Halliwell tried again. "I think we should let them back in, Mr. Diamond, I really do."
Diamond thrust the loudhailer into his hands. "Do it, then."
He kept track of the operation with a personal radio. A few who had believed the alarm to be false were being winkled out, and so were others who had insisted on returning to the changing rooms before leaving. There were protests from some of the women caught half dressed by young policemen; they were unconvinced by the logic that the rooms were supposed to be unoccupied.
The search of the ground floor did not take long. Much of the space is taken up by the main sports hall, a vast place like an aircraft hanger, divided only by netting, where badminton, aerobics, and netball can take place simultaneously. The swimming pool and the indoor bowls hall were equally simple to check.
The searchers moved upstairs, into a warren of corridors and offices, viewing galleries and smaller rooms for table tennis, weight training, and aerobics. This took longer. A party of rebels was located in the bar and restaurant, called the Winning Post, and some angry exchanges were brought to a stop only by an angrier instruction from Diamond over the radio link. He had other priorities than getting involved with a crowd of bolshie drinkers.
Soon after 6:30 P.M., the word came through that every part of the building had been searched.
"She's got to be here somewhere," Diamond insisted to Mr. Musgrave. "Her car is still outside. She knew the dog was in there. She wouldn't have left it that long. Either she's hurt, or she's being kept against her will."
"Was the car park checked?" Mr. Musgrave asked. "It goes right under the building, you know."
"Of course."
"Yes, but is Jones's car still here? Do we know what he drives?"
It was a useful suggestion, and Diamond acted on it at once. One of the Sports Center people said Jones drove an old white Cortina. A check with the Police National Computer confirmed this and supplied a registration number. A search was started.
With some reluctance, Diamond acceded to Mr. Musgrave's suggestion that the public be allowed to return to their activities. "If the car is missing," said the ACC, "we can safely assume he's abducted Julie and driven her away. Then we're into a full-scale emergency."
"Aren't we already?" muttered Diamond, striding off to look at cars.
Within a few minutes, Jones's white Cortina was found in the section reserved for staff. Diamond walked around it, looking through the windows. Then he had the boot forced open- a stomach-churning moment, but it turned out to be empty except for some sports clothes. He had the engine immobilized.
"In that case," he said, "there's only one place the bastard can be. I want torches and ladders. And I want twenty men and at least three authorized shots for this. Keith, get the flood-lighting turned on at the rugby ground."
The Center had a vast flat roof with several levels. It was decided to start from the side nearest the road. Ladders were not after all required, because there was access by way of the restaurant balcony on the top floor. About twenty of the searchers lined up on the roof and began a slow sweep of that leyel under Diamond's personal supervision, with the marksmen positioned to target any figure making a break. It wasn't so open an area as Diamond expected; a number of ventilation shafts were capable of providing cover for a fugitive.
On any investigation he experienced moments of numbing despair; he couldn't change his nature. But this was infinitely worse. It wasn't mere depression; it was hell. He despised himself. It wouldn't take much more to persuade him to jump off this bloody roof. He'd made a whopping misjudgment, totally failing to see the danger in sending Julie to interview Jones. The neatness of the case against AJ. and Jessica had blinded him to other suspects. Up here, on this godfor-saken roof, Peter Diamond was getting his payoff. He had a reputation for decisiveness. When the decision led to a disaster… if, as he had to expect, Julie was found dead… then only one decision would be left to him.
His thoughts went back to his last conversation with Julie, over the phone, when she'd been trying to alert him to her discovery of the paint spots on the dog, and he'd made the idiot assumption that she was reconsidering keeping the dog. Trivial, but it shamed him now. He'd never valued Julie sufficiently. She was ace, a clear thinker. He knew it, so why hadn't he listened first time?
The line moved steadily across the roof, toward the edge that overlooked the Recreation Ground. There was a brisk wind up here, making it difficult to be heard. He was directing the operation with a torch, waving it in a circular motion to bring the line forward and holding it still above his head when he needed to stop them. They seemed to have got the idea.
Quite suddenly, the whole area ahead was illuminated. Keith Halliwell had acted on his order and the floodlighting on the rugby ground, where Bath RFC played its matches, was switched on. The Sports Center was sited next to the ground, and the lighting, on masts, was close enough to make a real difference.
At the same time, Diamond thought he heard a shout from a woman. There were women in the police line, and he couldn't be sure if one of them had reacted to the lights. He held the torch high and asked for silence by a sweeping motion with his free hand.
The wind increased in strength.
He could hear nothing more. He waved the line forward again.
Almost immediately there was another cry. It was a woman's voice, no question, and it seemed to be saying "Here!"
No one was in sight ahead, where the sound seemed to have come from. They had passed the last of the ventilation shafts.
He signaled another halt and asked the man nearest to him if he'd heard the voice. He said he thought he had, but he couldn't understand where from. Diamond considered ordering everyone to do an about-turn; clearly there was no one ahead of them, so maybe it was some acoustic effect.
Then he heard it again, and this time it was a cry for help.
He took some quick steps forward, and understood. The roof of the Sports Center came to an end, but beyond it, at a lower level, was the new stand of the rugby club, the Teacher's Stand, built only a season or two ago. Its superstructure of seventeen white cones, like the tops of so many medieval jousting tents, was silhouetted against the floodlighting.
"She's down there," he said. "That's where she's got to be."
The gunmen had moved forward and taken positions on the edge of the roof. He hissed an order to them to get out of sight.
There was a way down to the back edge of the stand roof. The buildings were virtually linked. Making the descent was awkward for a man his size, but he was first there. Three of the party followed him.
He gestured to the others to stand still.
He called her name.
Nothing.
"Julie, this is me-Diamond."
A clear voice, shrill and urgent, answered, "Here!"
She was alive! He still couldn't see her, but the voice was unmistakable. It seemed to have come from in front of the cones. There was a chunk of equipment projecting above the level of the roof.
He took a few steps to his right, then ducked down fast.
Two figures were lying flat, almost obscured by a satellite dish. If Jones, powerful man that he was, had Julie by the throat, he could snap her neck. This couldn't be rushed. And it was no use relying on the guns.
Diamond crept forward, commando style, flat to his stomach. He beckoned the others on.
Then Julie spoke again. "For God's sake hurry up, Mr. Diamond. I've made the arrest. All I want is someone to take him away."
Sheepishly, he stood up. Once more he'd underestimated her. Julie had Bert Jones in an armlock, her leg braced and keeping him immobile in a very effective hold.