‘At one stage, no question.’
‘Magic mushrooms?’
‘Among other substances, yes. She tried them all, my sister told me.’
‘Then if she was a customer of Fortiman House, some kind of deal was struck, such as a supply of liberty caps in exchange for driving a stolen car to Littlehampton. I doubt whether she knew what was in the boot. And she didn’t meet Davy, so his part in the operation was concealed.’
He was steeling himself to reveal that Joss was dead. But it wasn’t to be. A heavy trundling sound interrupted him. He swung around and saw the sliding door moving.
Hen had seen what was happening and ducked. That piercing electronic beep was sounding. All too clearly it was linked to an alarm system.
In different aisles, Diamond and Hen had taken cover under the tables bearing the trays of mushrooms. Clearly they were in danger of their lives. Any doubt about that was removed a moment later.
‘OK, I’m armed. I know you’re here,’ a male voice shouted, echoing through the long building. ‘You have five seconds to show yourself, or you get it.’
Not much scope for negotiation there.
Heart thumping, Diamond stayed out of sight and silent under the table and Hen did the same. He had a view of her hunkered between the trestles two aisles to his left. If the gunman came along either aisle they’d be easy targets. Any fool would know they’d taken cover.
What now? Wait here passively or do something? Diamond wasn’t the passive sort. The difference between survival and a bullet through the head was all in the timing. The obvious move was to create a distraction. But how, without getting shot?
The gunman had entered by the same door they had, so he wasn’t all that far away. After the chilling first threat, he’d gone silent. His feet weren’t making any sound, very likely because he was wearing trainers. Diamond held his breath and strained to listen for the softest footfall.
It came, a steady padding along the aisle he was in. He felt in his pocket for his mobile phone, the one solid object he had apart from his shoes. His heart thumped faster than the advancing footsteps. Get this right, Peter Diamond, or you’re history, and so is Hen Mallin.
The gunman slowed, as if he sensed someone nearby.
Diamond waited.
Two short steps closer and already he could see the feet and the faded blue jeans. They’d stopped again. The legs angled forward a little as if the gunman was stooping for a better look.
Diamond didn’t move a muscle.
The front shoe lifted at the heel and advanced almost to within touching distance.
Now.
Diamond slung his phone as far and as fast to his right as he could, aiming below the tables. It didn’t get far before it clattered against one of the metal trestles. It still should have been enough to create a diversion and draw fire.
But instead of loosing off a reaction shot, the gunman hesitated.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
After five agonising seconds came a blast of what sounded like rapid machine-gun fire.
A machine gun?
Diamond rolled into the aisle, grabbed the gunman’s legs and brought him down. Surprise is a weapon in itself.
At the same time a heavy object clattered against the ground and slid under the table.
A brief bout of wrestling, and Diamond grasped an arm and yanked it upwards behind the man’s back. He had him in an armlock.
He didn’t need to shout to Hen. She was already on her feet, dashing between the tables to snatch up the weapon.
A chainsaw.
What Diamond had taken to be machine-gun fire had been the saw on full throttle.
With his weight bearing down, he hadn’t much of a sense of who he’d captured, except that he was large and strong. There was something he hadn’t expected. Instead of the solid feel of back and shoulders, his chin was up against a padded surface that felt like wool. He pulled back for a better view.
A Rastafarian crocheted tam.
The chainsaw man was Manny, the cartoonist gardener.
34
The blast from the chainsaw had deafened Diamond temporarily.
He didn’t relax his hold, even though Hen was standing over them, gripping the chainsaw as if she meant to use it. There was no struggling from Manny, just swift, shallow breathing. All resistance seemed to be over.
Hen said something inaudible, probably meant for Manny.
After almost a minute, Diamond decided it might be safe to move. His legs were shaking when he put weight on them, but he didn’t want to show frailty, so he propped himself against the nearest table edge.
It took a while for his hearing to return. He caught the last part of something Hen was saying: ‘...to tie him up with.’
Good thinking. Manny was disarmed, but he also needed to be disabled.
In a horticultural building this size there should be some twine or wire lying about.
‘Thank Christ for a man who dresses well,’ Hen said — and he heard her clearly this time. ‘Take off your tie, sunshine.’
Needs must. It was his Bath rugby club tie — but he could buy another. He secured Manny’s wrists. Then he removed the laces from his trainers and bound the ankles together. Hen was still ready for action, gripping the chainsaw handle with her left hand and the pull-cord with her right.
Diamond told her it was OK now. ‘He’s not the main man. He’s only the gardener.’
‘I don’t care who he is. He was dangerous. This thing can inflict horrific injuries.’
Manny said from the floor, ‘No, lady. I mean to scare, that’s all.’
‘Shut up.’ To Diamond she said, ‘Is your phone broken, squire?’
‘Who cares?’ He was doing his best to appear cool.
‘I do. Mine’s in the car and we need armed back-up.’
His phone was in pieces in the next aisle. He shook his head.
‘He’ll have one in his pocket.’ Hen was never short of a suggestion.
Diamond used Manny’s phone to call Chichester police.
‘What we do now is sit tight,’ Hen said. ‘We can’t go looking for suspects with a chainsaw.’
She’d summed it up. This resourceful and quick-thinking officer would be a huge loss to the police if Archie Hahn had his way and her dismissal was confirmed.
Diamond was steeling himself to tell her about the recovery of Joss’s body. No time would be right, but he had a duty to break the news. He chose to do so now, as sensitively as he was able. ‘Let me tell you about—’
Her eyes had the sudden force of a blowtorch. She understood at once where he was going with it. ‘They found her?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Brought her ashore?’
‘This afternoon.’
She turned as white as paper and the veins showed in her face and neck, but she didn’t shed a tear as he went through it.
Hen’s private grief was allowed to last about three minutes before a noise outside galvanised them. The door started to slide open. Diamond snapped back into full alert. The police reinforcements couldn’t have got here so soon.
This time, he and Hen didn’t duck out of sight. Empowered by the chainsaw, they stood their ground and waited. Two men stepped through: Tom Standforth, followed by his father. Ferdie had a rifle under his arm. But it wasn’t levelled and threatening.
‘Let me deal with this,’ Diamond muttered to Hen. He shouted across the shed, ‘It’s all over, isn’t it? We’ve called the police. Drop the gun, Ferdie. Nobody wants to add to the bloodshed.’
Ferdie didn’t take long to make up his mind. He did as he was told.
Tom spoke first. ‘How did you—?’
‘Over the wall.’
‘No, I mean... find out about this?’