The Tooth Tattoo (38 page)

He needed a moment to take it in. ‘Strange. Like a message to a dead person?’

‘All the main flowers have significance according to this system and most of the sentiments are pretty bland, like snowdrops meaning hope, campanulas gratitude.’

‘Roses for love?’

‘Red roses. But this one is specific. It may be pure chance that someone settled on asphodels, but if they were using the language of the flowers intentionally, they were making a statement that was very suitable for a shrine.’

‘ “My regret follows you to the grave.” Are you thinking this could have been left by the murderer?’

‘That’s why I phoned you. It sounds like someone with a guilty conscience.’

‘I suppose,’ he said. ‘But let’s not forget all the carnations already left there by Japanese friends or family. They knew Emi back in Japan and wanted to pay respect while they were in Vienna.’

‘So you’re thinking friends or family must have left the asphodels?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I would,’ Paloma said, ‘except that the Japanese have their own language of the flowers and it doesn’t include the asphodel. This is a peculiarly British thing.’

‘I get it now,’ he said. ‘You’re thinking some Brit must have left them because of what they’re supposed to mean. Harry?’

‘They were not more than a day old when we found them. They could only have been placed there while we were in Vienna ourselves. If it was Harry, he’d have needed to be in Vienna in July.’

‘That’s not impossible,’ Diamond said. ‘We don’t know where he disappeared to after Budapest. I suppose he could have come through Vienna. He’d need to know the symbolism.’

‘He’s a musician,’ she said. ‘An intelligent, sensitive person, one assumes.’

And not a yob like me, he thought, who couldn’t tell an asphodel from an asparagus. ‘Maybe I underestimate these musicians.’

‘It may be a long shot, Peter, but once I started checking it seemed to make sense. Isn’t there something about murderers returning to the scene of the crime?’

‘That’s a myth. Only if they’re taken there in handcuffs to show where they buried the body.’

‘Have you checked whether any flowers have been left by the Avon in memory of the other girl?’

He shook his head. Checking bunches of flowers wasn’t part of the investigation process.

‘Might be worth your while,’ she said.

‘Possibly.’ He didn’t say it with much conviction.

‘Anyway,’ Paloma said with a trace of annoyance, ‘I decided it was my duty to bring it to your attention.’

Her
duty
? With that short, uncompromising word the gulf between them had grown into Death Valley. He’d kidded himself this was about something more than obligation. ‘Thanks. You’ve obviously done some homework.’

The disappointment must have been written all over his face. He felt himself reddening.

‘I didn’t phrase that very well,’ she added.

‘That’s okay.’

‘It’s strange,’ she said. ‘When I saw you at the concert the
other evening I was flabbergasted. I wouldn’t have expected to meet you there in a million years.’

‘There you go.’

‘But now I understand. The link with the Staccati. Peter, I do hope one of them hasn’t killed these women. I can’t believe they’re capable of such dreadful crimes. They’re fabulous musicians. Even you must …’ She clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry. That’s so patronising.’

‘True, even so,’ he said. The earlier remark had wounded him more. ‘A lot of what we heard was way above my head. I recognised the “Ritual Fire Dance”.’

‘Enjoyed it?’

‘Always have.’

‘Perhaps we should do another concert some time. Quartet music is an acquired taste.’

It sounded like a peace offering, but he couldn’t tamely accept it. Too much had come between them. The real issue hadn’t been faced. Impulsively, he blurted it out. ‘I’d spoil your enjoyment. You’re better off with someone who knows this stuff, like your latest man.’

At her computer in the background Judy the PA continued to gaze at the screen, but her ears must have been flapping.

Paloma frowned. ‘My what?’

‘Your tall friend in the grey suit.’

‘That was Mike.’

‘Yes, you told me.’

‘My brother Miguel. I must have mentioned him before now. He likes to be known as Mike.’ Now it was her turn to blush. ‘Oh my God, you didn’t really think I was seeing someone else. Peter, I know we had our difference of opinion, but I’m not so angry with you that I’m going out with other men.’

The relief surged through him. He was speechless, far more emotional than he expected.

She filled the silence with more explanation. ‘Mike lives in London. He’s a Beethoven fanatic, and I was offered tickets through my connection with Corsham Court, so I thought of him.’

He blinked and his eyes moistened.

Paloma said, ‘Why don’t I walk downstairs with you? Judy can look after the office.’

They left the PA in charge.

‘This hasn’t been a total waste of your time if it’s cleared up that misunderstanding,’ Paloma said as they went down her grand, crimson-carpeted staircase.

‘Far from it,’ he said. ‘Far from it.’

She linked her hand under his arm. ‘I’m glad you came.’

‘You could be onto something with the asphodels.’

‘Stuff the asphodels. I’ve missed you, Peter.’

‘If I’m honest, it hasn’t been much fun for me.’

‘Truce?’ she said when they reached the front door. She offered her lips and they kissed lightly.

‘Truce,’ he said. ‘Sorry – and not just for jumping to the wrong conclusion. Sorry for being an oaf on the towpath that evening.’

‘And I’m sorry for being such a grouch. Can we start over?’

‘That would be good.’

They kissed again and held each other before he got into the car and drove away.

Mrs. Carlyle came to the door of the house in Forester Road. ‘You’re the policeman.’

Diamond didn’t deny it.

‘You want to speak to Mel?’

‘That’s the general idea. Is he out in Sydney Gardens again?’

‘Definitely not. He had a phone call from one of his musical friends and ordered a taxi straight away. He was in a bit of a state if you ask me.’

‘Which friend?’

‘How would I know? But it seemed to be an emergency. Something about a cat.’

‘Cat? She’s the cellist. Has something happened to her?’

‘I couldn’t tell you. Funny name for a cellist.’

C
at was living south of the river in a two-up, two-down terraced house, a relic of Bath’s industrial past. Compared with Ivan’s grand address in Great Pulteney Street, Sydenham Buildings was a slum, bordered by the railway, the main road and the cemetery, but there was an advantage in that Cat had sole use of the furnished house. There are definite compensations in living apart from one’s landlord.

All the curtains were across when Diamond arrived. He was getting wise to the lifestyle of musicians. Used to working late, they were in the habit of lying in. He rang twice and stepped back to see if the bedroom curtains moved.

He rang again.

Nothing.

He put his ear against the door and couldn’t hear anything from inside.

If Cat wasn’t at home, who was Mel visiting?

Another of the quartet – Anthony, the second violin – was in lodgings a short walk away. As the member most in need of day-to-day assistance he’d doubtless been housed close to Cat so that she could keep a sisterly eye on him. His digs were at the bottom of Westmoreland Street, parallel with Sydenham Buildings.

Still seized with the urgency he’d got from Mrs. Carlyle, Diamond drove the car round there instead of walking.

His ring was answered and it was Cat who opened the door. She was looking distressed. Faint lines of mascara marked the paths of tears down her cheeks. ‘Man, do we need you!’ she said, opening her arms. ‘Come in. They’re all inside.’

He sidestepped her embrace.

The other three members of the quartet were standing in the living room facing the window as if something of surpassing interest was happening in the street.

‘Relax, guys. The Old Bill are on the case,’ Cat told them with an effort to be cheerful.

When the three musicians turned, it was obvious they were anything but relaxed. Anthony had the shakes. Mel looked ten years older. Ivan could have passed for Hamlet’s father.

‘What’s up?’ Diamond asked.

‘What’s up?’ Cat said. ‘Harry’s out there in a car with a bullet through his head, that’s what’s up.’

She was a natural jester, and you couldn’t take much she said at face value.

‘Oh, yes?’ Diamond said, preparing to grin.

‘Fact,’ she said and took a big tearful sniff. The men weren’t smiling either.

He was forced to accept that she probably meant what she’d said. ‘Where exactly?’

‘The other side of the street, opposite your car.’

He went to the window. Some detective I am, he thought. Drove up and never noticed.

Harry’s black Megane was out there with a man slumped over the wheel.

‘Anthony found him, poor lad,’ Cat said. ‘Imagine the shock.’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘Of course.’ She gave Diamond as disbelieving a look as he’d just given her. ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’

‘I didn’t get the shout. They must be on their way. Stay here, all of you. Don’t leave this room.’

Harry dead, when everyone had barely adjusted to the surprise that he was alive.

When Diamond opened the front door, the two-tone wail of the first response car soared above the growl of morning traffic. His grasp of events could be faulted, but his timing couldn’t. He’d beaten the emergency service.

He ran across the road.

The man with his head flat to the steering wheel was unmistakably dead, with a neat, star-shaped red hole below his right ear. Hardly any blood had been shed. Never having got a full sight of Harry Cornell, Diamond couldn’t identify him except from a general likeness to photos he’d seen. But the jacket was similar to the one the runaway had been wearing in Sydney Gardens except that the hood was now drawn back from the head.

From the nearside he saw that a handgun, a black automatic, was wedged in the space between the seats. Both of the dead man’s hands hung limply over his left thigh above the weapon. The fourth finger of the left was missing.

He knew better than to touch any of the car doors, all of which were unlocked. Quite an array of food packets and cans littered the back seat. A blanket was on the floor. Harry must have been using the car as his home. Forensics would have a field day.

The police siren had been getting louder and was joined by others, and now two blues and twos in quick succession swung off the Lower Bristol Road and powered towards him. He raised a hand in greeting in case some idiot failed to recognise him and used a taser.

Fortunately he was well enough known. ‘You got here fast. How did you manage it, sir?’ the driver of the first asked.

‘I’m Superman. Tell control we have a man here shot through the head who answers to the description of Harry Cornell, the guy we’ve all been looking for. We need forensics, a police surgeon to certify that death has occurred and enough tape to secure the scene. Then it’s a matter of doorstepping for witnesses. You know the drill.’

‘Has he topped himself?’

‘Unlikely, but that’s not a question for you or me. For the present we try to keep an open mind. Get on with it, would you? I’ll be in the house opposite when I’m needed.’

The response teams were trained to deal with incidents like
this. No two scenes were ever the same and there was much to be done, yet Diamond’s priority had to be with the living, the people with a link to the dead man.

He called Manvers Street and told Keith Halliwell and Ingeborg Smith to get to Westmoreland Street fast to assist with the questioning.

Back in the house he asked the shocked members of the quartet to be seated. In the small front room this was only possible with Mel and Anthony perched on the arms of a two-seat sofa shared by Cat and Ivan. They could have been posing for a group photo, and a strange one it would have made, fit to be a Charles Addams cartoon. ‘Right you are, people. I need to know the sequence of events. Anthony, when did you raise the alarm?’

Cat said, ‘His landlady called me – ’

Diamond stopped her. ‘Thanks. He’s got a voice of his own. We’ll come to you shortly.’ He wanted particularly to hear from the one steadfast truth-teller of the group.

Anthony said, ‘Seven forty-five.’

‘Good. How did you come to discover the body?’

‘Looked out the window.’

‘And saw?’

‘Harry’s car.’

‘So you knew what he was driving?’

‘We all knew.’

There were murmurs of confirmation.

‘Could you see from the window that he was dead?’

‘No.’

The previous interview with Anthony at the Michael Tippett Centre had taught Diamond to take one-word answers as encouragement, better than silence.

‘Tell me what you saw.’

‘Harry’s car.’

‘Sorry,’ Diamond said, mindful of the logical process of Anthony’s thinking. ‘I already asked you that. Could you see anyone inside?’

‘Harry.’

‘And what was he doing?’

‘Leaning forward, against the wheel.’

‘What did you do about it?’

‘Went out for a better look.’

This was the only way with Anthony, patiently prising out information. The brain that was so expressive with music had to be helped to make a connected narrative in words. ‘What did you see?’

‘The bullet-hole in his head.’

‘What did you do next?’

‘Went back to the house.’

‘And?’

‘Told Mrs. Oliphant to phone Cat.’

‘Mrs. Oliphant being your landlady, I suppose. Is she around?’

‘No.’

‘Where is she?’

‘The corner shop.’

‘Shopping already?’

‘She works there.’

‘But she found time to call Cat before she left? You did the right thing, Anthony.’

Anthony didn’t register any emotion.

Diamond put one more key question to his truth-teller. ‘Do you know how Harry was shot?’

A shake of the head.