Peter Lovesey - The Vault

"I'm sure I did, sweetheart. But putting my hands on it now is another thing. I've got a million keys in my office. Finding the right one will be the problem."

He stood up again.

"Why don't you bring the box downstairs?" Peg suggested. "Is that your book on the window sill? I'll hold that for you."

"No, I can manage," Joe said quickly, snatching it up and thrusting it under his arm. "What about this mess?"

"Leave it. I'll get Ellis to clear it later."

Ignoring the twinges in his back, Joe stooped and lifted the writing box with extreme care. It was not so heavy as he expected. He followed Peg through the labyrinth of rooms and down the stairs.

In her hideaway behind the grandfather clocks, she reached for an old biscuit-tin, and scooped up a handful of small keys and dropped them on top of her desk. "You don't have to hold it to your bosom, dearie. Put it here and take your pick."

He did as instructed and wiped away the dust with his sleeve. The shape of the vase's base was still imprinted.

"Care for a sherry while you try them out?" Peg offered. She was into her sales pitch now. He was already under an obligation after breaking the vase.

"Thanks, but I hope it won't take that long," he said. "My wife is waiting to go out for dinner."

"You Americans eat so early."

Joe started trying keys. This extra delay was almost too much to endure. Peg poured herself a large Amontillado, grabbed some more keys from the tin and sat watching. She seemed to be enjoying the performance. At one point she remarked that she still couldn't be certain if it was the correct writing box. "I'll tell you when I see inside."

Joe's hopes were on a higher plane. Secretly he wished for some incontestable link with Mary Shelley. Maybe some embossed initials, or a sheet of notepaper with something in her handwriting. Antique writing desks frequently had secret drawers built into them. Was it too much to hope that he might discover an unpublished love poem by Shelley?

The lock was resisting all his attempts. He could eliminate some keys at a glance. He had a rough idea of the size he needed. Some fitted the hole, but none up to now would turn the lock.

Peg put down her glass and provided another handful from the biscuit tin.

"How many more are there?"

"I don't want to depress you."

"I'd rather know."

"Two more biscuit tins to go," she said. "The Victorians had a thing about security. They locked everything. Bookcases, wardrobes, writing desks, work baskets, sewing machines, even chests of drawers. Put them out on display and you soon lose the blessed keys. Believe me, darling, they're an infernal nuisance. My solution is to keep them all here in boxes."

"Great-if you label them. Or leave the furniture unlocked."

"Don't sound so glum, professor. We're getting there slowly. I couldn't bear to force a fine old piece like this. It's really elegant, isn't it? The wood hasn't been looked after, but it would come up nicely with some polish. This is walnut. Belonged to a lady if I'm any judge. Men's writing boxes are bigger and more robust, reinforced with brass along the edges. Makes you wonder what they did with them. Threw them at the servants, I expect."

Joe's thoughts were strictly in the present. "Suppose you sold me this without the key. How much would you want?"

She took a long, thoughtful sip. "There's no extra charge for the key."

"That isn't what I meant."

"I think we should go on looking."

"But if I run out of time."

Her eyes were pitiless, opaque. "I'm sorry. I can't quote you a price without seeing the inside myself. The finishing is so important."

"I could make you a substantial offer."

She smiled and shook her head. It was becoming obvious that she knew she had a coveted item here.

Joe tried some more keys unsuccessfully. "Would you mind if I called my wife at the hotel?"

"It's over there, on the milk-churn."

The call to Donna would have been difficult under any conditions. With Peg Redbird sitting a couple of feet away (allowing him some privacy had not crossed her mind) it was a minefield.

Donna must have been sitting next to the phone, because she was on the line before Joe heard the ringing tone. The menace she put into the words, "Who is this?" would have petrified a lesser man. Joe's reaction was to unloose words at the speed of a tobacco auctioneer. He told her he was unavoidably detained by an accident in an antique shop that had been his fault. He was not hurt, but there was some damage to property and he wanted to put matters right before leaving. He guessed he would be back inside the half-hour and if she cared to call a restaurant of her choice and book a table for two he would make it up to her.

He should have put down the phone immediately. The delay allowed Donna to start. Her delivery was no slower than Joe's. It was a marvel her teeth stayed in. She let him know that she had been expecting him back each minute for the past two hours and as for putting matters right, he had better think about putting them right with his own wife. After the stress she'd been under, she expected something a damned sight better than a meal out. And soon.

He promised to leave at once and dropped the phone as if it was red hot.

Peg said, "It sounds serious."

"It's getting that way. Look, would you let me buy the box now and take it back to my hotel? I'll get a locksmith to open it without damaging the lock."

She shook her head. "Sorry, my pet. I'm not selling without seeing inside it."

"You understand my problem. My wife is expecting me."

"Would she let you come back later and try some more keys?"

"Don't you close the store now?"

"I've got to wait for Ellis with the van. He's collecting some furniture I bought today. We'll be here until midnight, I should think, trying to make space." She smiled. "You helped."

"Really? I don't know how."

"The vase."

He said he was sure to be back by ten. He picked up Mary Shelley's book.

Peg said she would carry on trying to unlock the writing box.

A thought struck Joe. "You wouldn't force it while I was away?"

"Ducky, you weren't listening. I wouldn't damage that box for all the tea in China."

Now a worse thought struck him, a sudden strong suspicion that Peg had known all along where to find the key and was only waiting for him to leave.

THE SMELL OF DAMP, ancient stone and the cool of the night were marvellously suggestive, transporting him to the vaults and charnel-houses Frankenstein had visited in pursuit of the secret of life. "One secret which I alone possessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon gazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding'places."

Unlike Frankenstein, he was untroubled by the horrors. He embraced them eagerly.

WHEN IT BECAME OBVIOUS that the television people would not let up, Diamond agreed to record an interview for BBC Newsnight that meant a drive to Bristol for a link-up with London. He got to the studio around six-thirty. They powdered his bald patch in Make-Up-"topped, if not tailed," as they put it-and then he found himself in front of a camera facing a famous talking head on a monitor. Usually he relished watching politicians ducking and diving under fire from Jeremy Paxman. Being on the receiving end was a different experience. Tonight he didn't much like what he saw of this formidable interrogator. If the lush crop of dark hair wasn't provocation enough for a bald man, the smile that came with the questions was.

"You seem to have got yourself an unusual case down there in Bath, Superintendent. What's all this about Frankenstein?"