Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘You did?’ For a moment he was floundering. Then the bogus college clicked into place, possibly the alma mater of the silent man in the cells. This could be the chance to prove the suspect was an illegal immigrant on a student visa. ‘What did you find out?’

‘The case came to trial at the end of last year and there was a successful prosecution. As we expected, the principal had shredded all the enrolment records, but he was still convicted and jailed for six years. They found some of the so-called students and got them to testify. But countless others disappeared off the radar.’

‘Interesting.’

‘And there’s something else. More than half of them were Iranian. He had some kind of arrangement with Tehran.’

‘Iran?’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘That would explain a lot. If you escaped from there you wouldn’t want to be sent back. What do you think they do to defectors?’

The way Ingeborg scrunched the front of her t-shirt was answer enough.

Diamond drummed his fingers on the desk-top. ‘What we need now is a Persian-English dictionary.’

‘You want to look up the word “consul”?’ she said. ‘We can do it on the internet.’

He shook his head in awe or despair at the limitless uses of the web while Ingeborg leaned across him and worked the keys. In seconds she had a website that allowed you to type in an English word and get the Persian, or Farsi, equivalent. ‘Consul’ produced some Persian script and the pronunciation ‘Konsul’.

‘Spot on,’ Diamond said. ‘Now we can tell Gull which fucking interpreter he needs.’

Ingeborg blinked. She’d missed the earlier exchange.

Without more comment Diamond moved on. ‘I finished reading the blogs.’

She locked in at once. She was staking her reputation on the account of the three sleuths being germane to the case. ‘What do you think?’

Under her earnest gaze, he couldn’t resist being playful. ‘I think you and I are in the right job. Sleuthing is cool.’

‘Do you agree it must be about Bath?’

‘Seems so.’

Her voice was charged with urgency as she told him, ‘It can’t be anywhere else, guv. I picked up any number of local references. She says somewhere that they’re living in the West Country and several times calls the place a city. The department store they met in sounds exactly like Jolly’s — the restaurant on the first floor, the cream teas with miniature scones, even the placing of the loos upstairs next to the hairdressing salon. It could all be coincidence, you may be thinking, but the details add up. When she comes out of the store and follows city break man she goes up the hill, as you would up Milsom Street.’

‘To cut this short,’ he said, ‘I think you’ll find that in blog number three she mentions delivering red roses to a lady in the Royal Crescent. There aren’t many West Country cities with that address.’

She gave a little cry of delight. And now he felt the heat of her enthusiasm. ‘You have read it carefully.’ She hesitated on the brink of the next question. ‘What do you think, guv? Is it a load of hooey?’

‘You mean how seriously should we take it? I’m not about to arrest the museum curator, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘You know very well that’s not what I’m asking.’

‘Tim, the weird husband?’

‘That may not be his real name. Well, I’m sure it can’t be. She says at the beginning she changed the names.’

‘Whoever he is, if he’s real, he ticks some of our boxes,’ he said. ‘In the army on active service, so he knows how to use a rifle. Lived in a city twenty miles down the road. Must be Wells. Drove a taxi, so he had wheels. Is held responsible for the teenager’s death.’

‘The policeman’s daughter’s death,’ she put in.

‘True, which is why he is harassed by the Wells police, or believes he is, so he moves here and starts going out at nights and being secretive and moody. There’s not much doubt that these women think he could be the sniper. Motive, opportunity and possibly the means as well if somehow he managed to hang on to his service rifle after being discharged.’ He leaned back in the chair and linked his hands around the back of his neck. He’d indulged Ingeborg enough. ‘But we arrested the sniper and he’s sitting in the cells. We have the weapon and we have the shoeprint evidence. Is there any point in looking for Tim?’

Her large, eager eyes were fixed on his. ‘You tell me. You’re the boss.’

‘Here’s a question for you, Inge, as a computer buff. All that stuff in the first blog about making it untraceable by bouncing the text around the internet through a series of volunteers — is that true?’

‘I’m sure it is. She over-simplifies, but the principle is correct. It’s known as the onion method. The text is encrypted and goes through a series of proxy handlers. Each one can tell where it comes from and where to send it, but that’s all they know, and all they’ll ever know.’

‘Then we’d have an impossible job trying to find out who wrote this thing and who the people are?’

‘Through the internet, yes.’

‘So the mighty computer does have its limitations?’ He rubbed his hands. ‘We’d have to find these sleuthing ladies through old-fashioned detective work, picking up clues about where they live. I’m almost inclined to start — just to get one over technology.’ He smiled. ‘But I’m not going to. We’d be wasting precious time.’

Ingeborg stared at him in disbelief, if not defiance. ‘So you think it’s all one big red herring?’

‘Don’t you?’

She didn’t get a chance to answer. The phone on Diamond’s desk rang. The desk sergeant was asking for him urgently. A clear note of alarm was in the voice.

This might have been the interview to duck. There was a definite prospect of a blow-up, if not a punch-up, even within the police station. But avoidance never crossed Diamond’s mind. The case had come to a critical point.

‘In room one, sir. He’s in quite a state.’

Diamond found Soldier Nuttall in combat clothes and desert boots, pacing the small room, speaking agitatedly into his mobile. Seeing that he was no longer alone, he switched off.

‘You took your time,’ he told Diamond. ‘I want a straight answer from you. No bullshit. Are you, or are you not, holding my boy?’

‘Holding Royston?’ He spread his hands. ‘I am not.’

‘Don’t mess with me, Diamond. If it isn’t you, one of your lot has got him. Where is he? I want him released.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘He’s only seventeen, you know. You can’t do this. I know the law. If you detain a juvenile, you must inform the appropriate adult — that’s me — of the reason why you’re holding him and his whereabouts. And I have the right to see him immediately.’

‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Diamond said. ‘He’s not here.’

‘Some other nick, then.’

‘I don’t think so. I’ve heard nothing about an arrest.’

‘You’d better check, hadn’t you?’

‘I will. What makes you think he’s under arrest?’

‘He didn’t come home last night, hasn’t been in touch, hasn’t texted, phoned, whatever.’

‘Do you have any reason to think he might have been picked up by the police?’

A wary look settled on the hawkish features. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because of what you’re saying.’

‘I won’t be tricked, you know. I know my rights. You people are going to pay heavily for damaging my property for no good reason. You’ll be hearing from my solicitor. Nothing will alter that.’

‘I didn’t mention your property,’ Diamond said, keen to move on. ‘I thought you were here about your son. When did you last see Royston?’