Peter Lovesey: Bloodhounds

"In that case," he said, "there's only one place the bastard can be. I want torches and ladders. And I want twenty men and at least three authorized shots for this. Keith, get the flood-lighting turned on at the rugby ground."

The Center had a vast flat roof with several levels. It was decided to start from the side nearest the road. Ladders were not after all required, because there was access by way of the restaurant balcony on the top floor. About twenty of the searchers lined up on the roof and began a slow sweep of that leyel under Diamond's personal supervision, with the marksmen positioned to target any figure making a break. It wasn't so open an area as Diamond expected; a number of ventilation shafts were capable of providing cover for a fugitive.

On any investigation he experienced moments of numbing despair; he couldn't change his nature. But this was infinitely worse. It wasn't mere depression; it was hell. He despised himself. It wouldn't take much more to persuade him to jump off this bloody roof. He'd made a whopping misjudgment, totally failing to see the danger in sending Julie to interview Jones. The neatness of the case against AJ. and Jessica had blinded him to other suspects. Up here, on this godfor-saken roof, Peter Diamond was getting his payoff. He had a reputation for decisiveness. When the decision led to a disaster… if, as he had to expect, Julie was found dead… then only one decision would be left to him.

His thoughts went back to his last conversation with Julie, over the phone, when she'd been trying to alert him to her discovery of the paint spots on the dog, and he'd made the idiot assumption that she was reconsidering keeping the dog. Trivial, but it shamed him now. He'd never valued Julie sufficiently. She was ace, a clear thinker. He knew it, so why hadn't he listened first time?

The line moved steadily across the roof, toward the edge that overlooked the Recreation Ground. There was a brisk wind up here, making it difficult to be heard. He was directing the operation with a torch, waving it in a circular motion to bring the line forward and holding it still above his head when he needed to stop them. They seemed to have got the idea.

Quite suddenly, the whole area ahead was illuminated. Keith Halliwell had acted on his order and the floodlighting on the rugby ground, where Bath RFC played its matches, was switched on. The Sports Center was sited next to the ground, and the lighting, on masts, was close enough to make a real difference.

At the same time, Diamond thought he heard a shout from a woman. There were women in the police line, and he couldn't be sure if one of them had reacted to the lights. He held the torch high and asked for silence by a sweeping motion with his free hand.

The wind increased in strength.

He could hear nothing more. He waved the line forward again.

Almost immediately there was another cry. It was a woman's voice, no question, and it seemed to be saying "Here!"

No one was in sight ahead, where the sound seemed to have come from. They had passed the last of the ventilation shafts.

He signaled another halt and asked the man nearest to him if he'd heard the voice. He said he thought he had, but he couldn't understand where from. Diamond considered ordering everyone to do an about-turn; clearly there was no one ahead of them, so maybe it was some acoustic effect.

Then he heard it again, and this time it was a cry for help.

He took some quick steps forward, and understood. The roof of the Sports Center came to an end, but beyond it, at a lower level, was the new stand of the rugby club, the Teacher's Stand, built only a season or two ago. Its superstructure of seventeen white cones, like the tops of so many medieval jousting tents, was silhouetted against the floodlighting.

"She's down there," he said. "That's where she's got to be."

The gunmen had moved forward and taken positions on the edge of the roof. He hissed an order to them to get out of sight.

There was a way down to the back edge of the stand roof. The buildings were virtually linked. Making the descent was awkward for a man his size, but he was first there. Three of the party followed him.

He gestured to the others to stand still.

He called her name.

Nothing.

"Julie, this is me-Diamond."

A clear voice, shrill and urgent, answered, "Here!"

She was alive! He still couldn't see her, but the voice was unmistakable. It seemed to have come from in front of the cones. There was a chunk of equipment projecting above the level of the roof.

He took a few steps to his right, then ducked down fast.

Two figures were lying flat, almost obscured by a satellite dish. If Jones, powerful man that he was, had Julie by the throat, he could snap her neck. This couldn't be rushed. And it was no use relying on the guns.

Diamond crept forward, commando style, flat to his stomach. He beckoned the others on.

Then Julie spoke again. "For God's sake hurry up, Mr. Diamond. I've made the arrest. All I want is someone to take him away."

Sheepishly, he stood up. Once more he'd underestimated her. Julie had Bert Jones in an armlock, her leg braced and keeping him immobile in a very effective hold.

A couple of constables handcuffed Jones and got him upright.

Diamond put out a hand to help Julie up, and she hesitated. He asked if she was all right, and she said she'd injured an ankle, and hadn't wanted to take any risks, so she hadn't attempted to bring Jones down herself. They'd been lying there for over an hour.

"I don't know how you managed it," Diamond said without thinking that his surprised tone might give offense. "He's a fitness expert."

"I've done my training, same as you or anyone else," Julie said. "I know how to restrain a man."

"A bodybuilder?"

"My instructor said you grab his arm before he grabs yours."

"Did he, indeed!"

"Did she."

"Right," he said in a dazed way. "Right, Julie."

They used Diamond's car to drive back to Manvers Street. Marlowe traveled with them, giving an occasional whimper; he'd spent too long cooped up in the other car.

Julie explained what had happened when she had gone to interview Bert Jones in his office on the first floor. "He didn't seem troubled that I was there-not at first, anyway. I asked him about his movements the previous evening, and he said he'd been working late at the Center on some paperwork, ordering equipment. It sounded reasonable. I asked if anyone else could confirm what time he left, and he said it was after midnight and he'd been alone in the building. He often worked late. He had an arrangement with the security staff to let himself out. Then I asked if he used the computer to order his equipment, and immediately I could tell he didn't like the question. It wasn't unreasonable; the screen was sitting on his desk between us. He came over all aggressive, asking what the hell it mattered whether he'd been using the computer or sitting with his feet on the desk. I tried to explain what I was getting at with my question."

"You'd better explain to me," said Diamond.

"Some computers log the time and date when they're in use. We could have looked it up and seen on the screen that he clocked off at midnight, and that would have provided proof of his statement. Just as good as a witness. He said this computer didn't have a function like that. It was obvious there was something he wanted to hide, so I probed a little more. I asked to see duplicates of the order forms he'd been preparing. He tried to stall me. I insisted it was important. I had him worried, even if I wasn't sure why."

"You were on to him," said Diamond. "I reckon the riddles were printed on the Sports Center equipment. We could have compared the typefaces."

"Well, he certainly took it seriously," said Julie. "He got up and went to the door, saying he had to go somewhere to look for these forms. I was getting suspicious and said I'd go with him. In the corridor outside, he suddenly started running. He bolted up a fire escape to the roof, and I followed. There was one hell of a chase up there, and it ended on the rugby club stand."