Dying to Know (26 page)

Smith looked perplexed. ‘Has to be what?'

‘The killer.'

For a moment, he looked startled, as if I'd accused Masson, then that smile again; he really did think I was an idiot. ‘Holversum?'

Max was giving me looks that melded sympathy with ‘I told you so', and Smith was shaking his head slowly again, which I've always thought is not a good sign. ‘That's right.'

‘Alexander Holversum?' he asked for clarification as if the case were riddled with them.

‘If you'd only hear me out—'

‘Are you sure about that, doctor? Your track record isn't good. Samuel Hocking and both the Parrishes all have alibis for the time that Doris Lightoller was being killed.'

‘I'll admit that our theories regarding Samuel Hocking were probably a bit off the mark . . .'

‘Completely and utterly wrong, you mean. At the time of Doris Lightoller's death, Hocking was visiting his mother in Kennington. She's in a home and four of the staff have corroborated his alibi. The Parrishes were at a rehearsal for the Norbury Amateur Dramatics Society production of
Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.
'

‘It's not about blackmail.'

Smith didn't seem to be listening. ‘Samuel Hocking also denies he was ever blackmailed.'

Max came to my defence. ‘They're all lying about that!'

Smith said only, ‘Very probably. That doesn't change the fact that, as a story, it is completely and utterly unsupported by any evidence.'

‘But you're not listening, constable. I told you, this whole business had nothing to do with the blackmail. It's all connected with Ricky Baines' diamonds.'

For the first time during the conversation, I gained the advantage. Smith was surprised into silence by what I had said, allowing me to plough my furrow a little further. ‘Holversum was an old associate of Ricky Baines, wasn't he? He'd represented him on many occasions in the past, he represented him when he was sent to prison for the jewellery shop robbery.'

‘Holversum? Alexander Holversum?' Smith sounded worryingly incredulous.

‘Yes. You said yourself that he was a bit dodgy.'

‘Dodgy, yes, but not a double murderer.'

It wasn't going well. ‘The petty thief, Robbins; Masson said that it was Holversum who was representing him.'

Smith sighed; I got the impression that he felt sorry for me. ‘That's what Holversum does. He defends the real criminals. As soon as he turns up in the station, you might just as well put on a striped jersey, black beret and mask, because only the criminal uses him. Not many honest people come to him, so the ones who do – like your father – tend to get looked at askance.'

‘You said that all Robbins stole was a book.
Diamonds Are Forever.
'

‘That's right.'

I was looking at him, unable to believe that he had missed the significance. ‘See?'

‘See what?'

‘
Diamonds Are Forever.
'

But he was either genuinely obtuse or making a good impression of it. ‘What about it?'

‘Diamonds.'

He smiled condescendingly. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. Silly me.'

Before I could go for his throat, Max said, ‘It's a funny thing to steal isn't it? An old book?'

‘He didn't have time to find anything more. You interrupted him and he just grabbed what he hoped was valuable and scarpered.'

‘Is that what he says?'

Smith smiled. ‘Robbins is saying nothing because he's taking Alexander Holversum's advice.'

‘And you're certain that it was Lightoller's book?'

‘We have our reasons for believing so.'

‘What are they?'

‘There was a recent receipt made out to Oliver Lightoller tucked in the back.'

‘That's not proof of ownership, or that Robbins stole it from Lightoller,' I pointed out.

‘And also we've found it listed in Lightoller's records.'

‘Do his records say where he got it?'

For the first time, Smith was uncertain. ‘No, I don't think so. They just include the date that he acquired it.'

‘Which was when?'

Smith had to consult a file that was at the bottom of a foot-high pile on the floor by his chair; as if that weren't already inaccessible enough, a portable typewriter was precariously balanced on the top of everything. Eventually, and slightly red of face, he came back up for air and said, ‘October 29th.' His injured eye, now healing well, was accentuated by the blush of blood to his skin.

‘And when did Ricky Baines have his house cleared?'

But this was beyond his knowledge. ‘Why?'

‘Because I'll bet a pound to a penny that it was on October 29th. Lightoller did Ricky Baines' house clearance and that's where he got that book.'

I could see that, despite himself, Smith was starting to become just a little intrigued; not convinced – very far from that – but certainly no longer just condescending. He asked thoughtfully, ‘And if it was?'

‘You said that the spine was ripped.'

‘So?'

‘That's where the diamonds were hidden. In the spine of the book.'

Two ginger eyebrows met for a confab in the middle of Smith's face. ‘Let me get this clear. You think that Ricky Baines hid the stolen diamonds in the spine of this book and that Lightoller found them?'

‘More or less.'

‘Meanwhile, Alexander Holversum knew where they were, and killed the Lightollers to get his hands on the book.'

‘Exactly. He killed Lightoller, then searched the shop. When he couldn't find it there, he went after Doris. He was interrupted by Dad before he could properly search the house, so sent Robbins back to find the book, which he did.'

Smith thought some more. I glanced at Max, who was in turn looking at Smith with a look of deep worry on her face. After a while, Smith asked, ‘Could you clarify a few things about this theory?'

‘If I can.'

‘Where are the diamonds now?'

I admit, that he had me on that one. ‘I don't know.'

He nodded, as if he understood my problem. ‘Well, we can assume that Holversum doesn't have them, I think.'

‘Can we?'

‘I think so, because if he did, Robbins wouldn't still have had the book, would he? Unless Holversum took the diamonds from it and then gave it back to him, which is unlikely.'

I saw what he meant. ‘No, I suppose not.'

‘So,' he went on, ‘the fact that Robbins still had the book suggests strongly that he hadn't made contact with Holversum by the time we picked him up. This, in turn, suggests that the book was probably in that condition when he stole it . . . unless you're hypothesizing that Robbins took the diamonds.'

I began to sense danger in his words. ‘No . . .'

‘So whether or not Robbins has a connection with Holversum, neither of them has the diamonds.'

It took me a moment to catch up, but I had reluctantly to agree with him. ‘I suppose not.'

He then asked simply and directly, ‘So where are the diamonds?'

I had anticipated the question but it had done me no good; I didn't know. I tried to put a good gloss on it, though. ‘I'm not entirely sure.'

To his credit, he didn't crow or even smile. All he said was, ‘Neither am I,' and he said it sadly.

Max decided that it was time to play the part of the cavalry. ‘How do we know Robbins didn't take the diamonds?'

This produced silence. How
did
we know?

Smith said eventually, ‘Because if the diamonds were in that book and Robbins took them, he'd have disposed of the book pretty sharpish. He'd have claimed to Holversum that he never found it.'

We digested this for a moment before Max tried again. ‘In which case, Lightoller found them. He and Holversum were in league to share the money, but Lightoller found the diamonds, wouldn't hand them over and got killed for his trouble.'

‘Theories are very nice, but as far as I can make out, you have no proof of any of this – no proof that it's Holversum and not even any proof that it's about diamonds. And why Holversum? Why not Tom Lightoller? It was only a day or two ago that you were telling me that he was after “his inheritance”. If anyone employed Robbins, it's more likely to be him, I'd have thought.'

‘So you admit that Robbins might have been employed by someone to snatch the diamonds?'

‘I said, “if anyone employed Robbins”; once again, there's no proof of any of this, is there?'

‘But Holversum's name keeps cropping up . . .'

He had the perfect riposte.

‘So does the name of Elliot.'

THIRTY-SEVEN

‘
I
can't blame him,' I said gloomily as we drove back. ‘All we've got is speculation to support our theories, we have no proof.'

‘No, I suppose not.' Max said this from deep in thought. Then: ‘The question is, how are we going to find it?'

My eyes were on the road and it was only with the greatest of efforts that they remained so as she said this. The striking thing was that her tone was so matter-of-fact; it had not occurred to her that there was any other course of action.

‘Now, wait a moment—'

‘Lance, of course we have to prove it. For your father's sake, if nothing else.'

It sounded dangerous and I said as much, but Max had no truck with this. ‘Pooh! I never realized what a rabbit you are, Lance.'

‘Two people have already been murdered.'

‘That was because someone thought that they had the diamonds. No one any longer thinks we have them.'

‘Even so, Max. I think we've done all we can.'

She didn't reply.

Because I'm stupid, I thought nothing of it.

The next morning we were both going back to work. Max seemed subdued over breakfast and, when I asked her what was wrong, she said only, ‘Nothing.' She said it distantly, though; I assumed that she was sickening for something, although she denied this. I dropped her off at her house at eight o'clock where we kissed and I promised to ring her that evening, after I had been to see Dad. Uncharacteristically, during all this time she barely said a word and I admit to being sorely puzzled as I drove on to the surgery.

Were my colleagues pleased to see me back? I suppose so, although it took much searching and not a little imagination to find the signs. After some fairly perfunctory questions on my father's condition, Brian told me in exhaustive detail how hard life had been, how the winter flu epidemic was really beginning to take off, how he thought he might be coming down with it himself, etc. etc. while Jack just asked sarcastically if I was well rested. Only our staff exhibited what I considered to be an appropriate attitude towards a man whose father is recovering from a life-threatening illness. Jane seemed to think that maybe I had found the whole thing extremely stressful and showed some empathy for me, while our two receptionists, Sheila and Jean, kept tutting whenever they saw me and then looking at each other in that way that only women of a certain age can achieve. It was all pretty much as I expected: just another working day.

When I got to see Dad, he was sitting in a chair and looking very much his old self. He moaned at me for an hour and I kept telling myself that it was a lot better to have him moaning and alive than silent and not. Percy Bailey was back on duty in the corner, looking as if a few hours of Dad's unique blend of surreal non sequiturs liberally sprinkled with scathing dissatisfaction with the universe had worked their magic on him, and that he ought to be a front-runner for the Queen's Gallantry medal. As I left, I said to him in a whisper, ‘Hard going?'

He grimaced and said in a low tone, ‘Bloody hard these chairs.'

I knew what he meant, though.

I got home at about eight, the night becoming enveloped in fog and dankness. As always happened, sounds became dulled, as suffused as the yellow-brown street lights, the whole world a thing of creepiness. In the hallway, I debated whether to ring Max or have something to eat first; as it happened, the decision was taken from my hands because the phone rang and I discovered Max on the end of the line. We went through the usual formalities and once again I detected that all was not well with my soulmate; this time, however, I discovered what it was because she told me.

Her confession came in the lull in the duologue which followed her asking how Dad was and me telling her.

‘Lance?'

‘That's me.'

‘I think I might have done something a little unwise.' Her voice betrayed a degree of hysteria that found me feeling a trifle worried.

‘Unwise?'

‘Yes . . .'

I knew that Max could understate for England, so I was becoming dreadfully afraid at this point. ‘In what way, Max?'

There was a pause. ‘I had this idea.'

Max had ideas like plague rats had fleas; it meant trouble, and usually it was trouble for me. In this respect she could have been using the same plans as my father; I found myself wondering if this was actually telling me something very significant about my psyche.

‘What have you done, Max?'

‘We didn't have any proof of who it was, did we?'

‘Who what was?'

‘Who the murderer was; who was after the diamonds . . .'

‘So I got the idea that we could do what they do in the movies.'

I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice as I enquired, ‘And what do they do in the movies?'