The young man took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘This is the other me, the idiot found wandering the streets of Bristol.’
‘Is that the first memory?’
‘No, when I came to, I was in woodland, feeling terrible. I was cold and sick. Disgusting.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘On the Leigh Woods side of the gorge. They must have dumped me. I don’t know if they knew I was alive. I got up and staggered along for a bit. It’s amazing I didn’t fall right down the side. I have a memory of walking across the suspension bridge.’
‘Didn’t you try and stop a car?’
‘I couldn’t think of a reason to stop one. I didn’t know who I was or how I’d got there. They’d emptied my pockets. My phone had gone. I was filthy. I can’t believe any driver would have stopped for me. Eventually I met up with some other rough sleepers. I hung about with them until this afternoon when my head began to clear.’
‘Something triggered your memory?’
‘They got to talking about stone pillows and made some sort of joke about me needing a stone wife, and I remembered this.’ He leaned over his chair and rested a hand on the Wife of Bath. ‘She’s not all bad, guv. Once I got the picture of her in my head, other stuff started to come back as well. I remembered your name and Ingeborg’s. I could picture this place. The guys I was with had become friendly by then and they took me to the dosshouse.’
‘The night shelter.’
‘Right. The brain was ticking over again and I told the people at the shelter who I was. This was outside the hours they operate but they took me in as a special case and let me take a shower and get into some less disgusting clothes. They’d been told to look out for me as a missing person. I believe they phoned the local police and told them I was alive and basically okay. Then they arranged for one of their outreach people to drive me back here. I won’t forget the reception I was given.’
‘To say we were worried is an understatement.’
‘Did anyone speak to my mum?’
‘She’s been away all week. She has no idea.’
‘I’d forgotten. Thank God for that.’
Diamond got up from his chair. ‘You should get that head wound checked. It seems to have dried up, but it may need some kind of attention. Take the rest of the week off, catch up on some sleep and we’ll expect you in on Monday. Oh, and it might be a nice idea to write a letter of thanks to Bristol Central for all the man-hours of searching.’
‘A bottle of wine?’
‘Not unless you can afford twenty cases of the stuff.’
32
The motorcade that set out from Manvers Street on Saturday morning didn’t, in the end, have outriders, but its status was not in question. At the front, a Land Rover with Avon & Somerset police markings contained Peter Diamond, Denis Doggart, the auctioneer, and George, the driver. They were towing a trailer bearing the Wife of Bath, stoutly roped and covered with a tarpaulin. Next, Ingeborg’s red Ka, with Keith Halliwell as passenger. And at the rear a white Volvo driven by Erica, Monica’s sister. Beside her was Monica, clutching the plastic urn containing John Gildersleeve’s ashes.
Diamond had chosen the route: the A39 across country by way of Wells and Glastonbury rather than using the motorway. ‘No speeding,’ he told George. ‘We’re on a sensitive mission here. Let’s do it with respect.’
In his tweed suit and salmon pink tie, Doggart brought some sartorial quality to the occasion. Diamond, even more domineering than usual, had browbeaten the auctioneer into making the trip by insisting over the phone that he was still the custodian of lot 129. Although the Blake Museum at Bridgwater remained the owners, the Wife of Bath had been brought to Morton’s for a sale that hadn’t been completed, so the auctioneers had a duty of care and if they had any doubts they should speak to their insurers. The fact that the carving had been parked for a couple of weeks in the police station was immaterial. Until she was handed back to Bridgwater she was Morton’s responsibility. The police were doing them a massive good turn by arranging the transportation. The least Doggart could do was witness the handover.
But a cloud of unease hung over the Land Rover as it cruised across Churchill Bridge and along the Lower Bristol Road. Doggart must have suspected there was more on the agenda than he’d been told. Diamond waited until they joined the Wells Road at Corston before saying any more.
‘You didn’t tell me you’re a Chaucer man yourself.’
‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ Doggart said. ‘My job is to know a bit about everything that comes under the hammer. I can’t be much of a Chaucer man. My valuation was well short of the bidding.’
‘Excusable, isn’t it? A sculpture such as that doesn’t often come up for sale.’
‘That I can agree with.’
‘What I’m getting at,’ Diamond said, ‘is that you were the owner of another Chaucer item, a portrait drawing.’
The face suddenly turned the colour of the necktie. ‘I still am. How do you know about that?’
‘I’m a detective. You stood to make a six-figure sum from the National Portrait Gallery, but it didn’t happen.’
A pause for thought. ‘This was years ago and has nothing to do with the matter you’re investigating.’
‘I’m surprised to hear you say that, Mr. Doggart. We both know there’s a connection. Your Chaucer portrait was examined by John Gildersleeve, who downgraded it.’
‘ “Downgraded” isn’t a word I recognise. He identified the sitter as Chaucer’s son, that’s all.’
‘And knocked a fortune off the value.’
‘Revaluing is a fact of life in the antiques world. Gildersleeve was the expert and he was right. There was nothing personal in it.’
‘Except a personal disaster for you.’
More red snapper than salmon now, Doggart said, ‘Oh, I begin to see what this is about. You think I bore a grudge against Gildersleeve. I didn’t.’
‘Did you meet him at the time?’
‘I did. I was asked to take my drawing to Reading for his inspection. It was a civilised meeting over sherry. I left the portrait with him and collected it a few days later.’
‘When he gave you the bad news?’
‘I’d already heard.’
‘Did he get the sherry out a second time?’
‘No. The drawing was left for me to pick up. Can we talk about something else now?’
‘Did you meet him again?’
‘Not until the day of the auction.’
‘A blast from the past when he appeared, I should think.’
‘It wasn’t like that at all. I’m a professional. I had a job to do. And I’m not even sure he recognised me, he was so caught up in the auction.’
‘What do you remember about the incident?’
‘Everything in vivid detail. It isn’t every day a man is murdered a few feet in front of you.’
‘By all accounts you were remarkably cool under fire. You handled the arrival of the gunmen rather well.’
Alert for anything that smeared him, Doggart took a sharp, outraged breath. ‘What are you insinuating — that I knew they were coming? I most certainly did not. I didn’t panic. When you’re at the rostrum, you’re in charge. You deal with whatever happens and I did, to the best of my ability.’
‘Telling three armed men their behaviour was intolerable? That was either foolhardy or exceptionally brave.’
‘I didn’t stop to think.’
‘What were they like, these three hitmen?’
‘How can I answer that? They were disguised in masks.’
‘I’m hoping for some of that vivid de tail you just mentioned.’