The Summons Page 4

  “Mr. Tott isn’t calling the shots. He’s involved, but only as a victim.”

  “A victim?”

  “In a sense. Well, strictly speaking, he isn’t a victim himself.” Floundering, she said finally, “But his daughter is.”

  “Tott’s daughter?”

  “Look, would you forget I told you that?” She glanced over her shoulder toward her driver. He was talking into the intercom, so she added, “They mean to brief you in their own way. They’re counting on your cooperation, absolutely counting on it.”

  “What can I do that other people can’t?”

  “You’ve got to hear it from them, Mr. Diamond. The whole incident is under wraps.”

  He stopped himself from asking, “What incident?” To pump Julie for information that he could get legitimately would be unfair. He knew what he must do. The repugnance he felt at facing Tott was a personal matter. His self-esteem had to be weighed against whatever had happened to the man’s daughter and the fact that for some arcane reason his cooperation was indispensable.

  Julie said simply, “Will you come back to Manvers Street with me and hear what they have to say?”

  “All right, Sarge. You win.”

  In the car she told him they had made her up to inspector last November. He said it was not before time. And he meant it.

  Five minutes later, practically vomiting with revulsion, he was eye to eye with Tott, that relic from the days when top policemen were indistinguishable from First World War generals. The others around the oval table were Chief Inspector John Wigfull, Inspector Julie Hargreaves and Inspector Keith Halliwell. The reception he was given was so unlikely that it was alarming. Tott got up, came around the table and said how deeply they were in his debt for coming. Not only did he grip Diamond’s hand with his right, but held his elbow with his left and squeezed it like an overzealous freemason.

  Halliwell’s greeting was a tilt of the head and a companionable grin. Wigfull summoned up the kind of smile the losing finalist gives at Wimbledon.

  Diamond gave them all a sniff and a stare.

  Tott turned to Wigfull. “Why don’t you see what happened to the coffee we ordered?”

  Wigfull reddened and left the room.

  Tott said immediately the door closed, “Mr. Diamond, this won’t be easy for any of us. John Wigfull is the senior man now. He’s running the show.”

  “Seeing that I’m no longer a part of the show, I don’t have any problem with that,” said Diamond.

  Tott lowered his face and brought his hands together under his chin. The body language was that of a penitent at confession. “I ... I want to make a personal statement. It would be remarkable if you didn’t harbor some resentment against me for matters I hope we can set aside tonight. I want to assure you that my involvement is quite unsought on my part. But I thought I should be here when you arrived. I owed it to you.”

  “To me? I can’t think why.”

  “And to my ... to someone else. Avon and Somerset Police are seeking your cooperation. I, personally, want to appeal to you—no damn it—beg you to listen sympathetically, and as we parted on less than friendly terms when we were last in this room together, the least I can do is—”

  “Point taken, Mr. Tott,” said Diamond. “I said what I felt at the time. I didn’t expect to be invited back, but here I am.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now will somebody tell me why?”

  Tott was overwrought. His voice was faltering. He said, “I think it best if I leave that to Chief Inspector Wigfull. He should be back any second.”

  Tott and Wigfull. What a team! Diamond couldn’t think of any two people outside prison he’d rather avoid.

  A cadet came in with coffee and cheese and ham sandwiches. Wigfull glided in behind him and took his place at the table. Diamond noted sardonically that Wigfull’s elevation to head of the murder squad had produced one interesting change: his mustache had been trimmed. These days he was more like the former English cricket captain than the Laughing Cavalier.

  “I believe you’re going to brief me, John.”

  “Presently.” Wigfull waited for the cadet to leave. When the door was closed he glanced toward Tott, an observance of courtesy or bootlicking, depending on how you viewed it, and received a nod. “Ten days ago, as you know, that is on October the fourth, John Mountjoy escaped from Albany.”

  “You say ‘as you know,’ but I know damn all,” said Diamond.

  Wigfull gave him a disbelieving look. “It’s been in all the papers.”

  “I don’t see the papers. I’m a free man, John. I do as I like.”

  “Well, he bluffed his way through God knows how many electronically locked doors disguised as a police officer. To be fair to the prison staff there was a disturbance in one of the halls at the time. It hasn’t been established yet whether the trouble was started deliberately as a cover for the escape. Anyway, Mount joy had up to two hours’ start before the alarm was raised. He is either foolhardy or extremely cunning because instead of heading straight for the road he made his way toward the neighboring prison at Parkhurst, which you’ll know is just across a field from Albany. There, he visited the married quarters and stole a Metro belonging to a prison officer’s wife. It was found abandoned two days later at Bembridge.”

  “That’s an odd way to go. Isn’t Bembridge way out on the eastern tip of the Island?”

  “This man does nothing predictable. While all places north of Albany were being combed, he stole a small sailing dinghy, a Mirror, from outside a holiday cottage near the harbor.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Not really. He had the choice of several. People are slaphappy with their boats on the Island. The owner left all the gear on board. All Mountjoy had to do was wheel the thing down to the beach under cover of darkness, poke under the cover and take out the sails and rig it.”

  “Where did he learn to sail?”

  “Does it matter?” said Tott, betraying impatience.

  “It must have mattered to him when he launched the boat.”

  Wigfull said as if it shouldn’t be necessary to state the obvious, “He went to school at Eastbourne. Public school.”

  Diamond—the product of a grammar school—stoutly refused to take anything for granted. “Do they teach the boys to sail?”

  “Generally in Mirrors.”

  Wigfull’s inside knowledge of the public school system was matched by the expertise he had just acquired in sailing. “He must have launched it under cover of darkness, and sailed hard eastward. There was a flood tide during those nights that would tend to drag him toward Portsmouth and he actually navigated it across fifteen miles of sea to West Wittering.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “The owner came down from London to shut up the cottage at Bembridge and found his boat missing. Bits of the hull have been found all along the foreshore at West Wittering. He might have assumed Mountjoy had drowned if a local farmer hadn’t found some sails and a lifejacket bundled in a hedge. Meanwhile there were search teams combing the Island between Albany and Cowes, every ferry was under observation and helicopters were patroling the Solent.”

  “And he made his way to Bath?”

  Wigfull gave a nod. “Everything I tell you now is under embargo. The media will have to hold off until we resolve it one way or another. Nothing was heard of Mountjoy for almost a week. Then yesterday evening a phone call was taken by the switchboard operator at the Royal Crescent Hotel. The caller was male, an educated voice. He told the girl to write down what he said and see that it reached the police as soon as possible. This is what we were given.” He handed across a sheet from a message pad with the Royal Crescent heading.

  Diamond gave it a glance intended at first to demonstrate his reluctance to be involved, but the sight of his name in the message was irresistible. He picked it up and read:

  Mr. Tott, for the girl’s sake, tell Diamond to be ready with a car tomorrow at 9 A.M. He is to be alone. No
radio and no bugs and no one to follow. Remember I have nothing to lose.

  “The girl? Is it a kidnap, then?” Diamond said, and without letting his eyes meet Julie’s he went on blandly to ask, “Do we know who she is?”

  “My daughter Samantha,” said Tott, his voice breaking with emotion.

  “Ah.”

  After a deferential pause, Wigfull added, “Which is why we are so concerned.”

  “You’d be concerned whoever it was,” Diamond snapped back at him. “Wouldn’t you, John?”

  Tott glossed over any embarrassment Wigfull may have felt by saying, “She is a musician. She trained at the Menuhin School.”

  “A stunningly attractive young woman,” said Wigfull.

  “Is that significant?” said Diamond with a glance toward Julie, who might agree that sexism had just reared its head.

  “Yes, it is significant,” said Tott. “Everyone remarks how lovely she is, and if that sounds like a doting father speaking, so be it. About five weeks ago, the Daily Express magazine section ran a feature about talented musicians forced by the recession to work as street entertainers. A picture was published of Sam playing her violin in Abbey Churchyard, outside the Pump Room. I’m sure her looks must have influenced the picture editor. Unfortunately the text mentioned that she was the daughter of the Assistant Chief Constable. We assume that Mountjoy saw the paper in prison.”

  “How long has she been missing?”

  Wigfull answered, “Since Saturday evening.”

  “Officially missing, I mean.”

  Tott coughed and said, “Sam is rather a law unto herself. We didn’t take her absence seriously until this arrived.”

  “This doesn’t mention her by name.”

  Wigfull said, “There are no fresh reports of missing girls. And the message takes it as read that we know who she is.”

  “How old is your daughter, Mr. Tott?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “How would she bear up under this kind of ordeal?”

  “She is pretty strong.” Tott’s mouth twitched. “But there are limits.”

  Diamond pressed his hands against the edge of the table and drew back. The role of interrogator was tempting him. He examined the slip of paper again as if he needed to confirm what was written there. “Why me?”

  “You put him away,” said Wigfull. “He’s been in Albany all this time. He isn’t to know that you quit two years ago.”

  “Yes, but what does he want from me?”

  Tott said, “I believe he protested his innocence at the time.”

  “Who doesn’t at the time?” said Diamond. “He was guilty. The man has a history of violence to women.” He turned to Tott. “I’m sorry, but we all know this to be a fact.”

  Tott nodded and closed his eyes.

  Wigfull said, “By coming here instead of holing up somewhere, he’s taking a big risk. We think he must want to bargain with you.”

  “Bargain over what? I can’t help him. I couldn’t help him if I was still on the strength. I’m not the Home Secretary. It’s gone through the courts, for heaven’s sake.”

  Wigfull said, “Peter, with respect I think you’re missing the point.”

  So it was Peter now, qualified quickly by “with respect.” Things had moved on in two years.

  “Explain,” said Diamond.

  “The latest thinking about kidnap incidents is that you listen to their demands. What matters is that you establish contact and if possible build a relationship with the kidnapper. The aim is to assess the situation. Only then can you confidently form a plan to secure the release of the victim.”

  What a pompous sod, thought Diamond. “You play along with him.”

  “Exactly. Find out what he wants and keep him from turning violent. His demands may be impossible—we don’t know yet—but we have to appeat to be willing to negotiate.”

  “And I’m the fall guy?”

  Wigfull shtugged. “He asked for you. As I just said, the first principle—”

  “Save it, then,” Diamond cut him short. “You want me to humor John Mountjoy. Seeing that I sent him down, it looks a nonstarter.”

  “He asked for you by name.”

  “How touching! Let’s face it, he wants the pleasure of blowing me away. What protection would I get? None. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “We don’t know that he is armed,” Wigfull said.

  Deciding apparently that this was not the best line to pursue, Tott said to Diamond, “My dear fellow, I won’t deny that there is a risk. Of course there’s a risk. I don’t know if you happen to be a father—”

  “No,” said Diamond.

  “Oh.” Tott wasn’t up to this. His attempt at persuasion ground to a halt.

  It was Julie Hargreaves who remarked quietly, “It’s going to take an act of courage to save this young girl.”

  Diamond was not an obvious hero; but he had an old-fashioned dislike of appearing a coward, particularly in front of a woman. Instead of backing off completely, he said, “Have there been any sightings of Mountjoy in this area? If his picture has been in the papers, there are going to be sightings.”

  “None in Bath,” said Wigfull. “Practically every other city up and down the land, but you know what Bath is like.”

  Diamond grunted his assent. Whether the city’s architecture was the distraction, he didn’t know, but the public seemed to lose the capacity to recognize faces. Members of the royal family sometimes shopped in Milsom Street and rarely got a second glance.

  “You’ll get sod all help from the locals while you have this press embargo. Have you thought about lifting it?”

  Tott gripped the arms of his chair. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  “We’d rather keep the incident under wraps for all sorts of reasons,” said Wigfull.

  “Like the reputation of Avon and Somerset CID?”

  Wigfull was too polished a diplomat to hit back. He gave Diamond a look that was more injured than angry. “The main point is to deny Mount joy the opportunity of manipulating the media. He’s no fool.”

  Tott added, “And we don’t want the press or the public to hamper this operation.”

  “It’s an operation, is it?” said Diamond.

  “Investigation, then. Call it what you will.”

  “I’m not bothered about the terminology, Mr. Tott. I’m simply making the point that if you want me in on this, I’m entitled to know the ground plan.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Tott, straightening in his chair, grabbing at what he took to be a lifeline.

  “What has happened up to now?”

  With a wave of his right hand Tott invited John Wigfull to respond. “We’re following the usual procedure for a kidnapping. Extensive searches of likely places within a five-mile radius of the city center.”

  “That’s a lot of places.”

  “We’ve got a lot of men deployed. Obviously we’re double-checking all reported break-ins and thefts of vehicles.”

  “You believe he’s in the city?”

  “He must have come in to snatch Samantha. She was busking in Stall Street.”

  “What do you mean by ’snatch’? You wouldn’t snatch a girl out of Stall Street on Saturday afternoon. It’s awash with shoppers and tourists. Was she busking alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Positively seen?”

  Wigfull nodded. “One of her friends saw her playing at about four-fifteen. That was Una Moon, the same young woman who told us on Monday that she was missing. Miss Tott lives with a number of other young people in a house in Widcombe.”

  “A squat, do you mean?”

  Tott shifted uneasily. “Yes, it is a property occupied by unemployed young people. She left home almost a year ago, against our wishes I’m sorry to say.”

  If Samantha had rebelled against Mr. Tott, she was in good company and there was something to be said for her. “Presumably your search squads have a picture.”

  Julie Hargreaves produced a
five-by-seven black-and-white print from her folder and passed it across the table. The original must have come from the Tott family album, for it showed a young girl in a taffeta evening gown with old-fashioned bouffant sleeves of the kind favored by young musicians on the concert platform. She was dangling a violin by her right leg and a boy by her left. A striking face with large, dark eyes and a finely shaped mouth that curved upward at the ends and so undermined the formality of the pose. Her hair was sensational—heaps upon heaps of natural curls in a triumphant version of the Afro style. Even more sensational when compared with her father’s flat-to-the-head short back and sides.

  “Presumably she wasn’t dressed like this on Saturday?”

  Julie Hargreaves answered, “A black knitted top and blue jeans with black tights underneath. Plus long black socks. It gets cold on the streets. And a well-worn pair of Reebok trainers. She had her violin with her, of course, and the case.”

  “And the violin hasn’t been found?”

  “No.”

  Diamond reached for a sandwich. Whether by accident or design he tipped two more on the table and added them to his plate. While the others watched this maneuver he said casually, “What’s the plan, John?”

  This bolt from the blue shocked Wigfull into displacement actvity: a hand dragged down the side of his face, a shuffling of shoes and some hefty throat-clearing. “That depends whether we have your cooperation,” he said finally.

  “No it doesn’t,” said Diamond. “Look we’re not haggling in a Cairo bazaar. You have a plan and I’m entitled to hear it.”

  “True.”

  “Well?”

  “Em . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “We, em, we recommend that you go along with whatever arrangement Mount joy suggests. We’ll supply a car for you fitted with a monitoring device.”

  “Mountjoy doesn’t suggest that. He prohibits it. Specifically.”

  Wigfull nodded. “But the bugs we use are so incredibly small now that it would be quite impossible for him to locate it, short of dismantling the car in a garage. We can monitor your position and keep a discreet surveillance. I emphasize discreet, Peter. There’s no question of moving in while you are with him. The object will be to track him afterwards.”