“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
Can we speak outside?” Hen said to Diamond.
“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.”
They used Diamond’s car, driving directly to the garage Ken Bellman rented on Bathwick Hill. Little more was said until he unlocked the up-and-over door and opened the car to look inside. His BMW, as he’d stated, had certainly seen better days. “It passed the test,” he said, as if they might be interested.
“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.”