Diamond Solitaire

by Peter Lovesey

  "In the proper dosage, yes."

  "It's what Manny was looking for all his life," said Leapman, spacing his words and speaking on a rising, evangelical note. "A surefire product that will take the mass market by storm."

  David thought of his father. He remembered that bizarre wink in the morgue. The incident couldn't have meant anything, but it would never be erased from bis memory. "So when do we go public on this?"

  "I'd say tomorrow if we want to keep Manflex afloat," said Leapman. Quick to note David's startled reaction, he added, "At this stage, we just have to announce tomorrow that we'll be hosting a conference soon to present the first studies of a new drug for Alzheimer's. That's enough to restore some confidence."

  The decision couldn't be put off. Now David felt bis sweat go cold against his T-shirt He looked towards Churchward.

  "That's fine by me, gentlemen," the professor said, positively fraternal. "I'm ready to publish."

  "We're not going into production yet," Leapman told David in reassurance.

  "Yes, but once we've made this announcement, there's no drawing back, or it'll play hell with our rating on the stock market"

  "Agreed," Leapman said cheerfully.

  David was still troubled. "The next step is going to require funding. Millions, probably. Clinical trials on a wide scale don't come cheap. And if we get FDA approval, we'll require massive new investment to launch this drug."

  "So we raise capital."

  "In a world recession?"

  "We've got to be bold, David, or, frankly, Manflex is finished." Leapman moved closer and said confidentially, "Actually, I have some suggestions about additional financing mat I can put to you later."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  With her drawing pad tucked under her arm and the marker pen in her fist, Naomi stepped into the waiting taxi as confidently as royalty. Just in case the little girl was more uneasy than she appeared, Diamond tried to enliven the short journey by pointing out the London buses they passed. After ten or so, he gave up. Naomi didn't need distracting.

  Julia Musgrave had wanted to buy her a special dress with a lace collar until Diamond had reminded her of the reason why the child was going in front of the television cameras. So, she was in clothes similar to those she had been found in—a brown-and-white check dress from Marks and Spencer, and white tights and trainers.

  For a moment when the taxi circled the fountain in front of the Television Center at Shepherd's Bush, a small hand reached for Diamond's and gripped it tightly. Nerves? He wasn't convinced. Maybe she thinks I'm looking jittery, he told himself.

  In the course of his police career, he had notched up plenty of television appearances, so by rights he shouldn't have had any anxieties. But he was nagged by doubts whether an appeal for information on "Crimewatch" was any preparation for "What About the Kids?"

  He had been asked to report to the reception desk with Naomi by ten on Friday morning, and also to be patient, because Cedric was going to fit them in when an opportunity came; there was no way of predicting how soon it would be.

  They were taken up to the hospitality suite. The purpose of such places is allegedly to put visitors at their ease. Diamond's confidence plunged as he stepped inside. He was a misfit here. The hospitality amounted to a stack of canned cola and plates of doughnuts and Penguin biscuits. Toys of various kinds were scattered invitingly around the leather and steel furniture. Naomi, for her part, appeared as indifferent to the food and the toys as Diamond was. She squatted on the carpeted floor and was soon completely absorbed in her drawing.

  There are certain pivotal moments in any fanatical enterprise when you are compelled to pause, look around you and take stock. It wasn't the toys or the doughnuts that pulled Diamond up short, nor the arrival of three small girls in pink satin frocks, nor the boy with a punk haircut who came in on a skateboard. The critical factor was Sally, a deceptively docile-looking chimpanzee accompanied by a gray-haired woman wearing gauntlet gloves. Hardly had Sally been carried in and deposited at the far end of the settee where Diamond was seated before she started jumping and shrieking. The creature wasn't in distress, the woman assured them, nor was she nervous about appearing on TV. Sally, it seemed, was a regular, the mainstay of the program. No, Sally was screaming out of sheer high spirits, because she was happy.

  Moreover, she wanted to share her happiness with Diamond. Dressed in a red leather harness, but given a fair amount of play on the rein held by her trainer, she was allowed to venture within a yard or so of Diamond (it was a fine judgment on the trainer's part) and flail her arms in his direction. Then she bared her teeth and screamed.

  Because she was happy.

  That morning over breakfast, he'd told Stephanie where he would be spending the day, remarking bleakly that a kids' TV program was a far cry from police work. Steph had pointed out mat he was a free agent now. If he wanted to go through hoops for young Naomi, fine, but he'd better not forget that it was a self-imposed quest "What you mean," he'd summed it up for her, "is stop griping."

  She hadn't disagreed.

  So if Peter Diamond, notoriously short-fused, was willing to share a settee with a screaming ape, something fundamental must have happened in his life, and it had. The fate of one small, silent girl now governed him; and all she had done was place her hand in his a few times.

  Not wanting to make waves, he endured a full fifteen seconds of Sally the chimp before moving to another chair. He even smiled good-naturedly at the trainer, acting on a shrewd suspicion that if it came to a showdown, he and Naomi would be out on the street, not Sally.

  Not to be denied, the chimp continued to make screaming sorties in his direction.

  "She likes you," the woman declared in that evasion often used by owners of animals that terrorize other people. "She's really taken a shine to you."

  Relief presently arrived in the person of a bright-eyed young woman who introduced herself as Justine and said she was Cedric's personal assistant At her side was a black boy looking not much older than Naomi. "This is Curtis who'll be interviewing you," Justine said, and explained as Diamond's eyebrows shot up, "The program is entirely presented by kids." And with that, Justine smiled and left.

  Curtis winked. He was wearing a red baseball cap and a black T-shirt with the program's title across the front in white lettering. He extended a small hand to Diamond. "Pete—you don't mind if I call you Pete?—I'm really sorry I can't tell you when we'll do our spot," he said, sounding like someone five times his age, "but I thought you and Naomi might like to see inside the studio while we have the chance."

  "We'd appreciate that," Pete confirmed. About the only other person in the world who used the short form of his name was Stephanie. On a snap assessment, Curtis was worth making an exception for. No one else in the hospitality suite had been winkled out by their interviewer to become familiar with the studio.

  Naomi had to be helped to her feet, she was so engrossed in her drawing.

  "Is that Japanese writing?" Curtis asked.

  "It's a nice idea, but I don't believe so," Diamond answered after a glance at the sheet, which was decorated once again with diamond shapes. "You know, of course, that she doesn't speak?"

  "You bet I do, Pete," came the answer. Curtis led them at a springy step through a couple of swing doors into die studio, a cavernous place, in semidarkness except for the set of a pirate ship, where the technicians were setting up. With a caution to watch out for cables, Curtis made a beeline for an unlighted stage dressed up as an airport departure lounge, but scaled to child-size. Through a window, a model jumbo jet was visible on a realistic-looking runway.

  "It's one of our permanent sets, no kidding. Isn't it the pits?" Curtis apologized. "You're supposed to think this is where the action is. The jet set, get it? It's where Cedric wants to shoot us."

  In view of the flight to Boston being planned for Naomi, the choice was not inappropriate and Diamond said as much to Curtis. "The only problem is that I'm going to look like King Kon
g in a set that size," he added.

  "No sweat, Pete," Curtis assured him. "The cameraman can take care of that" Whether such touching faith was justified was another question, but the boy couldn't have been more reassuring as he went on to outline the kind of interview he wanted to conduct "The way I see it, we need to get across the story of how Naomi was found. You were in Harrods that night, am I right?"

  Diamond nodded.

  "So we'll talk about how she caused a major alert, and then I'll ask you who she is and how she got there, and you'll say nobody knows, right? Then you'd better tell me she doesn't speak at all. Cedric says we should skip the reasons for that Keep it simple."

  "Agreed," said Diamond, warming to these people. He didn't want Naomi labeled as autistic, or in any way mentally impaired. Far better if her mutism was just presented as a fact

  "Okay, then," said Curtis. "The point I'll be making is that we need help with this mystery." He paused, made quote signs with his fingers and spaced his words. "Who... is ... Naomi? Cut to a close-up of Naomi. We want people to look at her and say to themselves, 'Jeez, where have I seen mis chick before?'"

  No question—the boy was a pro.

  "And that's it?" said Diamond.

  "Unless you have something else you want to throw in."

  "You've covered it"

  "Like to see the other sets?"

  While this was going on, Naomi had remained at Diamond's side, her drawing pad held across her chest. Now that the conversation had entered a new, less earnest phase, she began shifting her feet as if she wanted to leave the studio.

  Curtis shot her a glance and asked, "Does she want the girls' room?"

  "What?" Diamond was nonplussed.

  'The girls' room. The loo. How do you know if she wants to go?"

  This wasn't a contingency he'd foreseen. Being responsible for a small girl brought complications. "You'd better show us where it is, Curtis."

  The toilets were next to the hospitality suite. As soon as Naomi sighted the doors she handed her drawing pad and marker to Diamond and ran ahead. Interestingly she understood the symbols, because she didn't falter over the choice.

  Curtis looked up at the clock and promised to rejoin them after lunch, when they'd be wanted in makeup. He gave directions to the canteen. With a wink and a smile he left Diamond waiting uncertainly outside the toilets. There was no telling whether the little girl could manage unaided, and as luck would have it, no woman came by, or he'd have asked her to check.

  Strewth, if the lads in the Avon and Somerset Police could see me now, Diamond mused.

  Then she emerged composed and in good order. Together they went to explore the BBC canteen. The pace started to accelerate.

  Lunch.

  Makeup.

  Back to the hospitality suite.

  Curtis, by now dressed in a red shirt and black bow tie, kept them up to date with the program schedule. It seemed they might be included between the trio in pink satin and the skateboarder. Meanwhile Naomi continued with her drawing.

  "She may be trying to tell you something. Have you thought of that?" Curtis commented.

  "With the drawing, you mean? Certainly I have," Diamond said, "only I haven't cracked it yet."

  Curtis took another look over Naomi's shoulder. "Is it a logo? You know, like you see in ads?"

  "The diamond shape? Off the cuff I can't think of any business that uses it."

  "Have you noticed she doesn't shade them in? When most kids draw a shape like that, they fill it in."

  This was an observation he hadn't considered. For the moment he couldn't see its relevance, but Curtis was ahead of him.

  "Could be something you see through, like those funny windows in old houses."

  Leaded windows.

  "That's a fascinating suggestion, Curtis."

  "No fee," said Curtis. "I'd better get back to the control room now. Stay cool." He strolled out, clicking his fingers to some tune pounding in his head.

  Diamond weighed Curtis' idea. If Naomi had lived in a house with lattice windows, this could be a genuine clue. He levered his weight out of the chair and ponderously lowered himself to kneel beside her.

  She stopped drawing and eased back on her thighs.

  He studied the marks she had made on the paper. Some of them, at any rate, were joined at the corners. Maybe it was inevitable when she was drawing so many. He held out his hand and said, "May I use the marker?"

  She handed it to him. Not only did she understand, but she trusted him with the precious marker. A good sign.

  He turned to a fresh sheet and started drawing diamonds linked at the corners. It would have been simpler to have drawn two sets of intersecting diagonal lines, but he reckoned Naomi's conception began with the basic shape, so he worked from that, gradually building a grid.

  She watched him at work, and he was encouraged, even though she remained passive. He completed the drawing by squaring it off with straight lines to represent a frame, and he had a passable lattice window. He handed it back to her. "How about that?"

  She gave his work serious attention, studying it as earnestly as if she were one of the Hanging Committee at the Royal Academy. She put out her hand and traced the grid with her fingertips. It seemed that something wasn't done to her satisfaction.

  "You want curtains?" said Diamond. He reached for the drawing pad, but she refused to give it up. Instead, she held out her hand for the marker.

  He passed it across.

  Concentrating deeply, she leaned so far over the drawing pad that her hair flopped forward, exposing the narrow white nape of her neck. She was working on the area at the top of the sheet, above the window Diamond had drawn. He couldn't see it until she sat back.

  This time she had baffled him completely by adding two rectangles and a small circle:

  He was beginning to feel as if this were some kind of game for people with higher IQs than he possessed. He'd never mastered Rubik's Cube. He'd given up trying after one of Steph's Brownies had demonstrated how to do the thing in a few rapid twists.

  Curtis released him from further brain strain by coming back and saying that they were wanted in the studio now. Naomi stood up immediately, not only appearing to understand, but seeming keen to get on with the real business of the day. The visit to the Television Center had animated her, a pity Julia Musgrave hadn't been here to see it.

  On the set, an adult-sized chair had been found for Diamond, the only drawback being that it was so low to the ground that he suspected six inches had been sawn off the legs. "Just don't expect me to stand up while the cameras are rolling," he warned Curtis, who was standing beside him for the interview.

  Opposite them, Naomi perched serenely on a child-sized upholstered bench. She appeared more interested in the model airplane visible through the window than the cameras, and the floor manager had to snap his fingers to get her attention.

  Then came the signal.

  Smoothly, Curtis talked to the camera. Kids everywhere, he said, fancied themselves as detectives, and now they were getting the chance to solve a real-life mystery. In a few graphic sentences he gave the background, the terrorist alert in Harrods and the discovery of the small girl, his cue to introduce Diamond.

  The interview went precisely as planned, with no trick questions and no stumbling answers. Afterwards, there was a chance to watch a recording, and Diamond was pleased to see how strongly the appeal to the viewers came over. Cedric Athelhampton emerged at last from the control room, a pencil-thin man dressed entirely in white, and shook Diamond's hand. "Stunning, my love, simply stunning. You must have been handcrafted for television, every chunky pound of you, did you know that? Such a substantial presence, a marvelous contrast with the little girl. My only problem now is that I didn't warn the BBC about the calls. I'm perfectly certain me switchboard's jammed already. I'm going to get it in the neck, but it was bloody good television, and I'll say so in my defense."

  "What about these calls?" Diamond asked, suddenly perturbed
.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Who's taking mem?"

  "They're being put through to my office, to my assistant, Justine, at present. Between you, me and the BBC, ninety-nine percent will be duff. The proverbial pisspot full of crabapples. Kids get carried away when someone with Curtis' charm and flair makes an appeal for information. Isn't he irresistible?"

  Diamond was in no frame of mind for discussing anyone's charm and flair. He was furious with himself for failing to think ahead. He'd been far too preoccupied with the program. "Right now I'm interested in the calls, the one percent. Is Justine capable of recognizing the real thing?"

  Cedric smiled roguishly. "The real thing? How would I know?" Reacting fast to Diamond's glare, he added, "She's bright, as bright as a guardsman's buttons. Don't fret" He squeezed Diamond's arm. "We'll let you know if we strike lucky."

  But Diamond wasn't satisfied. He insisted on being taken to the office where Justine was answering the phone.

  She had a notepad open and a pencil in her hand, and was talking into a headset. "Thank you, dear. Now give the phone to Mummy." She glanced up at Diamond. "Sodding little brats." She pressed another switch and said wearily," 'What About the Kids'... Where exactly did you see her? ...The King and I? Do you mean the film with Yul Brynner? ... Thank you, I've made a note of it..."

  Maybe it wasn't opportune to ask if any of the calls seemed promising.

  Justine said, "The parents give mem these ideas. They must do. They're dafter than the kids." She told Diamond, "I know why you're here. I've been doing this for over an hour and they're still coming in nonstop. Do me a favor and get me a sarnie and an orange juice from the canteen, would you? By then I might have got myself sorted."

  He didn't argue; he was going to have to rely on Justine.

  She'd removed the headset when he returned. She bit hungrily into the sandwich. "Thanks. What do I owe you?"

  "Just a summing-up," he told her. "Have we struck gold, or not?"

  "You're the judge of that. What it boils down to is at least twelve callers who swear they know her, at school, or in a dancing class, or something. I've got their numbers so you can call them back. And there was one spooky call."