‘I’ve seen you with a backpack and I wouldn’t call you a serious walker.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Mine is a fashion accessory.’
‘Does he work for a living?’
‘No one seems to know.’
‘See if he’s on the social.’
Keith Halliwell, when he returned from Tosi’s, had more to report. ‘Delia did her waitressing as usual on Tuesday, the night she went missing, guv.’
‘Did she now? But according to Dr Sealy she was killed Wednesday night or early Thursday morning, so where was she?’
‘That’s a mystery. I spoke to the owner, Signor Tosi himself. He said she was the best waitress he’d ever had, dependable, a lively personality and popular with the customers. He’s very emotional about the murder. Even wept a little while we were talking about it.’
‘What time did she leave after work?’
‘He thinks about eleven.’
‘Thinks?’
‘He’d already gone. His wife wasn’t well, so he left the restaurant early and his head waiter Luigi closed the place.’
‘Did you speak to this Luigi?’
‘I’m going back later. He’s on at five.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
Before that, he spoke to the entire murder squad, seated around the incident room. ‘The press are waiting downstairs and I’m going straight to them after this. What I won’t be telling them at this stage is that the victim was fun-loving, as they say, and not getting much fun from her partner. Ashley is so wrapped up in his work he doesn’t even notice when she isn’t home. She has a child-minder for her two kids, and they don’t fret when she’s away. Why? Because she’s done it before. She’s that kind of mother. She needs space, according to Ashley. We have no clue where this space was, and if it involved another man. We’re damn sure it involved someone else on the night she was strangled.’ He spread his hands. ‘Of course it won’t take the press boys long to work this out for themselves, but I want to start with the shock of the young working mum strangled at night and left hanging in the park. We’ll issue her photo and hope to get some feedback from the public. She was a waitress, so we’re sure to hear from people who remember her, who could have spotted her with a man in the hours leading up to her death. We may even get lucky and hear from someone who saw her with her killer. The phone lines are ready. It’s a crucial time and we’re up for it, right?’
The phone on his desk was beeping when he returned to his office. He gave his surname, as always.
A woman said, ‘Hi, Peter.’
He couldn’t place the voice, but she seemed to know him and she wasn’t going to help by saying her name.
‘Er, hi.’
‘So how was the cake?’
‘What?’
‘They did give it to you?’
‘Ah.’ The response was verging on ‘arrgh’ now he realised who was on the line. After the rousing speech to his squad he was in no mood for trivial chat with his secret admirer.
‘It was meant for you.’ She paused, and her tone changed. ‘The blighters. If they had it themselves, I’m going to raise hell.’ She was ready to go to war with the desk team downstairs.
He had to deal with this. ‘Oh — the cake?’ All experience told him to say the minimum, but he’d been trained in good manners since he was a kid. After clearing your plate you say thanks. He’d eaten the damned cake and forgotten it. Where was his gratitude? ‘Am I speaking to the lady who made it? Very tasty. The cake, I mean.’
She laughed.
He didn’t. He wasn’t trying to be amusing.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m not fishing for compliments. I know I’m not the greatest cook.’
The good manners took over again. ‘Everyone said it was the best. I shared it round.’
‘You should have taken it home.’
‘I did — what was left of it.’
‘Let’s not talk about the wretched cake,’ she said. ‘You’re not daft. You know who I am.’
‘Do I?’
‘The woman you didn’t meet at the Saracen’s last night. Did my letter put you off?’
‘It’s nothing to do with your letter, nothing personal,’ he said. ‘That’s the point. It can’t be personal because I don’t know you. And you certainly don’t know me, or you wouldn’t bother.’
She wasn’t giving up yet. ‘I told you quite a bit about myself in the letter.’
‘Yes, ma’am, and now I know you make a fine chocolate cake, but it doesn’t mean we’d enjoy a drink together.’
‘Why not? We haven’t tried.’
He was getting annoyed. ‘Because I don’t do that stuff.’
‘What stuff?’
‘Going out with women I haven’t met.’
‘But how do I get to meet you? I’d really like to.’
‘Sorry, ma’am, but it’s not going to happen. Goodbye.’ He hung up.
Confused emotions churned inside. He felt mean, heavy-handed, unchivalrous. She’d gone out of her way to be friendly and he’d slapped her down. But she had no right to demand a meeting. He was entitled to say no, wasn’t he?
He went straight out. There was serious work to be done. The little voice inside him said Diamond you’re a coward, walking away from the phone in case she tries again.
Peter Lovesey
Peter Diamond — 09 — The Secret Hangman
4
T osi’s was in George Street, up the hill from the police station. Halliwell suggested they walked there, but Diamond was panting like a bulldog before they reached the top of Milsom Street and he asked Halliwell to slow down. ‘You’ve made your point, Keith.’
‘What point is that?’
‘You don’t normally go as fast as this, do you? Man in my condition can’t keep up.’
‘Hadn’t crossed my mind, guv.’
‘I was fit once.’ He had to stop altogether on the corner. ‘There was a time when I played rugby for the Met every Saturday and trained two nights a week. Soon as I gave it up I put on the weight.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Halliwell said, trying to be charitable.
‘Look at me.’
There was no way of telling whether Diamond wanted to prolong the self-criticism, or was just too puffed to move on.
Halliwell tried again. ‘You’re a man of substance, guv. People don’t mess with anyone your size. Look at the way the press swallowed everything you gave them this afternoon.’
He eyed Halliwell, uncertain how serious he was. ‘Let’s see what they print tomorrow. Then we’ll know how much they took in.’ He started walking again.
It was a tiny basement restaurant under a travel agent’s. They were met at the foot of the stairs by Signor Tosi himself, a man whose immense bulk restored some of Diamond’s self-esteem. ‘I catch Luigi,’ Tosi said, as if his head waiter were a contagious disease. He waddled inside and shouted Luigi’s name and something in Italian about the carabinieri.
