A Death in Diamonds

‘Last week. Until the auction house contacted you about it, I had no idea it wasn’t still on the top shelf, in its box, where I’d put it. As I said in my statement, I didn’t see the description of the diamonds in the gutter press – we don’t read that sort of thing. When Bonhams got in touch, I was certain they must be wrong: it couldn’t be the Zellendorf. But when I opened the door to check, all my wife’s jewellery was missing, along with the tiara and a couple of rather valuable watches I’d inherited from my father.’ He looked helplessly at them both. ‘When exactly we were burgled, we don’t know, but we’ve had workmen in and out. My wife’s been redesigning the drawing room and bedrooms. I’ve given the names of all the relevant businesses in my statement. The safe was as I’d left it, externally. I keep one key on my fob and the spare at the bank. Neither was used. Whoever got into it knew what he was doing. It was an expert job.’

Darbishire could think of half a dozen experts off the top of his head who could do it. He’d never store anything truly precious in a safe like this.

‘How much was it all worth, do you think?’ he asked.

Seymour frowned at him slightly, as if such questions were improper. People this rich didn’t like to talk about it. ‘Oh, upwards of twenty thousand pounds,’ he said. ‘It’s in the hands of the insurers. They like to question the value of everything as soon as one puts in a claim. And naturally, they’re awaiting the result of your investigation.’

‘I’m sorry to hold them up.’

Seymour caught the barb in Darbishire’s voice, but didn’t rise to the bait.

‘I’m sure you’ll take as long as you need to,’ he said evenly. ‘You have my full support.’ He breathed out a small sigh and looked towards a group of cherry trees swaying in the breeze beyond the dining room window. ‘It does me no good either, to be caught up in all this. I realise how unconvincing it looks, that we didn’t know.’

‘Correct,’ Darbishire agreed. He checked his notes. ‘You said in your statement that the last time you looked in the safe was on the twenty-fifth, six days before the murders.’

‘Yes. I needed some paperwork.’

‘Your wife didn’t need her other jewellery in the meantime?’

‘No. She had her pearls out anyway. We only put them there when we go away. She rarely uses the other pieces.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, sir – why the tiara at all?’

‘Because of her fortieth birthday, as I told you. She was going to wear it to her party.’

‘But why a tiara?’

‘Isn’t that for duchesses and the like?’ Woolgar butted in. Darbishire had been searching for a polite way of putting it.

For the first time, Seymour gave in to annoyance. He drew himself up to his full height, which was still several inches shorter than Woolgar. ‘Because we’re going to America, if you must know. We’ll be guests at a ball and dinner with the Queen, the UN Secretary-General and the Governor of New York. I’d like my wife to be appropriately dressed.’

‘I’m sure she’ll look very nice,’ Darbishire said, momentarily forgetting that the diamonds were in a different safe now, in Scotland Yard.

Seymour had not forgotten. ‘She won’t be wearing the tiara. But yes, she’ll look as lovely as she always does. She doesn’t need diamonds. She never did.’

Darbishire caught Woolgar’s eye, and though his sergeant had the sense to say nothing this time, he knew what he’s thinking. Until now, the inspector had been far from convinced by the minister’s stated devotion to the wife he regularly cheated on with prostitutes. But something in the way he talked about her suggested it wasn’t impossible that this politician might, for once, be telling the truth.

Chapter 19

Joan woke with a start.

Was that the sound of a key in the lock? She sat up in bed, pulling the blankets around her. Moonlight streamed in through a crack in the curtains, casting an eerie glow over her new bedroom. It was full of unfamiliar shapes – but as her eyes adjusted she recognised these as her own clothes, draped over the furniture. Fully alert, she listened hard. Beyond the bedroom, a narrow hallway led down to the flat’s front door. For a moment, there was silence. Then she heard a quiet footstep in the hallway.

She was not alone.

She armed herself with the heaviest thing she could think of, which was the hard-edged alabaster lamp base from beside her bed. As she reached out to unplug it from the wall, her thoughts were rapid, and mostly regrets.

She shouldn’t have taken this flat, which was obviously too good to be true. The rent was minimal, and the place was smart, with fancy furnishings, a view of the river, and posh neighbours who wore mink coats and dined at the Ritz. The only catch was that it contained a second bedroom with a locked door that she’d been told she couldn’t use.