Питер Ловси - The Finisher

He changed his mind about standing. He grasped his computer chair, wheeled it closer to Diamond and sat in it, within touching distance. He was hearing something encouraging and unexpected — that Maeve had appreciated the value of his eccentric gift.

Or so he convinced himself.

Diamond didn’t need to disillusion Trevor. He was getting an insight into the heart of this case. He could see in the moist brown eyes how completely the guy was infatuated. No need to hurt him by revealing Maeve’s disrespect for what she’d called the sodding Toby jug or that she’d accidentally smashed it and been on a guilt trip ever since.

“I knew she’d find out its true worth at some stage,” Trevor said in a hushed voice as if he was talking about Mother Teresa, “but she never said anything. She may have donated it to charity. They’re not daft in these shops. They spot antique items. Maybe they told her its value. She’s very public-spirited. She raised a four-figure sum for the BHF by running in the Other Half.”

“And you coached her.”

“Is that what she told you? A slight exaggeration. It didn’t amount to much. Running is something I know a lot about, so I offered a few tips, that’s all.” He touched the talisman cap again. “She really said I coached her, did she?”

“Words to that effect, anyway. Whatever advice you gave, it worked. I heard she ran the full distance.”

“All credit to her, yes.”

“You weren’t running yourself?”

“Not this year. I’ve done it before.”

“You know all about the Other Half, do you?”

“Sport is my thing.”

“Obviously. Sport and Maeve. Twin obsessions.”

Trevor reacted to the last word by bringing his hands together in his lap and tightening them so hard that the knuckles turned to ridges of ivory.

“Let’s face it, Trevor,” Diamond went on. “You can’t get her out of your head. You don’t want to. Ever since she gave you the cap you’re wearing, you’ve idolised her. It’s why you live here, across the street, why you follow her about. I was prepared to find you’re a voyeur, but I’ve changed my opinion. You’re not a stalker either, not in any unpleasant way. When you follow her anywhere, it’s from a wish to protect her. Am I speaking sense?”

Trevor didn’t answer.

“You do follow her sometimes, don’t you?”

“She’s safe with me,” he said.

“I don’t doubt that for a second. But God help anyone else who tries it on.”

Trevor flattened his palms against his beefy thighs and stared down.

“Such as Tony Pinto?” Diamond said. “Bit of a tomcat, sniffing around sports girls for a few months now. You knew about his reputation, I’m sure. So did I. I can tell you, Trevor, I despised the guy. I didn’t shed any tears when I found out he was killed.”

Trevor looked up, frowning, thrown by the last remark.

Diamond had genuine sympathy for the lovelorn loner he was gently and methodically dismantling. “When Pinto made his move on Maeve, it all happened quickly and at the worst possible time. On the day before her big race, he turned on the charm, offered expert advice on how to run and gave her more than just advice, in a bedroom upstairs in that squalid pub where he was drinking with her. Made you mad. I’m guessing now, but you weren’t far away at the time, were you?”

Trevor emitted a sigh that was as good as confirmation.

“The waiting must have been painful for you. Where were you — inside the pub, or standing out in the street?”

Now he took a deep breath, remembering. “I didn’t go inside until after they came out. She would have seen me. The seating area wasn’t much bigger than this room. Then I spoke to the barman, like Pinto was my friend and we had a bet over whether he’d...” He couldn’t get the words out.

“Made out with her?”

He lowered his face again. “The arsehole had hired an upstairs room in advance.”

In Trevor’s mind all the blame was heaped on Pinto. Maeve was still Snow White.

“The next hours must have been hell for you.”

He made no response, suspicious, perhaps, that he was being lured into admitting he planned the killing.

Diamond chose not to press him. They would go over this again in an interview room before he made his statement.

“The next day, instead of accompanying Maeve on your bike during the race, you followed Pinto and watched him chat up another woman who was clearly unsettled by him. Am I right?”

This time he spoke a clear, “Yes.”

“The young woman decided to quit the race rather than enter the mile-long tunnel with Pinto. He went after her and fortunately she got away. Was that because you tackled him on Combe Down?”

He nodded.

“Tell me about it.”

“You seem to know it all.”

“You’re the only one who knows how he ended up where he did.”

Trevor straightened in the chair. No doubt he’d rehearsed this a hundred times, trying to make sure he gave it the best possible gloss — not easy when you’ve killed a man and disposed of the body. “He was crossing a field on the side of a hill. I left my bike at the side of the road to follow him. He turned round and there I was, a few steps behind him. Like you say, I was mad. Angry, I mean. I hadn’t slept at all. I called him names. I wanted to hit him, I don’t mind telling you, but it wasn’t much of a fight. He slung a punch or two and so did I, not enough to hurt him. He had a longer reach than me. But when he aimed another punch and missed my chin, I put both hands against his chest and pushed him and he fell back like a skittle and cracked his head. It was stone where he fell, with only a thin covering of turf. I could see straight away he was out to the world.”

“Dead?”

“He didn’t move. Is that what you want to know?”

His version chimed in with what Dr. Sealy had said about the linear fracture suggesting Pinto had fallen backwards and hit his head.

“I want to hear the rest, Trevor — what you did when he was lying still.”

“It’s weird. It should have been satisfying, knocking him out, but it wasn’t. All I’d done was shove him in the chest. I wanted him to get up and I’d throw a real punch at him, but he didn’t. I stood over him and he didn’t move. After a bit I started to walk away. Then I thought better of it. What if I’d killed him? I went back and felt for a pulse at the side of his neck. There wasn’t any. I didn’t panic exactly, but I knew I’d be in deep trouble if he was found. I decided to get the body out of sight. There was a copse at the edge of the field and I dragged him there, thinking I’d cover him with bracken and stuff. After I got him there, I saw this iron grille almost covered in weeds and I knew what it was.”

“A ventilation shaft.”

He nodded. “We’ve had school trips to Combe Down to teach the kids about the old mines. I’ve seen a covered shaft before. I managed to lift the grille and dropped him in. That’s it, really.”

No, it isn’t, Diamond thought. You don’t want to tell me the rest because it implicates you even more. “Bad luck for you that we found him down there. We were searching for someone else — Belinda Pye, the young woman he was pursuing.”

“So how did you get onto me?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Diamond said. “There was nothing obvious to connect you to the killing. And you made our job more difficult by making it appear that he finished the race. Covering your tracks, you thought. We studied the video of the finish, the exact time he was supposed to have crossed the line. Pinto’s name appears in the results, but the runner wasn’t Pinto, it was you, trying to hide from the camera behind some fun-runner with the Royal Crescent on his back. Your number wasn’t visible, but your head and shoulders were, briefly.”