Diamond Dust (5 page)

McGarvie was thorough. Every pocket of each coat, each pair of slacks, was searched, but he found no more than a few pence and some tissues. He looked on top of the wardrobe and beneath it and pulled the bed across the floor to see if anything was underneath.

'Bathroom?'

The search moved on. Mike James joined in and they went through each of the rooms.

On the landing, McGarvie glanced upwards. 'What do you keep in the loft?'

'She never goes up there. Can't stand spiders.'

They took his word for it, which was something. He had some police property up there, including a gun and ammunition. In his present state he didn't care a toss about being compromised. He just didn't want anything to deflect from the hunt for Steph's killer.

They took the search downstairs and still found nothing of interest. McGarvie looked at his watch. He didn't need to say he was thinking about getting to the post mortem. 'Did she keep an address book?'

'Yes, but you can't take that away. I'm phoning people all the time.'

'I'll have it photocopied. You'll get it back inside two hours, I guarantee.'

Her whole life laid out, as if for inspection. With a sigh, he picked the book off the table by the phone.

McGarvie handed it to Mike James. 'That's your job. Get it copied and back to Mr Diamond directly.' To Diamond, he said, 'Is it okay if I take that drawer from the bedroom?'

With reluctance, he gave in.

'And the box of letters? Trust me. I'll examine everything myself. Nothing will be passed around.'

It was the best offer he would get. He knew the way things were done.

7

H
e descended into limbo - or grief - drifting through the days without any sense of what else was happening in the world. He kept strange hours, often sleeping in snatches through the day and sitting up most of the night. Nothing seemed to matter. When friends called he told them he was all right and didn't want help. He rarely answered the phone and didn't open letters or look at the newspaper or listen to music or the radio.

It was a call from the coroner's office that ended this hiatus. All the forensic tests had been completed and the coroner was ready to release Steph's body for disposal. They needed to know which undertaker was in charge of the funeral arrangements.

Shocked out of his zombie state, he remembered his conversation with Julie Hargreaves, about putting his energy into giving Steph the sort of send-off she would have wanted.

'What day is it?'

'Wednesday.'

'The date, I mean.'

'March the tenth.'

'March?
More than two weeks had drifted by and he'd done nothing about it.

'I'll get back to you shortly.'

He snatched up the Yellow Pages and looked under Funeral Directors. The process took over. The same afternoon, clean-shaven and showered, wearing a suit, he went into Bath, from the undertaker's to the Abbey to the Francis Hotel, making decisions about black Daimlers and brass handles and orders of service and bridge rolls and chicken wings. He was functioning again.

8

A
wkward and totally out of his element he followed the coffin into Bath Abbey and up the main aisle. An early plan to use one of the apsidal chapels had been abandoned when it became clear how many wished to attend the service. Three to four hundred were seated in the main Abbey Church. The story of the shooting had featured for days in the national press and on television and people who had known Steph from years back had made the journey. The police alone numbered over sixty, among them the Chief Constable and three of ACC rank, as well as most of Bath CID and about twenty old colleagues from his years in the Met. The biggest contingent was of friends Steph had made through her work in the charity shops, customers as well as staff. There was her 'family' of Brownies grown into adult women. Then there were former neighbours from the series of places he and Steph had occupied in London and Bath.

The small family group of Steph's sister Angela with her husband Mervyn and Peter Diamond's own sister Jean and her eccentric partner Reggie looked and felt humbled by the scale of the affection represented here. None of them had known of Steph's gift for making lasting friends of almost everyone she met. Diamond knew of it, but even he hadn't expected them to come in such numbers.

One of the few who hadn't bothered to respond was Edward Dixon-Bligh, Steph's first husband. If he
was
in the congregation, Diamond wouldn't know. He'd seen photos, but never met the man. In view of the unhappiness of that first marriage, his absence would trouble nobody.

Julie's advice to make a fitting occasion of this had been spot on, though in his heart of hearts Diamond wanted it over. He'd taken leave of Steph already, in those wrenching minutes kneeling beside her damaged body in the park. The service in the Abbey was for her, because she had been a believer, and for everyone else who loved her and had faith that she was going to a better place.

At odds with his agnostic leanings, he joined in the hymns as well as he could and heard the address, the readings and the prayers and wished peace and rest for her. And then followed the coffin out again and was driven to the crematorium at Haycombe for what the undertakers had termed the committal.

There, not for the first time in recent days, he had the strange sensation that he was detached from what was going on, with the power to switch off as if it were a TV programme. Some roguish part of his brain was telling him it was all a nightmare and he would go home and find her there. He had to make an effort to concentrate.

All the illusions came to a stop when the curtains slid across.

Back to the Francis for the 'light refreshments'. The pitying looks and well-meant words of consolation from her friends - and his - rammed home the certainty that she had gone and his life had altered immeasurably.

A few went so far as to ask what was happening about catching the person responsible. He answered that he didn't know. The case was out of his hands.

In truth, he did know. Things were happening, for sure. There was an incident room. Appeals to the public. Over a hundred officers at work. They knew what time the murder had taken place and where, what calibre of gun had been used, what bullets. McGarvie's first reaction had been correct. The murder weapon was a revolver, a .38. But as for the killer, they were still at a loss.

'Are you back to work yet?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Best thing, old man.'

Next morning everyone at the nick went out of their way to be sympathetic. He had to run the gaundet of goodwill before he could close his office door. He didn't count the number of times he was told it was nice to have him back. On his desk were bundles of letters that could only be messages of condolence. He shoved them to one side and leafed through the internal memos instead.

About ten-thirty came a call from McGarvie, who had the sense to treat him like a fellow professional. 'If you can spare a few minutes, I need your help.'

'On the case?' He couldn't disguise his eagerness.

'Yes - but don't get me wrong. This doesn't put you on the team. I want your services as a witness, to take a look at a suspect.'

'A line-up?'

'No. We've brought in a woman we think may be the one who scratched your face outside the law courts. You can look at her on camera, tell us if we're right.'

'You think she could be the killer?'

'Did I say that?'

'You said she was a suspect'

'For the assault on you.'

'That? I don't want anyone done for that,' Diamond said at once. 'I haven't laid a complaint.'

'Hold on, hold on. It gave me a reason to pull her in,' McGarvie explained. 'I've no plan to press a charge.'

'Ah.' His brain wasn't sharp at all.

'We'll see what else comes out. If she's so passionate about the Carpenter verdict, she might say something helpful.'

'I'm with you now.'

'Say twenty minutes?'

His confidence in McGarvie was growing, in spite of the lack of any obvious progress. He fetched a coffee from the machine at the cost of another 'nice to see you back' from one of the civilian staff, and took it to the observation room, where you could monitor interviews.

The woman was being questioned by McGarvie and a female detective in Interview Room C. Diamond had to watch the screen for a while before making up his mind. The last time he'd seen this woman she was practically foaming at the mouth. Now there was no discernible aggression. She was in control of herself, if not entirely at ease.

But definitely his attacker.

McGarvie was saying to her, 'You don't deny you were in court?'

'That's no crime.'

'What was your interest in the case?'

No response.

'You're a friend of Jake Carpenter's - is that right?'

'If you know it all, buster,' she said with a flat nasal twang more London than Bristol, 'I don't know why you bother to ask me.'

'I'm giving you the chance to explain what happened.'

'Oh, sure.'

'You were also seen outside the court demonstrating - if that's the word - about the verdict.'

'It's a free country.'

'So you don't deny you were one of the people shouting?'

She showed more interest. McGarvie was making headway, even if she insisted on ducking the last question. She flicked some blond hair from her face, and tilted her chin to a more challenging angle. Defiant, but sexy. Meticulously groomed and fashionably dressed in a black suit and wine-red polo-neck. It was easy to see why Jake Carpenter had been attracted.

'Did you follow all of the trial?' McGarvie asked. 'Did you hear all the evidence?'

'Evidence? I call it a stitch-up.'

'So I'm told. Were you there right through?'

'Not every day. I couldn't stomach it, watching a fine man brought down.'

In the observation room, Diamond said, 'I feel like throwing up.'

McGarvie pressed on. 'What's the truth of it, then, in your opinion? The poor woman was violently murdered. Her face was raw meat when they took her out of the river. You wouldn't argue with that?'

'Jake ain't a violent man. He may have his faults, but he don't treat women like that.'

'The blood in his car matched hers.'

'Piss-easy to arrange, innit?'

'Watch it, Janie.'

'Some nutter killed her,' she said. 'She was on the game. It's a risk they take.'

'Jake was her pimp,' McGarvie told her. 'She flew the coop and paid the price with her life.'

'Your lot were out to get him, and this gave you the excuse.'

'Her blood was on his shoe as well.'

'Of course it was. A few spots in his car wouldn't do the trick. It stands out a mile what you did. You wrap it up as science and the stupid jury swallows it.'

They could have gone on like this indefinitely. McGarvie had the sense to change the script.

'How long have you known the Carpenters?'

'Seven months.'

'You're not local, are you, Janie? Where are you from?'

'Dagenham.'

'But you don't know Bristol very well, or you wouldn't be holding a torch for the Carpenter brothers. Where did you meet Jake?'

'Nightclub.'

'Local?'

'London.'

'And he brought you here and set you up in a nice apartment in Clifton? Did you stop to think what the price tag is?'

Her eyes blazed. 'Sod off, will you?'

'So it was pure romance,' McGarvie said with heavy irony.

'I'm not on the game. Never have been.'

'Nor was Maeve Smith before she met Jake. Get real, Janie. He's evil.'

'Take a running jump.'

McGarvie paused before shifting to another line of questioning. 'Who were the people you were with outside the court?'

'His mates.'

'Family?'

'Don't ask me. We just stood together to make ourselves heard.'

'You didn't know them by name? They were mainly women.'

'I told you.'

'One of the women attacked Superintendent Diamond, the senior detective on the case.'

She said vaguely, 'Oh, yeah?'

'Scratched his face and kicked him when he fell. That's assault on a police officer.'

'Serve him right.'

'What?'

The temper ignited. 'He framed my boyfriend, got him sent down for life. What do you think I'm going to do? Cook him a fucking fruitcake?'

'Are you admitting to the assault?'

'Bollocks.'

'You know his wife has been murdered?'

She switched to defence. 'Oh, come on - you can't pin that on me just because . . .' In time, she managed to stop herself saying any more.

'You appreciate how serious this is?'

'I never . . . It's a load of crap. Is that why you pulled me in? I wouldn't do a thing like that to my worst enemy. I didn't even know the woman. I don't have a shooter. I never handled one in my life.'

'Don't get hysterical,' McGarvie said. 'Listen, Janie. No one is pinning anything on you. I may even take a lenient view of the assault on DS Diamond if you can put me on the trail of the killer. What have you heard?'

'Now he wants to do a deal,' she said as if to the unseen gallery. 'I keep telling you, I know sod all about the murder of this lady.'

'Was it a contract job? You could tell me that.'

'Go to hell.'

McGarvie tried different tacks, but either she was too afraid to speak, or she knew nothing. Presently he broke off the interview and came out, leaving Janie and the woman officer facing each other in silence.

He came to the observation room. 'Well?'

'She's the one with the sharp nails,' Diamond confirmed. 'What's her name?'

'Mary-Jane Forsyth, apparently. Likes to be known as Janie. Twenty-six. No previous. Calls herself a beautician.'

'And what's your take on her?'

'She's small change in the Carpenter set-up. Doesn't know much. But she's been around enough to know I won't press charges for the assault on you.'

'You're going to let her go?'

'When I'm ready.'

'If you like, I could try and get a reaction.'

'Peter, you're a glutton for punishment. Thanks, but no. I don't want you involved, and you know why.'

'Are you going back in?'

'Yes, but you don't have to stay and watch.'

'Try and stop me.'

When the tape was running again, McGarvie resumed with a fresh approach. 'Did you visit Jake while he was on remand?'

'Course I did,' Janie said.

'You're still number one in his life?'

'He's always been kind to me.'

'Have you been to see him in Horfield Prison, since the trial?'

She shook her head. 'They don't get many visitors.'

'But you're his girl. He'd like to see you more than anyone else.'

'I expect I'll get a turn. His brothers want to go first and talk about business things. Family stuff.'

'I bet they do. Did they warn you off, then?'

'Celia - that's his brother Danny's wife - said I have to be patient and they'll let me know.'

'So you know that side of the family?'

'I met them once. They came round to Jake's place for a barbecue on one of them hot days in the summer.'

'Got on all right?'

'All right.'

'Was Celia one of the crowd you were with outside the court?'

'No.'

'And Des - the other brother?'

'I don't know him.'

'What's happening about your flat?'

'It's on a lease until next month. Jake paid six months upfront.'

'Generous. What are your plans?'

'I'll have to go back to London, won't I?'

It ended on that downbeat note. McGarvie went through the motions of warning Janie to respect the law in future and told her she wasn't going to be charged this time. If he'd entertained thoughts of using her, they were dashed. It was starkly clear she wouldn't get her turn to visit Jake in prison. She was history so far as the Carpenters were concerned.

Yet she was better off than Maeve Smith.

And Stephanie Diamond.

Diamond was summoned to the ACC's office early in the afternoon. Clearly there had been discussions before he arrived. Georgina was holding court with McGarvie, Halliwell and two others of DCI level in attendance. An empty chair was positioned centrally.

He had a sense straight away that he had walked into a trap. Georgina looked uncomfortable. No one looked at ease. 'Peter,' she began, meeting his eyes in a way that could only promise conflict, 'I don't have to tell you that the investigation into your wife's murder has been running for almost a month. We've put all the resources we can into it. Curtis here has been working long hours, excessive hours, trying for the breakthrough.'

'I know,' Diamond said with caution. 'I've no complaints.'

'That's good. Unfortunately, the results are disappointing. The obvious suspects, the Carpenter brothers, have very good alibis.'

'Can't fault them,' McGarvie chimed in. 'Everything checks.'

Diamond said, 'They hired someone.'

Georgina didn't challenge the statement. 'The theory of the professional gunman? Obviously that's high on the list.'

'Top of it. Must be.'

She let that pass. 'The most likely way we'll get a line on a hitman is through informants. We're asking all the sources we know, and the Met are making soundings as well, because it's more than likely - if it happened -someone was brought in from London. But so far, nothing has come up. Meanwhile, we must explore every other possibility.'