Miss Chilmark appeared to wish to dismiss the episode from her mind. At any rate, she said nothing.
Shirley-Ann picked up the thread again. "Soon after, I read the Stanley Ellin story, and then Milo opened his copy of The Hollow Man."
"Before that, he insulted Mrs. Wycherley."
"Who did?"
Miss Chilmark looked as if she had bitten into a sour apple. "Who do you think?"
"Rupert?"
"You remember, don't you? 'Jesus wants me for a sun-beam'?"
"Oh." Shirley-Ann tried to stop herself smiling.
"It was meant to wound, and it did."
"Yes, but it didn't have anything to do with Sid."
"It demonstrated the depths the man will sink to."
"Rupert. But we were talking about Sid and the things he did and said that evening," said Shirley-Ann. "And now I've remembered something else. At the end of the evening, after Milo opened his book and found the Penny Black, we were talking about what Milo should do next. Some of us said there was no need for him to get involved. He could send the stamp back to the Postal Museum, and no one need say anything about it. Someone-I think it was Rupert-asked Sid for his opinion and he said, 'I can stay quiet.' You must remember because you were one of the people who said he had a duty to go to the police. You and Polly insisted. Everyone else was inclined to turn a blind eye."
"Don't talk to me in that accusing tone of voice," said Miss Chilmark. "It was the proper thing to do."
"If he hadn't done it, he would have gone straight back to the narrowboat. Very likely, Sid wouldn't have been murdered."
"That, if I may say so, is about the most stupid thing I have heard you say," commented Miss Chilmark. "It's pure speculation and quite pointless. No one can say with certainty what would have happened. Anyway, my recollection is that Milo made up his own mind. It didn't require advice from me or anyone else. He would have gone to the police regardless, and quite right." She stood up. "And now, if we have quite finished this futile exercise, I have some business to attend to. Good morning."
She headed off in the direction of Waitrose.
Chapter Twenty
Julie Hargreaves routinely cleared the surface of her desk at the end of each day's work. She wasn't compulsive about tidiness, but the desk was quite modest in size, and she would transfer everything she could to the filing cabinet and the wire trays. For the pens, pencils, and clips, she had an arrangement of cylinders called a desk tidy. All she expected to find in front of her when she arrived for work next day was the mail, if any. So this Wednesday morning Peter Diamond, whose desk was a disgrace, was making mischief. He had heaped her space with objects in transparent plastic bags-Sid Towers's possessions, ready to be collected for forensic examination. An outraged howl was the least he expected.
She deflated him by saying mildly, "It's a little early for Christmas, isn't it?"
He said, "You're an optimist." He still hoped for an eruption.
But she moved the dialogue smoothly on to professional matters. "Surely he didn't carry all this in his pockets."
"It's all the loose stuff from his car as well."
"Anything of interest?" She picked up one of the bags and rattled the contents. "Keys."
"For the car, the doors to his flat and the warehouse where he worked."
"Nothing so helpful as the key to a certain padlock?"
"You're a superoptimist."
She handled a bulkier package. "This will be the book he had with him at the Bloodhounds' meeting. The Three Coffins."
Diamond frowned as a fresh thought popped into his brain. "Where's the brown paper bag we heard it was wrapped in?"
Julie shifted some of the objects.
"Should be here somewhere," said Diamond, joining in. "Every bloody item has its own plastic bag and label."
"I don't see it, do you? Here's a carrier bag." Julie picked up the packet and read the label. " 'Waitrose carrier used to contain book, The Three Coffins.' No mention of a brown bag."
"Come to think of it, he wouldn't fancy using it for his precious book after Miss Chilmark had been hyperventilating into it. Probably binned it."
"I expect so," said Julie, continuing to examine the collection. Packaged and labeled like this, anyone's possessions would have looked pathetic. There was about thirty pence in small coins. A five-pound note. A handkerchief. A comb. Two ballpoints. Haifa tube of Polo mints. "Does it matter?"
"The bag? Only if it's missing," said Diamond, beginning to question his own assumption. "Would he have thrown it away, seeing that it came in so useful? Suppose the old dear had another attack. They could have needed it a second time."
"Unless it got torn."
"Nothing was said about that. Who held the bag to Miss Chilmark's face?"
"The art gallery owner. Jessica Shaw. She knew what to do."
"Then I wouldn't mind betting she kept hold of the bag, at least until the meeting ended."
Julie gave him a long look. He had this way of pursuing to tedium points that seemed trivial. Once in a while this paid a dividend. Still, it was difficult to understand why the fate of a brown paper bag had any importance.
"And the meeting broke up in some disorder after the Penny Black was discovered," he continued, talking more to himself than Julie. "She may not have returned the bag to Sid. Well, she couldn't have, or it would be among these things."
"Unless Sid got rid of it later."
Diamond didn't think much of that suggestion. "She could have left it in the crypt, in which case some cleaner will have tidied it up."
"Or she may have taken it with her."
"Jessica? Stuffed it into her handbag, you mean?"
"Or a pocket."
He liked that better. "Right. We'll ask her now. We'll take a walk to that art gallery she manages."
"What do I do with all this?" she asked with her hand on the heap of plastic packets.
"Leave it there."
"Cluttering up my desk? No thanks."
"You're not a slave to tidiness, are you?"
"But there's money here."
"This is a police station, Julie. If you can't trust the police.."He spread his hands like the Pope and tried to look as benign.
She gave him a long look, and said, "It's not your money."
"Yours neither. Get your coat. We've more important things to do."
She looked at her watch. "Can't do it. Sorry."
"Why not."
"Actually, I've got an appointment."
His blood pressure rose several points. She had no business making appointments in police time. "What's that?"
"The postmortem on Sid Towers. You asked me to go- remember?"
"Ah." He'd dismissed it from his mind. "What time?"
"Noon, at the RUH."
"We can fit this other thing in first. I'll get you there on time, I guarantee."
"If you say so." Not for the first time in her dealings with Diamond, Julie showed restraint. She could easily have remarked that if he could drive her to the RUH, it was odd that he was prevented from attending the autopsy himself.
The Walsingham Gallery window was being dressed, and Jessica Shaw was directing, gesturing to a man on the other side of the glass exactly where a painting on an easel should stand. She was engrossed, and so was a small crowd of bystanders, making it difficult for anyone to reach the other end of the narrow, flagstoned passage of Northumberland Place. Jessica seemed to be well aware that this was street entertainment. In a cherry-red woolen dress and with a thick white cardigan draped around her shoulders, she was conspicuous among her audience in their drab padded jackets and wind-cheaters.
"Mrs. Jessica Shaw?"
She didn't even turn to answer Diamond's inquiry, but carried on giving instructions. "More to the right. The right, the right, the right."