Typical Leaman. ‘Where do I start?’ ‘What should I be doing?’ He’d do the job as well as anyone on the team and he probably knew the answers to his questions, but he was programmed to work to instructions.
‘Redouble your efforts to find who these tenants were. You know I met a Polish guy called Jerzy, don’t you, known to his mates as Yurek? Electrician working on the Manvers Street site. He and his partner were the last official tenants here before the squatters took over. They had the place eleven years. He didn’t meet the previous tenant, but he was told there had been a woman living in the house for a time. She left one day and wasn’t seen again.’
‘This is her?’ Leaman opened the hand containing the bit of bone.
‘A piece of her, possibly. You may get more clues as other bones are recovered. But your main line of enquiry has to be naming and tracing the main suspect.’
‘Her partner? What else do we know about him?’
‘Jerzy was vague. He said he’d been told the guy was a Brit and he suggested he was called Harry. Don’t place too much reliance on that. I couldn’t be sure if he was guessing.’
‘Probably was, then.’
‘The thing about these two is that they were firmly in the time frame when the skeleton was killed and hidden in the loft. Like I said, Jerzy was here eleven years and the squatters for over two after the place was condemned — two and a bit, they said. That’s thirteen since our mysterious couple were here, which checks neatly with our other point in time, the period when that particular pattern of Y-fronts was still in use.’
‘So how do you see it? Harry murders the man in the frock coat and the woman finds out and gets murdered herself?’ Leaman’s confidence was growing by the minute. He was sounding more like Diamond’s partner in the case.
‘I can think of a dozen scenarios. She was asking too many awkward questions. Or he was afraid she’d talk. Or he caught her trying to get into the loft. Or she was a good Christian soul with a conscience who wanted to go to the police. Or they did the killing together and fell out and he couldn’t risk a break-up. Or she demanded money in return for her silence. But it’s too soon to speculate. We’re at the stage of collecting information.’
‘How long was Harry living here alone?’
‘After the woman vanished? I got the impression it was a few years. Shall we move? I can feel the damp coming through my socks.’
‘I warned you, my friend,’ Leaman said. ‘You should have brought wellies.’
Diamond quietly noted ‘my friend’ and was amused. The two senior investigators wound their way through the heaps of earth and back to the cars.
‘The SOCOs aren’t going to be too pleased that we dug the site over already,’ Leaman said.
‘You did the heavy work for them. They’ve got the beauty part now, disinterring the bones.’
Paloma hadn’t wasted any time. She wanted Diamond for a fitting that evening at her house in Lyncombe.
‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ she said when she took the rented outfit from its cover and showed it to him.
‘It’s pink,’ he said in alarm.
‘Pinkish-mauve. A soft shade like this shows off the embroidery.’
‘Flowers.’
‘Leaves and flowers. That was the style. You need to look authentic.’
‘Like the sugar-plum fairy. I can’t believe this is happening,’ he said. ‘Have you ever had that dream when you arrive at some posh event like a wedding and discover you’re naked? That’s how I’m going to feel.’
‘You’d feel far more embarrassed if you turned up in your day clothes. Try the breeches first. I got the largest size they had, but there’s room for adjustment. I can reposition the buttons if need be.’
‘I’m not that enormous. What’s in this packet?’
‘White stockings. I had to buy those. They don’t come with the costume.’
Grumbling to himself, he went behind a Chinese screen she had thoughtfully provided. The fit was pretty good. The breeches fastened over the stockings. He put on the linen shirt and tucked the flaps under the waistband. Apart from some tightness on the shoulders when he tried the frock coat, the costume would pass muster.
‘Better than I hoped,’ Paloma said when he emerged.
‘The jacket may be a size too small. I don’t want to burst a seam.’
She told him the armholes were cut high to achieve an erect posture. ‘Actually it’s a very nice fit. Be glad you’re not a woman and wearing stays.’
‘Have you got a mirror?’
‘Hey ho.’ She smiled. ‘I think someone rather fancies himself as an eighteenth-century gent.’
‘I need it for the wig.’
She held up an oval hand mirror. ‘Line it up with your forehead and pull it backwards over your head. Had to be white, I’m afraid. Only the Beau is allowed to wear black.’
‘Like this? Is it straight?’
‘Perfect. There’s a full-length mirror on the far wall.’
He went over and stared at his reflection. Pink or pink-mauve, the colour was still hard to accept. ‘I was thinking the coat would be dark grey or black.’
‘That wouldn’t be right. You’d look like an extra out of Pirates of the Caribbean. Take my word for it, Peter, this is what the others will be wearing.’
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’
‘Actors do it and think nothing of it.’ She reached for her phone. ‘Can I get a picture?’
‘Absolutely not. I’m getting out of this now.’
‘But you must practise the walk. You’re wearing something special and you need to flaunt it.’
‘I think you’re enjoying this.’
‘Someone has to. You made it very clear you aren’t. A prop might help. I’ve got a silver-handled cane somewhere. Try the walk while I’m out of the room.’
In truth, Paloma was right. He knew he must be convincing. Her advice chimed in with what Ingeborg had said earlier. This was about an attitude of mind. He’d need to banish the embarrassment.
He took a couple of hesitant steps and then lengthened his stride, puffed out his chest and walked the walk. I can do it when no one is watching, he told himself. Now I must have the guts to do it in public.
‘You don’t have to overdo it,’ came Paloma’s voice from behind. She’d returned unnoticed and was watching from the doorway. ‘That’s a little too much swagger. They’ll be comfortable in their costumes. They’re used to it. All you have to do is feel comfortable in yours. Now try with the stick.’
The stick definitely helped.
‘I like the look,’ she said. ‘Does wonders for your figure.’
‘Hides the pot belly, you mean?’
‘Beau Nash would approve. How are the shoes?’
‘They’ll do nicely.’ They were black with large silver buckles. In reality they were a size too large and slipped a bit, but he could pad them with paper tissue.
‘I could have got matching pink. Men wore all colours.’
‘Black is good.’
‘Why is this meeting important?’ she asked.
‘I’m hoping these people can help me put a name to the skeleton. Some of the older members were around at the time we think the murder was committed.’
‘They may put a name to your killer as well. Wouldn’t that make it all worthwhile?’
‘Just about.’
His first action next morning was to visit the drugs unit. Neither of the two sergeants was there. He knew he was in for a battle when he saw the man in charge. Inspector Don Tate was notorious for giving little away about the unit’s activities. Tate had left Scotland twenty years before but was as dour as any Aberdeen fish-filleter. Moreover he still had a brogue so broad that it took a while to tune in.
‘You know why I’m here?’ Diamond began.