‘A black jumper and blue denim trousers. A young man.’
‘What was his hair like?’
‘There wasn’t much of it. Heavily cropped. It’s the fashion, isn’t it? But I’ll tell you one thing about him.’
‘What’s that?’
‘He looked rather familiar.’
‘He would. He’s from next door.’
‘Do you know — I think you could be right.’
He turned and ran to her back gate and told the two bobbies to get round the front and in pursuit. He didn’t have much faith in a result.
Back on Lang’s side of the wall he told Halliwell.
‘He’ll be in his car and away, guv,’ Halliwell said. ‘Do we know what motor he drives? We could put out an all-units.’
‘Silver saloon, according to the stable-lass.’
‘Big deal. Didn’t she recognise the make?’
‘She isn’t interested in cars.’
They spent the next ten minutes trying to get through to the dragon at Home Workouts. She told Diamond curtly that transport was not provided by the firm and she had no idea what make of car Lang used.
‘OK, get rooting through his stuff,’ Diamond told Halliwell. ‘Registration certificate, insurance details.’
‘We don’t have a warrant, guv.’
‘Come on, man. This is a murder suspect on the run.’
The paperwork took some finding. It was in the wardrobe upstairs, in a briefcase. Harry Lang owned a silver Subaru Legacy.
‘Not bad for a council-house tenant. You and I are keeping this scumbag and he has a better car than either of us. What’s the reg?’
Halliwell used his mobile to pass on the details. An all-units alert would go out. There was still a chance Lang would be stopped, even if he’d made it to the motorway.
‘What else do we have in that briefcase?’ Diamond said.
‘Payslips from Home Workouts. A tax return, yet to be filled in. Birth certificate. Henry Spellman Lang was born in Lewisham, 1978, so he’s — what? — twenty-eight, twenty-nine. And some letters and photos.’
‘Photos of what? Let’s see.’
They were amateurish snapshots of middle-aged women in leotards. One seemed to be blowing a kiss. ‘Satisfied punter?’ Halliwell said.
‘Client. We have our standards.’
Diamond glanced through the letters. Someone using a rounded feminine hand thanked Harry for his ‘much-needed visit’ and wrote that she’d been on cloud nine ever since. She couldn’t wait for next Tuesday. After signing off ‘With much love, Kitty’ she’d added a couple of kisses. Whatever that suggested, it wasn’t evidence of serial murders. Two other letters were in a language neither detective recognised. It seemed Harry had linguistic talents on top of his other charms.
At the back of the file was a shot of a man in shorts and singlet standing with arms folded beside an electronic scoreboard showing 9.85. Some high point of Harry’s gymnastic career, maybe. He looked pleased with himself. Diamond slipped the photo into his back pocket.
They searched the flat for a few minutes more. ‘We’ll get a warrant and take this place apart,’ Diamond told Halliwell, meaning, in effect, that it was up to Halliwell to draw up the application and approach a magistrate.
‘On what grounds, guv?’
‘A serious arrestable offence, suspicion of.’
‘Will that wash?’
‘It’s a series of murders, Keith. What’s more arrestable than that?’
‘What else is there to find?’
‘Prints, DNA — stuff you and I are not going to pick up. We believe there’s material evidence on the premises that will link the suspect to the victims. Will that do?’
‘I guess.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if your mother knows you’re out.’
They started the drive back to the nick in silence. Diamond was sorry for that last remark. Halliwell was his closest colleague, the one man he could always depend on. When they were held up by the traffic in Northgate Street, he said, ‘That thing I said just now. It was out of order. I take it back.’
‘No sweat, guv.’
‘You’re on your second marriage, aren’t you?’
‘Er, yes.’ Halliwell kept his eyes steadily on the car ahead. Good thing they weren’t moving, or he might have jerked the steering. The talk with Diamond hardly ever took a personal turn.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, is she much different from your first wife?’
‘Totally, thank God.’
‘And has she changed you at all?’
‘I haven’t thought. I suppose she must have.’
Diamond hadn’t planned this. The moment presented itself and the set-up was as right as he could want, talking at the windscreen, rather than eye to eye. Confiding in an old friend was not just a possibility, it would be a huge relief. ‘Keith, this is between you and me. I’ve been seeing a woman.’
Halliwell said with formal politeness, ‘Congratulations, guv.’
Diamond talked over him. It was cards on the table time. ‘She’s lovely. A bit younger than me, not much. Paloma is nothing like Steph, but it wouldn’t be right to compare them. She’s a businesswoman, self-made, successful. Her marriage didn’t work out. The man found someone else.’
‘So she’s divorced?’
‘Years ago. There’s a grown-up son. Matter of fact, he was the owner of that Nissan four-by-four that was nicked the other night and torched up at Lansdown. I broke the news to him.’
‘If you get on all right with the son, that’s good,’ Halliwell said as it became clear to him that some advice was being sought. ‘That can be difficult, taking on family as well, if you’re serious, I mean. I’ve got two stepchildren. It was no picnic at first.’
‘Easier when they’re grown-up with their own lives to lead.’
‘Is she talking about marriage, guv?’
‘Whoa — not yet, but I guess it will come up. We’ve slept together.’
‘And are you as keen as she is?’
‘You know me better than most, Keith. I’m resistant to change, but I can’t say I enjoy the single life.’
‘Ideally, you’d like to re-run your marriage to Steph?’
‘Dead right, and that’s not fair to any woman. If I move in with Paloma I’m going to have to break with the past.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, now you know what’s bugging me. It doesn’t excuse me for snapping at you just now.’
The traffic was moving again.
‘If it’s any help, I’m well happy at home,’ Halliwell said, shifting the gearstick. ‘That’s how I put up with all the shit at work.’
The desk sergeant beckoned as they entered the nick. With a surge of optimism, Diamond went over. ‘Have we got him?’
‘Got who, sir?’
‘Lang — the man on the run.’
‘I haven’t heard anything.’
‘So why call me over?’
‘You’ve got a visitor upstairs. A Mrs Agnes Tidmarsh, friend of the dead woman. She came in twenty minutes ago and offered to help.’
36
‘F irst-time caller, as they say on those radio phone-ins,’ Agnes Tidmarsh said, ‘so my knees are knocking, but I heard you on the television and thought it was my duty to come in.’ She had tinted red hair back-brushed into a kind of aureole and eyes so dark that the iris and pupil merged into one. Her pale face was heart-shaped, dominated by the cheekbones and ending in a pointed chin. She was in black, a cobwebby blouse and calf-length skirt with a fringed hem. Difficult to tell if it was mourning for her friend or fashionable gothic. The only jewellery was a hefty silver cross pendant on a black leather tie.
Diamond said, ‘All I know about you is your voice from the answerphone. Are you local?’
‘If Midsomer Norton is local.’
‘Local enough.’
Young DC Gilbert, sitting in on this interview, said, ‘Isn’t that the village with the stream running through the high street?’
‘Yes,’ she said, giving him an appreciative smile, ‘it used to flood regularly until they dug a drainage tunnel.’
Diamond let Gilbert know with a look that small talk wasn’t required. To Agnes Tidmarsh he said, ‘You came in out of duty, you said?’