"I would."
"If you say it's necessary, I'll do my best."
He turned to look her in the face. "What's this 'if you say it's necessary'? Do I sense a whiff of insurrection?"
She shook her head. "It's just that I still have a pair of handcuffs in my coat pocket. You asked me to bring them, but they weren't needed."
"Only thanks to you, Julie."
"Oh?"
"The cuffs were there to shock the old bat. Break down her defenses. You did that in a much more subtle way, with your knowledge of Chinese literature."
"Chinese?"
"Foo So."
She laughed. "Foucault's Pendulum. That isn't Chinese. It's a book by Umberto Eco, the writer she was talking about."
"I don't care. It was brilliant, Julie. It shook her rigid. Shook me, too. How on earth did you know about that?"
She said, "I don't think I'll tell you."
"Come on."
"You'll be disappointed. It was pretty obvious, really."
"No!" he said, thinking back, picturing the room. "It wasn't one of those books on the mantelpiece?"
"There you go. Am I still brilliant, or have you changed your opinion?"
He didn't answer. They were interrupted by the beeping of Julie's personal radio. She took it out. "DI Hargreaves."
"Do you have Superintendent Diamond with you, ma'am? Over," the voice from Manvers Street asked.
"Yes, I do."
"Would you tell him he's wanted urgently here? A message has just been received. We think it could be another of those riddles."
The Third Riddle
Suspense
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Assistant Chief Constable, Arnold Musgrave, sat behind his desk with his hands covering his eyes as if they were sore. Across the room, from armchairs in opposite corners, John Wigfull and Peter Diamond watched in the uncomfortable knowledge that everything they had patiently and plausibly stitched together had just been unraveled.
Mr. Musgrave took a deep, troubled breath and dragged his fingers slowly down his fat features. Finally he propped his chin on his clenched fists. "To sum up, then," he said, his voice edged with reproach, "we're back with the locked room mystery we started with. Your neat theory about the narrowboat has been blown to smithereens, John."
"So we're led to believe, sir," Wigfull said with a sideward glare at Diamond.
"Sometimes I wonder if you two are singing from the same hymn sheet." Mr. Musgrave dressed him down sharply. "You can't argue with the facts. Nobody changed the padlock. It was the same one Milo Motion bought originally. The key picked up by the divers at Avoncliff fitted it perfectly. Right?"
"Right, sir," admitted Wigfull.
"Worse than that, the thief is still at large." Mr. Musgrave turned the spit relentlessly. "This new riddle turns up this afternoon, proving you were wrong about Sid Towers. He can't have been the evil genius who thinks up these damned rhymes and stole the Penny Black."
"I thought we all had a stake in that theory, sir," the maligned Wigfull couldn't stop himself from stating. "If you remember, last time we met, DS Diamond produced the paper bag with those lists of rhyming words scrawled on it. That seemed to clinch the case against Towers."
Mr. Musgrave took a breath, as if to exercise self-control under extraordinary provocation. "I don't say you're alone in your delusions, John. If this latest riddle is genuine-and I believe it is-we've all cocked up."
"Would you mind repeating the verse, sir?" Diamond asked before, his own shortcomings were opened to scrutiny.
The ACC picked a slip of paper off the desk and read the words in a monotone that underlined his distaste:
"'To end the suspense, as yours truly did,
Discover the way to Sydney from Sid.
There was a pause before Diamond said, "To Sydney? "
"It's the way this blighter works," said Wigfull. "It's gibberish. He doesn't want us making sense of the thing until after the event."
"That isn't my understanding of gibberish," Diamond said. "The other riddles did make sense."
"Yes, but only when we had all the information. There's no way we could have worked out from that first riddle that the Postal Museum was about to be done over."
"We do have a better chance now," said Diamond. "We know how two of the riddles worked out. We have some insight into the man's thinking."
"Or woman's," said Mr. Musgrave. "Let's not make any sexist assumptions. But you're right about that, Peter. Just because we didn't crack the other riddles, it doesn't mean we give up on this one. I'm as baffled as you are about this reference to Sydney. Does anyone in this case have an Australian connection?"
Diamond glanced toward Wigfull. "It hasn't come up."
"What about the first line: 'To end the suspense, as yours truly did?"
Wigfull, touchingly eager for some credit, now took a more positive line: "That 'yours truly' is worth noting-the sort of old-fashioned expression that was used before, with words like 'thee' and 'whither.' Not quite so dated as those, I have to say, but it fits the style of the earlier pieces."
Mr. Musgrave said, "I don't think there's any question that this comes from the same source. The typeface is the same, and I'm pretty sure the paper is as well."
"How was it delivered, sir?" Diamond asked.
"The same as before-all the local media got it first."
"Another thing, sir," said Wigfull, trying to be more positive. "This time the whole tone of the message is more direct, as if the writer wants us to get the solution. 'To end the suspense'… It's almost as if he or she has a need to be unmasked. Look at it from their point of view. They commit a masterly crime and put out these clever rhymes, and get no recognition. In the end, the desire for glory gets the better of them."
"That's an optimistic view." Mr. Musgrave turned to Diamond. "What do you think of that?"
"I hope John is right. God knows, we need a break-through."
"All right. What about this second line: 'Discover the way to Sydney from Sid.' We know who Sid was. Who the devil is Sydney if it's not Sydney, New South Wales?"
"We have some Sydneys in Bath," suggested Diamond. "Sydney Place, Sydney Road, Sydney Gardens, Sydney Buildings, Sydney Wharf."
"Sydney Mews," put in Wigfull.
"This is better," said Mr. Musgrave. "Any connections with the Bloodhounds?"
"None that I know," said Diamond.
"Not one of them lives in any of those streets?"
"No, sir."
"Nothing there of interest, then. What about Sydney Gardens?"
"Well, you have the museum there," said Wigfull, and as soon as the words were out he gripped the arms of his chair. "Oh Lord, do you think they're planning another theft?"
Diamond, not often to be found imbibing culture in his spare time, needed to be reminded which museum this was. The Holburne of Menstrie, a converted hotel in the park at the end of Great Pulteney Street, possesses collections of silver and ceramics that rank among the best in Europe, as well as paintings by Guardi, Zoffany, Turner, and Gainsborough.
"Better tip off the security people in case," said Mr. Musgrave. "Do it now." He picked up his phone and held it out to Wigfull. When the call had been made, he said, "Let's shelve the riddle for a moment. Where exactly are we with the murder inquiry, Peter?"
"Still interviewing, sir." This sounded lame, and Diamond knew it.
"The Bloodhounds?"
"Yes. They've all given statements to the murder squad. I'm doing the follow-up with DI Hargreaves. Talked to Mr. Motion, of course, Mrs. Shaw, Mr. Darby, and Miss Chilmark. There are two to go-Miss Miller and Mrs. Wycherley."
"Any angles?"
"No one can be eliminated yet, sir, except Milo Motion, who was here being interviewed when the murder took place. It was physically impossible for him to have got back to the boatyard and murdered Towers before he clocked in downstairs. Otherwise, not one of the Bloodhounds has an alibi worth mentioning. So far as I can make out,
every one of them had the use of a vehicle, so they could have got out to the boatyard."
"Do you seriously think a woman could have done this?"
"Cracked Sid over the head? No problem."
"Miss Chilmark?"
"She may be getting on a bit, sir, but she's still a sturdy woman."
"What about the motive?"
"For Miss Chilmark? Something emerged that made me wonder. Julie Hargreaves is working on it now."
"What's that?"
"She seems to have got through a mint of money in recent years. She sold the house in ninety-three. Ought to be in the lap of luxury now, but she isn't. I want to find out why."
"Blackmail?"
Diamond spread his hands. "Her reputation is very important to her."
"Did anything useful emerge from the other interviews? Miss Shaw?"
"Very little. It's more a matter of what she didn't tell than what she did. I knew from another source, from Milo, in fact, that she made definite attempts to be friendly with Sid. Out of sympathy, possibly. I'd be very surprised if any of it was meant as a come-on. She took him to the pub on more than one occasion after the Bloodhounds finished. When we talked, she told me about Polly Wycherley fussing over him, but she volunteered nothing about the drinks she had with him herself. I brought that up, and then she was forced to admit to it."
"You think she was holding back?"
"Before I mentioned it, she was saying that if anyone else had spoken more than a couple of words to Sid, he would have run a mile."
"But she did?"
"Yes."
"And did he?"
"Run a mile? I've no idea."
"Does Mrs. Shaw have anything to hide?"
"Not that I've noticed. She's on pretty close terms with the fellow called AJ. who helps in the gallery. There could be something in that, but I don't get a sense that they're having an affair. I couldn't raise a blush from her, anyway."
"Is that the way you work?" said the ACC. "You seem to be staking a lot on Sid as a blackmailer."
"What other motive is there, sir? He wasn't shafting anyone's wife."
"Let's have the rundown on Rupert Darby, then."
"Talk about blackmail. On the face of it, Rupert was a plum ripe for picking. A prison record that Towers could easily have checked on."
"Through his links with Impregnable, you mean?"
"Yes, sir. Only Rupert doesn't turn a hair when you talk about his form. He could hardly wait to tell me the story of his conviction for indecency-for mooning at a magistrate. He gave his impression of the beak pronouncing sentence, quoting every word. Spot on, and amusing, too. The man glories in his image as an old lag. He likes to shock."
"Not a victim, then?"
"I don't see it."
Mr. Musgrave vibrated his lips as if he suddenly felt a draft. "If you discount Darby as a suspect, you're left with the women."
"I don't make sexist assumptions, sir."
This wasn't well received. The ACC drew back in his chair and pointed his finger. "Don't make assumptions of any sort, Peter, least of all about me. Better get through those interviews PDQ. We've got the media on our backs. You're going to nail this joker fast."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Annoyed with himself for having provoked such an outburst from the ACC, who was normally the most agreeable of the high-ups, Diamond returned to the second floor resolved to channel his discontent into the pursuit of the killer. This case was a brute, but there was no point in taking it out on the people upstairs.
He found Julie in the incident room holding a phone to her ear. She rolled her eyes upward.
"Who is it?" he asked.
She mouthed the words, "The bank."
Miss Chilmark's bank. Julie must have made progress to get this far. While he'd been baiting the top brass, she had been beavering away on the things that mattered. Thank God for Julie. She had made this sort of exercise, ferreting for information, her specialty. She kept tabs on the networking between local government, business, and trade. She always knew someone to approach.
"Any joy?"
She shook her head and continued to listen to the phone while fiddling with a pencil, standing it on one end and then sliding finger and thumb down its length, and reversing it. At last she thanked her informant and put down the receiver. She gave Diamond a smile, not of satisfaction, but resignation. "Confidentiality. They won't tell me anything without authority. I did get a few things clear from an estate agent-and not the one Miss Chilmark dealt with. In this town the agents all know each other's business. The house was sold to a Mrs. Nugent-Thomas in January 1993, just as Miss Chilmark stated."
"For how much?"
"Three hundred and thirty thousand, with a clause inserted to allow her to remain a tenant for life."
"And what did she do with the proceeds?"
"That's what I was trying to discover."
"Who from?"
"A bank cashier. I thought she was sure to be good for some inside info. I used to babysit for her. It was worth trying. Doesn't matter. Plan B should get us there, even if it's a more roundabout route."
He shook his head. He hadn't the patience for Plan B, whatever that was. He'd been a front-row forward in his time. "Get the number again, and ask for the manager."
Julie gave him a do-you-think-this-is-wise look and pressed the redial button.
"Ringing?"
She nodded.
"Tell the switchboard you have a personal call for the manager from, er, Douglas, Isle of Man. Give my name but not the rank." Front-row forwards weren't picked for their subtlety, but occasionally they used the dummy pass.
Julie's eyes widened. She knew her boss well enough not to hesitate. After getting through and repeating his instruction precisely, she handed the phone across.
Diamond's face underwent a change. Suddenly he was a "picture of affability, pink and smiling as if his day so far had been spent feeding pigeons in Abbey Green. "Who am I speaking to?… Right. This is Peter Diamond, Douglas, Isle of Man branch. How are you, old boy? Must be all of ten years since we last spoke. At staff college, wasn't it? Look, this is probably nothing, but one can't be too careful. We've got a young fellow here wanting to open an account with a single check drawn on a personal account at your branch. There's more than a slight question mark about the check. Do you happen to have a Miss Hilda Chilmark as a customer?… Good. That's the name of the account holder. I daresay you have a terminal in front of you. It might be worth pressing a couple of keys… Already? You're quicker than I am with the damned thing. First it's a question of whether the balance covers the amount. Even if it does, I have my doubts whether your customer filled this in as it now appears… Actually, three thousand two hundred pounds, but it looks to my cashier as if the words 'Three thousand' might be an addition, squeezed in front, you know, and so, to my beady eye, is the number three where the digits go… The name of the drawer? John Brown, if you can believe that… Ah! I'm glad you agree… Well, I'd be grateful if you would…" He smiled at Julie.
She murmured, "I didn't think you were capable of this."
He put his hand over the mouthpiece. "You didn't hear any of this, Julie." In a moment, the manager was back in contact. Diamond now put on a caring expression, listened and then said, "Well, this does sound like a try-on. Most of her current balance, you say?… It looks as if we may be onto something rather unpleasant. You won't mind me asking. Have there been any other four-figure debits on the account recently?… Indeed!.. But by the lady herself at your branch? One can't argue with that. Between you and me, I wish I lived in such style. This does look like a one-off. Look, I'd better get back to this chappie right away. Rest assured that we'll stop it at this end and get a proper investigation under way directly. Doubtless you'll be hearing from Head Office shortly… Not at all. It's our job to keep a lookout. Thanks." He put down the phone and told Julie, "She's been drawing a thousand a week in cash for at least a year. What are the odds on blackmail?"
/> Julie's thinking hadn't got past the thousand a week. "That's a stack of money to get through."
"Every week. You couldn't do it."
"Couldn't I?" she said. "Give me the chance."
"Let's keep our minds on the job, shall we?"
She smiled. "What next, then? Back to Miss Chilmark?"
"Not tonight. I want to interview Shirley-Ann Miller."
She didn't often query a decision, but this one seemed hard to justify. "Do we need to bother? I mean, if Miss Chilmark was being blackmailed…"
"We don't know if she was."
"You brought it up, Mr. Diamond," she reminded him. "It may not be true, but it's worth putting to her, surely?"
"This morning you were prodding me into visiting all the suspects."
"Yes, but nothing was happening then. Now we're inundated. You must have heard about this new riddle sent to the press this afternoon."
"I was informed by the Assistant Chief Constable," he said with an air of martyrdom. "When did you hear about this?"
"Only a short while ago. It's all over the front page of the Chronicle. The desk sergeant had a copy."
"Into print already? And what do you make of it?" he asked.
Julie shook her head. "Sounds very like the other riddles to me, except that they were about the Penny Black. Could be some publicity seeker, I suppose. I mean, I thought we'd agreed that Sid wrote the others. We have the writing on the paper bag as evidence. True, it was just a list of rhyming words and not lines of verse, but I thought that was pretty conclusive."
"So did I until an hour ago," said Diamond. "All we've got is conflicting evidence, Julie. An impossible murder in a locked room, a dead man who continues to taunt us with riddles and a woman who lives in a basement and gets through a grand a week. You were right about the other suspects. We want the whole picture. Get your coat."
They'd done enough walking for one day, Diamond decided; this time, they inched toward Russell Street in the evening line of traffic. He used the time constructively, justifying the decision to visit Shirley-Ann Miller. At this stage of the investigation she was the least likely suspect, he cheerfully conceded, but she was potentially the most valuable witness. As a newcomer to the Bloodhounds, she must have observed each of the members acutely, getting those first impressions, alert to the dynamics of the group, the antagonisms and suspicions, linkups and alliances that undoubtedly existed. In the two meetings she had attended, she may well have seen the crucial events that led to the murder. By all accounts she was not reticent. Her recollections ought to be worth having.
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