He didn’t reply.
T rying not to look ahead. One thing leads to another: that’s the beauty of this-and the trap. I don’t see my life any more as a series of objectives. I’m content to go with the flow and see where it leads and only then make the arrangements. Up to now it has worked like a dream. But the danger is to get so confident that I make a mistake. I can’t see how it would happen but I need to be on my guard. So it’s a balancing act, being relaxed and vigilant at all times. The apparently aimless progress will confuse anyone with suspicions about me. They always think of murderers as single-minded, blinkered individuals. Psychopaths. I’m not like that at all, as anyone who has met me will tell you.
The academics who make a career out of studying serial murder, as it is crudely known, only get to analyse the failed practitioners. Those like me who are successful and leave no trace-and I can’t be the only one-never get into the textbooks. Who’d be a criminologist, making a science out of losers?
7
Georgina didn’t thank Diamond for his report. She still appeared to believe he’d made her life more difficult on purpose by discovering Pellegrini at the collision scene. But she grudgingly said she now had enough to keep Headquarters off her back for a day or two. Dessie had put together an extremely impressive video simulation based on the latest science and she would submit Diamond’s findings as an addendum.
Normally he would have raised a storm at being told his report was only a postscript to a PowerPoint presentation. He and his team had come up with crucial information and deserved better. But in his mind he had already moved on. There was a new possibility he was eager to explore.
He was almost out of the door when Georgina said, “Where are you going next?”
“My office. Things have been piling up.”
“You’re not turning your back on this inquiry?”
“Would I do that?”
“I want you to continue to monitor it. The progress of the hospital cases. The witness statements. The gossip in the kitchenettes. Be my eyes and ears.”
“That could be difficult, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“Am I still an instrument?”
She had to think for a moment. “Are you speaking about Professional Standards? That duty has been completed.”
“So I can go back to being unprofessional?”
“That isn’t what I said at all.”
“I’m your eyes and ears, you said.”
“There’s nothing unprofessional in that.”
“Eavesdropping, spying, informing?”
She shook her head. “That’s putting it too strongly. I didn’t use the word ‘informing.’”
“I get it now. The old Yorkshire motto: hear all, see all, say nowt.”
She hesitated. “That still isn’t right.”
“I can use my discretion, then? Bend the rules from time to time?”
“You always have.”
“And now with your blessing. Thanks, ma’am.”
He was gone.
In the morning he turned up again at the Royal United Hospital, but not because he was Georgina’s eyes and ears. He didn’t plan to see either of the accident victims and he certainly wouldn’t hear anything from them. Lew Morgan would be heavily sedated after having his leg amputated. Ivor Pellegrini would still be in a coma. Diamond’s purpose in being there was unrelated to what was going on in the hospital. He planned to gain entry to the workshop in Henrietta Road and discover more about its owner, and he’d worked out a way of doing it.
The nurse he’d met before in the Critical Care unit wasn’t on duty. A pity. He would have to start over with somebody else. The sister who stopped him at the entrance had an implacable look. Everything from the tilt of her head to the folded arms and the penetrating stare over half-glasses told him he was faced with a daunting task.
“Yes?”
He showed his ID. “I’m the officer who found Mr. Pellegrini and administered CPR.”
“Do you want me to congratulate you?”
“Just telling you who I am, sister. How is he now?”
“There’s no change.”
“Still unconscious, then?”
“In a single room on life support. We’re doing what we can.” Everything about her made clear that she didn’t mean to spend time talking. She started to move away.
Diamond followed her into the main ward. “I understand you have his possessions here somewhere. When I say ‘possessions’ I mean the things he was wearing when he was brought in.”
“That’s normal,” she said as she checked the notes at the foot of someone’s bed. “They’re safe with us.”
“I was told he didn’t have much in his pockets, only some money and his house keys.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. One of my colleagues undressed him.” She moved to another bed.
“But you’ll know where these things are kept. Locked up, I hope?”
“Of course.”
“The thing is, I need his keys.”
“Well, you’re not having them,” she said. “You’re not even a close relative.”
“He doesn’t have any family. His wife died.”
“That doesn’t make you his next of kin.”
“I’m the senior investigating officer.”
“I don’t care if you’re the chief constable. Mr. Pellegrini is in my charge and I’m not surrendering the keys of his house to the police. That’s final.” She turned away from him so fast that her heels squeaked on the flooring. Her calf muscles, stiff with resolution inside black tights, powered her towards the sister’s office.
“I thought you were committed to saving life,” he called after her and instantly felt ashamed for speaking to a nurse like that. The words had come impetuously when he thought he’d lost his chance.
She stopped and swung about again.
“Any more of that and I’ll have you escorted off the premises.”
“It’s not about me,” he said. “It’s…” He was floundering. He had to invent something fast.
Inspiration came. “It’s Hornby.”
She produced a thin smile, and it wasn’t in friendship. “Mr. Pellegrini’s name happens to be Ivor.”
“I know that, sister. I’m not speaking about Mr. Pellegrini.”
“Well, if you think I’m willing to discuss other patients with you, you can think again.”
“Hornby isn’t a patient. He’s been missing ever since Mr. Pellegrini was admitted here.”
“Who on earth are you talking about?”
“His cat. A ginger tom.”
Her face transformed in a way exceeding his wildest hopes, with lines of concern rippling across her forehead.
He added, “We believe Hornby could be trapped inside the workshop at the front of the house.”
“All this time? That’s heart-rending.” She had compassion after all, and she was obviously a cat person.
“My thought entirely. There’s no other explanation, and there isn’t a cat-flap. One of the neighbours thought she heard scratching from inside but it’s all gone quiet in the past twenty-four hours.”
“Oh no.” Her lips quivered.
“They can survive a few days without food or water but Hornby has had his few days already.” He paused. “I’m sure if Mr. Pellegrini could speak he’d be begging us to do something about it.”
“And this is why you’re here?”
“I would have forced an entry but I don’t have authority. I can’t get a warrant to rescue a cat. If I can borrow the keys, I’ll return them directly.”
She went straight into her office and returned shortly with a transparent bag containing several keys on a ring. “You might need the help of a vet, or the RSPCA. Be careful when you open the door in case he runs straight in the road and gets run over.”
“That would be tragic,” Diamond said, trying to keep up the pretence as he grasped how real the mythical ginger tom had become.
“I do hope he’s survived,” the sister said. “You must let me know. They’re said to have nine lives but there’s no way of telling how many of Hornby’s are used already.”