The Stone Wife (15 page)

“We were taken to the site of the house but there’s bugger all to see now. It’s been ploughed over many times.”

“Shame.”

“But what I did learn is that there was an excavation in early Victorian times led by a local vicar. This was 1843. There’s no record of what was found in the dig, but about the same time, the
Wife of Bath
stone is acquired by William Stradling, the antiquarian.”

Paloma smiled. “Someone did a smart deal.”

“Stradling was the sort of man who missed nothing, a proper scavenger. He lived only seven or eight miles away.”

“Didn’t he admit where it came from?”

“I expect it was known locally, but there’s nothing in writing. And after his death, people seem to have lost interest. It eventually got into the museum and was put in storage.”

“So the theory is that the tablet was originally part of the structure of Chaucer’s house?”

“It is now, but no one in recent times linked it to the 1843 dig for the simple reason that all news of the dig was unknown until quite recently when an archivist came across a small report in the local paper. When Gildersleeve came along in two thousand with his team from Reading, he thought they had an untouched site to explore and even a possibility of proving Chaucer himself was once the owner. They found nothing of real interest the whole summer they were there.”

“Quite a blight on the professor’s career, poor man,” Paloma said.

He nodded. “Some cruel things were said by his so-called colleagues.”

“I can understand how excited he was when the tablet came up for sale. A chance to have the last laugh.”

“Yep. But who would want to frustrate him?”

“Some other Chaucer expert?”

“Another academic?”

“Depends,” Paloma said. “You may not appreciate the competition that exists between universities and even within departments. I’ve seen it close up. Suppose some equally fanatical Chaucer expert knows he doesn’t have the funds to make a decent bid. I’ve no idea what it would cost to fund a hold-up, but it may be less than Gildersleeve was able to pay for the stone.”

“True. He’d married into money. But then the rival gets the thing by criminal means and what can he do with it? He can’t write a learned paper or put it on exhibition. He’s
stuck with it and has to stay silent. What’s more, if the Old Bill come knocking on his door, it’s a big item to hide.”

“That holds true whoever planned to steal it.”

He smiled. “Dead right.”

“You obviously have another theory,” she said. “Let’s hear it.”

“I wouldn’t dignify it by calling it a theory. I simply think if the tablet was going to be taken by force—and wouldn’t be any use to the perpetrator—there must be an element of spite, a personal issue with Gildersleeve, closer to home.”

“You’ve been delving into his private life,” she said, unable to mask a note of disapproval.

“We have to. It’s the job. There were people close to him who may have borne a grudge.”

“Such as?”

“His wife’s former husband, a property developer with a tough reputation. He’s called Bernie Wefers and he was particularly brutal to Monica—savagely so—when he found she was having an affair with Gildersleeve. The fact that Wefers himself was unfaithful, sleeping with his PA, didn’t seem to register. At the divorce hearing, he issued a personal threat to Gildersleeve—‘You’ll pay for this’—and he wasn’t talking about money.”

“Sounds like your number one suspect, then. Is he under investigation?”

“Of course. But one thing I’ve learned in this game is never to focus everything on one suspect.”

“Are there others?”

“We talked about rival academics. There’s one I met at Reading, a Dr. Poke, who shared an office with the victim. Extremely ambitious. I didn’t care for him at all. He wants to become a professor, but there was no chance while Gildersleeve remained alive. There’s just the one chair in the department and Gildersleeve looked like hanging onto that for the foreseeable future.”

“Did Dr. Poke tell you this?”

“No, I got it from Monica Gildersleeve.”

Paloma sat back in her chair and laced her hands behind
her head. “So she provided you with two suspects? Shouldn’t you enquire into
her
motive? She could be diverting suspicion.”

“They’d only recently been married. She’s devastated by the murder.”

“Are you certain? I notice you called her Monica and not Mrs. Gildersleeve when you started talking about her. Could it be that she appealed to your sympathetic nature?”

“Me—sympathetic?”

“You suffered a violent bereavement yourself when Stephanie was murdered.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” he said, tight-lipped.

“Sorry,” she said. “Shouldn’t have spoken.”

Suppressing the ache of the old scar, he said, “But I see what you’re getting at. And she’s a strange lady in some ways. She’s staying with her sister in Camden Crescent, but doesn’t want the sister knowing she spoke to the police. She said something about walls having ears, so we met in Hedgemead Park, on a park bench.”

Paloma raised an eyebrow. “Good thing I didn’t come by and see the two of you.”

“It was all very proper. I can understand that she doesn’t want her sister listening to her private business. Anyway, she didn’t appear to hold anything back. And when we talked about the auction, she turned bright pink at the mention of the ‘wretched carving’ and said Gildersleeve went on so much about it that she was starting to wonder if he preferred the
Wife of Bath
to her.”

“I can understand. If he hadn’t been so keen to buy it, he wouldn’t have got killed.”

“True,” he said. “But I don’t seriously believe she was so jealous that she decided to have him shot. If she had murder in mind, her previous husband is the one who should have got it.”

“So Monica is not a serious suspect?”

“Not until you can find me a motive.”

“I’ll work on it. Don’t you worry.” Paloma gave a faint smile. “Who else is there?”

“As suspects? We have to go back to the auction for that. Anyone who was going to be outbid by Gildersleeve had a possible motive for hijacking the auction. There were bidders on the phone from New York and Tokyo, and they dropped out quite early in the process. The main rival was a man called Sturgess, who told me—after I threatened him with a night in the cells—that he was bidding on behalf of the British Museum. Talked down to me in the way these upper-class types often do. I didn’t like him at all, but that doesn’t make him a suspect.”

“Unless he was lying,” Paloma said, “and wasn’t anything to do with the BM.”

Diamond shook his head. “He was telling the truth. The museum was sure to be interested. They get the auction catalogues and go through them and this was a major discovery.”

“But why the secrecy?”

“Because everyone knows they can bid high, but they don’t want to be pushed into paying more than necessary. It’s not unknown for the seller to arrange for an accomplice to bid high and gee up the price when a big institution is involved.”

“And would the British Museum have outbid Gildersleeve?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Well,” Paloma said. “Here’s a long shot. What if some friend of Gildersleeve got to know who he was going to be up against and arranged the hold-up?”

He thought about this. Then his eyes widened. “To thwart the museum?”

“Yes.”

“That is … Byzantine.”

And now Paloma blinked and looked impressed.

He didn’t explain he’d heard John Leaman use the word the previous day. “What a monumental cock-up if the gunmen were doing him a good turn and he didn’t realise and got shot.”

She brought her hands together and laughed. “There. I’ve found a motive for Monica. She knew how much her darling husband wanted to win the auction—and found out he would
be outbid—so
she
hired the gunmen. But it all went wrong. Gildersleeve knew nothing of this and panicked and was shot. And now Monica in desperation is doing all she can to point you to other suspects.”

He chuckled too. “Clever. It’s wacky, but it’s a new theory, I’ll give you that. And it’s more than any of my team have come up with.”

12

The steamship
Great Britain
stands proud in dry dock in Bristol harbour. Built originally in the city by the engineering genius Brunel and launched by Prince Albert in 1843, she was one of the first great ocean-going liners, making voyages to America and Australia packed with emigrants and fortune-hunters in the days of the gold rush. But the world’s largest vessel had difficulty navigating the Avon and only ever made one start from Bristol. Her home port became Liverpool. Bristol had to wait a century and a quarter to reclaim the ship as its own. In 1970 the rusting hulk was towed eight thousand miles from where it had languished in the Falklands as an oversized coal bunker for over eighty years. Vast numbers of Bristolians lined every viewpoint along the Gorge one Sunday morning to welcome the old lady home. She was sited in dry dock exactly where she had been built. The renovation may not have left much of the original superstructure, but the refitting was faithfully done and created a visitor attraction that won the Gulbenkian Prize for museum of the year.

This symbol of Bristol’s maritime history was where Ingeborg came with a flask of coffee and her press card at a few minutes before midnight. Nobody was there to challenge her, so she got aboard with some of the film crew as they were unloading lighting equipment from a large van on the dockside.

Nervous minutes. Not a good idea to introduce herself to anyone, she decided. She found a back-rest on deck against a raised skylight and settled to watch the show unfold. Enough lighting was in place to reveal what was going on while she remained in shadow.

The crew switched on more lamps and soon the full length of the deck, about a hundred metres with as many as six masts and a funnel, was visible, much of it covered in cables. On the starboard side a mobile camera was being given a trial run along a stretch of dolly track. Voices could be heard from the darkness above the floodlights and Ingeborg assumed there were TV crewmen perched on the yardarms. They had to be as surefooted as the sailors of old. It was all very workmanlike and professional.

A woman with earphones who had to be the floor manager patrolled the deck checking progress. Ingeborg squeezed further into the shadow. She was close enough to hear a bad-tempered answer to a query from one of the cameramen.

“Of course she isn’t here yet. What do you expect? She’s a fucking diva. She’ll be at least an hour late. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us go slow. It’s got to work without a hitch when we get under way.”

The floor manager was right. For Lee Li it would be playing to her image to keep everyone waiting. The legendary lateness of pop stars hadn’t clicked with Ingeborg until now. She’d been too focused on her own part in the arrangement. Only a raw beginner would turn up at the appointed time. Then it would be all systems go to get the filming done before morning.

She resigned herself to a long, uncomfortable wait. The words “it’s got to work without a hitch” were troubling. This tightly controlled exercise might run into a problem when she stepped out of the darkness and spoke to the star performer. Still, the invitation to do it this way had come from Lee Li herself and she was in a position to dictate terms.

A more disquieting thought had already crossed Ingeborg’s mind: what if Nathan Hazael decided to attend the shoot and show support? She’d need to be ready to front it out with the man. She’d much prefer to meet him later, after she’d got to know Lee. Please God he’s in bed and asleep, she told herself. He’d have to be keen to put in an appearance at this hour.

Twenty more minutes passed and there were signs that the preparations were almost complete and the real business
of the night could begin—when the star finally deigned to turn up. Several of the floodlights were dimmed. At the aft end of the deck a group had gathered around someone who certainly wasn’t the star. Ingeborg guessed he must be the director. They were in a huddle under the only lamp on full power and there was a definite air of anticipation.

Closer to Ingeborg one of the grips spoke up in a distinctively camp voice. “Has anyone phoned to see if madam is on her way, do you think?”

“She’ll say she is, even if she’s in some nightclub. And when she gets here, don’t hold your breath. She’ll be in make-up for ages.”

“Where are they doing that?”

“Down below. The first class ladies’ boudoir.”

“Nice if you can get it.”

“Eat your heart out.”

Ingeborg was increasingly uncomfortable squatting where she was. She decided to take a walk along the port side, which was mainly in shadow and not being used, except for lengths of cable. If anyone challenged her, she’d tough it out.

She’d reached as far as the ship’s enormous black funnel when a car horn sounded below. She looked over the rail at the various vehicles parked on the dockside.

A white limousine had just arrived. Someone stepped forward and opened the door and a slight, dark-haired figure stepped out and looked around as if she had all the time in the world.

Attendants moved towards her. A camera flashed repeatedly. This was definitely Lee Li. She posed for shots before strolling towards the steps up to the gangway. The minders followed at a respectful distance.

It was a relief to Ingeborg that they didn’t include anyone with the body language of a gangster lover.

She checked her watch. 12:55
A.M
. That earlier estimate of her late arrival had not been far out.

Would it be a good move to approach Lee Li while she was being dressed and made up? Probably not. Between takes,
Sylvie had said. Cool as she appeared, the singer was no doubt nervous about the video shoot.

So it was a matter of more waiting, more self-discipline.

More promenading.

Perhaps forty minutes went by before there was another stirring of interest on the main deck. Ingeborg glanced towards the stern and spotted a cluster of people under a floodlight switched to full power. She couldn’t see the queen bee for all the drones. They spent more time fussing over her.