The cliches of despair continued to rain down. No glimmer penetrated the gloom. This suited Diamond. In his long trek back from the ford to the Lansdown Road (where he had thumbed a lift from a student-a nice reversal) he had decided on a strategy. He knew the psychology of police meetings. Farr-Jones and his henchmen had to eat dust for a time. They had to be thoroughly demoralized-or they would never agree to his terms. So he offered nothing yet.
Presently Warrilow tried striking a more positive note by outlining his plans for the recapture, and it was routine stuff: roadside checks of cars, a poster campaign, searches of unoccupied buildings and outlying farms. He complained that he needed more men for the operation than Avon and Somerset were willing to provide and he wanted better media coverage.
They wrangled tediously over the dilemma posed by the embargo on the news of the kidnapping. Was it enough to inform the public only that Mountjoy had been sighted in the area and that the recapture operation was concentrated there? Warrilow wanted the embargo lifted immediately. He thought Samantha’s best hope-not to say his own-was full publicity. Farr-Jones and Tott insisted that to release news of the kidnap could hinder the delicate process of negotiating a release. They stressed Mountjoy’s record of violence to women. They didn’t want this kidnap ending in tragedy through some precipitate action by the media.
“How do you expect to make progress?” Warrilow demanded in a bitter outburst. “You talk about negotiating, but all we have are these paranoid demands for his case to be reexamined. You don’t seriously expect to humor the man by reopening the files? What’s the point if the case was cut-and-dried?”
“We’re not idiots,” Farr-Jones rebuked him. “The obvious way to deal with this fellow is play him along, let him believe we’re working on it.”
“To what purpose?”
“To involve him in the process, set up more meetings, win his cooperation.”
“And…?”
“Ultimately track him to his hideaway.”
“Which we could have done this morning.”
“With a helicopter?” said Farr-Jones, twitching in annoyance. “No, this requires subtlety, Mr. Warrilow, and it’s obvious that Mr. Diamond has to be given a role. Mountjoy trusts him apparently.”
So the focus shifted. Warrilow stared out of the window as if he no longer expected any sanity inside the room, and all other eyes were on Diamond, who in his own way looked just as disenchanted.
Farr-Jones put a hand to his neatly groomed hair as if he needed to check that it was still immaculate. He hadn’t dealt with Diamond before, and he must have been warned of his prickly personality. “It’s an intrusion on your time,” he ventured. “Inconvenient, no doubt.”
Diamond played the Buddha.
“We can’t insist that you lend a hand. We’ll be in trouble if you don’t, since Mountjoy appears to believe that you’re still on the strength, and the only cop he can trust.” Farr-Jones paused to give an ingratiating smile. His hands were lightly clasped, eyebrows arched. “What do you say?”
“I’d like to make a phone call.”
The mildest of requests can sound like threats when spoken by men of hard reputations. Farr-Jones stiffened his back.
“To my wife.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I will-after I’ve spoken to my wife.” Diamond nodded civilly and left the room.
Steph would be back about now from a morning’s shopping. After lunch she would be leaving for the Oxfam shop, so this was the ideal time to catch her at home.
He used the wall phone downstairs. “Looks as if I could be here a few days,” he told her after apologizing for not having reached her before. “Can you cope?”
“More to the point, can you?” said Steph, who never nagged, but regularly spoiled the image Diamond had of himself. “You didn’t pack an overnight bag.”
“I’ll buy myself a toothbrush.”
“And a strong aftershave, I suggest, if you’re not proposing to wash your shirt overnight. What have they talked you into?”
“Something came up from the old days and they can’t seem to handle it themselves.”
“Unfinished business?”
“I thought it was finished. Someone has another opinion.”
“If you remember, you weren’t going to have any more to do with them.”
“The ’someone’ isn’t a copper. Can’t go into details, my love.”
“No need. It’s Mountjoy you’re talking about, isn’t it? That college principal who knifed a woman journalist. I went through the papers while I was waiting here this morning for a call that didn’t come. Peter, just remember you’re a civilian now. It’s their job to catch him.”
“I’ll remember.”
There was a pause. Then she asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me to keep all the doors and windows locked and sleep with a police whistle under my pillow?”
“He won’t be coming your way.”
“So I can invite strange men home in perfect confidence, can I?”
Stephanie knew how to pierce his thick skin every time.
“What?”
“What else can a lady do when the prize is snatched away? You did leave me rather suddenly, if you remember.”
“I won’t be long.”
She gave an ironic laugh. “Where are you staying?”
He was glad she asked. He hadn’t thought until now. “The Francis.”
“And I was about to say, ‘Take care.’ “
When he returned to the meeting, it was like the star performer making an entrance. Such conversation as there was ceased abruptly. “I’d like to outline my terms,” he said, taking the chair opposite Farr-Jones and leaning forward over clasped hands. He’d never been in the position of dictating to a Chief Constable and he relished it. “I’m prepared to remain here until Miss Tott is released.”
“Good man,” purred Farr-Jones. “I knew we could rely upon you.”
“On the following conditions.” His voice overrode the Chief Constable’s. “First, I want access to the files on the Britt Strand murder.”
Alarmed looks were exchanged between Farr-Jones, Tott and Wigfull. Warrilow rolled his eyes upward.
“You’re not serious?” said Farr-Jones. “You told us yourself that the man was guilty as hell.”
“If I’m to have intelligent contact with him, I have to be up with the case.”
There was some shifting in the chair at the far end of the table. “I don’t know that I can sanction this. You’re not a member of the police any longer.”
“That’s rich considering what you asked me to do this morning. And since I have no other duties while I’m stuck in Bath, how am I going to spend my time-sitting over coffee in Sally Lunn’s?”
This was provocative stuff, even allowing that he no longer needed to touch his forelock to anybody in the room.
Farr-Jones, pink-faced, glanced down as if suddenly aware that his fly was unzipped. “Very well. If it becomes necessary to inspect the files, you shall.”
“No ‘ifs,’ Chief Constable. This afternoon,” insisted Diamond. “I need to bone up on them today. Which leads me to condition number two. I require an assistant.”
“An assistant? You mean someone to work with? You can work closely with John. You did before.”
Diamond avoided eye contact with the career man Wigfull. “The officer I have in mind is DI Hargreaves.”
“A woman?” piped up the Chief Constable, in serious danger of flouting the Sex Discrimination Act. “Is there a reason?”
“She’s my choice.”
“But-”
“Nothing personal, but Chief Inspector Wigfull is part of the command structure now. I want full authority to act independently if necessary.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I’m not just going through the motions. If I find something of interest in the files, I want the freedom to follow it up.”
“You’re making this very difficult.”
“I didn’t ask to come in the first place.”
Farr-Jones turned to Tott, and a short, murmured consultation took place. It was supposed to be inaudible to Diamond, but he knew it was about damage limitation. If they could find a way of humoring him without letting him interfere with the policing, they would agree to his terms.