“I wouldn’t count on Belshaw,” Diamond said, pressing his advantage. “He’s a Bristol man. Not many locals know that way into the hotel.”
“Better check,” Farr-Jones instructed Warrilow, who gave Diamond a murderous glare and went off to deal with the matter. Then there was a question for Diamond, “Is there a way in from Parade Gardens?”
“In theory, yes. You could get in from the colonnade overlooking the weir. But you’d have to break through armor-plate doors. It will take him four or five minutes to check.”
“Hm. I understand your motive, Mr. Diamond, only I wouldn’t want you to think I support it. Now that we’re family, so to speak,” the Chief Constable smoothly went on to say, “you had better explain why the devil you didn’t inform us last night that the man is armed.”
He gave the explanation he’d given to Wigfull, adding, mainly to get support from Tott, “God help Samantha when the shooting starts.”
Farr-Jones said, “You’re not seriously suggesting that we handle this without issuing firearms?”
“I’m suggesting that some idiot with a telescopic rifle could cause a tragedy. Mountjoy has a small handgun, an automatic. We’re not in much danger down here. Samantha’s the one I fear for. I think we should play this in a way that doesn’t panic Mountjoy. Nothing provocative. No threats and certainly no shooting.”
Tott gave an affirmative grunt and nodded his head.
Farr-Jones wasn’t convinced yet. “In the last analysis, if the man has a weapon, he can hold it to Samantha’s head and walk out of there. He can make idiots of us all.”
“Rather that than blow her brains out,” said Diamond.
Tott shut his eyes.
Diamond went on, “It’s looking increasingly likely that Mountjoy didn’t commit murder in 1990. He’s a desperate man trying to establish his innocence.”
“At the point of a gun?” said Farr-Jones.
“Yes, he’s an idiot,” Diamond admitted. “The point is that he won’t use that gun unless someone else fires first. He’s exhausted, under extreme stress, yet he knows that his world collapses altogether if he shoots anyone. If I can prove beyond doubt that someone other than Mountjoy murdered Britt Strand, we can end this siege without bloodshed.”
“Can you?”
Diamond wanted to sound positive. “I’m getting close. I know enough already to believe in Mountjoy’s innocence. Proving it is mote difficult.”
“Would you be willing to talk to the man-negotiate if necessary?”
“I have, more than once. He wants something more tangible than my good will. If I get the proof I’m looking for, yes, I’ll be willing to talk to him again. Without it, there’s no point. He’s not going to surrender on some vague promise that I’ll keep beavering away.”
“No more than we can hold off,” said Farr-Jones. “You’re going to have to produce the rabbit out of the hat, Mr. Diamond, and produce it fast.”
There was a silence, deliberate on Diamond’s part, while he picked his words. What was said now would amount to one of the most crucial statements he would ever make. “Chief Constable, I must remind you that I’m a civilian. I’m under no obligation to do anything. I can walk away now, straight up Pierrepont Street to the station and get on the next train to London.”
“You wouldn’t do that?” said Farr-Jones, meaning it to sound like a statement, and not succeeding.
Tott said huskily, “You can’t. My daughter’s up there with a gunman. You can’t abandon her.”
Without betraying the least compassion, Diamond remarked, “It will get resolved without my help, one way or another.”
“No!” said Tott, grabbing his arm.
Farr-Jones said more shrewdly, “This is a negotiating position, isn’t it? What are your terms?”
Diamond kept them waiting, as if taking a long view of the mountain of choice that was before him. “First, we stand off. No shooting. No storming the building. Nothing that panics Mount joy.”
“For how long?”
He glanced at his watch. “Until midnight. That gives me almost twelve hours.”
“Twelve hours!” said Tott in desperation.
It wasn’t in Diamond’s plan to bring comfort to the Assistant Chief Constable. “This must be given in the form of an order to Commander Warrilow.”
Farr-Jones took a deep, audible breath. “Very well-if you undertake to talk Mountjoy down and secure Samantha’s release. I appreciate that you need time to get the evidence to satisfy the man.”
“And there’s another condition,” said Diamond. “I must be reinstated.”
After a pause while he took in the sense of what had been suggested, Farr-Jones said, “That’s not on.”
Ignoring him, Diamond added, “As head of the Murder Squad.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“You were dismissed.”
“No, Chief Constable, I resigned on a matter of principle. I made my protest. Now you need me back.”
“It isn’t a question of need-” said Farr-Jones.
“Fine,” said Diamond nonchalantly, “I’ll be off, then.” He raised his trilby.
“Wait.” There was an awkward silence, whilst Farr-Jones grappled with the implications. “We’re up to strength in senior posts. I might be able to speak to the chairman of the Police Authority. It’s fraught with problems. If we took you back, Lord knows what the press would make of it when this Mountjoy business hits the headlines. It’s going to look as if we’re rewarding you for mishandling the case in the first place.”
“They’ll have a field day,” Diamond cheerfully concurred.
“If I said I would give it serious consideration…”
“… I would say you’re on your own, gentlemen. I think the next train leaves at 1:27.” He started to turn away and spotted that John Wigfull’s face had drained of color.
“All right,” Farr-Jones decided. “You can have what you’re asking for, Diamond. You bring this siege to a peaceful end by-midnight and you can have your job back. I guarantee it.”
Diamond held out his hand for Farr-Jones to grip.
Chapter Twenty-one
“About Una Moon…” said Julie as she drove the Escort west of the city, past the golf course on the Weston Road.
“Yes?” But it was “Yes?” in a faraway tone. Peter Diamond, seated beside her, was preoccupied.
She pressed on. “You asked me to check her form on the PNC, remember? Well, she’s been bound over a couple of times for possession of cannabis. Once for obstruction. Nothing more serious than that. Are you listening, Mr. Diamond?”
“Mm.”
“As for the others,” she went on, “Jake Pinkerton and Marcus Martin had clean sheets and so did Prue Shorter. I still haven’t discovered G.B.’s real name.”
She was so certain that he hadn’t taken in a word of it that she added, “And I also checked up on Mr. Farr-Jones. He was convicted of stealing underwear from clotheslines.”
“Ah.” No more reaction than that.
She glanced his way and added, “He asked for fifteen similar offenses to be taken into consideration.”
Diamond managed a response. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Now we know where he got the shorts he wears for the synchronized swimming.”
After a moment to take it in, she giggled. His sense of humor took some getting used to. “You were listening.”
“I heard every word.”
Like hell you did, she thought. She said as if bringing it up for the first time, “So would you like to know what the PNC has on Una Moon?”
“Of course! And all the others.”
This time it seemed that the information penetrated, because when she had finished, he said, “I don’t know how I’m going to fit it in, but I’ve got to see Miss Moon myself.”
She took the sharp left turn into Combe Park, where the hospital entrance was. They were responding to a message from the constable on duty at the RUH: Winston Billington had recovered consciousness and was considered to be capable of making a statement.