Diamond Dust (23 page)

'See what I mean about the figure?' the old man's voice piped up from behind the watching detectives. He must have finished his lunch and crept upstairs. 'Isn't that arse a peach?'

Diamond murmured, 'Haven't you got something else to do?'

'This is my time for a nap, but I can't get into bed with you here.' A strange fit of modesty.

Meanwhile the focus of all the interest was picking her way between the ruts along the track with the confidence of a regular visitor.

Diamond asked Stormy if he'd taken a note of the car's number. He had not.

'You're no better than he is, watching the floor show.'

She took a key from her pocket and entered the cottage. Diamond checked his watch.

Three minutes passed.

'Could be checking the answerphone,' he said. 'It can't take this long to pick up the mail.'

And shortly after, she emerged carrying what looked like letters in her right hand.

'We'd better get to the car,' he told Stormy. To the old man, he said, 'Siesta time.'

As the Alfa Romeo moved off in the direction of the main road to Guildford, they started up, Stormy at the wheel.

'I don't fancy our chances if she steps on the gas in that thing,' Stormy said.

'Keep your distance, and she won't have any reason to speed.'

'Which way do you reckon?'

'The A3 to London, I guess.'

Instead she turned south and immediately accelerated. 'Hope your motor is up to this, Peter,' Stormy said, putting his foot down.

Diamond braced. 'The motor may be, but don't count on the owner.'

'Got to keep her in sight. Do you think she spotted us?'

'She doesn't know us or the car. She's burning rubber for the hell of it.' He hunched down in the seat with arms folded, trying not to watch the speedometer.

They had some overtaking to do. Fortunately, the Portsmouth Road is as good as a motorway in places. Stormy drove with skill and nice judgement, getting the best out of Diamond's old Cortina, staying within sight of the Alfa Romeo without being too obvious about it. Right up the steep approach to Hindhead and the Devil's Punch Bowl the Cortina had power in reserve. 'This old heap handles well, Peter.'

'It gets good treatment - usually.'

'Who
is
this woman?'

'Never seen her before.'

'Heigh-ho, she's turning left at the lights.' Stormy jerked the car into the left lane and took the turn tightly, tyres screaming. They were now on a narrow two-way stretch through a wooded area, and she hadn't cut her speed.

'Think she's spotted us yet?' Stormy asked.

'I told you. She won't know who we are.'

'It's mutual.'

They passed more than one sign to Haslemere. 'We're still going south,' Diamond said.

'Now she's using a car-phone.'

'Bloody dangerous at this speed.'

'Maybe she noticed us.'

In another mile the brake-lights of the convertible suddenly blazed for no obvious reason. It happened twice.

'She's looking for somewhere to turn off,' Stormy said.

'Don't crowd her, then.'

When they crested the next hill the Alfa Romeo was no longer in sight.

'What the fuck . . . ?'

'Slow up, man. There's got to be a turn here,' Diamond said.

A narrow lane came up on the right, and Stormy did well to spot it and make the turn. They hadn't travelled more than sixty yards when there was a flash of metal ahead and another vehicle came fast towards them, so fast that they were forced off the hard surface onto a mud path, the wheels skidding and screeching against the wood of a low hedge. A white Mercedes with a woman at the wheel. A mop of dark hair in wisps, pale, staring face, turquoise top.

'She's switched cars.'

'Flaming hell.'

She was past, heading for the road they'd just left and there was nowhere to turn. Diamond swung around in his seat and watched the Mercedes through the rear window. 'Back up. Reverse.'

Stormy slammed into reverse and steered them back towards the road whilst Diamond strained to see which direction the Mercedes would take at the top of the lane.

'Right. She's gone right.'

'Say your prayers, then. We're going arse-out into the road.'

By a miracle nothing was passing when they did. Stormy spun the wheel again and they zoomed off in the direction the woman had taken. Two cars were on the road ahead. Neither was a white Mercedes.

'How did she do that?' Stormy shouted over the acceleration.

'Switch cars? Trying to shake us off, I suppose.'

'I didn't say
why.
I said
how.'

'Someone must have had it ready. That phone call from the car?'

'Whatever, she's left us for dead.'

They overtook the two cars. Nothing else was in view.

'Have you thought why we're risking our bloody lives?' Diamond said as they hurtled along well in excess of the speed limit. 'We're chasing a woman who might or might not lead us to another woman who might or might not be able to tell us the whereabouts of a man who might or might not have committed murder.'

'Want to give up?'

'No. Keep going.'

And persistence paid off. Around the next bend was a sign for road works and temporary traffic lights. In a few hundred yards they joined the end of a stationary line of traffic held by a red light. Three ahead was the white Mercedes.

Back in touch.

'Is it worth getting out?'

'No. We want to know where she's going.'

The lights changed and everyone moved again. It was sedate progress behind a container lorry, which suited Diamond. He was looking at signs.

'The next place of any size is Midhurst'

The driver of the Mercedes was getting impatient, repeatedly edging out into the oncoming lane for a chance to overtake the couple of vans and the truck ahead. Each time something appeared in view.

'She must have a death wish if she goes for it.'

'So what do we do then?'

The lorry peeled off into a layby and the vans eased towards the kerb, enabling the Mercedes to cruise past and pick up speed again. Nothing was approaching, so Stormy made the same move. Diamond cautioned him yet again to keep some distance back. They didn't have to be obvious.

Without any indication the Mercedes left the Midhurst Road at a right turn. About a hundred yards in the rear, the detectives followed, along a twisting, bumpy road through a dense wood.

'Pull over,' Diamond said suddenly. 'She's stopping.'

They slid into an overtaking bay with enough foliage around it to hide them from the road ahead.

'Think she saw us?'

'Who knows?'

'Let's get out. Don't slam the door.'

Diamond's legs felt as if he had run every yard of the trip from Puttenham, and he was mightily relieved to get his feet on the ground again. Dipping low, he trotted across a carpet of dead leaves to a place among the trees that gave reasonable cover. Stormy did the same.

They could see the Mercedes standing in a cobbled driveway in front of a large red-brick house. The woman got out, raked a hand through her hair, stretched, and stood looking along the road, probably to check that she'd shaken off her pursuers. Then she stepped towards the house. They heard a door open and close.

'So?' Stormy said.

'Let's get closer.'

There was a point where the wooded area ended and the landscaped garden began and it was surrounded by a ring fence six feet high that looked in good condition.

Diamond felt a nudge from his companion.

'What?'

Stormy was pointing at a video camera mounted on a post inside the fence and swivelling, scanning the area where they stood. They dipped out of view.

'Strong on security.'

'But you and I know that sometimes these things are just for show.'

Diamond decided on the next move. 'Give me ten minutes to size up the place,' he told Stormy. 'Better if one of us goes in first'

Stormy said he would wait in the car.

The only way in was through the front gate, so he used it, conscious that he was likely to be picked up by a camera. The surveillance equipment looked state of the art.

He crossed the cobbles to the porch and hesitated. To his left was a large, low, mullioned window with leaded panes. It probably gave a view of one of the front rooms. He stepped closer. Inside were two large sofas and a vast coffee table with a few magazines arranged symmetrically on it. He was reminded more of a dentist's waiting room than a private home. A door stood open at the far end and he was conscious of a movement and saw someone cross the space behind. Female, he was certain, and he assumed she must be the woman they'd been following. At least she wasn't sitting in front of a CCTV monitor watching his movements.

Feeling bolder, he decided to reconnoitre the place from outside. Keeping close to the wall, he edged around the side of the building.

Straight ahead was a sunroom with metal lounging chairs and pink and green cushions. It had an exterior door that he tried and found locked.

He was totally still when he heard the scrape of a stone close by.

He spun around.

She was right behind him, the woman they'd followed from Puttenham, legs apart, leaning slightly forward, hands in front of her in a martial arts stance. There wasn't time for words. He put up a hand defensively and she grasped it with both of hers and tugged him towards her. Totally unprepared for this, he lurched forward and suddenly she executed a twist, thrust out her left leg and he crashed over her thigh and hit the ground hard.

Fortunately he'd landed on turf, or he would have broken a limb for sure. Winded and shaken, he tried to raise himself. But the combat wasn't over yet. She threw herself on him and straddled him with her thighs, forcing him face down. She grabbed his right arm and yanked it across his back. He felt something cold tighten around the wrist, like wire. Then round the other arm.

He was handcuffed.

30

T
he lines on Joe Florida's face gave the lie to his dark hair. They were deeply etched around his eyes and mouth and no one would mistake them for laugh-lines. He was probably past fifty. And the striplight overhead lent that hair an unlikely reddish sheen. Seated opposite Curtis McGarvie and Keith Halliwell in an interview room at Shepherd's Bush Police Station, he was well aware of his rights. The clock was ticking. They could hold him without charge for twenty-four hours and it might be extended to thirty-six by an officer of superintendent rank or above for a 'serious arrestable offence', but he was entitled to eight uninterrupted hours of rest in the twenty-four. He'd already been in custody more than eight. There had been delays. His solicitor had not been in any hurry to get there. The police themselves were slow, hampered by being a hundred miles away from their incident room.

Curtis McGarvie had thought seriously about transporting the man to Bath, but that would have added hours, and the solicitor would have raised all kinds of objections. So they were doing it here.

McGarvie wasn't discouraged. He'd watched Florida's body language. The man was uneasy each time the questioning returned to the murder of Stephanie Diamond.

'Once more, what were you doing in Bath on Tuesday, February the twenty-third?'

'Get real, will you?'

'Answer the question.'

'It's a stupid question.'

'So where were you?'

'February was months back, for Chrissake.'

'Have you visited Bath this year?'

'For the tape,' Halliwell said, 'the witness is shaking his head.'

McGarvie tried another ploy. 'And if I said we have someone who saw you that morning?'

Joe Florida twitched.

The solicitor was quick to say, 'If you do have a witness, kindly inform us. If the question is hypothetical - as I strongly suspect it may be - I'm advising Mr Florida to ignore it'

McGarvie gave a shrug. 'It would save us all a good deal of time if Mr Florida stated where he was that morning.'

'He doesn't remember. I doubt if any of us could remember what we were doing on a precise date seven or eight months ago.'

'He does,' McGarvie said. 'It's obvious from his demeanour.'

And Florida twitched again.

She ordered Diamond to stand. Not easy when you're cuffed. Then she frisked him - expertly. She unlocked the sunroom door and prodded the small of his back. Inside, she pressed on the handcuffs and forced him to his knees.

'Face down again.'

He had no option.

The cuffs weren't the old-fashioned sort. They were steel wire loops that cut into the flesh, and they hurt. They hurt still more when she grabbed his right foot and bent the leg back and fastened it to the wrists.

'I'm going for the other one,' she said, and he realised she wasn't speaking to him. At the edge of his vision he could just make out a movement. A shoe, a trainer. He couldn't see who the wearer was.

A male voice said, 'Don't try anything.'

Some chance.

The woman was already gone. She knew about Stormy, too. The camera hadn't been for show.

He lay humiliated, in pain and confusion. It was bad enough being a loser, but to lose so pathetically was dire. The speed of the attack, its cold efficiency, had caught him off-guard. True, he wasn't in the prime of youth, but he'd always believed he'd give some account of himself in hand-to-hand combat. Joke. He'd raised one hand and been thrown and disabled by a woman half his size.

He still didn't understand why. The attack was overreaction considering all he'd done was stroll around the outside of the house.

All
he'd done? Being brutally honest, that wasn't all.

He'd tried a door handle, and that had been ill-advised. If you act like a house-breaker, you lay yourself open to attack.

Even so.

It wasn't long before he heard the door open and her voice ordering someone to get down beside him. Apparently Stormy hadn't put up much of a fight either.

Stormy started to say, '\bu don't have to—' Whereupon he was dumped beside Diamond.

'She surprised me,' he told Diamond.

The big man was in too much discomfort to answer.

He heard her tell her colleague, 'I can handle this now.' To Diamond, she said, 'I'm going to release your leg. Don't get ideas. I'm armed.'

The relief was exquisite. His hands were still bound, but blood returning to the veins was bliss.

'On your feet, both of you. I'm prepared to use this gun.'

With difficulty, they obeyed, and a sorry sight they made. Stormy's nose was streaming blood and Diamond's face was heavily smeared with mud. And they were staring into the barrel of an automatic. She was using the two-hand grip recommended on all the weapons training courses.

'Who exactly are you?'

Diamond darted a glance at Stormy, trying to convey that the truth was the best option now. 'Police officers investigating a crime.'

She almost snorted at that.

'If you look in the back pocket of my trousers, you'll find my warrant card,' he told her. 'I'm Detective Superintendent Diamond, and I work out of Bath.'

'DCI Weather,' Stormy chimed in. 'Mine's in my inside jacket pocket.'

She stepped forward, still holding the gun in her left hand, took the ID from Stormy's pocket and clearly decided it was genuine. 'This beats everything. What sort of police work is this, breaking into a private house?'

Playing it straight, Diamond explained that they'd gone to the cottage at Puttenham looking for Fiona Appleby, seeking information about her ex-partner, Edward Dixon-Bligh, who was wanted for questioning in connection with two murders.

'
Murders?

'Right.'

'My God, you've got some explaining to do.'

'Do you want to hear about that, or shall I carry on telling you how we got here?'

'All right. You saw me go into the cottage and thought I was Fiona?'

'No. You're the one who collects the mail.'

'You knew this?'

'We found out.'

'Who from?'

'The neighbour.'

She clicked her tongue at her own carelessness.

Quick to follow up, Diamond asked, 'So do you know what's happened to Fiona?'

She ignored that. 'Let's get back to this peculiar mission of yours - how two senior detectives come all this way to interview a minor witness. A DCI and a super? What am I missing here?'

One thing was clear: this young woman was well-briefed on police procedure.

'Before I answer that, who do you work for?' Diamond asked.

'That's not for discussion. I asked you to explain yourselves.'

'You act as if you're on the side of law and order. Are you?'

She hesitated, then nodded.

'Okay,' Diamond went on. 'Did you read in the paper about the woman's body found recently beside the railway embankment near Woking?'

She had. 'The ex-policewoman?'

'Right. She was Dave's wife, Mrs Patricia Weather. My own wife was murdered in a public park in Bath last February.'

Plainly she was unprepared for this. She said nothing, but her eyes widened.

Diamond explained more, trying to sound reasonable. 'Before you ask, we're acting on our own initiative. Unofficial, in other words. We have a common cause, as husbands of the victims. The main inquiry is going its own way, and Dave and I are not involved. More to the point, we're not satisfied, so we're following an independent line.'

'I've heard of these cases, both of them,' she admitted, softening her tone. She actually lowered the gun a fraction. 'You're taking a lot on yourselves, aren't you - going out on a limb?'

'Yes. We're out of order. But that's the answer to your question - why two senior detectives are out here trying to see a minor witness.'

'And tailing me?'

'Right.'

She took time to absorb what she had heard. 'You obviously believe Dixon-Bligh is a serious suspect? On what evidence -just that he's lying low?'

Diamond explained that Dixon-Bligh had been Steph's first husband and how they were linking him to the diary entries.

'Why? What's his motive?'

'He's skint. It looks as if he was demanding money from Steph shortly before she was killed. I interviewed him in London not long after the murder. I found him unhelpful and hostile.'

She turned to Stormy. 'And is the same man linked in some way to your wife's death?'

'We're not certain,' Stormy had to admit. 'Like Peter said, we're helping each other.'

'Surely it's up to the SIO on the case to pursue these enquiries?'

'If he had, we wouldn't be here.'

She was shaking her head. 'All this is so bizarre that it might just be true. You can sit down, but I'm keeping the cuffs on you.' She waved them towards a couple of wicker armchairs.

'You asked if I have a link with the police, and I do,' she told them. 'I'm in SO10, the Witness Protection Unit. I have the rank of inspector. I 'm guarding Fiona Appleby.'

'She's alive, then?' Diamond said, encouraged.

'In the next room watching television.'

'For her protection?'

'Yes. This is a police house - a safe house.'

'Who are you protecting her from?'

'Dixon-Bligh?' Stormy suggested.

She didn't answer.

'I see the answer in your eyes,' Stormy pressed her. 'You can trust Peter and me, love. Dixon-Bligh is the enemy, isn't he?'

Diamond cringed at the endearment, but to his mystification, it worked. The doughty DO10 inspector gave Stormy a look that was almost a wink.

'And others.'

She was clearly reluctant to say more, though all the aggro had disappeared.

Whatever it was that was working for them, Stormy was going to milk it. 'Listen, love, what's your first name?'

She balked at that.

'Make one up, then.'

'Gina will do.'

'Gina - that's nice. And I'm Dave. He used to call me Stormy, but he's more respectful these days.' He grinned. 'Gina, there's an "all units" out on Dixon-Bligh. Did you know that? The Met have been looking for him for the past two weeks. If you know this bozo is dangerous, don't you think there might be a tie-in with the two murders?'

She shook her head. 'There's no connection I know of.'

'Maybe we can put you right on that.'

Now Diamond chimed in. 'Hold on, Dave. Gina, you just told us Fiona Appleby is under special protection. What's special about her? I thought she was just someone who was living quietly in a Surrey village because her restaurant failed.'

'That's true. She's an innocent woman caught up in events outside her control.' She stopped speaking, as if reminded she was giving too much away.

Diamond tried gentle persuasion. If it worked for Stormy, why not for him? 'If you could see your way, there are things we'd dearly like to ask her.'

'No chance.'

'She has vital information.'

'Do it through official channels.'

'We're not official, Gina. We're very unofficial, as I just explained. But you want to stop Dixon-Bligh from harming anyone else and so do we. This is crying out for co-operation.'

'In your dreams.'

Diamond simply didn't have his companion's charm.

Stormy applied more of it. 'Gina, we have something to trade.'

The smile returned. 'Oh, yes?'

'Information no one else can give you. Think about it: this pain in the arse Dixon-Bligh was once married to Peter's wife. Peter can tell you all about his old haunts, the places he thinks of as safe, the contacts he has. Isn't that right, Peter?'

'Well—'

'Between us, we can find him, but we need to speak to Fiona.'

She looked tempted, then adamant. 'It can't be done.'

'It can, my dear, if she's only in the next room.'

'I don't have the authority.'

'You want an order from an officer of higher rank?'

She smiled faintly. 'Not you. Nor him.'

'Your guvnor.'

'How would you know who my guvnor is?' She was almost flirting with Stormy.

'Ways and means, darling, ways and means. What if your guvnor gets to hear that two old gits in a clapped-out Cortina followed you all the way from Puttenham to your safe house?'

A muscle flexed at the edge of her mouth.

Stormy said, 'You won't forget to report it, will you?'

She didn't answer.

'You don't have to, honey - so long as we keep our mouths shut. But if we boast about it to our friends, you can be sure the one person you don't want to hear the news will get it from the old bush telegraph.'

'You're not threatening me, I hope?'

'Far from it.' Diamond chipped in and raised the stakes still more. 'This is big-time for you. You caught us snooping and overpowered us. Under questioning we admitted we were senior police officers. Then you found we had significant information. Back of the net.'

Now the eyes were moving anxiously. 'You'd say that?'

'Sure - as a trade-off.' He turned to Stormy, who was nodding.

She thought in the silence. There seemed to be deeper impulses at work here, matters outside Diamond's power to persuade. Her voice shook a little as she said, 'All right. You can meet her if you wish, since you've gone to such lengths to find her.'

'Thanks.'

'Trussed up, as we are?' Stormy said, pushing the concessions as far as possible.

'I didn't say shake hands with her.'

'Gina, look at the state of us. We're a scary sight. Don't you think you should let us clean up first?'

A sigh. 'All right. There's a bathroom nearby. But don't get the idea I've caved in. I'm going to have to report all this.'

'We'll take our chances.'

'I'm the one who's taking chances.'

She had keys attached to her belt, and she unlocked the handcuffs and escorted them to the bathroom and watched them clean up.

'Straight through the hall.' Still far from comfortable with what they had talked her into, she made sure she didn't turn her back on them. She'd slipped the gun into a holster at her waist. She was well capable of dealing with any aggression. 'Last door.'

So it was Diamond who opened the door at the end and admitted them to a sitting room where a small woman in a black tracksuit was curled on a sofa watching TV. Fiona Appleby was in her forties probably, with hair streaked with silver. She picked up the remote and switched off the power.