The Tooth Tattoo (26 page)

‘Obvious, isn’t it? Good-looking, intense and a brilliant violinist. I expect she wasn’t the only young girl who lay awake thinking about him.’ Diamond continued to study the list. ‘Budapest was where Harry went missing. Before that they were touring other European cities. Paris, Rome, Vienna.’ He stopped. ‘They performed in Vienna in October 2008?’

‘A city noted for its music,’ Leaman said.

‘I know. I was there this summer.’ A tingling sensation crept over his face. He called across the room to Ingeborg. ‘Remember the Japanese woman you researched for me who drowned in the Danube canal?’

‘Miss Kojima.’

‘I don’t recall the name. I doubt if I even asked you. This was something I didn’t want to get involved in for personal reasons.’

‘She took her own life.’

‘So they reckoned. They found the little ivory thingummy representing suicide.’

‘The netsuke.’

‘Didn’t you tell me this happened as much as four years before I was there?’

‘That’s right, guv. She wasn’t a student, like Mari. She was
in her mid-twenties, from Tokyo, and she’d come to Europe as a tourist, apparently alone. Do you think there’s a link?’

‘I don’t know, but I intend to compare dates. If this happened while the Staccati were performing in Vienna, we could be on to something.’

‘I’ll check right away.’

Images that pained him coursed through his brain. The embankment beside the Danube canal. Paloma spotting the bunch of lilies on the ground and then seeing the other flowers, dead and brittle, forced between the lattice struts of the stone wall. He’d insisted on moving on and she’d refused to treat it as an unknown tragedy that didn’t concern them. She’d seemed to think discovering the lilies in their path and replacing them in the pathetic little shrine was significant, a symbolic call to find out the true facts about whoever had died.

Against all his instincts he’d pandered to her superstition, getting Ingeborg to check the story on the internet. The way he’d dealt with it, trying to steer Paloma away from the depressing story once he had related it to her, had led directly to another unhappy waterside encounter, this time beside the Avon, their argument and break-up. In her eyes he was a lost cause, a stony-hearted professional unwilling to open up to sympathy for others or even for himself.

The whole episode still pained him deeply. In an effort to move on, he’d been trying to put it out of his mind, but without much success.

And now it might touch on the case he was investigating.

Ingeborg looked up from her computer screen, ‘Found it, guv. The body in Vienna was discovered on the tenth of November, 2008.’

‘Yes, but when was she reported missing?’

‘I’m not sure if she was.’

‘Nobody noticed she’d gone?’

‘She wasn’t travelling with friends or family. When they found the body, they estimated she’d been in the water three to four weeks, which would make it October.’

Trying to sound calm, he checked the list in his hand. ‘When the Staccati were giving a series of concerts in Vienna. A Japanese girl. A canal. The quartet in town. I should have been on to this before now. Was there any evidence that the dead girl, Miss …’

‘Kojima.’

‘… was into classical music?’

Ingeborg shrugged. ‘I don’t recall anything like that. I can access the report again.’

‘Where did you find it?’

‘In one of the Vienna papers. It wasn’t a huge story. I had to read it in translation.’

‘Get it on screen again, everything you can. I’m going to call the Viennese police. And the Japanese embassy. They were helpful over Mari, but it always takes longer than you expect to get anything out of these government agencies.’ He’d written the name of the Vienna victim and the estimated date of her disappearance on a notepad he’d picked up from one of the desks and he now saw that the top sheet was smeared with black ink. It was all over his hand as well. In his fury with himself he’d squeezed the pen so hard that it had splintered and leaked. ‘Okay,’ he said, addressing the entire room. ‘I want the full life histories of each of the Staccati people – everything we know about them – on my desk before the end of the afternoon. And when I say Staccati I’m including previous members and the manager. What’s his name? Christmas.’

‘Douglas Christmas,’ Halliwell said.

‘Yes, he’s part of it. He may have an office in London, but he makes the key decisions and I wouldn’t mind betting he turns up for the foreign gigs.’

From across the room someone had started humming a tune.

‘Who’s that?’ Diamond said.

Silence shut everything down like a power cut.

‘Come on,’ Diamond said. ‘Share it with us.’

Everyone in the team knew it was best to come clean when
the boss was in this sort of mood. The junior member, Paul Gilbert, cleared his throat and started up again with a halfhearted rendering of the old Band Aid number, ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’

‘That’s more than enough,’ Diamond said, flapping his hand. ‘You must be older than you look. I was a mere youth when that came out. If that’s your take on my comments, DC Gilbert, you’d better investigate Mr. Christmas. Make him your specialist study. Get his background, how he took on the quartet and where he was at the time of these two murders. With your investigative skills we can look forward to finding out if it really is Christmas.’

Gilbert had got off lightly. Humour can be the saving grace of something as grim as a murder investigation, but it has to be well timed. He’d picked the wrong moment.

The evening soirée at Corsham Court had taken on an added importance, a chance to see the four main suspects in performance. Ingeborg collected Diamond from his home in Weston and watched him wedge himself into her Ka.

‘You’re looking different, Sergeant Smith,’ he said when he’d got the belt across his middle.

‘Is that meant as a compliment?’ She’d fastened the blonde hair high on her head with two glittery combs and was in a burgundy-coloured suit.

‘Statement of fact.’

‘Now come on,’ she said, laughing. ‘If we’re supposed to appear like a couple enjoying an evening of culture, you’d better start acting the full gent. It’s a posh do, this one.’

‘Okay, you look like the Queen of Sheba. How’s that?’

‘Better.’

‘Better? It’s spot on. It’s a musical reference, in case you didn’t know. What do you think of my get-up?’ he asked.

‘Not very different.’

‘It’s the best I’ve got. Will it pass?’

‘It passed a good ten years ago. If you want a musical equivalent, it’s the “Dead March” from
Saul
. Are we quits?’

‘But this is my best tie.’

‘I’d call that the
Pathétique
.’

‘You win,’ he said. ‘Don’t know enough to compete. Seriously, am I dressed right for a soirée?’

‘You’ll get by, guv – just about.’

‘Good enough.’

‘If we sit at the back.’

‘I didn’t get a lot of time for thinking about my wardrobe. I was still at the office at six, on the line to Vienna.’

‘Any joy?’

‘They promised full cooperation. This was the police I’m speaking of. They regarded the case as closed, but they’re willing to send over everything they have on file. And the Austrian embassy are going to look at their records.’

‘It’s worth pursuing,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Too close to our case to be a coincidence.’

‘I just wish I’d cottoned on before this.’ He checked for the crease in his trousers and found two. Should have been more careful before hanging the suit last time he put it away. ‘Is there much socialising at these things?’

‘I couldn’t tell you. I haven’t been to one.’

‘There’s got to be some. You do the chat and I’ll drink the bubbly and watch the action.’

Corsham Court, off the A4 to Chippenham, is a grandiose hotchpotch of English architecture, originally Elizabethan and home over the centuries to the elite of Wiltshire families, the Hungerfords, the Thynnes and the Methuens. They all brought in builders, with mixed results. Even the illustrious Capability Brown had a go. As well as landscaping the grounds and extending the building he converted the East Wing into a magnificent picture gallery, and this was the setting for the Staccati concert.

The guests were assembling in the anteroom, where it soon became obvious that most of them knew each other. Diamond spotted several who could be numbered among the great and the good of Bath society.

‘Forgot to wear my chain of office,’ he muttered to Ingeborg as they faced each other on the fringe of the gathering.

‘What’s that, linked handcuffs?’

‘Where are the musicians?’

‘They’ll be tuning up. Can’t expect them to circulate.’ She froze.

‘What’s up?’

‘Don’t look round. Someone you know just came in. Keep talking to me.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Your friend Paloma.’

His voice went up an octave. ‘Paloma? Here?’

‘She’s with someone. I don’t think she’s seen you. They’re on the opposite side, near the fireplace.’

‘Who? Who’s she with?’

‘A guy in an expensive suit. Can’t say I recognise him.’

Diamond’s above-average blood pressure soared to well above average. Who was this dog’s dinner Paloma was partnering? The prospect of her taking up with someone else hadn’t entered his head. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Which side of the fireplace?’

‘This side. They’re being served drinks. You could look now.’

Paloma was in an outfit he hadn’t seen before, black, with a wispy blue scarf or pashmina. She looked taller. New shoes. Extra high heels. She was laughing at something, clearly enjoying herself.

The dog’s dinner was taller than Diamond – allowing Paloma to wear the high heels without towering over him. He was also slimmer and younger. Certainly had more hair and it was only slightly silver at the sides. In a dove grey three-piece suit, he exuded privilege and class. Even had a pink tie.

Diamond had no idea who he was.

‘Take it easy, guv,’ Ingeborg said.

‘I’m okay,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘You’re staring.’

He took a deep breath and looked away. ‘When everyone
goes in, we’ll hold back and let them find seats. Then we can make sure we’re not too close. I need another drink.’

The champagne was coming round on silver trays. He reached for a glass, downed it fast and took another.

‘You might need to get to a seat earlier than you think,’ Ingeborg told him.

‘She’s had her hair done differently.’

‘I wouldn’t let that bother you, guv.’

Someone in a pinstripe and purple shirt who seemed to be acting as host approached them with another man in tow. ‘Here am I, doing my best to introduce people and I don’t even know your names.’

‘Ingeborg Smith.’

It took a nudge from Ingeborg to get Diamond to speak his name. Mentally he was over by the fireplace.

‘Bathonians both?’ the host man said.

‘Locals, yes,’ Ingeborg said.

‘This is Mr, em …’ The host turned to the other man.

‘Christmas. Doug Christmas, the manager of the quartet, down from London.’ Dark, with longish hair brushed back, he flashed a smile, but more at Ingeborg than Diamond. ‘I do my best to smooth the way for them.’

‘Did you arrange all this, then?’ Ingeborg asked Christmas after the host had moved on to make more introductions. Diamond, still in a state of shock, plainly wasn’t up for polite conversation.

‘Not tonight’s concert. That’s down to the university. They have the use of some offices here, so they have a foot in the door, so to speak. Have you heard the Staccati before, Ingeborg?’

‘Not like this, not live,’ she said. ‘We’re looking forward to it, aren’t we?’ She turned to Diamond. ‘Looking forward to it,’ she repeated as if to a deaf man.

‘Can’t wait,’ he said after a pause.

Ingeborg turned back to Douglas Christmas. ‘Do you go on tour with them when they perform abroad?’

‘Not for the entire tour. Can’t spare the time, more’s the
pity,’ he said. ‘I make a point of visiting them at various concerts. Bring them a few treats from home, new shirts, the latest paperbacks, music magazines, a large box of chocs for Cat the cellist. It keeps up their spirits. You can get depressed living in foreign hotels for long periods.’

‘I expect you’re in regular touch with them.’

‘Daily. Hourly, if there’s a crisis.’

‘What can go wrong?’

‘You name it. No one to meet them at the airport. Substandard hotel. Cock-ups over the concert programme. There was even one horrible tour when our violist went missing. A very gifted musician, too. I had to drop everything and take the first flight to Budapest to sort things out.’

‘What happened?’

‘They cancelled the concert. I arrived in a murderous mood, after Harry’s blood, and I still feel bad about that, because the poor fellow stayed missing. No one has seen him or heard anything to this day. It was a massive setback. We muddled through for a time with substitute players, but it wasn’t the same. We’ve only recently got back to some kind of normality.’

Part of Diamond’s brain had been taking in what was said. He dragged his attention back to this side of the room and turned to Christmas. ‘Was he scared of you?’

This brought a frown and raised eyebrows. ‘Who?’

‘The violist who disappeared.’

‘Harry? Good Lord, no.’

‘You said you were in a murderous mood.’

‘A turn of phrase, no more.’ He laughed. ‘I may be known in the trade as Jaws, but I treat the quartet like my own kids. I’m still broken up about Harry.’

‘What could have happened?’

‘I wish I knew. He was a loner. I suppose they all are in their different ways, only he was always more secretive than the others and always strapped for cash, asking me for something ahead of payday. I discovered he was a compulsive gambler, off to the casino each time they arrived in a new city. He didn’t tell the others, as far as I know. He was always back in good
time for each rehearsal and performance and always played divinely. You can’t do that if you’re high on something.’

‘So he got on all right with them?’

‘No problem I ever heard of. There are always tensions between talented people and we have strong characters in the Staccati, but Harry dealt with personal relationships in an adult way.’