Bloodhounds

'A soul-destroying job, I should think. Not even a proper diving assignment. It's only a few feet deep at the most. More like wading than diving. They weren't too thrilled, I was told.'

'Really?'

'It's a bit much, being left that long.'

'They were just getting on with the job, I expect,' she said casually. 'They didn't want one of us standing over them.'

'You're very loyal, Julie. Always have been.'

She forked some food into her mouth.

He didn't hand out compliments without wanting some return on them. The pumping started. 'How's it going? Is he getting anywhere with the murder?'

She answered with as much conviction as she could muster. 'We're following several leads.'

Wigfull allowed that claim to wither and die in silence.

'Personally,' he said finally, 'I'd have handled it differently. '

'Oh, yes?'

'I'd have given you more freedom to act. He doesn't delegate, does he?'

'If you don't mind, it's no business of mine to discuss Mr. Diamond's handling of the case,' she was quick to tell him.

'Yes, but what's your part in the investigation? Sitting in front of the PNC. Don't deny it. I saw you yesterday. You should be out conducting interviews, not stuck in front of a ruddy screen by the hour. That's a sure way to get a headache.'

She couldn't resist saying, 'I thought you were all in favor of information technology, Mr. Wigfull.'

He swayed to one side, as if riding a blow. He was still cockahoop over Diamond's lapse. 'You can say that again, Julie, but I wouldn't put my best DI on the job. We employ civilians to operate the hardware. Whose form were you checking? One of the Bloodhounds?'

'It was just routine,' she said, fencing as well as she could.

'Leaving no stone unturned, eh?'

'Well…'

He followed up quickly. 'The divers will vouch for that, poor buggers. They must have run out of stones to turn over.' This amused him vastly. The whole table shook, and he spilled some of his coffee.

Julie remained impassive.

He went on to say, 'He isn't a team man, is he? If you worked for me-'

'But I don't,' Julie cut in, wanting to put a quick end to this.

'Anytime you'd care to…'

'Thanks,' she said in a tone that made clear how unwelcome the prospect was.

Now the offer turned into a threat. 'It could happen sooner than you think. I sorted the stamp theft, didn't I? Proved that Towers was the man and showed how he did it. That didn't go unnoticed. Someone's going to give me a crack at the murder soon. They want a result.'

End of commercial. The talk turned to performance-related pay. Wigfull was one of the few at Manvers Street in favor of it. He had nothing to fear from appraisals, he said.

When she finished and was carrying her tray back to the collection point, Wigfull called after her.

She turned. 'Yes?'

'Tell your boss.'

'Tell him what?'

'What I said: 'Don't forget the diver.' '

That afternoon there was some rare autumn sunshine, and Shirley-Ann Miller took a slow stroll through Sydney Gardens and along the canal towpath. In the winter months this is a part of the city where you may walk for stretches without seeing anyone, yet once it was the fashionable place to be and be seen, a park you paid an entrance fee to visit, with a bandstand, grottoes, a labyrinth, and regular firework displays. It was all so cherished by the Georgians and Victorians that when the canal builders and railway engineers wanted to cut through, elaborate measures were insisted upon to disguise the construction. So there are tunnels, balustrades, and wrought iron bridges that are a credit to the planners, though rarely seen by modern visitors. Shirley-Ann was not the sort who looked for solitude, but after a morning doing her damnedest to hand out leaflets about the bus tour and getting not much response and a couple of vulgar suggestions, she wanted a break from people.

She had decided to walk as far as Top Lock, along the last, spectacular section of the canal before it joins the Avon. Here, after a wooded stretch, you suddenly look right and become aware that you are on an escarpment above most of the city except the church spires. That view always lifted Shirley-Ann's spirits. This lunchtime she would walk as far as the lockkeeper's cottage, a small gothic building of great charm restored by the Canal Trust-in no way as notable or noble as the sights she pointed out when she was giving her commentary on the bus, but pleasing to Shirley-Ann because she thought of it as a personal discovery. Today, however, she was distracted along the way by a discovery of a different kind. At Sydney Wharf Bridge, where George Street crosses the canal, the towpath switches sides. She climbed the cobbled slope on one side and passed over the bridge to rejoin the path by way of the descending steps by the Mercedes-Benz showroom. Her view of the towpath was hidden until she stepped onto it-which was why she was surprised by the man and woman coming towards her. She felt herself blush scarlet. The woman was Jessica Shaw.

Jessica, the murderer.

She did for Sid.

After the long, sleepless night when her mind had fizzed with the facts that pointed to Jessica's guilt, this was the last person on earth Shirley-Ann wished to meet.

Worse still, the man was AJ. Meeting Jessica at all was rotten luck; catching her out with her fancy man was a double blow from the fates. Of course she'd been sure in her mind that Jessica had something going with A.J., but up to now the liaison hadn't been paraded in front of her.

On the narrow towpath she couldn't avoid them without making it obvious.

They weren't actually arm in arm or holding hands, but so close to each other that they were practically in contact. Recognizing her, they broke off the earnest conversation they were having. Jessica said, probably in case AJ. hadn't spotted who it was, 'Shirley-Ann, what a nice surprise.'

AJ. half-lifted his hand in greeting and said, 'Small world.'

Shirley-Ann couldn't have felt more embarrassed if she had caught them in bed. She managed to say, 'Isn't this a treat? The weather, I mean.'

'Glorious.' Jessica seemed unfazed. In a short, wine-red padded coat trimmed with black fur, and with black leggings and ankle boots, she looked more suitably kitted for the cat-walk than the towpath.

Since the weather hadn't yielded much in the way of conversation, Shirley-Ann remarked, 'I passed some swans back there. A pair, with their family. At least five cygnets. Fairly grown-up, but really sweet.'

'I expect we'll see them, then,' said Jessica.

'They're worth looking out for, and the place is easy to spot. There's some pampas grass and a little wild area where they nest. They mate for life, don't they?' Dear God, she thought, what am I saying?

'I've no idea,' said Jessica evenly.

'Nor me,' said AJ.

Words, words in profusion, were Shirley-Ann's instinctive means of dealing with embarrassment. She had a horror of silences. She had to communicate something to get her over the mating-swans gaffe. 'By the way, I did enjoy the preview last night. A party like that must have cost you an arm and a leg- all the buck's fizz and the refreshments. It seemed as if the whole of Bath had crowded in there. I hope you sold lots of pictures.'

'We just about covered our costs,' said Jessica. 'An evening like that isn't only about the money you take. It's a way of spreading the word.'

'PR,' said A.J.

Jessica added, 'Most of them there last night have never bought a piece of work from the gallery and never will, but that isn't the point.'

'I understand.'

'It was a near-disaster, actually,' she went on. 'I'm still hopping mad about that vile thing that was written on the gallery window.'