Upon a Dark Night (3 page)

She walked the canal towpath for an hour before returning to the hostel, where she found a policewoman waiting. A no-frills policewoman with eyes about as warm as the silver buttons on her uniform.

‘I won’t keep you long. Just following up on the report we had. You
are
the woman who was brought into the Hinton Clinic?’

‘So I’m told.’

‘Then you haven’t got your memory back?’

‘No.’

‘So you still don’t know your name?’

‘The social worker called me Rose. That will have to do for the time being.’

The policewoman didn’t sound as if she would be calling her Rose or anything else. Not that sympathy was required, but there was a skeptical note in the questions. Jobs like this were probably given to the women; they weren’t at the cutting edge dealing with crime. ‘You remember that much, then?’

‘I can remember everything from the time I woke up in the hospital bed.’

‘The funny thing is, we haven’t had any reports of an accident yesterday.’

‘I didn’t say I had one. Other people said I did.’

‘Has anyone taken photos yet?’

‘Of me?’

‘Of your injuries.’

16

‘Only X-rays.’

‘You should get photographed in case there’s legal action. If you were hit by some driver and there’s litigation, it will take ages to come to court, and you’ll have nothing to show them.’

Good advice. Maybe this policewoman wasn’t such a downer as she first appeared. ‘Is that up to me to arrange?’

‘We can get a police photographer out to you. We’ll need a head and shoulders for our records anyway.’

‘Could it be a woman photographer?’

‘Why?’

‘My legs look hideous.’

The policewoman softened just a touch. ‘I could ask.’

‘You see, I’m not used to being photographed.’

‘How do you know that?’

It was a fair point.

‘If this goes on for any time at all,’ said the policewoman, ‘you won’t be able to stay out of the spotlight. We’ll need to circulate your picture. It’s the only way forward in cases of this kind.’

‘Can’t you leave it for a few days? They told me people always get their memory back.’

‘That’s not up to me. My superiors take the decisions. If an offence has been committed, a serious motoring offence, we’ll need to find the driver responsible.’

‘Suppose I don’t want to press charges?’

‘It’s not up to you. If some berk knocked you down and didn’t report it, we’re not going to let him get away with it. We have a duty to other road users.’

Rose agreed to meet the police photographer the same evening. She also promised to call at the central police station as soon as her memory was restored.

She was left alone.

‘Rose.’ She spoke the name aloud, trying it on in the bedroom like a dress, and deciding it was wrong for her. She didn’t wish to personify romance, or beauty. She went through a string of more austere possibilities, like Freda, Shirley and Thelma. Curiously, she could recall women’s names with ease, yet couldn’t say which was her own.

‘I’m Ada.’

Startled, Rose turned towards the doorway and saw that it was two-thirds filled. The one-third was the space above head height.

‘Ada Shaftsbury. Have they put you in with me?’ said Ada Shaftsbury from the doorway. ‘I had this to myself all last week.’ With a shimmy of the upper body she got properly into the room, strutted across and sat on the bed among the orange peel. ‘What’s your name?’

‘They call me Rose. It’s not my real name. I was in an accident. I lost my memory.’

‘You don’t look like a Rose to me. Care for a snack? I do like a Danish for my tea.’ She dipped her hand into a carrier bag she’d brought in.

‘That’s kind, but no thanks.’

‘I mean it. I picked up five. I can spare one or two.’

‘Really, no.’

Ada Shaftsbury was not convinced. ‘You’d be helping me. I’m on this diet. No snacks. Five Danish pastries isn’t a snack. It’s a meal, so I have to eat them at a sitting. Teatime. Three would only be a snack. If I was left with three, I’d have to blow the whistle, and that might be good for me. I’m very strict with myself.’

‘Honestly, I couldn’t manage one.’

‘You don’t mind if I have my tea while we talk?’ said Ada, through a mouthful of Danish pastry.

‘Please go ahead.’

‘I’ve tried diets before and none of them work. This one suits me so far. Since my mother died, I’ve gone all to pieces. I’ve been done three times.’

‘Done?’ Rose was uncertain what she meant.

‘Sent down. For the five-finger discount.’

Rose murmured some sort of response.

‘You’re not with me, petal, are you?’ said Ada. ‘I’m on about shoplifting. Food, mostly. They shouldn’t put it on display like they do. It’s a temptation. Can you cook?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll find out, I suppose.’

‘It’s a poky little kitchen. If I get in there, which has to be sideways, I don’t have room to open the cupboards.’

‘That must be a problem.’

Ada took this as the green light. ‘I can get the stuff if you’d be willing to cook for both of us. And you don’t have to worry about breakfast.’ Ada gave a wide, disarming smile. ‘You’re thinking I don’t eat a cooked breakfast, aren’t you?’

‘I wasn’t thinking anything.’

‘There’s a foreign girl called Hildegarde in the room under ours and she likes to cook. I’m teaching her English. She knows some really useful words now: eggs, bacon, tomatoes, fried bread. If you want a good breakfast, just say the word to Hildegarde.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll be staying long.’

‘You don’t know, full stop,’ said Ada. ‘Could be only a couple of hours. Could be months.’

‘I hope not.’

‘Do you like bacon? I’ve got a whole side of bacon in the freezer.’

‘Where did that come from?’

Ada wobbled with amusement. ‘The back of a lorry in Green Street. The driver was delivering to a butcher’s. He was round the front arguing with a traffic warden, so I did some unloading for him, slung it over my shoulder and walked through the streets. I got looks, but I get looks anyway. They shouldn’t leave the stuff on view if they don’t want it to walk. I’ve got eggs, tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, spuds. We can have a slap-up supper tonight. Hildegarde will cook. We can invite her up to eat with us.’

‘Actually, I bought my own,’ Rose said.

‘Good,’ said Ada Shaftsbury, failing or refusing to understand. ‘We’ll pool it. What did you get?’

‘Salad things mostly.’

‘In all honesty I can’t say I care much for salad, but we can use it as a garnish for the fry-up,’Ada said indistinctly through her second Danish.

Rose’s long-term memory may have ceased to function, but the short-term one delivered. ‘It’s a nice idea, but I’d rather not eat until the police have been.’

‘The
police?
‘
said Ada, going pale.

‘They’re going to take some photos.’

‘In here, you mean?’

‘Well, I’ve got some scars on my legs. If you don’t mind, it would be easiest in here.’

‘I’ll go down the chippie for supper,’Ada decided.

‘I don’t want to drive you out. It’s your room as much as mine.’

‘You carry on, petal. If there’s a cop with a camera, I’m not at home. We’ll have our fry-up another day.’

She gulped the rest of her tea and was gone in two minutes.

The photography didn’t start for a couple of hours, and Ada had still not returned.

Having the pictures taken was more of a major production than Rose expected, but she was relieved that the photographer
was
a woman. Jenny, in dungarees and black boots with red laces, took her work seriously enough to have come equipped with extra lighting and a tripod. Fortunately she had a chirpy style that made the business less of an ordeal. ‘I can’t tell you what a nice change it is to be snapping someone who can breathe. Most jobs I’m looking at corpses through this thing. Shall we try the full length first? In pants and bra studying the wallpaper, if you don’t mind slipping out of your things. It won’t take long.’

Jenny thoughtfully put a chair against the door.

‘Okay, the back view first. Arms at your side. Fine … Now the front shot. Relax your arms, dear … My, you’re getting some prize-winning bruises there. Sure you’re not a rugby player? … Now I think we’d better do a couple without the undies, don’t you? I mean the blue bits don’t stop at your pantie-line.’

Rose swallowed hard, stripped to her skin and was photographed unclothed in a couple of standing poses.

‘You can dress again now,’Jenny said. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. Whoever you are, you’re not used to flaunting it in front of a camera.’

Three

Rarely in his police career had Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond spent so many evenings at home. He was starting to follow the plot-lines in the television soaps, a sure sign of under-employment. Even the cat, Raffles, had fitted Diamond seamlessly into its evening routine, springing onto his lap at nine-fifteen (after a last foray in the garden) and remaining there until forced to move - which did not usually take long.

One evening when it was obvious that Raffles’ tolerance was stretched to breaking point, Stephanie Diamond remarked, ‘If you relaxed, so would he.’

‘But I’m not here for his benefit.’

‘For yours, my love. Why don’t you stroke him? He’ll purr beautifully if you encourage him. It’s been proved to reduce blood pressure.’

He gave her a sharp look. ‘Mine?’

‘Well, I don’t mean the cat’s.’

‘Who says my blood pressure is too high?’ She knew better than to answer that. Her overweight husband hadn’t had a check-up in years. ‘I’m just saying you should unwind more. You sit there each evening as if you expect the phone to ring any moment.’

He said offhandedly, ‘Who’s going to ring me?’

She returned to the crossword she was doing. ‘Well, if you don’t know…’

He placed his hand on the cat’s back, but it refused to purr. ‘I take it as a positive sign. If there’s a quiet phase at work, as there is now, we must be winning the battle. Crime prevention.’

Stephanie said without looking up, ‘I expect they’re all too busy watering the geraniums.’

His eyes widened.

‘This is Bath,’ she went on, ‘the Floral City. Nobody can spare the time to commit murders.’

He smiled. Steph’s quirky humour had its own way of keeping a sense of proportion in their lives.

‘Speaking of murder,’ he said, ‘he’s killed that camellia we put in last spring.’

“Who has?’

‘Raffles.’

The cat’s ears twitched.

‘He goes to it every time,’ Diamond insensitively said. ‘Treats it as his personal privy.’

Stephanie was quick to defend the cat. ‘It isn’t his fault. We made a mistake buying a camellia. They don’t like a lime soil. They grow best in acid ground.’

‘It is now.’

He liked to have the last word. And she knew it was no use telling him to relax. He’d never been one for putting his feet up and watching television. Or doing the crossword. ‘How about a walk, then?’ she suggested.

‘But it’s dark.’

‘So what? Afraid we’ll get mugged or something?’

He laughed. ‘In the Floral City?’

‘But this isn’t exactly the centre of Bath.’ She took the opposite line, straight-faced. ‘This is Weston. Who knows what dangers lurk out there? It’s gone awfully quiet. The bell-ringers must have finished. They could be on the streets.’

‘You’re on,’ he said, shoving Raffles off his lap. ‘Live dangerously.’

They met no one. They stopped to watch some bats swooping in and out of the light of a lamp-post and Diamond commented that it could easily be Transylvania.

At least conversation came more readily at walking pace than from armchairs. He admitted that he was uneasy about his job.

‘In what way?’ Stephanie asked.

‘Like you were saying, we’re not exactly the crime capital of Europe. I’m supposed to be the murder man here. I make a big deal out of leading the Bath murder squad, and our record is damned good, but we’re being squeezed all the time.’

‘Under threat?’

‘Nobody has said anything…’

‘But you can feel the vibes.’ Stephanie squeezed his arm. ‘Oh, come on, Pete. If nobody has said anything, forget it.’

‘But you wanted to know what was on my mind.’

‘There’s more?’

‘The crime figures don’t look so good. No, that’s wrong. They’ re too good, really. Our clear-up rate is brilliant compared to Bristol, but it isn’t based on many cases. They’ve got a lot of drug-related crime, a bunch of unsolved killings. See it on a computer and it’s obvious. They need support. That’s the way they see it at Headquarters.’

‘You’ve helped Bristol out before. There was that bank manager at Keynsham.’

‘I don’t mind helping out. I don’t want to move over there, lock, stock and barrel.’

‘Nor do I, just when we’ve got the house straight. What about your boss - the Assistant Chief Constable? Will he fight your corner for you?’

‘He’s new.’

‘Same old story.’ Stephanie sighed. ‘We need some action, then, and fast. A shoot-out over the teacups in the Pump-Room.’

‘Fix it, will you?’ said Diamond.

‘Do my best,’ she said.

They completed a slow circuit around Locksbrook Cemetery and returned to the semi-detached house they occupied in Weston.

Diamond stopped unexpectedly at the front gate.

‘What’s up?’ Stephanie asked.

He put a finger to his lips, opened the gate and crept low across the small lawn like an Apache. Stephanie watched in silence, grateful for the darkness. He was heading straight for the camellia, the barely surviving camellia.

With a triumphant ‘Got you!’ he sank to his knees and thrust his hand towards the plant.

There was a screech, followed by a yell of pain from Diamond. A dark feline shape bolted from under the camellia, raced across the lawn, leapt at the fence and scrambled over it. ‘He bit me! He bloody well bit me.’

Gripping the fleshy edge of his right hand, high-stepping across the lawn, the Head of the Murder Squad looked as if he was performing a war dance now.

Stephanie was calm. ‘Come inside, love. We’d better get some TCP on that.’