He tried stressing the positive result of the morning’s discoveries. ‘You’ve been proved right about the people who went missing. That’s something Georgina and I can tell headquarters when we make our report.’
‘Do they really want to know? I’m a thorn in their flesh.’
‘With your job on the line, as it is, I’m going to make damned sure they know what a good cop you are.’
‘You’re pissing in the wind, Pete. They want me out.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
She insisted on making coffee and sharing a pork pie she’d been saving for lunch. He realised that, like Georgina, he’d got hungry. While watching those images from the ocean floor, he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to face food for the rest of the day.
With Hen busy in the kitchen, he stepped into the living room and tried calling Dave Albison for the latest news of the recovery operation. Without success. He left a message and used the word urgent twice over. As a non-diver he had no way of estimating how long it would take to retrieve the first body.
Facing Hen across her small kitchen table, he said, ‘I still haven’t worked out a motive for Rigden’s murder. Everything stems from that. Find the motive, find his killer and we’d be motoring.’
‘And the best of British luck,’ she said.
‘Did he have any connections to the underworld?’
‘Joe Rigden? You’re joking. The angels formed a guard of honour when he went through the pearly gates.’
‘Was mistaken identity a possibility?’
‘Crossed my mind, but I never got anywhere with it.’
‘You see what I’m driving at? The planning that went into his disposal suggests it was organised crime, same as the others you were on about, but he wasn’t a known criminal.’
‘Did you say organised? A large part of his head was blown away with a shotgun. Downright messy for professionals.’
He nodded. He, too, believed the killing had been clumsy.
Hen’s thoughts had moved on. ‘I don’t like to think what they did to Joss.’
‘Don’t go there, Hen.’ He changed tack. ‘Yesterday, in Mrs Shah’s garden, after Georgina and I found you sitting in the shed, I caught your eye at one point and you seemed to be on the point of saying something important.’
‘Was I?’ Her thoughts were still elsewhere.
‘Shortly before you left,’ he said. ‘Georgina was ranting about you wasting police time. Fair enough. She had got herself in a mess pursuing you around the lake next door.’
She managed a slight smile. ‘She wasn’t dressed for a hike.’
‘She was in a strop and she ordered you to leave. That was when I thought you were ready to share something with us.’
‘Got you.’ Attention was fully restored. ‘But I don’t know if it’s still worth sharing. When I first parked my car and looked inside Holly Blue Cottage, I thought I saw someone.’
‘In the cottage?’
‘Yes.’
‘It looked derelict to me,’ Diamond said. ‘We knocked and got no answer and when I looked through the letterbox there was a heap of mail on the floor.’
‘I saw that, too. Like you, I took it that no one was at home, but when I went round the side I saw a large black cat creeping through the long grass for all the world as if it thought it was a panther in the jungle. I must have startled it, because it turned into a moggy and dashed to the back door and straight through a cat-flap. Made me think twice because it was obviously used to going in. I went right up to the kitchen window and looked in and I’m sure there was a movement inside.’
‘The cat?’
‘No. This was a figure framed in the doorway.’
‘Male?’
‘Couldn’t tell you. They darted out of sight immediately. I tapped on the window. After all, I was on someone else’s property and you don’t march through without so much as a good-day, do you? Whoever they were, they had no wish to meet me.’
‘A squatter?’
‘That was my thought. Empty place. It’s a temptation.’
‘You’ve got me interested, Hen. On Saturday, when the artists were doing their stuff at Fortiman House, I took a walk down to the lake and I definitely saw someone on the far side walking the bank. Beanie hat, long, brown coat and boots. They were in front of the wall, which we now know is shared with Holly Blue Cottage.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t one of the artists?’
‘They were all in the studio. I thought I was alone out there until this person appeared. Could be your squatter.’
‘Don’t blame them on me, squire. I’m in trouble enough.’
‘Whoever it was could have come through the door in the wall, thinking they wouldn’t be seen. I’m going to take another look.’
‘Good call.’ Her eyes glinted. ‘There’s something else you ought to know. I thought a lot about Holly Blue Cottage and its situation.’
‘So close to Fortiman House, you mean?’
‘And so neglected. I decided to make some enquiries about the owner. Got on the internet and accessed the Land Registry. It took persistence and a couple of phone calls as well, but finally I got some information. After Miss Shah died it was bought by a company known as Mombasa Holdings Limited.’
‘I know. I did a check myself. Makes sense — the Indian connection.’
‘So you would assume. So anybody would assume. But did you check the directors’ names?’
‘No.’
‘I did. I got on to Companies House and got the names. There are two directors: Ferdinand and Thomas Standforth.’
‘Ferdie and Tom? How odd.’
‘That’s what I thought at first. I don’t know how these deals are done, but it looks as if they took over an existing company that owned the place while Mrs Shah was alive. Buying the property next door makes sense if they plan to expand.’
‘But they’ve done nothing to it.’
‘And now they seem to have a squatter. You want a lift to the cottage? I’m up for it.’
32
Georgina wasn’t on the trip. If Diamond had learned anything in recent days, it was the wisdom of keeping two strong women apart. Almost certainly she would have vetoed more trespassing at Holly Blue Cottage.
Hen drove while Diamond talked, making sure he kept off the topic of the bodies under the sea. Small talk didn’t come naturally to him. He treated her to his opinions on films of the nineteen-forties, notably Odd Man Out and The Wicked Lady, and for some reason she was amused. She was still chuckling when she stopped the car in front of the cottage.
He got out beside the nameboard. ‘Daft name — Holly Blue. The only holly I’ve ever seen is green, with red berries.’
‘Shows your ignorance, city slicker,’ Hen said. ‘It’s a butterfly. Look at the picture underneath.’
‘But why give a butterfly a name that makes no sense?’
‘It’s blue — a gorgeous silver blue, much more delicate than the picture.’
‘I get that part.’
‘And it feeds on holly leaves. Satisfied?’
‘How the heck do you know about the holly leaves?’
‘Are you questioning my countryside cred? I’m a Sussex woman. I get about, go for walks, notice things and look them up when I get home. Townies like you spend all your time indoors watching old films. You wouldn’t know a holly blue from a silver-spotted skipper.’
‘The clouded yellow,’ he said, ‘I know that.’
‘Cripes! There’s hope yet.’
‘Jean Simmons and Trevor Howard, 1951.’
‘God help us, not another old film.’
The cottage looked every bit as derelict as when they’d seen it last. They decided to try the back door. Hen stepped out confidently without any pretence of subterfuge. Diamond, a couple of paces behind, could only admire this forthright little woman, the set of her shoulders and the head held high. This was the DCI Mallin he knew, on the case and primed for action.