Down Among the Dead Men (24 page)

After a moment's consideration, Ella nodded.

“So she would have got that message about Miss Gibbon, saying she was here,” Naseem went on.

“That's not what I texted, dorkbrain.”

“What was it, then?”

Suddenly all three had their phones out, checking stored messages. Diamond watched and waited with mounting interest. This could be vital information.

“Found it,” Naseem said and held out her phone.

They all looked at the message, including Diamond.

you wont believe this the gibbon used to hang out here

Ella was quick to comment. “Is that clear enough for you? She used to hang out. Past tense, get it? I didn't say she was at the party.”

The main force of these remarks had been directed at Naseem. She wouldn't be silenced. “But we all know Mel was forever going on about Miss Gibbon and how we never had a chance to say goodbye and stuff like that.”

“That's true,” Jem said, and added in a complete about-turn. “What if she read Ella's text and made up her mind to crash the party just to talk to people and find out for herself? Mel's very single-minded. Once she gets an idea in her head, it won't budge.”

“So what are you saying?” Ella said. “She got on her scooter and drove here and met some psycho—”

“Like Geraint,” Jem said. “And he cut her throat.”

“Please!” Naseem said. “That's so gross.”

“He's creepy enough.”

Suddenly Ella was looking murderous herself. “You're blaming me because of the text I sent? How mean is that?”

Diamond didn't want this to end in a spat. He'd been content to listen up to now. “Hold on, young ladies. This is all supposition. We don't know what was in Mel's mind that night. Ella, did you send more than one text?”

“She did,” Naseem answered for her, “and I can show you.” She brandished her phone with all the ceremony of Moses on Mount Sinai. “This was the first.”

Diamond read the message:
full moon guess where i am

“And then this one,” Naseem said.

omg just met geraint in goth gear

“So what?” Ella said. “They're texts, that's all. I was being sociable, reporting what I saw.”

“I would have done the same,” Diamond said in a show of sympathy, wanting to tease out all the information that was going. “How did you find out about Miss Gibbon?”

She was recovering her poise. “From Ferdie. He was doing the drinks and talking to me about the artists and he goes, ‘They aren't all weird like Geraint. Some of them are prim and proper, like the art teacher who worked on graph paper, measuring everything.'”

“Could only be the Gibbon,” Jem said.

“Yeah, silly old cow, and he goes, ‘Her name was Connie and she used to teach at Priory Park,' so I knew it was her straight off. Constance Gloria Gibbon. We found her name on that missing persons' website. It makes sense really, her joining the local artists.”

“Did he say any more about her?” Diamond asked.

“Only that she stopped coming months ago.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Those were his words. You can ask him if you don't believe me. He's still here. I was glad to have him talking to me at the party. I asked him to take my picture and he did.”

“With your iPhone? May I see?”

“If you want.” Ella surfed through several pictures. “Here.”

The image of the young girl in her goth outfit with a fixed stare gave him some impression of her strength of purpose that night. In poor light in the background some shadowy dancing figures could be made out.

“Can you zoom in?”

“On me?”

“On the people behind you.”

“You won't see Mel, if that's what you're thinking. She wasn't there.” She used her fingertips to enlarge the background. “That looks like the Bish. He was mental. The black guy in the hat is Manny. And the woman could be Anastasia or Drusilla. Just about everyone was there.”

“Except us,” Jem said. “I've got to hand it to Ella. She was the only one with the guts to crash the party.”

“Unless Mel turned up later,” Naseem said.

“Let's hope she didn't,” Diamond said, to draw a line under all the speculation. He turned to Ella. “If you wouldn't mind stepping outside, I can point to the lake we were talking about as the setting for your project. I had a walk down there and it looks ideal to me.”

Ella's eyes widened. She was hooked.

Outside the studio, and alone with Ella, he pointed down the hill towards the copse and added the promising news that large vehicles of some kind seemed to travel the estate. “I think you could safely ask Tom if you can bring the House of Usher here and whether they can provide the transport.”

“It's a good thought, but I couldn't ask him.”

“Why not?”

“After I crashed the party, I'm not exactly the flavour of the month.”

“Want me to have a word with him?”

“About my project? Would you?”

“If you don't ask, you don't get.”

She gave him a rare smile. “Thanks.”

“And now will you tell me what happened to you at the party?”

The smile vanished. “To me?”

“Did you take something that made you ill? It's okay, you can be open with me. I'm not the drugs squad.”

“Who told you?” she said, fired up again. “Tom?”

“Doesn't matter. One of the others. They saw the state you were in and Ferdie told me you spent the night on the sofa and couldn't face breakfast in the morning.”

The mood changed. She was resigned to Diamond knowing. “I took one tablet of E and it went to my head.”

“Who supplied it?”

“No one.”

“That can't be true, Ella.”

“Someone at another party, ages ago. I've had it in my room ever since and I brought it with me. Tom was pissed off with me, but he acted really kind, helped me across to the house and made me comfortable on the sofa. I said some cringe-making stuff to him. I think I even tried to kiss him. In the morning he drove me home in his MG. Not quite home because I didn't want my parents finding out, so he put me down at the end of the street and I walked the rest. That's it. End of story.”

“Have you told the others?”

“Not yet. I'd really like them to know I rode in the MG, but it's kind of embarrassing, me spending the night there and not sleeping with Tom. I'm supposed to be the most liberated girl in the school. They'd give me a hard time if they knew.”

“He'd get a worse time. He'd lose his job.”

“I swear to God he didn't touch me.”

“I believe you, Ella.”

“Unlike some of his friends. They treated me like I was some kind of slag.”

“Who do you mean?”

“That Geraint, for one. He's evil. I just happened to be standing near him and he scared me, the way he looked at my body. He called me bitch and grabbed my arm and squeezed really hard. I mean just because me and him were both in goth gear it doesn't give him the right to hit on me. I only got away by spilling pineapple juice down his trousers.”

Diamond managed not to smile.

“And worse than that was Davy.”

“The model?”

“He was coming onto me even before I reached the studio. He stopped me outside, where he was having a smoke. I couldn't avoid him. He's middle-aged and he was, like, ‘Hey, babe, I wouldn't mind seeing you without your kit on.' That fat old freak wanting me to strip for him. I nearly threw up on the spot, I was so disgusted. Just because everyone has seen him nude he thinks he can get away with murder. Well, not murder, but really bad behaviour.”

“But you managed to escape?”

“This is going to sound bad. You've got to remember I crashed the party. I told you I met Davy outside the studio when I arrived. I decided it would be easier going in the door with someone else than on my own, so I took control. I walked into the studio with him as if we were an item and dumped him after one dance.”

“Have you spoken to him since?”

“No, and not to Geraint either.”

“Two men got their marching orders in one night. You're formidable.”

She grinned.

“And you didn't see much more of the party because the Ecstasy tablet made you ill? Was it still in full swing when you left?”

“Absolutely.”

“So it's not impossible that Mel turned up later—after getting the text about Miss Gibbon—and you didn't see her?”

Denial was written all over her face. She didn't want to be blamed for sending the text. “There's no evidence of that. Nobody saw her. That was just a dumb idea of Naseem's.”

Diamond wasn't letting it go so easily. “Remembering what happened to you—meeting Davy outside the studio—it's just possible Mel did try to gate-crash and was met outside and never got in.”

She caught her breath. “Who would have met her—Davy?”

“As you say, it's a dumb idea.”

25

T
he life drawing still hadn't resumed when Diamond returned. Davy the model was standing outside the studio in his dressing gown, smoking, no doubt pleased to be earning a fee for doing nothing. Inside, the noise level had reduced and the food and drinks had been cleared away. But some of the artists were restless.

“Something holding you up?” Diamond asked Drusilla.

She rolled her eyes upwards. “We can't start without Tom. We need him to set the pose.”

“Where is he?”

“Over at the house. There's some kind of flap going on. The police arrived.”

He moved fast. Two response cars and a large yellow van marked
specialist search unit
had drawn up in front of the house. Georgina was there among a group of uniformed officers doing her best to appear in control of events.

“So there you are,” she said when he approached, and made it sound like a rebuke.

“What happened?”

“Isn't that obvious?”

“But what brought them here—a tip?”

“Better than that,” Georgina said. “Good information. One of the many responses to the TV appeal. On the night of the party a Boxgrove businessman was returning late from London in his car when he passed someone on a scooter in the lane only half a mile from here.”

“A scooter?” The hairs on his neck stood up. “Mel?”

“He said she looked young and female. This was about eleven to eleven fifteen. The report was processed with all the other possible sightings and this morning Chichester CID linked it to information from the parents that Melanie came here on Saturdays for the art sessions.”

His throat had gone dry. “Is Montacute with them?”

“With the Standforths in the house. He knows all about the party.”

“He won't know all about it. He won't know about the texts Mel was getting.”

Georgina said with a petulant sigh. “What's this—something else you've been keeping from me?”

He was far too troubled over Mel to get into a spat with Georgina. He simply told her what he'd heard from the schoolgirls.

“How long have you known this?” she asked, still suspicious he'd failed to share vital information.

“A few minutes.”

He could have joined in with her as she spoke the thoughts forming in her brain:

“These text messages may have been the trigger for Melanie going out that night, especially the one about Miss Gibbon being a member of the art group before she went missing. We know how keen the girl was to trace Miss Gibbon. She must have got on her scooter and come straight here to find out more.”

He nodded. Speech was difficult right now for him.

“You'd better inform Montacute. He's in charge of the hunt for the girl. Our enquiries, such as they were, have been overtaken.”

“He won't welcome being told.”

“Why not? It's relevant.”

“You said he's with the Standforths. They're starting to look like suspects. You don't reveal all you know in the presence of people who may be involved. I can fill him in later, when he's alone.”

She saw the sense in what he said. “Fair point. Better not barge in there.” Her thinking was still transparent. “Everyone who was at that party is a suspect if harm came to the girl that night.”

“True.”

“And there are some very odd people among them.”

He didn't wait for her to list them. “Have you spoken to the search team?”

“Not yet. They're standing by, awaiting instructions.”

“I'll have a word.” He marched over to the van and introduced himself to the senior officer, with a sergeant's stripes, seated in the cab. “You got a shout, then?”

“It's the missing schoolgirl, sir. DI Montacute says she could have been coming here.”

“So what's the game plan?”

“The map shows a stretch of water at the edge of the property.”

“I've seen it. Quite large. Muddy water, too.”

“We're used to that. Britain ain't the Caribbean, more's the pity.”

Diamond pointed down the slope to where he'd visited the lake. “I've been there. There's a gravel path you can drive down.”

Montacute emerged from the house and came over. “You got here fast,” he said to Diamond in a brusque aside, before briefing the dive team. “We're in business, gentlemen. The owners have no knowledge of the girl coming here the other night, but she's been here previously as part of an art class and will know the place. She's familiar with the grounds. The lake is in the northwest corner, wherever that is.”

The sergeant pointed. “Down the slope behind the trees. Superintendent Diamond has seen it.”

With all the gratitude of a dog whose bone is snatched away, Montacute swung back to Diamond. “You've been there already?”

“Took a stroll earlier this morning.”

“Someone tip you off, then?”

“I was taking a break between art sessions.”

There was a pause for thought. Unable to decide whether he was having his leg pulled, Montacute vented his annoyance on the sergeant. “What are you waiting for? Get to it.”

While the van disappeared down the slope, Diamond did the decent thing and updated Montacute on the text messages Mel had received. The DI didn't need reminding Mel was the schoolgirl who had come to the police station.

“At the time, I didn't give this lass high priority.”

“Nor me,” Diamond admitted. “Gets more personal, doesn't it, when you've met her?”

“Believe me, we're pulling out all the stops. Headquarters will go berserk about all the overtime, but I intend to find her. And so does Tom Standforth. He's her art teacher and he's bloody upset.”

“What's your next move?”

“We timed this well. Most of the people who were at the party happen to be here today. I'll take statements from them all. They can carry on with their drawing and I'll pull them out one by one.”

“Hoping there was a sighting of Mel?”

“If they were in any state to notice. What about you? What are you planning to do?” Montacute asked and added with a leer, “Finish off your masterpiece?”

“Got a few questions for Tom Standforth. Have you finished with him?”

“He's in the clear.”

“You think so?”

“You don't piss on your own doorstep.”

With that sage dictum to reflect on, Diamond returned to Georgina. “The art is about to get under way again,” he told her.

“You're not going back in?”

“It's a chance to speak to Tom.”

“In that case, I'll find out how the divers are getting on,” she said. “I've seen more of that model than I ever wished to see.”

Jim Bentley called his fishing friend Norman while Sheila was watching one of her daytime soaps.

“Is this a good moment?”

“If you really want to know, it isn't,” Norman said. “I was having my afternoon nap. Sometimes I think I'll take a hammer to that phone.”

“You could try turning it off.”

“Now I'm awake, what do you want?”

“Don't know if you saw the news item about the missing schoolgirl.”

“May have done. Can't remember.”

“Melanie, from Priory Park School.”

“What's she got to do with me?”

“Nothing at all,” Jim said. “Keep your hair on. She's been gone several days now and they had the parents on, making an appeal for information.”

“I still don't see—”

“Listen, Norman. The police guy clearly thinks she's dead. They're hoping someone can give them a clue about what happened to her. I've been thinking back to our last trip. Remember the inflatable we found that you said was like the Mary Celeste?”

“Except it wasn't,” Norman said. “It belonged to that dickhead diver.”

“But what was he up to? He didn't say when you asked. He told us to bugger off.”

“We caught him out, that's why. Treasure-hunter, if you ask me. Found some wreck in the middle of nowhere and hopes it's stacked with gold. If they make a find, they never tell anyone. They bring it up secretly, piece by piece.”

“There wasn't anything like that in the inflatable and he didn't come up with any. I was thinking something else. Instead of bringing stuff up he was taking it down.”

“What—hiding it? The schoolgirl?”

“Her body.”

“That's far-fetched, isn't it? If he wants to dump a body at sea he can heave it overboard. End of.”

“But he chose that particular spot. He was anchored there. You thought there could be a wreck down there, right?”

“I still do.”

“What's the depth out there? Not all that great.”

“Forty metres probably. Enough water to cover a pretty big ship.”

“Okay, there are hundreds of wrecks along the south coast and divers like exploring them, but they don't go alone. They dive in groups, for safety. This guy was alone and he was bloody annoyed when we found him. He was up to no good, Norm. We agree on that.”

“Sure.”

“Getting back to my theory, if you dump a body in the sea, it gets washed up eventually—unless it's trapped. If there's an unmarked wreck down there, it's not a bad place to hide a body, tuck it into a hold where it can't get loose and rise to the surface.”

“I'm not convinced,” Norman said.

“Tell me what he was up to, then.”

“I haven't the foggiest.”

“Well, I take it seriously enough to report it, just in case. Then it's up to the police and it won't be on my conscience.”

“Is this what you woke me up to tell me?”

“No, I woke you up to get the GPS reading. I asked you for it at the time, remember? You made a note of it.”

“On the back of my hand,” Norman said.

“Bloody hell. What use was that?”

“There was a pen, but no paper.”

“It's gone, then?”

“Believe it or not, I wash my hands several times a day,” Norman said.

“And I don't suppose you memorised the numbers?”

“Come on, Jim, get real. Do you know how many digits there are in a GPS reading? Nine for latitude and nine for longitude. These days, I can barely remember my phone number.”

“Thanks a bunch. I thought I could rely on you.”

“You're serious about this, aren't you?”

“I can't ignore it.”

“I took a picture with my iPhone.”

“Of the guy sitting in his inflatable. I remember. But it's not much use when we can't say where it was.”

“Got a pen and paper handy?”

“What? You do remember the reading?”

“No, my friend, I just told you I took a picture. I photographed the back of my hand before I washed it.”

In the studio, Tom had set the pose and the artists were already at work. He agreed to speak to Diamond. “Are you working together, you and Inspector Montacute?”

“Sort of.”

“He wants to question every one of my art group.”

“About Mel.”

“The thing is, he won't set foot in here. They're having to step outside one by one. Do you think he's shy?”

“Of a naked man? I expect he doesn't want to be overheard, and neither do I. Can we move to the far end?”

They faced each other on two stools where the refreshment table had been set up, far enough away to speak without the artists hearing them. Tom could still supervise the session from there.

Diamond was torn. His thoughts were of Mel and what might have happened. He wanted to be at the lake side watching the search, but he wasn't needed there. This interview could be critical to the case. To make it tougher for himself, he knew he shouldn't go for the obvious.

“I won't go over the ground DI Montacute covered with you,” Diamond said. “Let's talk about young Ella.”

A guarded look slammed down like a visor. “Ella? I thought you were interested in Mel.”

“This is a bit of a cheek, outside my brief,” Diamond said, as disarming as he could be under stress. “When I went looking for Ella yesterday at the school, I was really impressed by her artwork in the yard. A fantastic effort. She told me what it's supposed to be.”

“The House of Usher.”

“What a terrific idea, all put together from old lobster pots and seaweed. And the size of it. She was explaining that it doesn't have to be sent to the examining board. She can send them the image.”

“Correct,” Tom said, still wary of where this was leading.

“I commented that the school yard isn't the ideal setting, with the rubbish bins and the broken desks as a background.”

“She can edit those out.”

“But to anyone familiar with the original story, the Edgar Allan Poe,”—Diamond made it sound as if he was a world authority—“there's one major element missing, and that's the tarn.” He looked for a reaction and got it. He'd guessed that the word would be unfamiliar. “The lake the house was built beside and which swallows the building when the collapse comes. I suggested mocking it up with tinfoil, but Ella didn't think much of the idea. Ideally, she needs to get her House of Usher erected beside a real lake. After all the effort she's put in already, it must be worth trying. It would lift her grade, I expect.”

“She'll get a top grade anyway.”

“But to get into art school, she needs it to look as good as possible. She can show this as evidence of her talent. It's a unique creation, and I know you helped inspire it. This morning I went for a walk around your grounds and found the lake beside the beech trees and thought what a perfect setting that would be for Ella's house.”

Tom had visibly relaxed as the talk stayed off the party. “I hadn't considered it.”

“So I'm putting in a word on her behalf. If we can find some transport, and you don't object, we'll be treated to a spectacle that will have Poe himself rubbing his hands with glee.”