Peter Lovesey - The Last Detective

It was 12.50 when Sir Job concluded the examination-in-chief. The court adjourned for lunch. Dana, ashen after the morning's ordeal, was led down to the cells.

Siddons, her solicitor, was waiting for Diamond at the foot of the stairs from the public gallery. 'Do you have a few minutes? Mrs Bargainer would so like to meet you.'

'Her memory can't be too hot,' Diamond commented. 'She cross-examined me in this court six months ago.'

They invited him to join them for lunch across the road. Out of her wig and gown, Lilian Bargainer passed for one of the mainstays of the lounge bar, drinking dry sherry from a schooner and dragging at a cigarette that she held between thumb and forefinger. 'God, what a production old Claws is making of it,' she said. 'He's working on the principle that if Wigfull talks for long enough the jury will forget the balls-up of the missing letters. Never fear – I'll remind 'em.' She gripped Diamond's sleeve. 'Peter, old sport, I owe you one for that. What are you drinking?'

'Orange juice,' said Diamond, tapping his head-bandage.

She pushed a ten-pound note at Siddons. 'Be an angel. Get one for yourself. I mean a beer or something. And see what food there is.' Alone at the table with Diamond, she said, 'I want to tap your brain.'

'Gently, if you must.'

'I cross-examine Johnny Wigfull this afternoon. I intend to keep it short and devastating, but I mustn't miss anything. What are the weak points in the evidence?'

'I wouldn't trouble with the weak points if I were you,' Diamond told her. 'Go for the strong one.'

'The body in the boot?'

'Right. If you hadn't suggested this meeting, I was going to whisper in Siddons' ear.'

'Ah – so you know something?'

'I wouldn't put it so strongly as that – particularly after brain surgery. I don't know how reliable the little grey cells are, but they've been working overtime to catch up.'

He wasn't really underselling the importance of what he was about to tell her. He quietly relished this moment as much as he relished the sensation to come in court. For all her hail-fellow manner, Lilian Bargainer had a shrewd brain. She would appreciate this. She would understand its significance, a triumph of canny detection over the men in white coats.

'Get to the point, my love. Time's at a premium.'

'If I'm right about this, there's a detail – an important detail-you can check with your client. She won't appreciate the significance, by the way.'

'She's in no shape of mind to appreciate anything, sport, but I'm willing to try.'

'Ask her to cast her mind back to that morning she took Matthew up to John Brydon House and saw the blond man walking out on Geraldine.'

'The pusher – Andy Coventry?'

'Yes. In her statement, she told me he appeared familiar at the time, but she couldn't place him. I think we may be able to refresh her memory. Ask her if she could have seen him swimming.'

'Swimming? You'd better explain, you cryptic old bugger.'

Wigfull looked apprehensive as he entered the witness box again. With good reason. His rehabilitation had owed everything to Sir Job Mogg. Lilian Bargainer wouldn't be wearing velvet gloves for the cross-examination. Up in the public gallery, however, Peter Diamond was in a forgiving mood. The last words he had spoken to Mrs Bargainer were, 'Wigfull's not a bad detective. He's wrong, but he's not bad. You don't have to wipe the floor with him.'

She was on her feet. 'Chief Inspector, I shan't detain you long. You've given the court a copious account of your investigation, but you neglected to mention that the late Mrs Geraldine Jackman was a user of cocaine. Did you not consider this of relevance?'

'It came to our notice only recently,' Wigfull stated with a smoothness suggesting he had anticipated the question.

'But it doesn't affect the present case?'

'That is correct.'

'That is your judgement.' She turned towards the jury and rolled her eyes upwards as if in despair of the police. Then she swung back to Wigfull. 'There is one other matter I should like to clarify, and that concerns the interrogation of the accused, Mrs Didrikson. She was taken by ex-Superintendent Diamond and yourself to Bath Central Police Station for questioning on Tuesday, 10 October. Am I right? You may refer to your notes. I want to get this clear.'

Wigfull produced his notebook and thumbed through it.'10 October. Yes.'

'She was detained overnight? Is that correct?'

'Yes.'

'And on 11 October her car was collected for forensic examination?'

'Yes – but with her permission.'

'Granted. Your personal conduct towards Mrs Didrikson cannot be faulted. I believe you went so far as to notify her employer, Mr Buckle, that she would not be able to drive him in the morning.'

Wigfull agreed modestly, 'That's true. I did.'

'A very considerate thing to have done, if I may say so,' Mrs Bargainer complimented him.

Plainly, Wigful saw an opportunity here. 'Yes, but there was another reason for doing it. I wanted to check with the employer, Mr Buckle, whether the accused had reported for work on the day of the murder. And she hadn't.' He glanced towards Sir Job and was rewarded with a nod of acknowledgement for scoring a point under cross-examination.

'So when did you speak to Mr Buckle?' Mrs Bargainer asked.

'Some time between eight and nine in the evening.'

'The evening of 10 October?'

'Yes.'

'Thank you, Chief Inspector.'

There was a moment's hiatus before the court fully grasped that Mrs Bargainer had finished the cross-examination. The whole exchange had taken less than two minutes.

Wigfull looked as bemused as anyone.

The judge asked whether the prosecution were proposing to re-examine. They were not. Wigfull was told to step down. Sir Job and his team had been thrown again. The disarray at their table was all too apparent.

'Are you calling another witness?' the judge enquired.

'Directly, m'lord,' said Sir Job, scattering paper across the floor.

The witness was Stanley Buckle, dressed for his appearance in a three-piece dove-grey suit and an Institute of Directors tie. The usual rosebud was missing from his buttonhole, possibly in recognition of the solemn occasion. Once in the box, he reinforced the punctilious image by making a performance of putting on half-glasses to read the oath. He exuded importance; it was in the tilt of his chin and the set of his shoulders.

Sir Job's junior, by comparison a man with a poor posture and an unfortunate high-pitched voice that would probably ensure that he remained a junior for ever, was assigned with the undemanding task of establishing how the Mercedes car came to be in the prisoner's possession.

'She was the driver for my company, Realbrew Ales,' Stanley explained.

'She kept the car overnight?'

'Yes. There was an understanding that she could use it privately outside office hours provided that journeys were entered into the log.'

'All journeys were entered into a log?'

'That's what I said.'

'To your knowledge, Mr Buckle, did any person other than Mrs Didrikson ever drive that car?'

'Not a soul. It was new when we supplied her with it.'

The log – is it kept in the car?'

'That's the drill. We check it at the end of the month and enter the mileage in our ledger.'

'Did you know that the log was not in the car when it was taken for forensic examination?'

'I heard about that. We made a search at Realbrew just in case, but I didn't expect to find it. Dana got it back from the office on 1 October. It should have been in the car, as I believe she told the police.' Buckle glanced across at Dana for confirmation and she actually gave a nod. He added gratuitously, 'I'd like to have it put on record that she was a respected member of my staff.'