Питер Ловси - The Stone Wife

Diamond shrugged. The lad had got the message. It didn’t need repeating.

Gilbert went on, ‘I spoke to someone who told me about this video shoot on the Great Britain and it was obvious Ingeborg must have been there. I was talking to the local security lads, getting all the information I could, and one of them was on about a bit of a fight nearby involving a blonde and the director of the video. They said he was a local guy called Marcus Tone and it sounded nasty, so I thought I’d better follow it up. But when I spoke to Tone at his house in Clifton I found he’d been doing his best to help her meet the pop star from the video and both women had been snatched and driven off by Nathan Hazael and his thugs.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘I was in a real sweat about her. We all know Nathan’s reputation. I thought someone needed to get there fast and report back to you.’ He rolled his eyes upwards. ‘I’ve only just learned she was your undercover cop and it was all part of her plan to get inside the place. What a mess.’

‘Not entirely your fault,’ Diamond said. ‘I should have briefed you more fully.’

‘Well, I left my car a short way off and climbed over the wall. I got to about a hundred and fifty yards from the house before the dog found me. I was up that tree like a squirrel, I’m not kidding. After a bit the damn thing stopped barking, but it didn’t go away. I can’t tell you how useless I felt. I was there most of the night.’

‘You still had your phone, didn’t you?’

‘At that time, yes, but after the bollocking you gave me I didn’t dare trouble you again. You told me to use my initiative.’

Diamond felt a stab of guilt. ‘I remember.’

‘I thought the sensible thing was to stay up the tree and wait for the dog to go away. My best chance would be if it was used to being fed in the morning. Nothing much happened, but at one point I saw someone in the moonlight. They were on the roof.’

‘That was Ingeborg.’

‘And not long after that the bloody dog started barking again and all hell broke loose. An alarm went off at the house and people came out with guns and started running towards the tree.’ Gilbert opened his hand. ‘That’s the last thing I remember.’

‘Lee Li thought you fell from the tree. That’s what she was told.’

‘It’s possible.’

‘But unlikely. Did you have any injuries apart from the head wound? You’d have been badly bruised at the very least.’

‘Nothing like that.’

‘My best guess is that they forced you down at gunpoint and clubbed you with a rifle butt. As far as we can tell, you were out to the world for some time after. It appeared you were dead. Then they shoved you into the back of a limo and slammed down the lid. We expected to find a body somewhere in Leigh Woods. The place was searched from end to end. Bristol deserve medals for the efforts they made to find you.’

Gilbert put his red, weathered fingers to his mouth. ‘I know. They told me at the Julian Trust. I’m gutted to have caused so much trouble to everyone.’

‘Like us, they’ll be mightily relieved you were found alive. I’m fascinated to know how it happened.’

The young man took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘This is the other me, the idiot found wandering the streets of Bristol.’

‘Is that the first memory?’

‘No, when I came to, I was in woodland, feeling terrible. I was cold and sick. Disgusting.’

‘Any idea where?’

‘On the Leigh Woods side of the gorge. They must have dumped me. I don’t know if they knew I was alive. I got up and staggered along for a bit. It’s amazing I didn’t fall right down the side. I have a memory of walking across the suspension bridge.’

‘Didn’t you try and stop a car?’

‘I couldn’t think of a reason to stop one. I didn’t know who I was or how I’d got there. They’d emptied my pockets. My phone had gone. I was filthy. I can’t believe any driver would have stopped for me. Eventually I met up with some other rough sleepers. I hung about with them until this afternoon when my head began to clear.’

‘Something triggered your memory?’

‘They got to talking about stone pillows and made some sort of joke about me needing a stone wife, and I remembered this.’ He leaned over his chair and rested a hand on the Wife of Bath . ‘She’s not all bad, guv. Once I got the picture of her in my head, other stuff started to come back as well. I remembered your name and Ingeborg’s. I could picture this place. The guys I was with had become friendly by then and they took me to the dosshouse.’

‘The night shelter.’

‘Right. The brain was ticking over again and I told the people at the shelter who I was. This was outside the hours they operate but they took me in as a special case and let me take a shower and get into some less disgusting clothes. They’d been told to look out for me as a missing person. I believe they phoned the local police and told them I was alive and basically okay. Then they arranged for one of their outreach people to drive me back here. I won’t forget the reception I was given.’

‘To say we were worried is an understatement.’

‘Did anyone speak to my mum?’

‘She’s been away all week. She has no idea.’

‘I’d forgotten. Thank God for that.’

Diamond got up from his chair. ‘You should get that head wound checked. It seems to have dried up, but it may need some kind of attention. Take the rest of the week off, catch up on some sleep and we’ll expect you in on Monday. Oh, and it might be a nice idea to write a letter of thanks to Bristol Central for all the man-hours of searching.’

‘A bottle of wine?’

‘Not unless you can afford twenty cases of the stuff.’

The motorcade that set out from Manvers Street on Saturday morning didn’t, in the end, have outriders, but its status was not in question. At the front, a Land Rover with Avon & Somerset police markings contained Peter Diamond, Denis Doggart, the auctioneer, and George, the driver. They were towing a trailer bearing the Wife of Bath , stoutly roped and covered with a tarpaulin. Next, Ingeborg’s red Ka, with Keith Halliwell as passenger. And at the rear a white Volvo driven by Erica, Monica’s sister. Beside her was Monica, clutching the plastic urn containing John Gildersleeve’s ashes.

Diamond had chosen the route: the A39 across country by way of Wells and Glastonbury rather than using the motorway. ‘No speeding,’ he told George. ‘We’re on a sensitive mission here. Let’s do it with respect.’

In his tweed suit and salmon pink tie, Doggart brought some sartorial quality to the occasion. Diamond, even more domineering than usual, had browbeaten the auctioneer into making the trip by insisting over the phone that he was still the custodian of lot 129. Although the Blake Museum at Bridgwater remained the owners, the Wife of Bath had been brought to Morton’s for a sale that hadn’t been completed, so the auctioneers had a duty of care and if they had any doubts they should speak to their insurers. The fact that the carving had been parked for a couple of weeks in the police station was immaterial. Until she was handed back to Bridgwater she was Morton’s responsibility. The police were doing them a massive good turn by arranging the transportation. The least Doggart could do was witness the handover.

But a cloud of unease hung over the Land Rover as it cruised across Churchill Bridge and along the Lower Bristol Road. Doggart must have suspected there was more on the agenda than he’d been told. Diamond waited until they joined the Wells Road at Corston before saying any more.

‘You didn’t tell me you’re a Chaucer man yourself.’