shot him a surprised look. Sarcasm wasn’t Wigfull’s style. He was about as waggish as a Rottweiler.

  ‘I suppose she kicked the shoe off as she jumped,’ Wigfull said, more soberly.

  ‘But where is it? That shoe is missing. I’ve checked with everyone. No sign of it, on the roof or down in the basement yard.’

  ‘The adjoining basement?’

  ‘My lads aren’t amateurs, John. I said it’s missing.’

  Wigfull’s unappreciative gaze rested on Diamond for a moment. ‘You have a theory, I suppose?’

  ‘Someone picked up the damned shoe and took it away.’ Having delivered
this startling opinion, Diamond paused. ‘You’re going to ask me why.’

  A sound very like a snort of contempt escaped from under the Mexican moustache. ‘I wouldn’t give you that satisfaction.’ Wigfull was definitely getting uppish.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘Before you dash off, I think I’m entitled to know what you’re doing about this woman up at the Crescent.’

  ‘She isn’t up at the Crescent any more. She’s down at the RUH.’

  ‘This missing shoe. What does it mean, in your opinion?’

  A grin spread across Diamond’s face. ‘I thought you weren’t going to ask. There are two questions, aren’t there? How did the shoe get parted from her foot, and where is it?’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Question One, then. If you take it from me that she didn’t put her foot to the ground, then the shoe must have come off while she was sitting on the balustrade. She was seen up there some time around eleven-thirty to midnight, “dangling her legs”, so I was told. If her legs were visible, she was facing outwards looking at the lights of Bath. Of course, she may have dangled so energetically that it simply…’

  ‘Slipped off her foot?’

  ‘Yes. Or, more likely, she struck her heel against one of the stone things underneath. What are they called?’

  ‘Balusters.’

  ‘Against one of the balusters, loosening the shoe, in which case it dropped to the ground, or the basement.’

  ‘But you said it hasn’t been found.’

  ‘Don’t rush me, John. Something I didn’t say is that the other trainer, on the left foot, is securely tied, laced with a double bow.’ He paused. ‘Now, you were saying…?’

  Wigfull was not so laid-back now. In fact, he was hunched forward. ‘Where is the damned shoe?’

  ‘Thank you. That’s my Question Two. It isn’t there any more, so – as I said a few minutes ago – it must have been removed from the scene.’

  ‘But who by?’

  ‘This is just a theory. Someone else was up there on the roof. The woman hears something and turns, feeling vulnerable. The other party goes to her and there’s a struggle in which the shoe is tugged off. The victim falls to her death.’

  Wigfull’s brown eyes widened. ‘Peter, you’re talking murder now.’