Gerry took a few long breaths, looked upwards and crossed himself.
24
“Diamond in the thermal spa?” Ingeborg said with saucer eyes. “Who told you this?”
Keith Halliwell was certain of it. “Richard Palmer. He’s an old mate of mine and I believe him.”
“How does he know?”
“The boss talked to him late yesterday. Richard is the SIO on the dead woman found in the river. He’s the one who contacted Interpol and found she was from Bulgaria.”
“I know.”
“Well, Richard had a theory that she was a sex worker.”
“I heard about that from the boss. Load of rubbish, he reckons.”
“But it turns out Richard is right.”
“Get away. This is Jessie the housekeeper we’re talking about.”
Halliwell shrugged. “He asked the Bulgarian police to do some more checking and she was definitely on the game at one time.”
“No kidding?”
“They’re certain. Her picture is a perfect match.”
“Poor soul.”
“She’d been moved about Europe and was known to the police in Turkey and Italy. Then they lost track of her and it seems she was trafficked to England.”
“Is that certain?”
“Well, we know she ended up in Little Langford, so it isn’t rocket science.”
“And the assumption is that she worked here as a prostitute before becoming Cyril’s housekeeper? Wouldn’t that have come to light before now?”
“She changed her name, didn’t she?”
“Okay-I get that.”
Halliwell nodded. “So the boss is digging like fury. And when he starts digging he can rip through concrete. He wanted to find out who could have been running her and Richard told him the main man, the biggest pimp locally, was Gerry Onslow-who is now Mr. Big after some carnage in the crime world.”
“And they traced Onslow to the new baths?”
“Apparently he can be found there late most evenings when it’s officially closed. It’s the one safe place to see him if you can get past his henchmen. That’s what Richard told me, anyway, and that’s what he told the boss-who went straight home to collect his swim shorts.”
“Is he a swimmer?” Ingeborg’s face creased at the image this conjured up. “God, I’d love to have been a fly on the wall. And did he get a result?”
“Don’t know. He hasn’t appeared yet.”
Wedged into the last remaining slot in a long line of parked vehicles in Darwin Road, Oldfield Park, Diamond stared at the end-of-terrace house a little way up. How do you tell if the place is in use as a brothel? The closed blinds at all four windows might be a clue.
He swallowed an ibuprofen. He was not at his best this morning. He’d spent most of the night trying to get his head round the maddening conundrum of Jessie the housekeeper. The science had established that she and Maria the Bulgarian were the same woman. There’s no arguing with DNA. Yet Gerry Onslow had insisted that right up to the time of her death Maria had been living as a prostitute at this address.
The obvious inference was that Onslow was lying, but why? By admitting he owned the flat and virtually confessing he’d been living off her earnings for some time, he’d put himself at risk of prosecution. His whole demeanour had suggested running a brothel was small fry to a man of his status. He was clearly more concerned at covering up more heinous crimes.
And if he’d killed her himself, or ordered her death, he would surely have been only too relieved to grab the alibi Diamond had offered-that she had been living in a small village in Wiltshire.
Nothing added up.
Better deal with the matter in hand.
By now, Maria was two weeks dead. It was likely some other sex worker had been installed in the house. There’s no sentiment in the selling of flesh.
Diamond left his car, marched over and pressed the bell on the blue front door. Double chimes sounded inside, but that was all he heard.
He tried twice more.
A voice close by said, “You’re too early in the day, my friend. She’ll be sleeping off yesterday’s business.”
A bearded character in a flat cap and raincoat and holding a folded newspaper was speaking across the wall from next door.
“You’re the neighbour?” Diamond said.
“For my sins, yes. Didn’t know I was next door to a knocking-shop when I first moved in. I soon found out. But they don’t bother me. Live and let live, I say. My advice to you is tie a knot in it, at least until after lunch.”
“I’m not here for that,” Diamond said. “I’m a police officer.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Bishop of Bath and Wells,” the man said with a chuckle. “You can be honest with me. Man of the world, I am.”
“Do you ever speak to your neighbours?”
“I have done, yes. My cat Pussy went missing once. I had to go and ask. There was a slight misunderstanding over what I was calling about, but once we were over that, she was normal as you like. She’d been feeding the little varmint for weeks.”
“Did you get her name?”
“She didn’t give it. Wouldn’t have meant much to me, I expect, being foreign.”
“She’s a foreigner?”
“Most of them are these days, aren’t they? They come over the Channel and take our jobs. I blame the government.”
Not a helpful route to go down. “How do you know she’s foreign?”
“The way she talks, bleeding obvious.”
From an inner pocket Diamond took out the picture of Maria from the police website. “Is this her?”
The neighbour put on his glasses to scrutinise it. “This is the one who feeds my cat, no question. She’s not there right now. I reckon they need holidays more than the rest of us, but Pussy is pissed off about it.”
Diamond’s headache had suddenly got a whole lot worse. He hadn’t truly believed until this moment, and it made no sense.
“There’s another one been there some time,” the man went on. “Redhead with tattooed arms. I haven’t spoken to her.”
“This one”-Diamond jabbed the picture with his forefinger-“was definitely living here until recently, was she?”
“Two, maybe three weeks. I’m having to buy extra cat food.”
“Does she own a car?”
“I never saw her in one.”
“How long do you reckon she’s been your neighbour?”
“She was installed before I moved in two years ago.”
“And does she spend most of her time in the house?”
“She needs to. Blokes are calling all week long. I have to mark off my parking space with cones. It’s not illegal, is it?”
“Reserving a parking space?”
“No. Paying for some how’s-your-father.”
“Depends,” Diamond said. He pressed the bell again.
“She won’t answer,” the man said. “This time of day they’re out to the world.”
It dawned on Diamond that he no longer needed to speak to the other tenant. He’d learned enough from the neighbour. Just as Gerry Onslow had claimed, Maria the Bulgarian had been selling her services as a prostitute here in Oldfield Park all the time Jessie the housekeeper was supposed to be thirty miles away in Little Langford.
Crazy.
He pocketed the picture, nodded to the man and returned, muttering, to his car.
Back in Keynsham, he phoned the hospital to get the latest on Pellegrini’s condition.
The sister who sounded like a station announcer came on the line. “Mr. Pellegrini had a very good night and is progressing well, so well that he is being moved from Critical Care to a general ward on the same floor. He started eating solids last night and had a good breakfast this morning. His brain function seems to be returning, although his short-term memory is uneven. He was seen by the doctor an hour ago and it was decided to allow visits from designated persons once he is installed in Bradford Ward.”