The Tooth Tattoo (31 page)

Ingeborg caught up with them and gave Diamond a nudge. ‘Guv, can I have a word?’

‘Presently.’ He continued to question Mel. ‘Can you recall what time of year you were there with the LSO?’

‘At this distance in time?’

‘I can check with their management, I expect.’

‘Why do you need to know?’

‘It’s all part of our investigation into the death of the Japanese girl,’ he said, not wanting to give more away at this stage.

They were crossing the white-painted cast-iron bridge over the canal, more than a mile from where Mari’s body had been recovered, but still a reminder of why they were there. Ahead, the path would end at the Loggia in front of Sydney House.

Ingeborg refused to be sidelined any longer. ‘Guv, we’re being watched.’

‘What?’

‘I noticed this hooded guy standing among the trees by the temple where we first met Mel and he’s been trailing us ever since, using the trees as a cover.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Not sure. I just caught glimpses through the bushes.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

She didn’t answer.

‘He’ll have to cross the bridge if he’s coming after us.’

Diamond said. ‘He’ll be out in the open then. Wearing a hoodie, you said. What colour?’

‘Dark blue.’

‘I’ll walk on with Mel. Why don’t you double back and see if you can catch him and find out what his game is.’ For Mel’s benefit he added, ‘Parks are favourite places for weirdos.’

Ingeborg did as she was asked. On the other side of the bridge she left the path and headed into the undergrowth to the right.

‘Will she be all right?’ Mel asked.

‘He’s the one who should be worried,’ Diamond said, glancing back. ‘She’s a black belt.’

They stopped to look. A minute or two went by. They’d lost sight of Ingeborg. The scene was peaceful. People were playing tennis on the courts to the left. A light breeze rustled the leaves.

‘There he is.’

A dark figure broke from cover and sprinted through the trees with Ingeborg in pursuit. At first the hoodie appeared to be heading across the open ground towards Beckford Road. Then Ingeborg cut the angle to intercept him and he veered in their direction again.

‘She’ll trap him,’ Mel said. ‘He won’t get over the canal.’

‘Dead right,’ Diamond said. ‘He’s had it.’

T
he hooded man was less fit than his pursuer. And unfortunately for him, he’d picked the wrong direction.

‘He doesn’t know he’s heading straight for the canal,’ Mel said. ‘You can’t tell from where he is.’

Diamond just folded his arms and watched.

At the end of the eighteenth century when the canal had been dug through Sydney Gardens the main demand of the committee was that it should be invisible to the promenaders, so it was sited at a depth of twelve feet. From where Diamond and Mel stood, its sinuous route was obvious, but you had to be really close.

‘Does
she
know it’s there?’ Mel asked.

‘Ingeborg? She was on the bridge with us.’

Gasping and flailing like a marathon runner in sight of the finish, the hoodie was no more than thirty yards ahead of Ingeborg. He covered the last uneven stretch and reached the stone parapet that was there for safety purposes. Now he would see the sheer drop.

Instead of giving up, or turning to fight, he didn’t hesitate. He bent low, gripped the top of the wall, heaved himself over, swung his body down and held on with his fingertips. For a moment he hung there. Then he dropped the remaining six feet or so to the towpath. He could have broken both ankles, but he didn’t. He bent his knees as he hit the ground, staggered a few steps and straightened up. Then he was up and running again, jogging along the towpath towards the north end.

Diamond put his hands to his mouth and yelled to Ingeborg. ‘Don’t try it. Let him go.’

She would have followed, but had the sense to obey instructions. Hands on the wall, she leaned over to see where her quarry had gone.

He was about to disappear into the long tunnel beneath Beckford Road.

‘It’s not worth it,’ Diamond called out. He’d walked that tunnel more than once with Paloma and he knew it wasn’t far short of a hundred yards.

He grabbed the mobile from his pocket and called Bath Central. He couldn’t really expect a patrol team to be close enough to arrest the stalker as he emerged at the other end, but it had to be tried. And even as Diamond was doing his limited best to describe the suspect, part of his brain was asking what crime the guy had committed. Threatening behaviour? Resisting arrest?

Not too convincing.

‘Who was he?’ Mel asked when Diamond finished the call.

‘If you don’t know, I’m sure I don’t. It’s you he was following.’

‘How do you know?’

‘It can’t be us. We only came into the gardens because Tippi told us you were here.’

‘D’you think he’s the Megane driver?’

‘I can’t think of anyone else.’

Ingeborg crossed the bridge and joined them, in a foul mood. ‘He was slowing up, for God’s sake. I could have caught him.’

‘You did okay,’ Diamond told her.

‘I’m not feeble.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Yes, but – ’

He knew better than to get into an argument about her physical ability. ‘It’s taken care of. I told control, asked for assistance.’

And she had the good sense not to persist. ‘What can we do him for?’

‘I want to know what he’s up to, that’s all.’

‘Me, too,’ Mel added. He appeared genuinely mystified by all the attention he had been getting.

They made their way back through the gardens to Forester Road, where Ingeborg’s car was parked. Diamond questioned Mel closely about the company he kept and whether he’d made any enemies recently.

‘I don’t have time to go out,’ he said. ‘It’s all rehearsals and tutoring.’

‘Who do you tutor?’

‘Music students. It’s part of our deal.’

‘Female?’

‘Some are.’

‘Could anyone be jealous?’

‘I can’t think why.’

‘Come on, Mel,’ Diamond said. ‘Even I know students get crushes on lecturers. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a man of the world like you to get his leg over.’

Mel shook his head. ‘No chance.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Look, if I want sex it’s on tap at my lodgings.’

There was a pause for thought.

‘It crossed my mind, I have to say,’ Diamond said, ‘but her mother seems to think she’s Snow White.’

‘Have you met her mother?’

‘No, I got that second-hand, but I’ve met Tippi.’

A nod from Mel was enough. No elaboration was needed.

‘Just a thought here,’ Diamond added. ‘Does Tippi have a boyfriend who might suspect you have home advantage, so to speak?’

‘She’s never mentioned one.’

‘She wouldn’t, would she?’

‘A jealous lover?’ Mel said, as if surprised by the idea.

‘It’s you he’s following now, not Tippi.’

Mel scraped the hair back from his forehead. ‘I hadn’t really thought about that.’

‘Better be on your guard. Up to now he seems content to watch you, but that could change.’

They were approaching the house and Diamond hadn’t finished with Mel. ‘What time are you leaving for the rehearsal?’

He looked at his watch. ‘In just under an hour.’

‘Because I’d love to see this valuable instrument of yours.’

‘All right.’

Mel had his own key. There was no need to bring Tippi to the door again. She wasn’t about when they went in. Probably getting dressed, Diamond decided. But he was mistaken. After they’d gone upstairs and Mel opened the door of his room, they found Tippi sitting on the bed with her feet up.

‘Wrong room,’ Mel said.

‘You don’t mind?’ she said coolly. ‘I was checking my nails.

The light’s so much better in here.’

‘I’ve got visitors,’ Mel told her.

‘See you later.’ In the act of wriggling off the bed to leave the room, she treated them to a view that was more page three than Snow White. Diamond thought she winked at him as well.

Mel wasn’t embarrassed. He’d explained the situation already. He reached under the bed and withdrew the instrument case.

‘I still can hardly believe this,’ he said as he unzipped it and opened up. ‘Four hundred years old, near enough.’

The Amati was a beautiful object regardless of its antiquity, the glazed wood almost orange in colour, the finger board and pegs darker.

Mel lifted it one-handed from the case. ‘Isn’t the graining superb? Would you like to hold it? Mozart himself could have played this. He was a viola player, you know.’

Diamond, congenitally clumsy and fearful of doing damage, put both arms underneath and cradled the precious thing Mozart may have handled.

‘Compare it with my own, and see the difference.’ Mel fished under the bed and came out with another case and opened it. This second viola was in a darker wood, but to an inexpert eye looked similar. ‘Mine is a William Hill, and pretty well regarded.’

Diamond occasionally placed a bet with William Hill, but doubted if there could be any connection.

‘It can’t live with this, can it?’ Mel said.

‘Well it has to, under the bed. Is that the best place?’

‘As good as any if it isn’t locked in a bank vault, and that’s not what the owner wants.’

Diamond handed the Amati back to Mel with the same sense of relief as the vicar at a christening. ‘What about the bow? Is that special?’

‘Oh, yes. It came with the instrument. The very best bows sell for about a hundred grand. I can’t tell you the maker of this one. I was so staggered to be presented with the viola that I forgot to ask. To be honest I’m not using it. Tough enough getting used to a new viola, so I still play with my old Tourte. If it’s comfortable and gives the sound you want, why switch?’

‘And the case?’

‘That isn’t special.’

‘I’ll take a look, if you don’t mind.’

Diamond picked the case up and turned it over. He was checking for clues to the true owner’s identity. He found none. Maybe ultra violet would have picked up some security marking you couldn’t see with the naked eye.

‘I thought Stradivari was the great violin man,’ Ingeborg said.

‘He made only about ten violas that survive, compared to five hundred violins and fifty cellos,’ Mel said. ‘He was said to be a pupil of the guy who made this. Nicolò Amati was the third generation of instrument makers in their family, and the greatest. Sadly most early violas have been mutilated.’

‘In what way?’

‘Cut down in size to something not worthy of the name viola. This one escaped, fortunately. I was told it dates from 1625 and that’s of interest because for some reason every almost other Amati you hear about is said to have been made in 1620 and some are fakes, so the date itself has to be regarded with some suspicion. To find one from 1625 gives it a touch more credibility.’

‘But there’s no question that this is the real thing, is there?’ Ingeborg asked.

‘Not to my mind. Listen.’ He picked up his bow and played a snatch of something neither of them recognised, but with a golden tone, warm and soul-stirring. ‘Can that be a fake sound? I don’t think so.’

‘Beautiful,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Will you ever go back to your other one?’

‘Not while I have the use of this. I don’t really feel it’s mine. But in a sense you never truly own a fiddle. It’s passed down over the centuries from one musician to the next, so you’re a caretaker.’ He replaced the Amati in its case.

‘Forgive me,’ Diamond said. ‘I know nothing about musical instruments. It’s hollow, of course?’

‘For the sound,’ Mel said with a tentative smile, uncertain if he was being sent up.

‘But it has these S-shaped holes.’

‘Known as f-holes,’ Mel corrected him. ‘The old-fashioned f looked like an S. The Amati family perfected the shape. It’s remained the same ever since.’

‘What if some small object was dropped inside – a cigarette, say, or a coin, or a ring. Would it affect the sound?’

Mel looked surprised by the question. ‘A hard object like a ring would rattle. I’d know as soon as I picked the instrument up. In fact I think I’d know if something as light as a cigarette was in there.’

‘My distorted way of thinking,’ Diamond said, continuing to play even more clueless than he was. ‘If someone wanted to ship drugs through customs, the inside of a violin or viola might be a good place to stow it. Mind you, a cello would be better still.’

Mel gave a prim response. ‘
Drugs
? That’s too far out for me.’

‘The holes are too small,’ Ingeborg said.

‘Just a thought, that’s all,’ Diamond said.

Like Mel, she didn’t think much of Diamond’s theory. ‘It wouldn’t fool a sniffer dog.’

‘Probably not.’

‘I can tell you something for sure,’ Mel said. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone interfere with this instrument.’

‘Good for you,’ Diamond said.

‘I’m not in the business of drug-running, anyway.’

‘And I don’t suppose you’ve ever indulged.’

‘No chance.’

‘Not while you’re stuck in Bath,’ Diamond said. ’But the South American tour might be a different story. Put that in your fiddle and smoke it. Are any of your fellow musicians drug users, would you say?

Mel grinned. ‘Can you picture it?’

‘They get their highs from Beethoven and Brahms, do they?’

‘And why not?’

‘Well said,’ Ingeborg murmured, confirming her high regard for Mel.

‘Is Colombia on the itinerary?’ Diamond asked. He wasn’t leaving this.

‘Not that I’ve heard.’

‘If a fellow in a sombrero called Speedy Gonzales offers to carry your case, don’t let him.’

‘I get the message,’ Mel said with a forced smile.

‘But in the meantime – and this is serious – if you get another sight of the stalker, let us know at once. No heroics.’

In the car on the way back to Manvers Street, Ingeborg said, ‘What was all that about drugs, guv? You don’t seriously think they’re a factor, do you?’

‘Testing the ground,’ he said. ‘There’s an extra element in this case that I doubt is music.’ He fished in his pocket. ‘I’m going to call control, see if they picked up our hooded man.’ He wasn’t yet managing one-handed, but he used the mobile more often these days.