Peter Lovesey - The Vault

M.W.G.

5, Abbey Churchyard,

Bath.

Donna took a quick look and got into their vast four-poster bed.

Joe asked, "What do you think?"

"What do I think? I think you found a book from five. Abbey Churchyard, the house we were looking for. Didn't you tell me it used to be some kind of library?"

"This is not a library book, Donna. Take a look at these initials." He held it close again.

"M.W.G.?"

"Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin. I believe this is Mary Shelley's personal copy of Milton's poems."

After an interval Donna said, "If it belonged to Mary Shelley, how come she didn't write M.S. on the front?"

"Godwin was her name when she first lived in the house in 1816. She and Shelley didn't marry until the end of the year."

Donna was not convinced yet. "So you think these letters must be her initials?"

"Honey, they are hers. She was Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin and this was her address when she wrote Frankenstein. That's not all. At the front of Frankenstein is a quote from John Milton's Paradise Lost. In her preface she mentions Milton with admiration. So we know she possessed a copy and this is the one, her personal copy of Milton."

Donna still didn't have any inclination to handle the book Mary Shelley had possessed. "You found this at Hay and recognized the address?"

"That's what I'm telling you. The find of a lifetime. The shop people had no idea. But I have the John Hopkins University edition of Mary's letters back home and that address stood out for me."

"Incredible," murmured Donna. "You remember the house where she was living in 1816 and you forget our wedding anniversary."

"Once," Joe pointed out. "Once in twenty-four years."

"You'd better remember next year."

"Will you let me finish? Like I was telling you, when we came to Bath I wanted to see the house for myself."

"Why didn't you tell me about the book until now?"

"You know me, Donna. I like storing up surprises. I was hoping to show you the house first and then let you share my pleasure at finding the book. It was a body blow to discover number five was gone. Well, I thought it was until I found my way down into the cellar today. That made it all real."

"You already told me," said Donna, unable to suppress a yawn.

"It was the cellar to number five, no question."

"Fine. Are you going to wash your hands before you get into bed with me?"

"Okay, okay." He put down the book and padded into the bathroom.

Later, in bed and with the light out, he chuckled and said, "They thought I was a medical examiner. They were expecting the medical examiner down there to look at a skull they found under the floor."

"Let's change the subject," Donna suggested.

"They ought to know there would be bones down there. It's built on a churchyard."

"Can't you talk about something cheerful if you must talk? You know I'm nervous in this old-fashioned bed. I'm going to get nightmares listening to you."

"Sorry." He pondered a moment, then said, "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"See some shops."

"Good thinking. Let's do that."

Donna turned over and faced him. "The shoes over here are pretty. And good value."

Joe's mind was not on shoes. "There was a time when booksellers had their own little stickers that they fixed inside the covers of books they stocked. There's one in that copy of Milton, a neat little oval with the name and address: O. Heath, Rare Books, Union Passage, Bath. Just out of interest, I'd like to see if Mr O. Heath is still in trade."

"Joe," said Donna in a flat tone.

"Honey?"

"That isn't shopping."

NEXT MORNING, Diamond was in the Assistant Chief Constable's office explaining to Georgina why he did not expect quick results from the Roman Baths. "We found this skull, as you know, ma'am, but it turns out to be medieval. Probably it was there from the original churchyard and got disturbed when they were digging for foundations."

"For the present buildings?"

"No. For the houses that were there before. They were knocked down in the eighteen-nineties. This vault is part of the original construction."

"I see. But the other remains you found-the hand bones- are modern?"

Diamond was unwilling to say so. "God knows when they were hacked off. Bones are difficult to date. I've been trying to get an estimate from forensic. They're estimating between ten and twenty-five years ago."

"Can't they be more precise?"

"They're still doing tests."

"When you say 'hacked off'…?"

"They mean it was crudely done, ma'am, using an axe or the edge of a spade."

Georgina stood up and stared out of the window. "So what's your theory?"

"Obviously the rest of the body is somewhere else. The hands were removed because the killer thought the victim might be identified from fingerprints."

"Fingerprints?" The word was pitched high in disbelief.

"You and I know the world has moved on, ma'am, but did the killer? This was up to twenty years ago, before DNA testing came in. People thought fingerprints were the only giveaway."

"Fair point," conceded the ACC. "So where is the rest of the body? Not in the cellar, you think?"

"We dug to a depth of four feet," Diamond said heavily, as if he personally had done all the spade-work. "The job is almost done. No, there wouldn't be much point in dismembering the body and then burying the bits in the same place."

"So where's the rest of it?"

"It could be part of the view you're looking out on."

The ACC took a moment to work this out. "You mean absorbed into a building?" She fingered her white collar. "One hears these gruesome stories. It's possible, I suppose. But in Bath?"

"In Bristol, if that upsets you less."

Georgina's back was registering all the tensions between top brass and brassy copper. "If this was the intention, why go to all the trouble of burying the hands in the vault?"

Having started this hare, Diamond had to run with it. "The risk. He's stuck with a body that he has to get into a truckload of hardcore, or whatever, out in the open, on a building site. Anyone might spot something and switch off the machinery."

"So he removes the hands."

"And the head, probably."

"But the skull you found was ancient."

"I'm not saying the real head is buried in the vault. He could have taken it to some other place, carried it out in a holdall. I may be wrong, ma'am, but the picture I have is of two blokes working on the Roman Baths extension. They fall out for some reason. There's violence and one is killed, possibly in the vault where they keep their tools. The survivor has to dispose of the body. He's scared by what he has done, but after a bit he realises he's well-placed to get away with this."

Miss Dallymore turned to face him. "You make it sound plausible, Peter."

"I've had time to think, ma'am."

"What are our chances of catching up with him?"

"Pretty remote, to be honest. If we knew the victim, it would be a start. I doubt if we ever will. Builders' employment records are sketchy, to say the least."

"What's your advice, then?"

"Keep it on file, but scale it down."

"You can't see us progressing much more with this one?"

Diamond nodded.

Reasonable as this appeared, Georgina was having some difficulty with it. Clearly something else was on her mind. She eyed Diamond thoughtfully. "I believe I'm correct in saying that there's some media interest in this one."

Diamond started to say, "I'm not aware of any…" Then stopped and started again. "Do you mean a woman called Ingeborg Smith?"

"I was thinking of her, yes."

"She's independent. What do they call it? Freelance."

"So I understand. A bright young woman."

"You've met her, ma'am?"

The ACC coloured noticeably. "I joined the Bath Camerata recently. Ingeborg Smith is a member."