Peter Lovesey - Diamond Dust

'In Puttenham? We don't have cleaners in Puttenham. Them's for fancy folk in Guildford.'

'Who could it be, then – Miss Appleby herself?'

'Nothing like her. This young lady is taller, with a good figure. She comes in a car once a week.'

'So it's a young woman we're talking about. Have you seen her yourself?'

'From a distance. I've watched her come and let herself in. Not Miss Appleby – she's different altogether. This one drives up in a fancy sports car, a red one, and leaves it where yours is, at the top of the lane. She doesn't stay long. Just goes inside for a couple of minutes and comes out carrying stuff.'

'What stuff? The post?'

'I reckon. I've seen her with a couple of bags, them plastic sacks. Pretty well filled up, they was.'

'Not just the mail, then?'

'Some of Miss Appleby's property, I expect. Clothes and things.'

'Didn't you ask her what was going on?'

The old man looked affronted. 'I'm not nosy.'

'But you don't even know who she is. Could be pinching the stuff.'

He shook his head. 'She don't act like a burglar. She lets herself in with a key in broad daylight. Must be family, wouldn't you say?'

'And always at the same time?'

'Once a week, round about two. What's today – Wednesday? If you're willing to wait you could see her for yourselves.'

Not much fell into Diamond's lap, so he was disbelieving when it did. 'You're expecting this woman to visit the house today?'

'It's her day, isn't it?'

They moved Diamond's car to the old man's driveway. There would be under an hour to wait. Flattered by all the attention, their host offered them some of the chicken soup he was cooking for lunch, but each of them declined when they saw the state of his kitchen. In matters of hygiene the fancy folk in Guildford had the edge.

'You'll get the best view of Duckpond Cottage from my bedroom window,' the old man informed them while he dipped chunks of bread into his soup and sucked on them noisily. 'Go on up if you want.'

His bedroom promised to be no more salubrious than the kitchen, and wasn't, but they were policemen, and their work had taken them into more squalid places. They opened the window that looked out along the lane, leaned out and gulped some fresh air.

'If this woman turns up,' Diamond said, 'I think we should play this cautiously. I don't know what's going on here, but my instinct is to watch and wait and see where she goes.'

'Agreed,' Stormy said, then, after an interval, 'No offence, Peter, but if she drives off, as she probably will, and we get in your car and follow, would you mind if I took the wheel?'

A sniff from Diamond. 'Think you can do better?'

'I'm thinking of your faultless driving. We could find ourselves having to ask which way she went.'

He shrugged. 'All right.' Then added, 'I'd better warn you. I'm a nervous passenger.'

They heard the car's approach a few minutes after two, just as the old man had predicted. It was an Alfa Romeo convertible with a fawn-coloured top, and it halted at the top of the track leading to Duckpond Cottage. The driver, a woman, youngish, with black hair teased into fine loose wisps, stepped out and touched the switch in her hand that locked the doors. She was in a turquoise sweater, black jeans and ankle-length boots.

'See what I mean about the figure?' the old man's voice piped up from behind the watching detectives. He must have finished his lunch and crept upstairs. 'Isn't that arse a peach?'

Diamond murmured, 'Haven't you got something else to do?'

'This is my time for a nap, but I can't get into bed with you here.' A strange fit of modesty.

Meanwhile the focus of all the interest was picking her way between the ruts along the track with the confidence of a regular visitor.

Diamond asked Stormy if he'd taken a note of the car's number. He had not.

'You're no better than he is, watching the floor show.'

She took a key from her pocket and entered the cottage. Diamond checked his watch.

Three minutes passed.

'Could be checking the answerphone,' he said. 'It can't take this long to pick up the mail.'

And shortly after, she emerged carrying what looked like letters in her right hand.

'We'd better get to the car,' he told Stormy. To the old man, he said, 'Siesta time.'

As the Alfa Romeo moved off in the direction of the main road to Guildford, they started up, Stormy at the wheel.

'I don't fancy our chances if she steps on the gas in that thing,' Stormy said.

'Keep your distance, and she won't have any reason to speed.'

'Which way do you reckon?'

'The A3 to London, I guess.'

Instead she turned south and immediately accelerated. 'Hope your motor is up to this, Peter,' Stormy said, putting his foot down.

Diamond braced. 'The motor may be, but don't count on the owner.'

'Got to keep her in sight. Do you think she spotted us?'

'She doesn't know us or the car. She's burning rubber for the hell of it.' He hunched down in the seat with arms folded, trying not to watch the speedometer.

They had some overtaking to do. Fortunately, the Portsmouth Road is as good as a motorway in places. Stormy drove with skill and nice judgement, getting the best out of Diamond's old Cortina, staying within sight of the Alfa Romeo without being too obvious about it. Right up the steep approach to Hindhead and the Devil's Punch Bowl the Cortina had power in reserve. 'This old heap handles well, Peter.'

'It gets good treatment – usually.'

'Who is this woman?'

'Never seen her before.'

'Heigh-ho, she's turning left at the lights.' Stormy jerked the car into the left lane and took the turn tightly, tyres screaming. They were now on a narrow two-way stretch through a wooded area, and she hadn't cut her speed.

'Think she's spotted us yet?' Stormy asked.

'I told you. She won't know who we are.'

'It's mutual.'

They passed more than one sign to Haslemere. 'We're still going south,' Diamond said.

'Now she's using a car-phone.'

'Bloody dangerous at this speed.'

'Maybe she noticed us.'

In another mile the brake-lights of the convertible suddenly blazed for no obvious reason. It happened twice.

'She's looking for somewhere to turn off,' Stormy said.

'Don't crowd her, then.'

When they crested the next hill the Alfa Romeo was no longer in sight.

'What the fuck…?'

'Slow up, man. There's got to be a turn here,' Diamond said.

A narrow lane came up on the right, and Stormy did well to spot it and make the turn. They hadn't travelled more than sixty yards when there was a flash of metal ahead and another vehicle came fast towards them, so fast that they were forced off the hard surface onto a mud path, the wheels skidding and screeching against the wood of a low hedge. A white Mercedes with a woman at the wheel. A mop of dark hair in wisps, pale, staring face, turquoise top.

'She's switched cars.'

'Flaming hell.'

She was past, heading for the road they'd just left and there was nowhere to turn. Diamond swung around in his seat and watched the Mercedes through the rear window. 'Back up. Reverse.'

Stormy slammed into reverse and steered them back towards the road whilst Diamond strained to see which direction the Mercedes would take at the top of the lane.

'Right. She's gone right.'

'Say your prayers, then. We're going arse-out into the road.'

By a miracle nothing was passing when they did. Stormy spun the wheel again and they zoomed off in the direction the woman had taken. Two cars were on the road ahead. Neither was a white Mercedes.

'How did she do that?' Stormy shouted over the acceleration.

'Switch cars? Trying to shake us off, I suppose.'

'I didn't say why. I said how.'