Peter Lovesey - The Secret Hangman

Diamond said nothing. He was shaken. The young caver was right. Four lives had been put at risk and he was mainly responsible. Even the probable capture of a serial killer wasn’t worth so much.

The two other groups weren’t long in returning to the main area. It was agreed that the roof fall had almost certainly been caused by the suspect running through an unstable stretch of tunnel. The cavers were rescue experts and it was their duty to get the man out alive if at all possible. Diamond said the police, too, had an interest in saving the life of Harry Lang.

‘The best help you can give,’ the cavers’ team leader said, ‘is to get out and let us get on with our job.’

‘You might need to shift some heavy stuff.’

‘We’ll deal with that.’

‘He’s a dangerous man.’

‘If he’s under a ton of rock he won’t give any trouble. Go to the top and get them organised up there. We need picks and spades, a phone line, stretcher, paramedics and ambulance waiting. And more cavers to work from the other side of the fall.’

This was an expert speaking and Diamond knew he was right.

A bunch of untrained policemen would be a hindrance. The priorities had changed.

‘You don’t have to go all the way back into Firs,’ the team leader said. ‘There’s a way out which is quicker.’

They took it, a short walk, a steep climb up a ramp into the bliss of fresh air. Daylight, too, unreal after the darkness underground.

With mobiles working again, he put out the necessary calls. Soon ambulances would be waiting at two of the mine entrances and a second team of cavers lowered by rope through an airshaft. The theory was that Lang might be alive on the other side of the roof fall. This would be the only way to reach him.

Someone saw the state of them and offered the use of a shower. Kettles were boiled and tea provided. Crowds were gathering now. Most of Combe Down seemed to know that a wanted man was underground.

John Leaman drove up to the house where the police had freshened up. He wanted to be updated. Diamond said like a veteran caver, ‘These things take time. Safety considerations.’

‘I’ll radio the CAD room. Do we need more help?’

‘We’ll cope. Get Lang’s car transported for a full forensic check.’

‘Already in hand, guv.’

More than half an hour had passed since Diamond and his dusty team had emerged from the mine. A scratchy phone line was in place underground. The original team of cavers had found the tunnel totally blocked by a fall about two hundred yards beyond the point Diamond had reached. The second team, working from the other side, had located the site of the collapse without yet finding Lang.

‘Doesn’t look good for him,’ Leaman said.

‘Doesn’t look good for any of us if he’s dead meat,’ Diamond said. ‘We know sod all about him.’

Another twenty minutes passed before a message came from underground. The original team had reached a man under the rubble. He was out cold, but they’d found a pulse. A doctor was in attendance.

Harry Lang was stretchered to the surface and driven to the Royal United Hospital to be put into intensive care. He hadn’t recovered consciousness.

‘N ow I know how an expectant father feels,’ Diamond said as a nurse came out and walked past without even making eye contact.

Leaman thought about that for a while. ‘You want five?’

‘What?’

‘A break. Five minutes. I don’t mind hanging on here.’

Diamond turned to face him. ‘John.’

‘Guv?’

‘If I’d wanted five, I’d have taken it.’

‘Oh, cheers.’

They’d been here twenty-five. In that time they’d checked Harry Lang’s discarded clothes and found little of interest. At the time of the accident he wasn’t carrying a wallet or a mobile. All that was found with him was a hand-torch. It was likely, Diamond suggested to Leaman, that during the chase Lang had thrown away anything that might link him to the crimes. The clothes would be checked at the forensics lab but if there was anything apart from limestone dust it would be remarkable.

Yet another trolley was pushed along the corridor. This wasn’t the tea urn or medicines. It was library books. Diamond snapped his fingers and said, ‘Hey.’

The man with the trolley looked round. ‘Sorry, the books are for inpatients.’ Then he did a double-take and said, ‘Peter, what brings you here?’

For Leaman’s benefit, Diamond said, ‘Jerry Kean, John Leaman. I have news for you, Jerry. Remember those names you gave me — the personal trainers? One came up trumps.’

‘Which one?’

‘Lang. Harry Lang. I was going to speak to your mother, ask her to pass on my thanks. As a matter of fact, we’re waiting to interview Mr Lang any minute now.’

‘Here?’

‘He’s in intensive care.’

Jerry’s eyes swivelled.

‘Not what you’re thinking,’ Diamond said. ‘We’re not the heavy mob. He had an accident.’

‘What happened?’

‘Long story. We just hope he pulls through.’

‘Poor guy,’ Jerry said. ‘I’ll pray for him. By the way, I’ve got something for you.’ He ducked and pulled out a book from the bottom shelf of the trolley. ‘Here. A Murder is Announced.’

One of Steph’s Agatha Christies.

‘Unsuitable?’ Diamond said.

‘No. Open it and you’ll see.’

A bookmark was inserted at the title page. There, Diamond saw, in his own writing, To my one and only love, on her birthday, from Pete. He felt a stab of self-reproach and his eyes moistened. So easy to be ambushed.

Jerry was saying, ‘One of the patients noticed. You wouldn’t want it doing the rounds, would you?’

‘Thanks.’

Jerry rummaged in the bottom shelf again and produced a black totebag. ‘Put it in this. You don’t want to be seen walking around with an Agatha Christie. Not in your job.’

He had a point.

Diamond thanked him and dropped the book in, noticing as he did that the word ‘Hosannah’ was written in gold lettering on the bag.

‘A plug for my church,’ Jerry said. ‘If you want the matching T-shirt, just ask. Look, if you don’t mind I’ve two more wards to get round.’ He steered his trolley away and rejoined the flow along the corridor.

This was the busy time, visitors with flowers and grapes making their way to the wards. One of Diamond’s neighbours gave a wave as she walked past.

‘I get the feeling if we sit here long enough everyone we ever met will come by,’ he said to Leaman.

‘I don’t follow that.’

‘No, with your logical mind you wouldn’t.’

‘Was your friend serious about praying?’

‘Since we’re being precise, he’s not so much a friend as the son of a friend. Is he serious? I believe he is.’

Leaman’s mouth turned down in distaste. ‘Pray for a serial killer?’

‘We’re all sinners, aren’t we?’

‘Are you a church-goer, guv?’

‘I went to Sunday school a few times. I was trying to see it from his point of view. He’s a believer. Praying is what they do.’ He took the bookmark from the Agatha Christie. He’d noticed all the books in the trolley had one sticking out. It read: Hosannah Free Church, Green Park Road, Bath, reaching out to one and all. Lord’s Day Services at 8 a.m., 11 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. Join us and be joyful.

He handed it to Leaman. ‘Get the message?’

Leaman gave it a glance and handed it back. ‘The joyful bit puts me off. But I’ll say this for your friend. He’s not just a Sunday Christian.’

‘Yes, it humbles you, doesn’t it?’

‘What, other people going to church?’

‘Doing their best to save sinners when toerags like me are hoping they’ll save someone else, not us. His mother isn’t quite so caught up in it, I’m glad to say.’