Peter Lovesey: The Secret Hangman

‘Ah.’ The response was verging on ‘arrgh’ now he realised who was on the line. After the rousing speech to his squad he was in no mood for trivial chat with his secret admirer.

‘It was meant for you.’ She paused, and her tone changed. ‘The blighters. If they had it themselves, I’m going to raise hell.’ She was ready to go to war with the desk team downstairs.

He had to deal with this. ‘Oh — the cake?’ All experience told him to say the minimum, but he’d been trained in good manners since he was a kid. After clearing your plate you say thanks. He’d eaten the damned cake and forgotten it. Where was his gratitude? ‘Am I speaking to the lady who made it? Very tasty. The cake, I mean.’

She laughed.

He didn’t. He wasn’t trying to be amusing.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m not fishing for compliments. I know I’m not the greatest cook.’

The good manners took over again. ‘Everyone said it was the best. I shared it round.’

‘You should have taken it home.’

‘I did — what was left of it.’

‘Let’s not talk about the wretched cake,’ she said. ‘You’re not daft. You know who I am.’

‘Do I?’

‘The woman you didn’t meet at the Saracen’s last night. Did my letter put you off?’

‘It’s nothing to do with your letter, nothing personal,’ he said. ‘That’s the point. It can’t be personal because I don’t know you. And you certainly don’t know me, or you wouldn’t bother.’

She wasn’t giving up yet. ‘I told you quite a bit about myself in the letter.’

‘Yes, ma’am, and now I know you make a fine chocolate cake, but it doesn’t mean we’d enjoy a drink together.’

‘Why not? We haven’t tried.’

He was getting annoyed. ‘Because I don’t do that stuff.’

‘What stuff?’

‘Going out with women I haven’t met.’

‘But how do I get to meet you? I’d really like to.’

‘Sorry, ma’am, but it’s not going to happen. Goodbye.’ He hung up.

Confused emotions churned inside. He felt mean, heavy-handed, unchivalrous. She’d gone out of her way to be friendly and he’d slapped her down. But she had no right to demand a meeting. He was entitled to say no, wasn’t he?

He went straight out. There was serious work to be done. The little voice inside him said Diamond you’re a coward, walking away from the phone in case she tries again.

Peter Lovesey

Peter Diamond — 09 — The Secret Hangman

T osi’s was in George Street, up the hill from the police station. Halliwell suggested they walked there, but Diamond was panting like a bulldog before they reached the top of Milsom Street and he asked Halliwell to slow down. ‘You’ve made your point, Keith.’

‘What point is that?’

‘You don’t normally go as fast as this, do you? Man in my condition can’t keep up.’

‘Hadn’t crossed my mind, guv.’

‘I was fit once.’ He had to stop altogether on the corner. ‘There was a time when I played rugby for the Met every Saturday and trained two nights a week. Soon as I gave it up I put on the weight.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Halliwell said, trying to be charitable.

‘Look at me.’

There was no way of telling whether Diamond wanted to prolong the self-criticism, or was just too puffed to move on.

Halliwell tried again. ‘You’re a man of substance, guv. People don’t mess with anyone your size. Look at the way the press swallowed everything you gave them this afternoon.’

He eyed Halliwell, uncertain how serious he was. ‘Let’s see what they print tomorrow. Then we’ll know how much they took in.’ He started walking again.

It was a tiny basement restaurant under a travel agent’s. They were met at the foot of the stairs by Signor Tosi himself, a man whose immense bulk restored some of Diamond’s self-esteem. ‘I catch Luigi,’ Tosi said, as if his head waiter were a contagious disease. He waddled inside and shouted Luigi’s name and something in Italian about the carabinieri.

A man in a white shirt and bow tie came from the back.

‘I translate, eh?’ Signor Tosi offered.

‘I figure we’ll get by,’ Luigi said in a smooth mid-Atlantic accent. He was tall and slim, with brown eyes that gave you undivided attention. ‘This is about poor Delia, I guess.’

‘Torto, torto,’ his boss said. ‘Delia Williamson.’

‘Can you get rid of this clown?’ Diamond said to Halliwell.

Halliwell grasped Tosi’s arm and led him to the kitchen at the back of the restaurant.

‘What was he on about?’ Diamond asked the waiter.

Luigi gave a wide smile. ‘He’s the boss. Thinks he has a divine right to know what I tell you.’

‘You don’t have any problem with the language, that’s for sure.’

‘Too much time watching movies.’

‘OK. While we’ve got the boss out of the way let’s talk about the set-up here. How many staff does he employ?’

‘Three only. Carlo, Delia and me. Carlo is the cook.’

‘You’re the head waiter?’

He laughed. ‘I could live with that if it meant extra pay.’

‘Were all three of you on duty the night Delia went missing?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did she get along with you?’

‘No problem. She was great, a good worker, always willing to help if I was under pressure.’

‘You get busy in here, then?’

He shrugged. ‘People like Italian.’

‘When are you open. Evenings only?’

‘Six to midnight, depending how busy we are.’

‘On the evening we’re talking about, the Tuesday, I gather Signor Tosi went home early and left you in charge.’

Luigi frowned, troubled that some of the blame might be coming his way. ‘He told you that?’

‘It’s true, isn’t it? You locked up?’

‘Sure.’

‘So who was here at the end of the evening?’

Luigi curled his lip, not liking this line of questioning one bit. ‘She was, and so was I.’

‘The cook had left?’

‘Twenty minutes before she did.’

‘What sort of evening had it been?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Customers.’

‘I get you.’ The shift away from him personally came as obvious relief. ‘A quiet night. Party of four. Two couples. One man dining alone.’

‘Regulars?’

‘Yes, the four have a regular booking. Retired people. And one of the couples comes often. The others were new to me.’

‘Do you happen to remember who Delia was serving?’

‘That couple I just told you about. And the single man.’

‘Who you hadn’t seen before? What was he like?’

‘I didn’t speak to him. A businessman maybe, visiting the city. Suit and tie. Twenty-five, twenty-six.’

‘Why do you say he was visiting?’

‘Guy on his own. You get to recognise them. They’re stuck overnight in some hotel, so they look for a place to eat out. Most guys don’t eat alone if they live just up the street.’

‘Would he have booked?’

‘No, but I have his name, if that’s what you’re asking. When I heard you were coming, I looked through the credit-card slips for that evening. He was Mr D. Monnington.’

It was a long time since Diamond had carried a notebook. He helped himself to a paper napkin from the nearest table and scribbled the name. ‘Did you notice if he was trying to chat her up?’

‘Hard to tell. Delia always talked to customers, ’specially if they were alone. I saw her at his table towards the end of the evening, after the coffee was served.’

‘What — just talking?’

‘I thought she was working for her tip, that’s all. We do if we think there’s a chance.’

‘She was no more friendly than you’d have expected?’