Peter Lovesey - Stagestruck

‘Nasty,’ Diamond said as they came alongside a mangled blue saloon being lifted onto a breakdown truck. ‘Must have hit that tree. I wonder if it was fatal.’ Then he realised he was rubbernecking and gave his attention to the road ahead.

Lew Rogers was good with the map. Away from the town centre, Warminster is a maze of side streets and dead ends. He directed them unerringly off the High Street and over a railway bridge to the estate where Kate lived. The houses there must have been built as army quarters to support the nearby barracks, functional brick buildings without much to distinguish them. Some boys were kicking a football in the road.

Diamond succeeded in reaching the end without running over a child and parked at the curbside. ‘Did you spot the house?’

‘I did. It’s the one with the yellow door about halfway along.’

The way the houses were sited, an escape route from the back looked unlikely. Tall fences enclosed the back gardens.

‘Shall I see if she’s in, guv?’ Rogers asked.

‘Why not? Give me a wave if she is.’

Rogers started the walk back, watched covertly in the rearview mirror by Diamond and openly by the young footballers.

Rogers went through the gate and rang the bell on the yellow door.

Diamond watched and waited. The footballers had suspended play.

No one came to the door.

Presently Rogers returned to the car. ‘Nothing doing. The kids say they know when she’s home because she parks her car outside, a blue Vauxhall Astra.’

A disquieting thought popped into Diamond’s mind, but he dismissed it.

‘What do we do now?’ Rogers said.

‘We can at least see if she comes along in the next half-hour. She could have been caught in the traffic jam, like us.’

The evening light was still good although the shadows were lengthening. Behind the houses, the downs were turning pink. A fertile imagination wouldn’t have had much difficulty in seeing flying saucers.

‘Will we wrap this up tonight?’ Rogers asked.

‘I hope so. Why – do you have plans for the weekend?’

‘Not really.’

‘Married, are you?’

‘Second time around.’

‘She’ll have plans, then.’

‘No doubt.’

Diamond took another look at the house. ‘Was that ground-floor window open when you went to the door?’

‘I’m sure it was.’

‘Careless of her. Anyone could get in.’

‘True.’

After a pause, Diamond said, ‘We shouldn’t leave it unsecured. In fact, we have a civic duty to investigate.’

Rogers clearly understood what the head of CID intended. He may have been shocked, but he had the good sense not to mention it. The two of them approached the house. The security risk in question was a small top window opened for ventilation.

‘Your arm is longer than mine,’ Diamond said. ‘If I give you a hand-up, see if you can reach in and unfasten the catch on the window below.’

The footballers came closer while Diamond was helping Rogers get a foot on the outer ledge. The smallest of them, prompted by the others, said, ‘What are you doing, mister? Are you breaking in?’

‘It’s all right,’ Diamond called back. ‘We’re the police, making sure it’s safe.’

‘How do we know you’re the police?’

‘A burglar wouldn’t do this in broad daylight with you lot watching, that’s why.’

Rogers lifted the catch on the lower window and they both climbed in. The place was appreciably tidier than Kate’s workplace. A black sofa covered with a purple throw. Afghan rug. Flat-screen TV.

‘Can you work a computer?’ Diamond asked.

‘Depends what sort.’

‘See if you can find hers and run a sheet of blank paper through the printer.’

‘It’s right here against the wall.’ Rogers checked that the paper in the feed was clean and then passed a couple of sheets through and handed them to Diamond. ‘I don’t know what you’re expecting to find, guv.’

‘It isn’t this,’ Diamond said. The sheets were still pristine. ‘Mind, she could have used another machine. I’ll have a look round.’

A swift tour of the small house revealed no second printer and nothing else in the way of evidence. Up in the bedroom he started in surprise when his own phone emitted its archaic ring-tone. He’d left it switched on after speaking to Ingeborg. The voice was hers again.

‘Where are you now, guv – still in Warminster?’

He avoided a specific answer. ‘Should I be somewhere else?’

‘You don’t need to wait there, anyway. Kate was in a car accident on her way home. She turned it right over, only a short way from the town.’

That disquieting thought resurfaced and chided him, gloating: I told you so .

‘Is she alive?’

‘So they’re saying. She was taken to A & E at Salisbury Hospital. I don’t know what condition she’s in.’

‘We’re halfway there. We’ll find out.’

Like all main hospitals, Salisbury has insufficient parking. Even detectives on police business have to search for a space. By the time Diamond found one, it was a fair walk to Accident & Emergency. They did, at least, get some priority at the enquiry desk and learned that Kate was not critically injured. She had some minor abrasions and was being assessed for concussion. They were told the way to the out-patients’ canteen.

‘You know what that means,’ Diamond said to Rogers. ‘This could take a long time.’

‘Shall I fetch some coffee?’

‘Good thinking. And a beef sandwich would go down well.’

He called Ingeborg again to update her. The mobile was getting more use in one day than it had in months. ‘Will you stay at the hospital?’ she asked.

‘One of us will, for sure.’

‘How did the accident happen?’

‘We don’t know yet.’

‘Is it possible more than one vehicle was involved?’

He sensed at once what she was thinking, that Kate may have been forced off the road in a cynical attempt to kill her. Kate as victim would mean a reversal of the way he was thinking. ‘Hard to tell until we get a chance to speak to her. We saw her car being lifted from the scene and there wasn’t another at that stage.’

‘They’d have driven on.’

‘I know what you’re getting at. She’s being assessed for concussion, so she may have no memory. It’ll be up to the accident investigation team to tell us, and they won’t be quick. What’s going on at your end?’

‘Not much, I’m afraid,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Paul is back from the theatre. He was checking all the printers there. He says he did a printout on every one, but there wasn’t a single match with the suicide note. That line of enquiry doesn’t look promising.’

‘He’d better not give up on it. I expect it was printed at home on a personal computer. He’ll just have to visit each of the suspects.’

‘He knows, guv. He’ll see the job through.’

‘Tell him he needn’t go out to Warminster for Kate’s machine.’

‘Why is that?’

‘It’s been cleared. No specks at all.’ He moved swiftly on. ‘Who else is around?’

‘John Leaman. He finished that search of the theatre and found I don’t know how many carrier bags. And Fred Dawkins has just left for that Sweeney Todd rehearsal. He’s done a solid job on Binns, checking with previous employers. We now have a complete career record. A few blemishes, but nothing of obvious interest. Binns doesn’t seem to have had any previous connection with Clarion or Denise or the Theatre Royal.’

‘Is Keith still with Shearman?’

‘No, he came back an hour ago, wanting to give the little fink enough rope to hang himself, he says.’

‘Not literally, I hope. And what’s your take on Francis Melmot?’