“It was dark?”
“Becoming so. I do remember that the last truck had the headlights on when he drove off.”
“About nine, then,” Gilbert said, more to himself than his informant.
The dog started whimpering, pathetic sounds for an animal his size.
“And now we must deal with more pressing matters,” Will Legat said, and lowered the blanket and reached for a pair of mud-encrusted boots. “Caesar is asking to go outside. All this excitement.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You won’t. We’re very fastidious about such things. How would you like it if I followed you into the bathroom?” He pulled on the boots without troubling to lace them.
Caesar was now at liberty, waiting patiently in the doorway, the rope dangling from his collar and across the floor.
Gilbert had tensed, but the dog had other matters in mind.
Legat got upright more easily than Gilbert had expected and at once it became clear he wasn’t the decrepit old man he’d seemed sitting down. He looked to be in early middle age, broad in back and shoulders, certainly strong enough to manage a large dog.
“How tall are you?” Gilbert asked.
“Six two in my socks, according to my tailor.” A joke. He was in a black shirt frayed at the cuffs and combat trousers fastened with a macho-looking belt with D-rings from which hung two large bunches of rusty keys, a bottle-opener and a jackknife. “Oblige me, if you would, by staying here and guarding my things.”
Would anyone want to steal them? Gilbert mused, and kept the thought to himself. He stood aside, uneasy at having surrendered the initiative, but pleased of a few minutes to work out whether there was anything else a competent investigating officer should ask a witness. He heard the leather boots clump along the corridor and down the steps.
Looking about him, he knew what his boss would do to fill the few minutes. Diamond would inspect the contents of the pram and the rucksack in the far corner, making certain Legat was everything he claimed to be.
Gilbert stepped across and felt the weight of the rucksack. Heavy, for sure. He heard the clank of tins when he moved it. But he lacked the ruthlessness of Peter Diamond. Opening it would be an invasion of privacy he couldn’t justify to himself. Will Legat wasn’t under suspicion. Their exchange of background information was off to a good start. He wanted the man to feel confident with him.
He was about to put the rucksack back when he noticed a black leather pouch on the floor underneath. Several other odd items were scattered in the corner, two six-inch spanners, some lengths of yellow Kevlar tether, a coil of string and a carabiner used by climbers. He opened the pouch. Inside was another mystery, an encased pulley.
The sound of the boots returning was the cue to drop the backpack.
Caesar was first in, sniffing at Gilbert’s trainers, but in no way threatening.
“That’s better,” Legat said. “He’ll get a proper walk on the airfield later. I would offer you tea, but heating the water takes a while to organise.”
“That’s all right.” Gilbert hesitated before saying, “I happened to notice the heap of spanners and things in the corner. Do they belong to you?”
“Not guilty, officer,” came the answer. “All kinds of rubbish gets left in places like this. If you can make use of them, fill your pockets and I’ll look the other way.”
“They look like a workman’s tools.”
“Could be. Could well be.”
“I’m thinking they may have belonged to one of the TV crew.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Legat said with a show of innocence. “What’s there?”
“Spanners, a heavy-duty pulley that I think is called a snatch block, a carabiner used by climbers. They’re things a scaffolder would have with him. The missing man is a rigger. He builds scaffolding.”
“Ah, yes, your missing man,” Legat said. “You were starting to lose me. Are you thinking these objects belonged to him?”
“I spoke to some of his workmates and saw what they had hanging from their belts.”
“You’re making more sense now. If he wanted to quit his job, he’d discard the tools of his trade. They’re such a giveaway, aren’t they?”
Gilbert was sure some evasion was in play. “Would you mind showing me the belt you’re wearing?”
“This?” Legat hitched his thumbs inside the belt and rattled the keys. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It looks like a rigger’s belt.”
“It’s holding up my trousers. What else would I have for keys and things? They weigh a bit. I need something to hang them on.”
“How long have you had it?”
“What do you expect me to produce, a sales receipt?” He sounded like a guilty man.
“Would you unfasten it and let me see?”
“See what, my friend? It’s obvious what it is.”
“I’ve got to insist.”
“Why? What’s this about?”
“It’s about a missing man who may have been a victim of violent crime.”
“No, no, no. That’s out of order. You can’t accuse me of violence. I’m no angel, but I draw the line at injuring anyone.”
“Then you won’t mind handing the belt over for inspection.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I’m entitled by law to use reasonable force to search you.”
“You could try. I can’t answer for Caesar if he dislikes what he’s seeing.”
A telling point. Gilbert said, a little lamely, “I can send for reinforcements.”
“You’ll look silly when it turns out that the belt is mine.”
“I don’t suppose anything you’re wearing is owned by you.”
“So? I recycle things other people discard. That’s to be applauded, is it not?”
“I’m not suggesting you stole it,” Gilbert said, to strike a more conciliatory note. “I’d like to get a closer look in case it belonged to the missing man.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, the heap of items in the corner needs explaining. I’ll get them tested for DNA. But the whole point is that they could have been attached to the belt.”
“If you take it away for testing, what am I going to use to hold up my trousers?”
“What did you have before?”
“String.” Before the word was uttered, Legat clapped his hand to his mouth. It was obvious he’d recently acquired the belt.
Gilbert made a snap decision. “I’ll do a deal with you. You said you were planning to go down to Bath tomorrow. I’ll phone my boss and fix some transport for you. You can travel in style. In return, I’ll need the belt for forensic testing.”
“Transport for me and my dog?”
“Yes.”
“The pram and all my worldly goods?”
“I’ll ask for a van.”
“All right,” Legat said. “Improve the offer and I’ll accept.”
“Improve it? What with?”
“A night in the cells and a fried breakfast.”
6
Diamond had never seen anything like it. You couldn’t call it a motorhome. This was a two-storey hotel on wheels, twenty of them at least. It was the size of two furniture vans merged into one. How it had been licensed for use on British roads he had no idea. Pink and silver, with more lights mounted on the front than a Rolling Stones concert stage, it screamed swank.
Currently it was parked on private land at Milroy Court, near Trowbridge, the next Swift location.
Beside it, Ingeborg’s Ka looked like a toy. Diamond struggled out and stood shaking his head at opulence on such a scale. He’d told Ingeborg he was looking forward to meeting Sabine San Sebastian because she was one of the few people who had been part of the production from the beginning. Now he was less sure.