The Summons pd-3

by Peter Lovesey

  Of course he left her to wonder about the coffee. He now felt he’d given as good as he’d got. “Get me a tea and we’ll update each other.”

  Presently they had a table to themselves and Julie reported on her search of the Billington residence. “If the cassette I was looking for was there, I’m afraid it eluded me. I searched everywhere I could think and I had a SOCO to help. It’s safe to say that Winston Billington got rid of it, if he ever acquired it at all.”

  “Find anything else?”

  “A packet of raunchy pictures stuffed into an envelope in the secret drawer of an antique writing desk. What a letdown! I thought I’d struck gold and all I found was backsides.”

  “Whose backsides?” Diamond solemnly asked. “Any we know?”

  She shook her head. “How could I tell? Faces didn’t feature at all.”

  “Pictures, you say. Photos?”

  “Scraps of paper clipped out of soft-porn mags. Pathetic, really.”

  “We all get our thrills some way,” he said philosophically.

  “Well, I found it sad.”

  “You’re not sorry for him?”

  “Sorry for the women in the pictures, reduced to that.”

  “They don’t need your sympathy. It pays better than the police.”

  “I wouldn’t do it for anything.”

  Fleetingly, he was reminded of the modeling offer he’d been made by Chelsea College, and chose not to mention it. That was for Art, not pornography, and he hadn’t signed up- yet. “And you found nothing else of interest?”

  “No.”

  “Letters, a diary?”

  “We were looking for something the shape and size of an audio cassette,” she reminded him. “We didn’t want to get sidetracked.”

  “Understood.” He summarized his interview with Prue Shorter, taking care not to understate his astuteness in recognizing Una Moon in one of the photos of the Trim Street squatters. “Beautiful how things link up.”

  “Just a coincidence, I expect,” Julie commented with serious want of tact.

  “Coincidence be buggered!” said he in an injured tone. “She’s living in a squat in Widcombe, so it’s quite logical that she should have been in squats before. I wasn’t surprised to spot her there. These crusties all know each other. They represent-what’s the jargon I’m groping for?-a whole subculture.”

  “Are you going to question her?” asked Julie, adding, when he didn’t answer, “Correction. Am I going to?”

  “One of us is, for sure. My big mistake four years ago was that I didn’t follow all the leads we had.”

  “You can’t possibly follow up every lead in a murder investigation. And now with only two of us..

  “Una Moon may be a crucial witness,” he stated with an oracular air.

  “But if Winston Billington is the murderer, where does she fit in?”

  “I’m far from certain that he is.”

  She waited interestedly for him to say more. It wasn’t often that Peter Diamond admitted to doubts of any sort.

  “We shouldn’t count on a confession when he recovers consciousness,” was all he added.

  “He was seen going into the house.”

  “If you believe G.B.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “G.B. is, or was, a drugs dealer. Telling lies goes with the job.”

  Julie was plainly unsettled by all this. Diamond seemed ready to jettison most of the progress they had made, and she didn’t understand why. “But we have it confirmed by Mrs. Billington that her husband came back early from Tenerife. That checks with G.B.’s statement.”

  “Checks with it, yes. Confirms it, no.”

  She didn’t appreciate the distinction. “We know Billington perjured himself in court.”

  “But we don’t know why.”

  She sighed and said, “Something is going over my head here.”

  He explained. “The point is this. Billington cut short his holiday and returned early. We don’t have copper-bottomed proof yet, but since we have corroboration from two sources we’ll take this as more than likely true. It’s the most interesting thing to emerge since you and I started on this. Now suppose G.B. also got to know this information, either back in 1990 when it happened, or some time since. He could easily have concocted a story to implicate Billington in the murder.”

  “I understand that. But why?”

  “To shift the suspicion.”

  “Away from himself, you mean?”

  “Or someone he wants to protect.”

  She was still skeptical. “How would G.B. have found out about Billington’s holiday arrangements?”

  “Through the grapevine. All those crusties at the Trim Street squat had met Britt when she came to do her story on the place. There was a lot of interest in the murder. Billington’s evidence at the trial was written up in the press. His picture was in the local papers at the time of the inquest. It only wanted one person to recall seeing him here in Bath at the time he was supposed to have been in Tenerife.”

  She pondered the matter. “But we’ve been assuming that Billington returned early because he fancied his chance of some action with Britt. He bought flowers at Tenerife Airport, remember.”

  “So Mrs. Billington told us.”

  “We can check the credit card records.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you saying all this may not have happened?”

  “I’m saying there may be another explanation.”

  “He told his wife the story of the emergency meeting in London.”

  “She told us he told her.”

  “Don’t you believe her either?”

  “Not until we’ve checked it ourselves. I’ve got a list of things that need following up ASAP, and one of them is that meeting. Get on the phone to Billington’s head office and see if they have any record of it. I also want to know if Una Moon has any form.”

  “I’ll run her name through the PNC,” said Julie, forgetting Diamond’s computer phobia.

  “Don’t we keep records of our own in this Constabulary?” he said peevishly.

  “The PNC is quicker.”

  Rather than arguing, he said, “As it’s so quick, see what you can find on the rest of the bunch: Billington, Marcus Martin, Jake Pinkerton and G.B.”

  She didn’t protest. “Do we have a surname for G.B.?”

  This wrongfooted him. He remembered trying to tease out the name, and failing. Annoyed with himself, he fired one of his regular broadsides: “It’s all initials these days. We don’t need words anymore. PNC, SOCO, CPS, PACE. Three days back in Bath and my brain is clogged with letters of the alphabet.”

  “What do you suggest I do, then?”

  “About the Police National Computer? Do you really want me to answer that?”

  She smiled faintly. “I meant about G.B.”

  When really taxed, he could sometimes dig deep into his memory. “There’s a unit to monitor the crusties over that midsummer festival nonsense every year. Operation Stonehenge, or whatever they call themselves. OS, no doubt. They ought to know his name.”

  “I’ll try them. Shall I check Prue Shorter while I’m at it?”

  “On the computer? Yes.”

  “She’s still a suspect?”

  He nodded, as if the question were superfluous.

  Julie said, “I wasn’t sure if you’d ruled her out.”

  “Why should I?”

  “You thought originally that she might be a lesbian, jealous about Britt’s affairs with men, but now we know she had a daughter, that motive is out.”

  He said, “I don’t see why. Did the sexual revolution pass you by? There are plenty of lesbian mothers about. Haven’t you heard the expression AC/DC?”

  Julie exercised restraint, refraining from pointing out that he was now using initials himself. “Fair enough. I’ll check her, too.”

  He finished his tea. “Whilst you expose yourself to gamma radiation, I’m going to look for John Wigfull. I want to know whet
her they’ve charged Mrs. Billington yet.”

  Wigfull was in the main control room using the phone. Several others were speaking into headsets. In fact, a major alert seemed to be on. Briefly, he moved the phone away from his mouth and muffled it against his chest. “Have you heard?” he asked Diamond. “We’re about to move in on Mountjoy.”

  “Where?”

  Wigfull put up his hand to interrupt and spoke into the mouthpiece again. “Look, we’re fully stretched here. If I can’t get something sorted soon, I’m trying Wilts.”

  “Is this another of Warrilow’s wild goose chases?” Diamond asked.

  Wigfull shook his head and said down the line, “Thanks. Just as soon as you possibly can.”

  “In Bath?” Diamond asked.

  He put down the phone. “The Empire Hotel.”

  “A hotel?” He plucked the name out of his past, clicked his fingers, and said, “Right. You mean that enormous place behind the Guildhall that’s been empty for years.”

  “They’re in one of the top-floor rooms overlooking Orange Grove. Young Samantha was spotted forty minutes ago on the balcony trying to attract attention.”

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “Totally. She was topless and waving a T-shirt like a flag.”

  “You know her as well as that?”

  “I’m telling you,” said Wigfull, blushing scarlet, more in anger than embarrassment. “A Japanese tourist was taking a video from the top story of the Ham Gardens car park. He brought it straight here. On the zoom you can see it’s Samantha, even though her hair has been dyed.”

  “Any sign of Mountjoy?”

  “Hard to see.”

  “So what’s happening?”

  “Warrilow is there, directing operations.”

  “You’d better warn him that Mountjoy is armed.”

  “What?” Wigfull swayed toward Diamond. “What did you say?”

  “He has a gun, a handgun. If they’re moving in, they ought to be told.”

  “Bloody hell!” Wigfull snatched up the phone again. “Get me Mr. Warrilow, fast.” To Diamond, he said, “For crying out loud! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Diamond treated the question as less urgent than Wigfull’s business on the phone, and, sure enough, in less than the time it would have taken to answer, the vital information was being relayed to Warrilow.

  “Yes, with a handgun… Peter Diamond tells me… I don’t know, sir. I haven’t had a chance to ask him… Of course… In the meantime, will you…? Yes, I think that’s essential.” To Diamond, he said, “I’m lost for words. People could have been killed.”

  “Is he pulling them back?”

  “Of course he is. My God, Peter, you’d better fill me in fast.”

  That was what Diamond proceeded to do, explaining succinctly how Mountjoy had ambushed him in the Francis the previous evening at the point of an automatic. “Don’t ask me where he got it from, or whether it’s loaded. That didn’t emerge. We talked. He told me he was becoming impatient. He wanted results.” He paused to receive the heat of Wigfull’s outrage.

  “All this was last night. Last night, for crying out loud? I simply don’t understand why you didn’t report it.”

  “Frankly, John, because I believe Warrilow will have him shot. Now that he knows the man is armed, he’s justified in taking his life. You know the form. You know how sieges end.”

  “If it’s Mountjoy’s life or one of ours, we’ll shoot the bastard,” Wigfull declared.

  “And I can’t fault your logic.”

  This sounded like capitulation and caught Wigfull off balance. His next remark was couched less aggressively. “But you were willing to expose police officers to fire without warning them.”

  “No. The minute I heard they were moving in, I told you what I know.”

  “Why not last night?”

  “I just explained.”

  “What’s so special about Mountjoy, that you want him kept alive?”

  Diamond insisted gently, “I’m almost certain that he’s an innocent man.”

  “Innocent? He’s kidnapped Mr. Tott’s daughter. That’s a serious crime.”

  “I mean innocent of murder, the murder I sent him down for.”

  “I see! You believe what Mrs. Billington told us last night, that stuff about her husband killing Britt Strand?”

  “All I’m saying is that Mount joy appears to have suffered a miscarriage of justice. I was chiefly responsible and I want to see him cleared.”

  “If he is, it won’t reflect credit on you.”

  At this, Diamond erupted. “Do you think I’m looking for bloody credit? I spent long enough in the police to know what that amounts to. I had a pretty good record as a detective, but I wasn’t infallible, and when I make a mistake I have the guts to admit it and do something about it.”

  “I don’t understand this,” said Wigfull, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I just don’t understand. You were brought in because of Samantha Tott, not Mountjoy. Her life was under threat and Mountjoy was making demands. We had you brought here to keep him sweet while we recaptured him.”

  “I made it crystal clear that if I stayed, I would look at the case again. Keeping people sweet doesn’t come naturally to me, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I don’t know how you hoped to get anywhere, just two of you.” A thought struck Wigfull and it was almost possible to see it strike. “Did Inspector Hargreaves know that Mountjoy is armed?”

  “She wasn’t there,” Diamond said, wanting to cut off that avenue.

  “But did you inform her?”

  “Keep Julie out of this.”

  “You may think because you’re no longer on the strength that you can take chances with men’s lives, but she’s one of us. If she knew about that gun-”

  “She didn’t,” Diamond lied and then deflected the attack. “What you need is someone who knows the building. It’s a rabbit warren by the look of it. Have you got hold of the plans yet?”

  “We’ve only just had the alert.”

  “Try the City Council. Property and Engineering Services. It’s their baby. They must have a set of plans. With any luck, someone there will know exactly what it’s like inside the building.”

  “I was getting round to that.”

  “I’d get round to it pronto if I were you, John.” He waited while Wigfull made another phone call.

  As soon as the call was finished, Diamond started along another devious trail. “Mountjoy is doing his cause no good at all by carrying a weapon. I accept that. We’re bound to use marksmen now and a handgun is no use against a high velocity rifle. His chance of survival is small.”

  “It would be simple if he didn’t have Samantha with him,” Wigfull reflected, exactly as he was meant to.

  Diamond gave a nod. “You’ve got a hostage situation, and it wants delicate handling. Can you trust Warrilow not to take any risks? Speaking personally, I’m far from confident that he can handle an armed siege.”

  “That’s not a matter for me,” Wigfull said, ever mindful of rank.

  “Has Mr. Farr-Jones been informed? Mr. Tott?”

  “It’s only just happened.”

  “If I were you, I’d cover myself, make sure they were fully briefed.” The trail was opening out and the way ahead was clear.

  Wigfull acted on the advice and got on the phone again. After speaking to both of the top brass, he informed Diamond, “We’re to proceed to the hotel at once. The Chief wants a meeting.”

  “With Warrilow present?”

  “Yes. Shall we go?”

  ***

  An interested crowd had gathered, attracted by the pulsing blue beacons on the police cars parked in front of the ornate facade of the once-gracious hotel in the center of Bath. The construction of the Empire had spanned the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign and the first of King Edward VII’s and its design seemed to epitomize the change of monarchs; five stories were formal in style, typical of lat
e Victorian public buildings, while the sixth burst into a rollicking joke. The top of the hotel celebrated three disparate styles: a red-tiled twin gable that might have been borrowed from a suburban villa; a Dutch gable defined in gracious curves; and a turret, seven-sided and castellated. In consequence it was the most vilified building in Bath, variously described in books about the city as “huge and execrable”; “a monolithic monster”; “an eclectic piece of nonsense”; “a prime example of Edwardian bad taste”; “crazy round the tops”; “a fearful mock-Jacobean skyscraper with a touch of Lacock Abbey in the top corner”; and “as bad in this setting as a gasometer.” But Peter Diamond had an affection for it amounting to empathy; often his own appearance drew comments almost as harsh.

  Tott had already arrived and was standing on the turf of the Orange Grove roundabout staring up at the end of the building where his daughter had been sighted, the twin gables to the left. Warrilow was speaking earnestly to him-the man whose opinion would probably hold sway-getting in his five cents’ worth before the crucial decisions were debated. Wigfull marched over to join in the decision making.

  Seeing that the Chief Constable hadn’t yet appeared, Diamond didn’t immediately join the party. Nothing constructive could come from a shouting match with Warrilow, who no doubt blamed him for ruining the recapture operation. Warrilow, another career man like Wigfull, could be counted on to conduct himself decorously when Farr-Jones was present.

  Instead, he took a walk around the perimeter of the Empire, faintly interested to discover how Mountjoy had got in, but mainly to gain a few moments’ quiet thought. What was decided presently would settle far more than John Mount-joy’s fate.

  The hotel entrances had been made secure with padlocks. Along the sides facing the street, a thirty-foot-deep stone gully behind railings and covered with an iron grille made things difficult for potential intruders. He guessed that the weak points were at the back. Turning left into Boat Stall Lane, the narrow passage dividing the rear of the hotel and the Rummer public house, he came to the ramp descending to Eastgate, the medieval arch below street level that had once formed part of the city boundary. There, in a murky, evil-smelling passage looking like a leftover set from a Hammer horror film, was the Empire’s delivery bay.