Peter Lovesey - The House Sitter

The receptionist checked for mail. “There is a letter for you, Ms Walpurgis.”

“So soon?” she ripped open the envelope and took out a single sheet, unfolded it, went pale, and said, “What sicko sent this?”

Diamond took it from her.

Six lines of verse, produced on a printer:

Like one, that on a lonesome road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turned round walks on,

And turns no more her head;

Because she knows, a frightful fiend

Doth close behind her tread.

He knew the lines. He’d read them recently in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Seeing them again, knowing who must have sent them, was chilling. They were picked to strike terror into Anna Walpurgis. Coleridge’s words had been slightly altered to make the subject female. This time the message wasn’t a prediction or a play on words, as the others had been. It was calculated to make the victim suffer before the kill.

“I’m afraid he knows you’re here.”

“The killer?” She put her hand to her throat. “How could he?”

“The point is, it’s happened.”

“God! What can we do?”

He felt like saying, What I’ve been trying to do for the past hour-move you out of here. But he also felt sympathy. Seeing how shaken she was, he calmly told her they were doing the right thing. Mentally he was reeling himself, at a loss to understand how the Mariner could have penetrated the security.

He showed his ID and asked the desk staff if they recalled who brought the letter in, pointing out that it must have been delivered by hand, because there was no stamp.

Nobody had any memory of a letter being handed in.

“The night staff?”

They promised to make enquiries.

He took some rapid decisions. “If you get anyone asking for Miss Walpurgis, tell them she’s not in her room at the moment. Give the impression she’s still a guest. Then contact Bath police at once. Do you understand? Next, is there a goods entrance? We’ll use that for loading the car.”

Anna, ashen-faced and silent, was taken through a door marked “Private-staff only.” Diamond moved his old Cortina to the rear of the hotel and the cases were stowed: three in the boot, one beside him at the front and the other on the back seat. After telling Anna to remove the hat he asked her to huddle up, head down, in the remaining space on the back. He covered her with the garment bag. Then he drove out, studying the mirrors for any sign of a vehicle following. He went twice around the perimeter roads of Sydney Gardens before deciding no one was in pursuit. Taking the Bathwick Street route, he crossed the Avon at Cleveland Bridge and turned south, past the Paragon, and joined Lansdown Road at the bottom. Satisfied he was still alone, he made his way up to the Bennett Street turn and came to a halt outside Georgina’s house.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

Anna’s muffled voice answered, “Terrified. Are we there?”

“I’ll open the front door first. Go straight inside when I give you the word. I’ll bring the cases after.”

He took a long look up and down the street. There were parked cars in plenty, but not one appeared to be occupied. Taking Georgina’s key from his pocket, he unlocked her front door and pushed it open.

Then he returned to the car and opened the rear door.

“OK. Go.”

Anna emerged with head bowed, like someone in custody going into court, and hurried across the pavement and inside.

Diamond allowed himself a sigh of relief.

Then she came straight out again, just as quickly, and got back into the car.

“For Christ’s sake!” he said.

“There’s a big white cat in there,” she said from the back seat. “I can’t stand cats.”

“Flaming hell! I’m trying to save you from a serial killer!”

“I’m not going in there.”

“Get your head down. I’ll deal with it.”

He marched into Georgina’s house and spotted Sultan reposing in a circular bed made of padded fabric. The cat heard him and fixed its blue eyes on him, ears pricked. Diamond scooped up the bed with the cat inside and carried it through the house to the patio door. “Does she put you outside sometimes?” he said aloud. “Calls of nature? I expect so.” He opened the door and set cat and bed on the paving.

Anna was persuaded into the house with extreme reluctance.

“What is it about you and cats-an allergy?” he asked.

“A phobia,” she said, her arms protectively across her chest. “You’ll have to find me some other place.”

A quick solution. His own house? No, she’d never agree to stay there. Another hotel? Too obvious. There was only one option. He said, “I’ll take the cat home with me.” The change of plan wouldn’t please Georgina one bit if she found out, but it would have to suffice.

Anna still looked twitchy. “Are you sure there isn’t another one?”

“Another cat? No. There’s only Sultan. I’m going to fetch your cases now. Why don’t you go through to the kitchen and put the kettle on for a coffee?”

She said, “Sod coffee. I need a tequila. Where’s the cocktail cabinet?”

Leaving her to go exploring, he spent the next minutes struggling with the luggage. The cases all had to go upstairs.

He was short of breath when he finished. In the living room he grabbed the Scotch she’d poured him.

“Whose gaff is this?” Anna asked in a calmer voice. She’d settled into one of Georgina’s armchairs, her legs dangling over one of the arms.

“One of my female colleagues.”

“Her taste in music sucks. Have you seen the CDs? It’s all Gilbert and Sullivan and Verdi.”

It would be. He remembered Georgina telling him she sang in the Bath Camerata. “It’s a comfortable house,” he said, taking the chair opposite her.

“And I’m stuck in it,” Anna said. “I was told if I came to Bath I’d be free to do those high-tone shops and restaurants. Now I discover this frigging killer is out there. How did he suss that I was in the hotel?”

“Not from me,” Diamond stated firmly. “You’re famous. Were you recognised when you registered?”

“Who knows? There were people around in the lobby. No one took a picture or asked for my autograph, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t spot me.”

“That’s probably what happened, then.”

“And you think the killer got wise to it? How?”

“He’s a very smart operator. He knew Matthew Porter was in a safe house and he found a way of getting inside and abducting him.”

She shuddered. “He wouldn’t know I’ve moved here… would he?”

He shook his head and tried to think of words that would reassure. His usually brusque manner wasn’t going to work here. He could empathise with Anna’s fears. He was starting to feel quite fatherly towards her. Under her glib exterior was a frightened young girl. “Only you and I know where you are at this minute. You’ll be safe if you don’t go out.”

With a touch of spirit he admired, she said wistfully, “No shopping today? I’ll call AmEx, tell them to relax.”

“Some other time.”

“Pete,” she said, “you’re not the fascist pig I first took you for. You’re doing a fine job.”

“And you can help me find him.”

“How?” she asked. “I don’t know the jerk.”

“Correction. You don’t know who he is.”

“Come again.”

“But you may know him,” he pointed out. “There’s got to be a reason why he targeted you.”

She said, “There are freaks out there who hate anyone who makes it big in the music industry.”

“The others weren’t musicians.”

“They were celebs like me.”

“Did you ever meet Axel Summers?”

“No.”

“Matthew Porter?”