Diamond Dust (10 page)

'Why?'

'For privacy. Or maybe she intended to call, but "T" called her first. There won't be any record of incoming calls.'

'I think it's more likely the diary entries are forgeries. Manufactured evidence.'

'Oh, come on.'

'An attempt to deflect attention.'

'It's Steph's handwriting, for Christ's sake.'

'I wouldn't call it handwriting. Most of the entries are printed.'

'Her printing, then.'

'Easy to fake.'

Diamond gave an exasperated sigh.

McGarvie added, 'You had plenty of time to work on it'

'The diary was in the bloody handbag in the stone vase in the park.'

'That's open to question. Our search team didn't find it.'

'Because they didn't look in the right place.'

'They tell me they did.'

'They're covering their arses. Ask Warburton. He slung the bag in there.'

'He's a dipso. His memory isn't reliable.'

'He remembered enough to tell me.'

'So you say. You didn't pass the information on to us. That bag was potentially crucial evidence and you recovered it yourself, if your account is true, with no witness. Hours later, you handed it in.'

'I told you at the time, I looked at what was inside.'

'Did you write anything in the diary?'

'Did I
what?'

'You heard me.'

'Oh, get away! You're losing it, McGarvie.'

McGarvie reached for the package containing the gun and drew it back across the table like a gambler who has scooped the pool. 'The next step is to have this test-fired and see if the rifling matches the bullets found at the scene.'

'You really want to stick this on me, don't you?' Diamond said. 'Have you given any thought at all as to
why
I would murder my wife?'

McGarvie was unfazed. 'Why would anyone murder her? She appears to have been a popular, charming, inoffensive woman. If anyone has a reason, it's you, and it's well hidden. I don't know what happened in your marriage, but it'll come out - unless you want to open up now.'

'You disgust me.'

'In my shoes, you'd think the same, Peter. The husband has to be the number-one suspect, and when he brings suspicion on himself, you act.'

A telling comment.

Diamond said bleakly, without conceding anything, 'What happens now?'

'I'll get you to write a statement about the gun. When ballistics have checked it, we can talk again. I'm not going to hold you here.'

'Am I supposed to be grateful? In the meantime, the real killer is laughing up his sleeve.'

'We're pursuing every possible lead.'

'Oh, sure.'

'Interview terminated at four twenty-six.'

14

T
he phone was going when he finally got home after six. He'd had all the hassle he could take for one day, so he didn't pick it up. They'd give up presently. He and Steph had experimented with an answerphone for a time. It hadn't survived long. It was faulty (or, more likely, his attempt to install it was faulty) and kept running the messages into each other. You'd get a 'Hi, Diamonds' from Steph's sister and then a male voice would come in selling double glazing, followed by the tail end of a message about a parcel some unknown firm had been trying to deliver for days. He'd ripped out the contraption in a fury and plugged in the simple phone they'd used before.

He took a brief look around. A search team executing a warrant was supposed to do its work with 'minimum disruption'. The door of the living room wouldn't open over the rucked-up carpet, the pictures were still off the walls and the drawers in the wall unit wouldn't close and were in the wrong places. Steph would have spent the evening straightening up. He ignored the mess. Out in the garden, he stood looking balefully at the place where the tin box containing the gun was supposed to have been found. No use denying there was a hole in the ground. One more weird twist to this nightmare. He had no explanation. His world had gone so crazy that he actually asked himself whether he could have buried the gun himself and wiped the episode from his memory. So much had been squeezed into the five weeks since Steph's death that certain things already seemed remote, if not unreal. Why would he have wanted to hide the gun - unless his brain had flipped and he'd done the unimaginable thing he'd been denying?

'Christ, no,' he said aloud. 'You may be so dumb you couldn't find your arse with two hands at high noon, but you would never hurt Steph.'

He returned indoors and the phone started again, so he lifted the receiver and clicked it dead. Made himself tea and tried to decide if he could stomach beans on toast again.

The cat wanted to eat, for sure. It pressed against his leg, making piteous sounds. He opened a tin and put down some food.

Then the damned phone went again. 'You're bloody persistent, whoever you are,' he said before finally putting it to his ear. 'Yes?'

'Where have you been?' a familiar voice asked. 'I've been trying to reach you for days.'

'Julie. If I'd known it was you . . .'

'Great! You just let it ring, do you? What if it was a real emergency instead of an old oppo wanting to know how you're coping?'

'What do you mean - "a real emergency"? Don't you think I'm in a real emergency already?'

'Still getting to you, is it?' Julie's voice sounded more concerned. As his deputy until a couple of years ago, she knew all about his mood swings. They'd led in the end to her request for a transfer to Headquarters.

'I'm up shit creek, Julie. The prime suspect. They searched my house this morning, with a warrant - would you believe? - drove me to the station and put me through the grinder. McGarvie thinks I'm Dr Crippen.'

'How ridiculous. Whatever for?'

He told Julie about the gun.

'That
is
a facer,' she agreed. 'Whatever possessed you to keep a gun? Oh, don't bother. What are they doing? Testing it?'

'Yes, and when it turns out to be the murder weapon, I'm screwed.'

'How could it be?'

'You tell me. I didn't expect it to turn up in a tin box in my garden.'

'You think someone is trying to frame you?'

'Trying? It's done and dusted.'

'McGarvie wouldn't stoop to that. You may not like him, and I understand why, but he's honest.'

'And so wide of the mark, Julie. He should be out there catching the real killer instead of breathing down my neck.'

'Yes,' she admitted. 'I thought he was going to make a fist of this. I misjudged him.'

'You're not alone.'

'But I told you he was good. I'm sorry.' She tried sounding a brighter note. 'What about you? I bet you haven't been sitting on the sidelines these last weeks. What have you dug up?'

'Sweet f.a., apart from Steph's diary' He told her how he'd tracked it down with the help of the wino, Warburton, and how McGarvie was alleging that the entries relating to 'T' were faked.

'That man has certainly got it in for you. How did you get up his nose?'

'You know me, Julie. A touch hot-headed.'

'Only a touch?'

He sensed that she was smiling.

She asked, 'What else have you been up to?'

'I'm still convinced this was a contract killing. I called on one of the Carpenter brothers - Danny. I can hear you saying "That wasn't wise", and you're right. He'd think nothing of topping me. He's bitter aboutJake, never mind that the toerag got what he deserved. But Danny Carpenter wouldn't see the point in having Steph killed. That's too devious for him.'

'You count him out?'

'Unless there was some motive I'm not aware of.'

'But who else would hire a gunman?'

'I've been over that many times, Julie. McGarvie took me through all the cases I've had anything to do with in Bath and Bristol. Most were domestic. No one fits the frame.'

'How about earlier - when you were in the Met?'

'Bloody long time to harbour a grudge. More than ten years. It's true I came up against professional criminals more often in those days. But, Julie, the hard men think like Danny Carpenter: if they wanted to hit me, I'm a big enough target.'

Julie asked suddenly, 'In your time with the Met, did you ever rub shoulders with a DCI Weather?'

'Say that again.'

'Weather.'

Anything outside the focus of his attention was an effort to take in. 'In the Met, you said? There was a copper of that name at Fulham. We called him Stormy, of course. He could be the same guy. Chief Inspector now, is he? Why — have you met him?'

'No. His wife is missing. She's ex-police. A sergeant at Shepherd's Bush until a year or so ago. Pat Weather. I read about her in one of those Scotland Yard bulletins that get sent out - the ones you never bother with.'

'How long has she been gone?'

'More than a week.'

'Problem in the marriage, I expect.'

'I just thought I'd mention it. If some evil-minded crook was looking for a way to settle old scores, he might be targeting detectives' wives.'

He weighed the suggestion. 'You think this missing woman is dead?'

'I just wonder.'

'It's a big assumption, Julie.'

'At this point, yes. But if anything
has
happened to her . . .’

'Let's hope not, for both their sakes. But thanks. I'll keep tabs on this one. Stormy Weather. Right now I don't remember anything about the guy except his nickname, but he could have been involved in cases I was on. Let's see how it plays. Can't call him with the news that my wife was murdered when he's hoping his is still alive.'

'So what are your theories about the diary?' she asked him.

'This T"? I'm foxed. Can't link it to anyone. And not for want of trying. I've been through our address book as well as Steph's.'

'If it's the killer, you can bet you won't find the name in your address book.'

'Right. The odds are on a new contact.'

'Does McGarvie have any leads?'

'I told you. McGarvie has convinced himself I forged the diary entries as some kind of red herring. Working out who "T" might be is not high priority.'

'Are you certain it's Steph's writing?'

'No question. It's printing, actually, but she often wrote things like that.'

'You made a copy?'

'Yes.'

'Then I think you should put all your efforts into cracking this one.'

'Tell me about it!'

'Maybe the people in the charity shop heard her mention something.'

'I'll give it a go. I drew a blank at the hairdressers'.'

'You'll crack it, I'm confident of that. Could "T" stand for a surname?'

'If you ask me, Julie, it's invented. The killer isn't going to give his real name, is he?'

'Depends. If it was someone she knew already, they wouldn't use a false name.'

'Good point. Actually, I can't see it being a surname. Steph liked to be on first-name terms with everyone. I reckon if she met the Queen, she'd be calling her Liz in a matter of minutes. I tried going through all the Christian names from Tabitha to Tyrone, but I'm convinced this is someone I haven't heard of.'

'Nicknames? Taffy? Tich? Tubby?'

'Those, too. I won't give up. I just have to cast the net wider.'

She asked how he was coping with living alone and he told her everything was under control, at the same time eyeing the curtain the search team had tugged off the rail. Why burden Julie with his problems? She didn't want to know that he hadn't slept properly since it happened, that he still reached across the bed for Steph, expecting the warmth of her smooth skin, and still ached for her wise advice, her marvellous gift of defusing the troubles he faced.

'Raffles has taken it harder than I have.'

'Poor old Raffles.'

'Cats aren't so forgiving as humans. He didn't like his litter box being searched.'

'That's a liberty.'

'Hasn't used it all day.'

'Where does he go?'

'Outside when I open the door - at the double.'

She laughed. 'At least they dug a hole for him.'

'You haven't seen the size of the hole. For a cat it would be like squatting over Beachy Head.'

'And you still can't think how the gun got from the loft to the garden?'

'No idea. That's something else I need to find out.'

'You ought to get the locks changed.'

'I should. There's plenty to keep me busy.'

'You're going to need some domestic help. A cleaner.'

'I'll cope, thanks. Life is complicated enough.'

'A cleaner would simplify it.'

'I can manage without.'

'You were always too stubborn for your own good.'

'Thanks, Julie. I'll have that on my tombstone.'

'No, there's a better epitaph than that,' she said.
'"Stuff
'em all"
Good luck to you, guv.'

He was starting to speak his thoughts aloud. A bad sign, so he'd always heard. Worse, he was speaking to Steph as if she were there in the room.

'You've got some explaining to do, my love. Either you buried that shooter yourself, or you know who did. I don't see a sign of anyone breaking in. It happened while you were here, didn't it? But why, Steph?'

He'd never told her he'd kept the revolver all those years. She didn't know the threats he was under when he left the Met. That was why he'd hidden it in the loft where she hardly ever went because of her fear of spiders.

'Well, now,' he continued, as if she were standing in the room. 'Just suppose you
did
go up there for some reason and found the damned thing. You must have been deeply shocked. You hated guns and weapons of all kinds. It would get to you, having a handgun in the house. So I guess you may have decided you couldn't live with it. I can understand that. I can even understand you thinking of burying it. What I just can't fathom, Steph, is why you didn't mention it to me. I was secretive, yes, and I'm sorry for that, more sorry than I can say. But you were always open about everything. You would have told me, wouldn't you?'

He filled the silence with a sigh.

There was something else she hadn't told him. She hadn't mentioned a word about T' - whoever that was. There were three references in the diary to this 'T'. Two phone calls, and the meeting in the park, all in the two weeks prior to her death. And she'd had her hair done specially. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was so unlike Steph. Maybe she didn't think it was important enough to mention. Was that a reasonable assumption? If'T' was a woman friend, for instance, someone Steph knew well, and not a man, as the demons in his head kept whispering, might she have made these diary entries without saying a word about it?

Unlikely. She
always
told him things.

At best, she had acted out of character. At worst, there was a secret liaison with someone who turned out to be a killer.

And now, instead of talking to Steph, he turned on himself. 'You're a flake, Diamond. You're starting to mistrust her. While she was alive, she never gave you a moment's uncertainty. She was loyal right to the end. How can you think this way?'