The House Sitter (23 page)

“Large beach,” Diamond said.

“You’re telling me. By the time I’d got up to the barrier and exchanged some words with this chatty car park man, I was resigned to having to walk along the beach looking for her.”

Hen said to Diamond, “I know the car park guy who was on duty. Bit of a character. Wants a word with everyone.”

Diamond knew him, too, but wasn’t being diverted. “What did you intend when you found her?”

“By this time, I’d decided to try and talk her round.”

“Even after you knew she’d spent the night with someone else?” Hen said in disbelief.

“He’d walked out on her,” he explained. “If there was any sort of romance between them, he wouldn’t have allowed her to spend the day by herself on the beach.”

“He could have had a job to go to,” Diamond said, finding himself in the unlikely role of Jimmy Barneston’s spokesman.

“On a Sunday?”

“Some of us work Sundays.”

Hen said without catching Diamond’s eye, “I’m with Ken on this. Any boyfriend worthy of the name would take the day off. So what did you do, my love? Park your car and go looking for her?”

“Yes. I knew she wasn’t at the end closest to the barrier, so I drove halfway along, parked, and had a look at the beach, which was really crowded. All I could do was walk along the top looking for her. Fortunately she had this reddish hair which I thought would be easy to spot. So I set off slowly along the promenade bit above the beach, stopping at intervals to look for her. After about an hour of this, I had no success at all. It was really frustrating. I changed my mind and went through the car park looking for the car, figuring that she ought to be in one of the sections of beach closest to where she’d parked. I found the Lotus fairly quickly. It stood out. So then I put my theory to the test and made a more thorough search of the nearest bits of beach. This time I went right down on the sand, for a better view, and that was how I found her. She was lying down behind a windbreak. I’d never have spotted her from the top.”

“This was near the lifeguard post?”

“Yes.”

“Was she surprised?”

“Very.”

“How did you explain that you were there?”

“Coincidence. I wasn’t going to admit I’d been following her for twenty-four hours. It would have seemed weird.”

Neither Hen nor Diamond chose to pursue this insight.

“If I remember right, I made a joke out of it. I was doing my best to put her at her ease. I thought if I could persuade her to let me sit with her on the beach, we could talk through our problem.”

Diamond said, “What do you remember about her appearance?”

“She was sunbathing, in a bikini, lying on a towel.”

“Did she have a bag with her?”

“I expect so. I can’t say for sure. Well, she must have put her car keys somewhere.”

“Sunglasses?”

“Yes.”

“OK, so you chatted to her.”

“I tried. She wasn’t pleased to see me, and she made it very clear she didn’t want me there. I offered to fetch her a drink, or an ice cream or something. Basically, she told me to piss off.”

“Bit of a blow.”

“Well, yes. I was upset.”

“Angry?”

His face tightened and he gave Diamond a defiant look. “Not at all. I was unhappy, yes, but I couldn’t blame her. I’d hurt her more than I realised when I called her those names. Give her time, I thought, and she may yet come round. So I walked off, just as she asked.”

“Are you sure about this? Sure you’re not putting a different slant on the conversation?”

He looked up in surprise. “Why should I?”

“Because a witness heard you swear at her. You were heard to say something like, ‘Suit yourself, then. I’ll leave you to it. Oh, what the fuck?’”

He frowned. “Someone was listening?”

“We have a witness statement.”

After some hesitation, Bellman said, “If that’s what I said—and it may be true—it doesn’t mean I swore at
her
. I was disappointed. You say something like that when you’re pissed off.”

“Then what?”

“I got myself something to eat at the beach café and returned to the car and drove back here to Bath.”

The point at which his version differed from the expected one. He’d been so truthful up to now.

“Are you certain you didn’t return to Emma at some point in the afternoon?”

He flushed deeply. “No way. If this witness of yours told you that, they’re lying.”

“And what were you wearing that day?” Diamond moved on smoothly.

“Oh, God, how would I know?” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Probably a T-shirt and jeans.”

“What colour?”

“The T-shirt? Black, I expect. Most of my T-shirts are black.”

“You were saying you drove straight back?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea what time this was?”

“Early afternoon, I suppose.”

“Try to be precise, Ken.”

“I can’t say better than that, except I was home by four.”

“Can you prove this? Did you see anyone in Bath?”

“I told you I drove straight home. It was really warm on the road. I remember taking a shower when I got in. Then I crashed out for a few hours. I was short of sleep.”

“Did you stop for fuel on the way home?” Hen asked. “Your tank must have been well down after so much driving.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“The receipt. They usually show the time you paid. And the place, of course.”

His tone softened. He’d realised she was being helpful. “Right. I follow you. I’m trying to think. I may have stopped for petrol, but I can’t think where.”

“Which way did you come? Through Salisbury on the A36?”

“Yes, that was the route.”

“There are plenty of garages along there.”

“I keep the receipts in my car. I can check.”

“If you can find one that places you somewhere on the road to Bath that afternoon, it will save us all a lot of trouble.”

“OK.”

“But you don’t remember stopping at a garage?” Diamond said. “I would, if it was important.”

“You’ve got to understand I had other things on my mind.”

Diamond’s frustration began to show. “And you’ve got to understand we’re investigating a murder, Mr Bellman. You were on that beach. By your own admission you’d been following Emma Tysoe for twenty-four hours or more. You confirmed your worst suspicion that she spent the night with another man. You trailed her all the way to Wightview Sands. You spent over an hour wandering the beach in search of her. When you found her and tried to engage her in conversation, she rejected you again. You were angry. In your own words, you were pissed off. And some time the same afternoon, she was strangled. Is it any wonder we’re interested in you?”

Troubled, he raked his hand through his curls. “You’ve got me all wrong. I’m cooperating, aren’t I?”

“I hope so. You didn’t come forward when we first appealed for information. It’s been in all the papers and on TV.”

“In my position, would you have come forward?” he appealed to them. “I didn’t want all this hassle and being under suspicion. I was hoping you’d find the killer without involving me.”

“Any suggestions?”

“What—about her murderer? That’s your job, not mine.”

“You were closer to her than anyone else.”

“You should speak to the guy she spent the night with. I can take you to the house if you like.”

“We’ve spoken to him.”

His eyes widened. He spread his hands. “Then you know what I told you is true.”

“We’ve got your slant on what happened,” Diamond said. “Yes, your account of your movements fits most of the facts. What I find unconvincing is what you say about your intentions. She dumped you after you’d taken her out for a special meal. You had every right to be angry. You tried calling and still she wouldn’t see you. For most men, that would be enough. They’d swallow their pride and get on with their lives. You didn’t. You stalked her.”

“That’s not right,” he blurted out.

“It is by any normal understanding of the word. You followed her in your car. You spent a whole night waiting outside the house where she was in bed with another man. If that isn’t stalking, I don’t know what is.”

“I told you I wanted her back.”

“You were angry and jealous. You decided to kill her at the first opportunity.”

“No.”

“You followed her to the beach, just as you said, and tracked her down. She was lying on the sand, maybe face down, so you spoke to her, just to be sure you’d got the right woman. It was Emma, and you made out it was pure chance that you’d spotted her.” He said slowly, spacing the words, “‘Of all the gin-joints in all the towns in all the world.’”

Bellman jerked as if he’d touched a live cable. “You know I said that?”

“I told you there was a witness. You masked your anger. You didn’t let on that you’d stalked her. But this wasn’t a suitable moment to kill. Too many people were about. They could see you in your black T-shirt talking to her. You went away—but not far. You waited for an opportunity, a time when the people around her left the beach or went for a swim. This is probably the time when you went looking for something to use as a ligature, something like a strap or piece of plastic tape or a bootlace. You may have found it lying along the pebbles where the tide throws up everything in its path.”

“This just isn’t true,” Bellman said, white-faced.

“This time you crept up from behind. She was probably asleep. You slipped the ligature under her head and crossed it behind her neck and tightened.”

He slumped forward, his hands over his ears. “No, no. Will you stop?”

Unmoved, Diamond said with a sharp note of accusation, “Will you tell us the truth?”

19

“Now?” So close to a result, he could think of no reason “ to stop. Surely Hen, of all people, wanted to nail this one?

“Yes, now.”

He was incensed by her interference at this critical stage. If she’d been one of his own team, he’d have brushed her aside. He listened, but only because she’d won his respect in all their dealings up to now. They left Ken Bellman, looking dazed, in the interview room in the care of a uniformed officer.

Out in the corridor, Diamond felt and showed all the symptoms of a dangerous surge of blood pressure.

Hen said, “I have to say, Peter, I’m not happy where this interview is leading. Are you trying to break him, or what?”

“You’re not happy?” he said, shooting her a savage look. “Hen, this is a police station, not the citizens’ advice bureau. He’s a weirdo. He stalked the victim for twenty-four hours before she was strangled.”

“He’s been open with us.”

“He’s had an easy ride.”

“That was easy, was it? You accused him of the crime.”

“At some point, you do. This was the right point.”

She said, “I wouldn’t mind if he was being obstructive. He was talking freely in there. His story fitted the facts.”

“Up to when he met her on the beach and was given his marching orders. Then it departs from what we know to be true.”

“Such as?”

“He said he couldn’t blame her for telling him to move on—as if they shook hands and wished each other good luck. I had to remind him he said ‘What the fuck!’ as he walked away.”

“He’s not going to have perfect recall of every phrase he used.”

“He was angry, Hen. Didn’t blame her? Of course he blamed her. He wasn’t going to admit to us that he was in a strop. Fortunately Olga Smith overheard what was said. According to Bellman’s version, he went tamely across to the café for a sandwich and then drove back to Bath. The man had stalked her since the morning of the day before. Do you really believe he gave up and went home?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted, swayed a little. “But I think we should give him the chance to prove it before you roast him alive.”

“What—challenge him to produce a petrol receipt?”

“If he can, yes. If he can’t, let’s have another go at him.”

“I could crack him now.”

“I’m certain you could. He’s brittle. They’re the ones you treat with caution, Peter. They confess to anything. Only later, when you’re writing it up for the CPS, or being cross-examined by some tricky lawyer, do you discover the flaws. Let’s soft-pedal now.”

Diamond didn’t want to soft-pedal. This was the first real difference of opinion with Hen. “What if he does a runner?”

“We’ll catch up with him. He isn’t a danger to the public. This was a crime of passion if it was anything.”

He shook his head and vibrated his lips. “I’m not happy with this.”

She said, “I want a result as much as you. I’ve had a two-hour drive this morning and I’ll have to come back for another go, but it’s worth it to get everything buttoned up—properly.”

There was a silence as heavy as cement. “I can only agree to this if we take him home now and ask him to produce the petrol receipt.”

“And if he can’t?”

He shrugged. “We’ll do it my way.”

“Where are those receipts?” Hen asked.

“I slot everything down the pocket in the door.” He scooped out a handful of scraps of paper. As well as receipts there were parking tickets with peel-off adhesive backing. Everything had stuck together. He handed a sticky bundle to Hen. Then he delved down and brought out another.

Hen started separating the petrol receipts and putting them in date order, arranging them in rows along the bonnet of the car. She pretty soon decided there were too many to be so methodical. They went back at least eighteen months. The date of the murder was June the twenty-seventh.

“Give me some,” Diamond offered.

Bellman was still retrieving fading, dog-eared slips from the depths of the car door. He made a point of handing them only to Hen. She passed a batch to Diamond. Expecting nothing, he went through them steadily and found nothing. He shook his head. Hen finished checking hers. She sighed.

“It’s not looking good, Ken,” Diamond commented, as much for Hen’s ears as Bellman’s.

Bellman said, “I’m not a hundred per cent sure I stopped for petrol on the way back.” He ran his hand down the pocket one more time and came up with nothing.

“How do you pay for your petrol?” Hen asked. “With a credit card?”

“Cash, usually.”

“You paid cash at the restaurant, I noticed,” Diamond said. “Don’t you like using plastic?”

“Not much,” he answered. “You hear so much about fraud.”

“Well, my friend, we’re going to have to ask you to rack your brains for something else to confirm the story you gave us.”

“It’s no story. It’s true.”

Hen asked, “Is it possible you put the receipt in your trouser pocket? Could it be somewhere in your flat?”

“I suppose.”

This wasn’t merely prolonging the search. Diamond twigged at once that Hen’s suggestion was a useful one. Without a search warrant, it would get them into Bellman’s living quarters higher up the hill.

He accepted it for the lifeline it appeared to be. He closed the garage and they walked the short distance to the house.

He rented the upper floor of a brick-built Victorian villa, with his own entrance up an ironwork staircase at the side. Considering he hadn’t been expecting visitors, it was tidy inside, as Diamond discovered when he began strolling through the rooms without invitation, saying benignly, “Have a good look for that receipt. Don’t mind me. I can find ways of passing the time.”

There were two computers, one in an office, the other in the living room. Any number of manuals with titles in IT jargon were lined up on shelves. He followed Bellman into the bedroom and watched him take several pairs of jeans from the wardrobe and sling them on the double bed, prior to searching the pockets.

“Did you furnish the place yourself?”

“It’s part-furnished. The newer stuff is mine.”

There wasn’t much newer stuff in the bedroom that Diamond could see. The pictures on the wall, faintly tinted engravings of sea scenes, looked as if they’d been there since the house was built. Perhaps he was referring to the clothes basket in the corner, a cheap buy from one of those Third World shops.

The search of the jeans’ pockets produced a crumpled five pound note and some paper tissues, but no receipt.

“I can’t think where else it’s going to be,” Bellman said with a troubled look.

“Wait a bit,” Diamond pulled him up short. “Not long ago you were doubting the existence of this poxy receipt. Now you make out it’s waiting to be found. Is your memory coming back, or what?”

“What happens if I can’t prove I was on the road that afternoon?”

“We go through it all again, asking more questions.”

“If you do,” Bellman said, “I want a solicitor. I came in today to make a statement as a witness, not to be accused of the crime.” He was getting more confident here, on his own territory.

“Show me some proof that you aren’t involved.”

“So I’m guilty, am I, unless I can prove I’m innocent?”

“In my book, you are, chummy. There isn’t anyone else.”

Hen looked in from one of the other rooms. She’d obviously been listening, and not liking the drift. “Peter, as the SIO on this case, I’m calling a halt for today.”

The eyebrows pricked up, but Diamond didn’t argue. She had the right. It was, officially, her case.

“He’s still there,” Hen said. “It’s up to you and me to make the case.”

“Ten minutes more in the interview room and he’d have put his hand up to the crime.”

“That’s exactly what I objected to. Confessions don’t impress the CPS. We need proof. Chains of evidence. A case that stands up in court.”

“You’re asking for the moon,” he said. “You know as well as I do that the tide washed over the body. There’s no DNA. We’ve bust our guts making appeals for witnesses. It was hard enough finding Olga Smith. No one else is going to come forward now.”

“We’ve got Emma Tysoe’s tapes.”

“Right—and who do they incriminate? Ken bloody Bellman.”

“ ‘Incriminate’ is a bit strong,” she said. “She rejected him, yes, but she didn’t say anything about violent tendencies. As a profiler, she should have been able to tell if he was dangerous.”

“We placed him at the scene on the day of the murder. He admits he was there. Freely admits it.”

“Not at the time she was killed.”

“You want a smoking gun,” he said, at the end of his patience.

Hen said, “I’ll tell you what I want, Peter. I want to know what happened to her car, the Lotus he says was in the car park. Emma didn’t drive it out for sure, yet it wasn’t there at the end of the day when I arrived on the scene.”

She’d scored a point. He’d given very little thought to the missing car. “Stolen?”

“But who by?”

“Someone who knew she was dead.”

“And acquired the key, you mean?”

“There are ways of starting a car without a key.”

“Yes, but her bag was taken—the beachbag Olga Smith described, blue with a dolphin design. It’s more likely, isn’t it, that the person who drove away the car had picked up the bag and used her key?”

He weighed that, so deep in thought that he went through a light at the pedestrian crossing at the top of Manvers Street, fortunately without endangering anyone. “That is relevant,” he finally said. “Bellman couldn’t have pinched her car if he drove his own. Why hasn’t it turned up?”

“Not for want of searching,” Hen said. “Every patrol in Sussex has orders to find it.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “You know, there could be something in this. We’ve had cars taken from the beach car park before now. Nice cars usually, like this one. They’re driven around and abandoned somewhere on the peninsula.”

“Joyriders.”

“Right. Teenagers, we assumed. I’d like to nick them, but they’re clean away.”

“But they don’t murder the owners?”

“Well, not up to now.”

“This wasn’t a kid, Hen. You’re certain it wasn’t left in the car park that night?”

“Totally sure. I know the cars that were there.”

“How many?”

“Four. One of them belonged to the doctor, Shiena Wilkinson. That was a Range Rover. There was a Mitsubishi owned by another woman who came along in a rare old state when I was having it broken into.”

“She was on the beach?”

“In the car park, at a barbecue.”

“Unlikely to have pinched the Lotus, then. What about the others?”

“Another Mitsubishi and a Peugeot. The first was owned by a Portsmouth man. His name began with a ‘W’. I can’t bring it to mind. The other was traced to someone in London with an Asian name. Patel.”

“And they were abandoned?”

“Left overnight. The owners picked them up later.”

“Did you follow it up?”

“Oh, yes.” She remembered giving the job to George Flint, the complainer in her squad. “The Portsmouth guy—”

“Mr ‘W’?”

“It was West,” she hit on the name triumphantly. “He was called West. His story was that he ran out of fuel, so he got a lift home with a friend. He came back next day with a can of petrol and collected his car.”

“What about Patel?”

“Went for a sea trip with some friends, and they got back much later than they expected. Like West, he picked up his car the next day.”

“You see what I’m thinking?”

“I do,” she said. “If one of those two was a car thief, they could have driven away the Lotus during the afternoon and returned for their own car the following day.”

“A bit obvious, leaving their own vehicle overnight,” Diamond reflected. “A professional car thief wouldn’t be so stupid.”

“Maybe this was an opportunist crime,” Hen said. “They picked up her bag after she was dead.”

There was a flaw here, and Diamond was quick to pounce. “But they wouldn’t know which car the key fitted, unless they’d watched her drive in. Which brings us back to Bellman. He’s the only one who knew she owned a Lotus. Could he have nicked it after killing her and acquiring the bag?”

Hen was equally unimpressed. “And returned for his own car before the car park closed? I can’t think why he’d do it. If he’s the killer, it was jealousy, or passion, or frustrated pride, not a wish to own a smart car.”

Stalemate.

Hen promised to follow up on West and Patel when she got back to Bognor. Either could turn out to be a car thief. People had murdered for less than a Lotus Esprit.

“We made some headway,” Diamond said as a conciliatory gesture after they’d parked behind the police station. “It’s not all disappointment.”

“Far from it,” she agreed.

There was a gap while each thought hard for some positive result from the morning. Displacement activity was easier. Hen lit up a cigar and Diamond checked the pressure of his car tyres by kicking them.

Inside the nick, a sergeant from uniform spotted Diamond and came over at once. “Everyone’s looking for you, sir. You’re wanted at the Bath Spa Hotel.”

“Who by?”

“An inspector from Special Branch and a lady by the name of Val something.”

“Walpurgis?”

“That’s it.”

“What the hell are they doing at the Bath Spa?” He turned to Hen.

She shook her head.

“Want to back me up?” he asked her.

“Why? Feeling nervous?”

They returned to the car.