Peter Lovesey - The House Sitter

He nodded. “Now we’re coming to it.”

“I’m giving you the chance to come clean over this. Joyriding isn’t a major crime so long as no one gets hurt. Where were you staying in Wightview?”

“A field behind the village.”

“In what-a camper van?”

“Yeah. Pathetic, aren’t we? Typical bloody ockers.”

“You moved out of there pretty fast after the murder. Trevor stayed on for a few days, but you were nowhere to be found.”

“Didn’t he tell you? I was touring the British Isles in a Lotus Esprit.”

Hen stabbed her finger at him. “Don’t come it with me, sonny. I’ll have you in the cells without your feet touching the ground. Where did you clear off to?”

“A sad place called Bournemouth. Trevor and me had a temporary falling out over some sheila.”

“Emma Tysoe?”

“Ease up, lady. This was a fifteen-year-old blonde from Amsterdam. I kicked around with her for a few days until it got boring. End of story.”

“So you deny ever taking the Lotus?”

“How the hell would I do that without the key?”

“Her bag was missing.”

“Nothing to do with me.”

“OK,” Hen said. “Prove it. The car thief left his fingerprints behind. With your permission, we can take a set of your prints and compare them.”

He sneered at that. “Oh, sure-and I’m in your records for ever more.”

“No. They’ll be destroyed. You’ll sign a consent form saying it was voluntary and I’ll sign to say they’re destroyed. You get a copy.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“We carry on with the questions until I’m satisfied.”

Leighton went quiet, fingering the earring. Hen could almost track the process of his thoughts. He wanted to get back to the pub before closing time.

Finally he yawned and said, “Looks like it’s the prints, then.”

Hen glanced towards Stella, who nodded and told Leighton to follow her.

Never a man to shirk responsibility, Diamond took his turn that evening keeping watch over Anna Walpurgis. He relieved John Leaman soon after nine, when Bennett Street was as quiet as a turkey farm on Christmas Day. It’s far enough above the hub of the city to escape the pubbers and clubbers. Leaman told him there was nothing untoward to report. The lady had remained inside all day.

“Did you speak to her?”

“A couple of times, guv. She’s a frisky lass, isn’t she? Says some pretty outrageous things over the mobile, like she’s partial to cops because we all have long things that spring out at a flick of the wrist.”

“You obviously got on well.”

“Want me to do another turn tomorrow?”

“Maybe. I’ve asked Ingeborg to relieve me in the morning.”

Leaman cleared his throat. “Don’t say stuff like that in front of Anna, boss. She won’t let you forget it.”

He left to get a night’s sleep and Diamond strolled across to speak to the officers with him on the night watch. They seemed incredibly young, but there were six of them, all eager to impress. If only Georgina knew, she’d be well satisfied with the house-sitting arrangements, he thought.

He looked up at the top floor window of the house and saw that the light was on behind closed curtains. A phone call first, to let Anna know he was outside. Then, perhaps, a coffee with the lady herself.

She must have been close to the phone. “Holloway Prison.”

He asked how she was doing.

“Dying from boredom,” she told him. “You’re the chief honcho, right? Sparkle?”

“Diamond, actually.”

“I know that, dumbo. I’m being playful. You coming to see me?”

“Yes, I thought I might call in, touch base.”

“Touch what?”

“It’s an expression. I’ll be right over.”

First, he detached his back-up team to their posts, warning them to watch for anything that moved in the street. Then he went over to the house and the door opened before he touched the bell. “You want to be careful,” he said to Anna. “I could be anyone.”

“The way I’m feeling, anyone will do.”

He didn’t pursue it. She’d cooperated well up to now in a situation that was obviously a trial. She offered coffee and he followed her into Georgina’s kitchen. What a mess since he’d seen it last. Unwashed dishes cluttered the table, with eggshells, spilt coffee and used tea bags. There was a cut loaf unwrapped and going dry and a slab of butter starting to sweat. And a pile of burnt toast.

“I don’t go in for cordon bleu,” Anna said superfluously. “I’d never manage in this poky kitchen. What happened to the kettle?”

“Did you take it to another room?”

“Sharp thinking, Sparkle.”

He winced. “I’d rather you called me Peter.”

“Have it your way.” She fetched the kettle from the front room while he rinsed a couple of mugs above the murky-looking water in the sink. He didn’t care to think what Georgina’s bathroom looked like by this time.

Before Anna indulged in more games with his name, he asked about hers. “I presume it’s a showbiz touch, to add some interest.”

“Righty. I’m plain Ann Higgins in real life.”

“Why Walpurgis? Something to do with spooks, isn’t it?”

“Witches,” she informed him. “Walpurgis Night is the one before May Day, when all the witches are supposed to have a rave with the devil somewhere in the mountains in Germany. But before you say any more, Walpurgis herself was as pure as the driven snow. She was an English nun.”

“You named yourself after a nun ?”

She pointed the kettle at him like a gun. “Don’t say another word. When I found out the nun part of the story, it was too late to do anything about it. And she just happens to have May the first as her day. Any connection with Old Nick is a slander. Black or white?”

He realised she was asking about the coffee. “Better be black as I’m on duty all night.”

She said, “I could only find instant. This is your boss’s house, right?”

“Right.”

“The high chief honcho?”

“One of them, anyway.”

“Tough lady, huh? She needs to be, lording it over all you hard-nosed cops. Shall I let you into a secret about your boss?”

“No thanks.” There were things he didn’t sink to. He didn’t want to be told that Georgina went in for black lace lingerie or Barbara Cartland romances. Her private life was her own and he wasn’t taking any more advantage than this emergency required.

She said, “You wouldn’t believe what she keeps in the attic.”

“None of my business.”

“Ooh, listen to his holiness. All right, I’ll keep it to myself. I guess I should be grateful to her for letting me stay here.” A more solemn note came into her voice. “What I want to know from you, Pete, is how much longer this pantomime is going on. When are you going to catch this psycho?”

“Soon,” he said with all the confidence he could dredge up. “I’ve got a team of trained officers on the street. All I want from you is the same cooperation you’ve given us up to now.”

“I’m only being good because I’m scared rigid. You know that?”

He gave a nod, and gave nothing away of his own apprehension, or the sympathy he felt. Instead, he took the opportunity while she was serious to clarify a couple of points. “When we talked last time about British Metal, you said there weren’t any lay-offs you could remember towards the end of your husband’s connection with the company. I checked with your people, and your memory is right. The only redundancies in that time-and since-were by agreement. Some people took early retirement on generous pension arrangements.”

“We’re a good firm to work for.” The kettle came to the boil and she poured water onto the grains of Nescafé in Georgina’s Royal Doulton cups.