He went straight out. There was serious work to be done. The little voice inside him said Diamond you’re a coward, walking away from the phone in case she tries again.
Peter Lovesey
Peter Diamond — 09 — The Secret Hangman
4
T osi’s was in George Street, up the hill from the police station. Halliwell suggested they walked there, but Diamond was panting like a bulldog before they reached the top of Milsom Street and he asked Halliwell to slow down. ‘You’ve made your point, Keith.’
‘What point is that?’
‘You don’t normally go as fast as this, do you? Man in my condition can’t keep up.’
‘Hadn’t crossed my mind, guv.’
‘I was fit once.’ He had to stop altogether on the corner. ‘There was a time when I played rugby for the Met every Saturday and trained two nights a week. Soon as I gave it up I put on the weight.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Halliwell said, trying to be charitable.
‘Look at me.’
There was no way of telling whether Diamond wanted to prolong the self-criticism, or was just too puffed to move on.
Halliwell tried again. ‘You’re a man of substance, guv. People don’t mess with anyone your size. Look at the way the press swallowed everything you gave them this afternoon.’
He eyed Halliwell, uncertain how serious he was. ‘Let’s see what they print tomorrow. Then we’ll know how much they took in.’ He started walking again.
It was a tiny basement restaurant under a travel agent’s. They were met at the foot of the stairs by Signor Tosi himself, a man whose immense bulk restored some of Diamond’s self-esteem. ‘I catch Luigi,’ Tosi said, as if his head waiter were a contagious disease. He waddled inside and shouted Luigi’s name and something in Italian about the carabinieri.
A man in a white shirt and bow tie came from the back.
‘I translate, eh?’ Signor Tosi offered.
‘I figure we’ll get by,’ Luigi said in a smooth mid-Atlantic accent. He was tall and slim, with brown eyes that gave you undivided attention. ‘This is about poor Delia, I guess.’
‘Torto, torto,’ his boss said. ‘Delia Williamson.’
‘Can you get rid of this clown?’ Diamond said to Halliwell.
Halliwell grasped Tosi’s arm and led him to the kitchen at the back of the restaurant.
‘What was he on about?’ Diamond asked the waiter.
Luigi gave a wide smile. ‘He’s the boss. Thinks he has a divine right to know what I tell you.’
‘You don’t have any problem with the language, that’s for sure.’
‘Too much time watching movies.’
‘OK. While we’ve got the boss out of the way let’s talk about the set-up here. How many staff does he employ?’
‘Three only. Carlo, Delia and me. Carlo is the cook.’
‘You’re the head waiter?’
He laughed. ‘I could live with that if it meant extra pay.’
‘Were all three of you on duty the night Delia went missing?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did she get along with you?’
‘No problem. She was great, a good worker, always willing to help if I was under pressure.’
‘You get busy in here, then?’
He shrugged. ‘People like Italian.’
‘When are you open. Evenings only?’
‘Six to midnight, depending how busy we are.’
‘On the evening we’re talking about, the Tuesday, I gather Signor Tosi went home early and left you in charge.’
Luigi frowned, troubled that some of the blame might be coming his way. ‘He told you that?’
‘It’s true, isn’t it? You locked up?’
‘Sure.’
‘So who was here at the end of the evening?’
Luigi curled his lip, not liking this line of questioning one bit. ‘She was, and so was I.’
‘The cook had left?’
‘Twenty minutes before she did.’
‘What sort of evening had it been?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Customers.’
‘I get you.’ The shift away from him personally came as obvious relief. ‘A quiet night. Party of four. Two couples. One man dining alone.’
‘Regulars?’
‘Yes, the four have a regular booking. Retired people. And one of the couples comes often. The others were new to me.’
‘Do you happen to remember who Delia was serving?’
‘That couple I just told you about. And the single man.’
‘Who you hadn’t seen before? What was he like?’
‘I didn’t speak to him. A businessman maybe, visiting the city. Suit and tie. Twenty-five, twenty-six.’
‘Why do you say he was visiting?’
‘Guy on his own. You get to recognise them. They’re stuck overnight in some hotel, so they look for a place to eat out. Most guys don’t eat alone if they live just up the street.’
‘Would he have booked?’
‘No, but I have his name, if that’s what you’re asking. When I heard you were coming, I looked through the credit-card slips for that evening. He was Mr D. Monnington.’
It was a long time since Diamond had carried a notebook. He helped himself to a paper napkin from the nearest table and scribbled the name. ‘Did you notice if he was trying to chat her up?’
‘Hard to tell. Delia always talked to customers, ’specially if they were alone. I saw her at his table towards the end of the evening, after the coffee was served.’
‘What — just talking?’
‘I thought she was working for her tip, that’s all. We do if we think there’s a chance.’
‘She was no more friendly than you’d have expected?’
‘I didn’t hear what was being said.’
‘And Mr Monnington left when?’
‘Towards the end. Say about ten minutes before we closed.’
‘Ten to midnight?’
He looked towards the kitchen, to make sure the manager couldn’t hear. ‘Actually, it was earlier. We had no more customers, so I closed at eleven.’
‘Tell me some more about Delia. Did she talk to you about her life at all?’
‘Not much. She once said she had kids. She lived with someone in the music business.’
‘Was she acting normally on that last evening?’
‘I thought so.’
‘Was anyone waiting for her when she finished work?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘What was she wearing?’
‘Same as usual. Jeans and a top. I can’t remember what colour.
Trainers.’
‘She’d worn those things while she was working?’
‘No. We have lockers for our working clothes. We change into our own things when we leave.’
‘Changing rooms?’
‘One, the size of a cupboard.’
‘Unisex?’
‘One person at a time. You’d have a job getting two in there.’
‘In a minute you can show me. Who changed first?’
‘Delia did. When she came out I said goodnight and that was the last I saw of her. I changed into my day clothes and locked up and left.’
‘What, a few minutes after Delia? Didn’t you catch up with her?’
‘She goes a different way.’
‘I was going to ask about you,’ Diamond said. ‘Do you live alone?’
Luigi blinked nervously now the focus was back on him. ‘Yes.’
‘So do I,’ Diamond said. ‘It’s not a crime. Where’s home, then?’
‘I have a flat in Twerton.’
‘I know Twerton. Which street?’
‘Innox Road.’
‘D’you walk it?’
‘Bike.’
‘Pushbike?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good man. No petrol fumes. Where do you keep the bike?’
‘Under the stairs you just came down.’
‘Do you have a car as well?’
He hesitated. It was obvious what the question was really about. Delia’s killer had probably used transport. He said, ‘An old Honda, but I don’t use it for coming into work.’
Carlo the cook was next up for questioning. His English wasn’t so fluent as Luigi’s, but he was better than Signor Tosi. In his kitchen, he continued peeling and chopping vegetables with a rapid movement that spoke of long experience. The knife was razor-sharp. Carlo had a mild, disarming manner. Short and bald, with a black moustache, he gave his answers in a subdued voice. No, he hadn’t emerged from the kitchen at all on Tuesday evening, so he couldn’t speak about the diners. Delia had seemed the same as usual. He liked her. She never hustled him when he was trying to get the orders out.