‘I thought Stradivari was the great violin man,’ Ingeborg said.
‘He made only about ten violas that survive, compared to five hundred violins and fifty cellos,’ Mel said. ‘He was said to be a pupil of the guy who made this. Nicolò Amati was the third generation of instrument makers in their family, and the greatest. Sadly most early violas have been mutilated.’
‘In what way?’
‘Cut down in size to something not worthy of the name viola. This one escaped, fortunately. I was told it dates from 1625 and that’s of interest because for some reason every almost other Amati you hear about is said to have been made in 1620 and some are fakes, so the date itself has to be regarded with some suspicion. To find one from 1625 gives it a touch more credibility.’
‘But there’s no question that this is the real thing, is there?’ Ingeborg asked.
‘Not to my mind. Listen.’ He picked up his bow and played a snatch of something neither of them recognised, but with a golden tone, warm and soul-stirring. ‘Can that be a fake sound? I don’t think so.’
‘Beautiful,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Will you ever go back to your other one?’
‘Not while I have the use of this. I don’t really feel it’s mine. But in a sense you never truly own a fiddle. It’s passed down over the centuries from one musician to the next, so you’re a caretaker.’ He replaced the Amati in its case.
‘Forgive me,’ Diamond said. ‘I know nothing about musical instruments. It’s hollow, of course?’
‘For the sound,’ Mel said with a tentative smile, uncertain if he was being sent up.
‘But it has these S-shaped holes.’
‘Known as f-holes,’ Mel corrected him. ‘The old-fashioned f looked like an S. The Amati family perfected the shape. It’s remained the same ever since.’
‘What if some small object was dropped inside — a cigarette, say, or a coin, or a ring. Would it affect the sound?’
Mel looked surprised by the question. ‘A hard object like a ring would rattle. I’d know as soon as I picked the instrument up. In fact I think I’d know if something as light as a cigarette was in there.’
‘My distorted way of thinking,’ Diamond said, continuing to play even more clueless than he was. ‘If someone wanted to ship drugs through customs, the inside of a violin or viola might be a good place to stow it. Mind you, a cello would be better still.’
Mel gave a prim response. ‘Drugs? That’s too far out for me.’
‘The holes are too small,’ Ingeborg said.
‘Just a thought, that’s all,’ Diamond said.
Like Mel, she didn’t think much of Diamond’s theory. ‘It wouldn’t fool a sniffer dog.’
‘Probably not.’
‘I can tell you something for sure,’ Mel said. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone interfere with this instrument.’
‘Good for you,’ Diamond said.
‘I’m not in the business of drug-running, anyway.’
‘And I don’t suppose you’ve ever indulged.’
‘No chance.’
‘Not while you’re stuck in Bath,’ Diamond said. ’But the South American tour might be a different story. Put that in your fiddle and smoke it. Are any of your fellow musicians drug users, would you say?
Mel grinned. ‘Can you picture it?’
‘They get their highs from Beethoven and Brahms, do they?’
‘And why not?’
‘Well said,’ Ingeborg murmured, confirming her high regard for Mel.
‘Is Colombia on the itinerary?’ Diamond asked. He wasn’t leaving this.
‘Not that I’ve heard.’
‘If a fellow in a sombrero called Speedy Gonzales offers to carry your case, don’t let him.’
‘I get the message,’ Mel said with a forced smile.
‘But in the meantime — and this is serious — if you get another sight of the stalker, let us know at once. No heroics.’
In the car on the way back to Manvers Street, Ingeborg said, ‘What was all that about drugs, guv? You don’t seriously think they’re a factor, do you?’
‘Testing the ground,’ he said. ‘There’s an extra element in this case that I doubt is music.’ He fished in his pocket. ‘I’m going to call control, see if they picked up our hooded man.’ He wasn’t yet managing one-handed, but he used the mobile more often these days.
After exchanging a few words with the communications room he told Ingeborg, ‘No joy. Not even a sighting.’
‘What description did you give them?’ she asked.
‘Average height and build, wearing a hoodie, dark blue or black. Dark trousers and shoes.’
‘It’s not a lot, especially if he has the sense to take off the hood or tuck it out of sight.’
‘I suppose. What do you think his game is? Have we covered all the angles?’
‘All the obvious ones. Anything else would be stretching it.’
‘And you still think Mel is on the level?’
‘Don’t you?’ She gripped the wheel so hard that the steering shuddered.
In the CID room a surprise awaited them in the shape of a young blonde woman with plaited hair coiled on top of her head. In a houndstooth suit and white blouse, she was sitting on the edge of Keith Halliwell’s desk drinking coffee from the machine.
‘Guv, this is Dagmar,’ Halliwell said, as if Diamond should know all about Dagmar.
‘Right,’ Diamond said, with an enquiring glance towards Ingeborg, who amazed him by saying, ‘Dagmar? How did you manage this?’ She turned to Diamond and said, ‘Dagmar is my contact in the Vienna Police. I never expected to meet her in person.’
Dagmar eased herself off the desk, which involved a small jump. She was not much taller than the three-drawer filing cabinet. She formally extended a hand and addressed Diamond in a voice so deep that it more than compensated. ‘Pleased to meet you, Detective Superintendent. I am Detective Inspector Aschenberger of the Bundespolizei, Vienna District.’
‘We didn’t know they were sending anyone,’ Diamond said, impressed by the strength of her grip.
‘I flew in this morning.’
‘That was quick.’
‘But you are not my reason for coming.’
‘No?’ He scratched his chin, uncertain where this was leading.
‘I am here for a course in forensics at Bristol University, but I volunteered to make a special visit to Bath after we heard from you yesterday.’
Ingeborg said, ‘You’re a star,’
Diamond said, ‘So why are you here — apart from meeting Ingeborg?’
Dagmar stooped and picked her backpack off the floor and made a startling noise ripping open the Velcro flap. ‘As you know, most of the material you requested was sent electronically, but there is a piece of evidence that by law we must keep in the possession of our police service.’
‘The netsuke?’ He felt like picking Dagmar up and kissing her on both cheeks. He had become increasingly curious about the strange little ornament found with Emi Kojima’s body. ‘You brought it with you?’
‘I can allow you to examine it as long as I am present. This way, we observe the letter of the law.’
‘Understood.’
Dagmar produced from the backpack a transparent evidence bag and handed it across. It contained an object not much bigger than a table tennis ball, but less white. It was intricately carved.
‘May I take it out?’ Diamond asked.
‘No problem. Many people have handled it since it was found.’
‘Not many as clumsy as me, I bet.’ With care, he tipped the netsuke into his palm. It weighed very little. ‘Nice carving!’ He held it up with his left hand. Two figures, male and female in traditional costume, formed the upper portion, with hands joined around the rim, exquisitely detailed. The doomed lovers were finely worked by the sculptor, but only to waist level. The lower half of the piece had been left as a mainly flat surface representing fallen snow, giving the impression they were half submerged in a drift.