Peter Lovesey - The House Sitter

“Quite the opposite, Pete. I was throwing him a lifeline. Can’t you see he’s poleaxed, poor love? His whole world has blown up in his face. He’s lost the man he was supposed to be protecting. He’s got a neurotic woman in another so-called safe house who is going to go bananas when she hears about this, and who wouldn’t? He knows Bramshill will come down on him like a ton of bricks, and what’s more they’re going to decrypt those deeply embarrassing files any time. No wonder he’s in such a state.”

He couldn’t feel the same degree of sympathy. He said (and immediately regretted it), “Why don’t you give him a cuddle, then?”

“Sod off, mate. He badly needs advice from someone with sand in his boots and a few ideas in his head. If you want to stay involved in the hunt for the Mariner, ducky, this is your opportunity.”

“ Our opportunity,” he said, recouping a little.

“That goes without saying,” Hen said. “You’d better talk to him man to man.”

They remained there while the paramedics arrived and took the two SO12 guards away for treatment. They would be questioned again, but there was little prospect that they’d remember any more. Not long after, a team of three SOCOs drove up and pulled on their white protective overalls. Jimmy Barneston pointed out some potential treadmarks to the right of the Range Rover. The SOCOs looked at all the other marks they had to contend with and didn’t seem overly impressed.

Barneston eventually came back to where Diamond and Hen were watching the action from behind the tapes. He was looking marginally more in control. “All the farms and houses in the area are being visited.” He cleared his throat. “There was something you said just now. You suggested this could be an inside job, seeing that the Mariner found out about Porter being moved here.”

Diamond lifted his shoulders a fraction. “He must have got it from somewhere.”

“Or someone,” Hen added.

“You’re right, and it’s a bloody nightmare,” Barneston said, the anxiety returning to his features. “I don’t know who I can trust any more. I think I know my own squad, but you can never be totally sure. Bramshill are involved, and Special Branch. That’s a lot of people. It only needs one.”

“If we had a suspicion, we’d let you know,” Diamond told him.

“The worst of it is that I’ve got someone else under protection. Well, you read the files, so you know who she is. The Mariner found his way to Porter, so what’s to stop him finding Anna Walpurgis? She’s more of a risk than Porter was.”

“Why is that?” Hen said, as if, like some High Court judge insulated from the real world, she’d never heard of the volatile pop star.

“Temperament,” he said. “She’s hyper. You’d think she was on something, but she hardly ever stops.”

“That would be a problem.”

Barneston looked about him to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear. “You see, this story is going to break in the press any time. I can’t keep the lid on much longer. I was able to hold things down with Axel Summers because he was known to be taking a complete break from his work. And Matt Porter could miss one tournament. But questions are being asked about them both.”

Diamond said, “In that case, you’d better go public right away.”

“Jesus Christ!” Barneston flapped his hand as if swatting away a wasp.

“Face it, Jimmy. You just said the story is about to break. You don’t want it leaking out by degrees. Take control. Call a press conference and tell all.”

He stood as if stunned, his eyes making tiny nervous movements.

Diamond hammered home the message, “What’s the value of secrecy? You can’t rely on safe houses being safe for anyone any more. If Anna Walpurgis is locked away in the country somewhere like this, she’s a sitting duck for the Mariner. He’ll get to her, whatever hi-tech security you have protecting her. And he’ll relish the challenge.”

“Yes, but what’s the alternative? Let her swan around the country-or abroad-inviting a bullet? That’s as good as handing her over to the bastard.”

“Not this guy. He’s a planner. He works everything out, down to the last detail. We’ve seen two examples. The killing of Summers was a blueprint job. He must have done his research, learned his technique with the crossbow, picked his spot in the garden, prepared his sheet of paper with the quote from the poem and the names. Today was the next stage on, even more precision-planned than that. Agreed?”

“Tell me about it!”

“Right. And you may be sure he anticipated that you’d give these people the best protection possible. The classic safe house set-up. By some means or other-let’s set that aside for the moment-he knew in advance that he could get inside the safe house and snatch Matthew Porter. Which he did. So isn’t it a surefire bet that he has a plan drawn up for Miss Walpurgis?”

The worry-lines on Jimmy Barneston’s forehead said it all.

Diamond warmed to his theme. “Do you see what I’m driving at? Up to now, he’s remained ahead of us because he knows we’re an institution that works along predictable lines, as easy to see as a mail train coming up the line. Now, I haven’t met Anna Walpurgis. I haven’t had that pleasure.”

“Plenty have,” murmured Hen.

“OK, she’s a lively lady, not the sort to sit at home every night with her knitting. That could work in her favour. She’ll be safer from the Mariner in the arms of some admirer than she will being guarded by Special Branch in a safe house.”

“Happier, too,” Hen said.

Barneston was still under the cosh. “It’s too big a risk. Huge.”

“Not so huge as leaving her in a safe house,” Diamond said.

“Even if I believed you, it’s not my decision. She’s in the care of SO12. They call the shots.”

“Come off it, Jimmy. They’re in disarray now. After this cock-up, you can seize the initiative. Tell them you’ve lost all confidence in their security-which is true.”

“I’m not sure if I want her on my plate.”

“She is already. When this is over, do you think SO12 are going to put up their hands and say it was their fault?”

Barneston looked away and let out a long, troubled breath. He knew Diamond was right; this was obvious in his expression. He’d carry the can if things went wrong. He’d be the plodding idiot who tried to remove these hapless people from the scene and played right into the Mariner’s hands. He hunched his shoulders and looked down at his vomit-stained shoes. For a while he was silent, brooding over what had been said. Finally he came out with a kind of confession. “I thought I could take this on and win. After what’s happened today I’m not so sure. Listening to you, I think you’ve got a better handle on this case than I have. Your way of thinking is different.”

It was a huge admission. Hen said, to assist him, “It’s easier when you’re not in close. We can see things you can’t.”

He nodded. “I was too close in every sense.”

“Honey, you couldn’t avoid it,” Hen said. “The Mariner named names, so you can’t help meeting the people he targets. You got to know them. You feel responsible in a way we can’t.”

“I like them,” he said. “They have their downside, both of them, but they’re real people, very different from each other, but brave, trying to deal with a death threat the best way they can. I won’t say they’re friends with me, but it’s personal, and that’s totally new to me as a detective.”

He didn’t mention the killing of Emma Tysoe. He didn’t need to; it was on all their minds. Emma had been his friend, more than just a friend, and she was dead. Maybe he blamed himself for turning down her invitation to spend the day on the beach with him.