Then it occurred to him that the last meal of a condemned man is supposed to be exactly what he desires. Were they telling him something?
Keith Halliwell looked around the door. “How do you feel, chief?”
“In need of some aspirin. No, before you get it, what’s new?”
“Damn all, really. Nothing on Mountjoy or the girl. There’s a car ready in case you…”
“… want to make a getaway?”
Halliwell smiled as if a couple of aspirin might also do him some good.
Diamond asked, “Is Tott still about?”
“Yes, and Mr. Farr-Jones is in.”
“Full dress parade, is it?”
“I’ll see to the aspirin for you.”
“Thanks. And, Keith…”
“Yes?”
“Keep the top brass out if you can. I want to eat this in peace.”
Just after eight-forty, with a clearer head and contented stomach, he looked into the nearest locker room. “Could anyone lend me a razor?”
He meant to have a wet shave, but one of the new sergeants on the strength seemed determined to lend him an electric shaver, not knowing the jinx he put on anything mechanical.
“This is neat. How does it work-like this?”
He slid back a cover on the side and one of the batteries fell out and rolled under a locker. “How about that? There’s an arrow thing on the side. What do they expect people to do?”
“You press the switch.”
“What switch?”
“On the side, sir.”
“Doesn’t work.”
“It won’t. It’s short of a battery now.”
“You wouldn’t be taking the piss by any chance, sergeant?”
“No, sir.”
“Where did it go, then-and what happens if you press this side?”
“Don’t.”
Too late, his thumb flicked off the head guard and shot it across the room. “Strewth.” He handed back what was left of the shaver. “Does anyone have one in working order?”
It was ten to nine when he completed a wet shave, courtesy of Keith Halliwell, and put on a shirt and tie and ventured out to check some old haunts. His arrival in the main office was disconcerting because three or four faces he remembered from two years ago looked up and smiled. Smiled. The Manvers Street mob usually put their heads down when he appeared and tried not to be noticed. Something in the looks he was getting made him deeply uneasy. It was almost like admiration. It dawned on him that the entire station knew what he was being asked to take on. He was being treated like Gary Cooper in High Noon and he hadn’t even agreed to the shootout.
He returned upstairs to where the Chief Constable was waiting. Farr-Jones definitely wasn’t out of a Western. Short and dapper, with a rosebud in his lapel, he could have doubled for John Mills in one of his English country gentleman roles. He shook hands as if he was applying a tourniquet.
“Man of the hour, eh? Sensible, getting some sleep.”
“I don’t think sense had much to do with it,” said Diamond. “I was bushed.” He had noted the “man of the hour” remark and let it pass.
“Yes, I think Mr. Tott ought to bunk down very soon. You can’t keep going forever on black coffee.”
Tott, leaning against the wall with the back of his head against a graph of the crime statistics, certainly looked exhausted, but insisted that he would wait and see whether Mountjoy sent the promised instructions.
Farr-Jones said to Diamond, “I don’t think you have met Commander Warrilow from Hampshire. We’re fortunate to have him with us.”
A silver-haired man at his side who looked as if he might be chairman of a golf club gave a nod and said, “I’m coordinating the recapture operation.” Positive thinking. A recapture, not a hunt.
Farr-Jones said to Diamond, “The Mountjoy case was before my time, of course, but I’ve looked at the file. You were commended by the judge.”
“The police work was mentioned, not me,” recalled Diamond with modesty. “It was a team effort.”
Farr-Jones turned to Wigfull, who in spite of a night’s growth of stubble on his chin succeeded in looking reasonably alert. “Were you on the team?”
“No, sir. At that time I was in CID Administration.”
“Less newsworthy, but no less important.” Farr-Jones was obviously a student of psychology. He saw the advantage in making everyone feel important.
“It was useful experience, anyway,” said Wigfull. “But I prefer being in the front line.”
In the front line waiting to see me go over the top, thought Diamond.
“Apart from his record, what sort of man are we dealing with?” Farr-Jones asked.
Diamond realized that the question was meant for him. “Mountjoy? A good brain. Went through university. Opened his own private college, of course. A glib talker and good-looking, which is why the ladies get taken in. Physically strong. Underneath, he’s violent, as you know. He had a conviction for assaulting his girlfriend in about 1980. Badly. She had to be treated as a casualty. Sensibly the hospital reported him. Some idiot magistrate let him off with a fine and a year’s remand.”
“He also assaulted his wife, I believe.”
“Several times. The marriage survived only six months and then she had to get an injunction to keep him away. Sophie Mountjoy hadn’t much to say in his favor when I talked to her. She petitioned on the grounds of cruelty. He used to get into a frenzy of rage over quite trivial matters and beat her.”
“Not really a sadist, then?” said Farr-Jones.
Diamond gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he didn’t do it for sexual gratification.”
“Does that excuse it?”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Farr-Jones said, indicating Mr. Tott with his eyes.
Diamond understood now. The remark had been intended to allay Tott’s worst fears, not to whitewash Mountjoy. He glanced across to see how his case summary was affecting the Assistant Chief Constable. Very little, apparently-if he was taking anything in at all. “No, I don’t think it was a sex thing. He lost his cool and went berserk, which is how the unfortunate Britt Strand met her death.”
“How did he behave under questioning?”
“Denied everything.”
“Did he lose control?”
“He raised Cain when I told him we’d traced his ex-wife and girlfriend. I saw the temper then. To be fair, he was approachable ninety-five percent of the time.”
“Would you say that you established some kind of rapport with Mountjoy?”
Diamond gave the Chief Constable a frown softened by a smile and made no reply.
Farr-Jones nodded. “All right, that was rather obvious. I’ll lay off. What time is it?”
Wigfull said, “Five past, sir.”
“Anyone care to place a bet?”
“I give him another five minutes,” said Diamond. “No more.”
Farr-Jones looked round at the others. “Why don’t we all sit down? My money’s on nine-thirty. He’ll make us suffer a little longer.”
“If he said nine, he’ll get in touch at nine,” insisted Diamond. “The delay won’t be his. It will be due to the way the message comes through.”
The phone on the desk rang.
“You do have a rapport with him,” said Farr-Jones as he picked it up. “Farr-Jones… Good. Put them through.” He covered the mouthpiece and said, “He’s resourceful. British Rail Passenger Inquiries this time.”
The others listened to the responses.
“Yes?… When was this?… Nine precisely?… If you would be so kind. Exactly as it was given.” He picked up a pen and started to write. After a moment, he said, “Thank you. I’ll read it back and I’d be obliged if you would check every word most carefully. ‘J.M. to Diamond. Take a taxi up to the Grenville Monument immediately and collect instructions. Alone. Carry no weapon, phone, radio or bug. If you trap me the girl will die slowly, so lay off.’ Is that correct?. .. And was the caller male or female?… a man?… Thank you. And-this is important-would you kindly destroy the message now and say nothing about this to the press or anyone else?” He cradled the phone and spread his hands.
“What’s the Grenville Monument?” Warrilow asked.