Peter Diamond - 09 - The Secret Hangman by Peter Lovesey Read Free Book Online Page B

was a turning off Worple Road. The CID at Wimbledon had checked Dalton Monnington’s routine and he was due home at lunchtime.
    ‘What his line of work?’ Leaman asked.
    ‘Hot tubs.’
    ‘What – jacuzzis?’
    ‘He’s the West Country sales rep for a company called Give it a Whirl. Ho ho ho. Probably seemed a good idea at the time.’
    ‘I wonder if he’ll offer us a cut price.’
    ‘Dream on.’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind having my own jacuzzi.’
    Diamond turned to see if Leaman was serious. ‘Have you ever sat in one? Give me a six-foot bath I can lie in. And I like my water still.’
    ‘It’s not the same as having a bath, guv. You take your girlfriend with you and drink champagne.’
    ‘Is that what you get up to of an evening?’
    ‘I haven’t got one yet, guv.’
    ‘Girlfriend or hot tub?’
    Leaman didn’t have to answer. They’d found the street. Monnington’s house was a suburban semi like all the others, with a Honda on the drive in front of the garage. They cruised past two more and found a space to park.
    A woman in an apron opened the front door. Before they could wave an ID she said, ‘Hold on a mo. I’ve got a stir-fry and two boys on the go.’ She left them standing there and dashed back to the kitchen at the rear.
    ‘Sounds like cannibalism,’ Diamond said.
    ‘How long is a mo?’ Leaman said.
    Diamond spread his hands as if boasting about the one that got away.
    ‘Do we go in?’
    ‘Better not.’
    She was soon back, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
    Diamond showed his warrant card. ‘We picked the wrong time, obviously, but we came to see someone else. Dalton Monnington lives here, doesn’t he?’
    ‘What’s he been up to now?’ she asked.
    ‘It’s just questions. He may have witnessed something.’
    ‘Well, you’d better come in. He’s due any minute.’ She showed them into a front room with toys spread across the carpet. ‘Kids,’ she said, picking up bits of a plastic train set and throwing them into a cardboard carton. ‘There’s nowhere you can bring a visitor.’
    ‘Are you Mrs Monnington?’
    ‘Mrs? Some chance. Angie Collier, Dalt’s partner. Look, I’ve got to go up to the boys. They’re supposed to be tidying their room, but it sounds like a water fight. You don’t mind if I leave you to it?’
    Left alone, they tossed a few more toys in the box and looked at the photos on the cupboard behind the sofa. Angie with a baby in her arms and a young man, presumably Dalton Monnington, with his arm round her shoulders. Another in a gilt frame, one of those studio shots against a blue background, the two adults with the boys in front. Monnington had the black hair and brown eyes they’d heard about from Jenny at the hotel. Diamond decided he looked the part of the proud father, then asked himself how much you can really tell from a photo.
    ‘I wasn’t expecting him to be a family man,’ Leaman said. ‘Doesn’t chime in with what happened in Bath.’
    ‘We don’t know what happened in Bath,’ Diamond said on his way across the room to the window. ‘We may find out shortly.’
    A Ford Mondeo had drawn up behind the Honda on the driveway. Out of it stepped the man in the photo, wearing a striped shirt. He pressed his hands against the back of his neck and stretched and yawned as if to remove the tensions of work. He was home and his stir-fry would be waiting. He wasn’t to know two detectives were standing in his front room.
    He entered the house and shouted, ‘Hi, guys.’
    ‘Hi, Daddy,’ came in unison from above. Angie was heard running downstairs. It wasn’t possible to pick up her hurried exchange of words with her partner.
    Then he opened the front room door, well in control, the sales manner keeping any anxiety well hidden. ‘Dalton Monnington. You wanted to speak to me?’
    Diamond did the introductions and said, ‘It’s in connection with the death of a woman in Bath a few days ago. Delia Williamson.’
    Monnington’s first reaction was