armoury. Piece of cake. No big deal. Like me, you tucked the shooter away and almost forgot about it, right?'
'Who told you this?'
'You planned it well. Some time between February the twelfth and the nineteenth you took out your gun and put two bullets into Trish's head.'
Now Stormy decided a show of outrage was wanted. 'I don't have to listen to this crap.'
'You do. You don't know who's waiting outside,' Diamond bluffed.
Stormy glanced at the door.
'The timing of the murder is absolutely crucial -because she wasn't killed a couple of weeks after Steph was shot, but
He swayed back, squeezing his eyes shut as if it were a physical blow. 'You can't say that.'
'I know it. Trish missed her appointment on the nineteenth.'
The eyes shot open and real panic flashed in them. 'What appointment?'
'The hairdo.'
He stared blankly back.
'The shampoo and blow-dry. You were so cut off from her life you didn't know she went to Streakers every Friday. I've been to the shop and seen the book. She missed the next appointment on the twenty-sixth as well, when she was still alive according to you. And the one after.' They were hammer blows and Stormy was reeling from them.
Like any good fighter sensing the end, Diamond didn't relent. 'You're a detective. You've seen plenty of killers fail because someone discovered the body. You thought of a very good place where nobody walked their dogs. After shooting her, you drove the body to Woking and dumped it on the railway embankment where it wouldn't be found for months, if not years. Went home with the idea of waiting a couple of weeks before you reported her missing. Devious, that was - to confuse everyone over the date she disappeared, just in case they investigated your movements on the day of the murder.'
Stormy grasped the arms of his chair to get up, but Diamond grabbed his shirt-front and held him where he was. 'Don't even think about it.'
'Free country,' he said in a rasp.
'Not any more it isn't - not for you. You thought you'd got it all sussed after you disposed of Trish. You were sitting at home - back in the house you owned - when the phone rang and it was Steph, my wife, expecting to speak to Trish. Awkward. You said she was out and offered to take a message and it soon became obvious they'd arranged to meet in Bath to discuss the surprise party Trish wanted to arrange for my fiftieth. Man, oh man, that threw you, didn't it? Your plan was in ruins. You'd meant to wait another two weeks before doing your worried husband act and reporting your wife missing. But Steph would kibosh that. She'd say it was you she spoke to on the phone, not Trish. She'd say Trish didn't turn up for their meeting. She was trouble.'
A strange thing was happening to Stormy's face. The red blotches were standing out like a leopard's spots, separated by patches of dead white skin. His lips, too, were drained of blood. They didn't move.
Diamond leaned closer, still holding him by the shirt, his voice cracking with emotion. 'You decided to kill my wife, you sick fuck, simply because she got in the way of your plan. You'd killed once and it was easy, so you'd do it again. Am I right?'
Not a flicker.
'This wasn't done in the heat of the moment. This was premeditated, cold-blooded murder. You thought it through. When you'd worked out what to say you phoned back and told her you'd spoken to Trish and she'd asked you to confirm the time and place of their meeting. It was to be the Crescent Gardens, opposite the old bandstand, at ten. You drove to Bath and waited in the park. When Steph arrived, expecting to meet Trish, you walked up to her and took out the gun and shot her twice in the head. Then you got in your car and drove home.'
The eyes confirmed it, even if the voice was silent.
'By killing her, you kept your trump card, the chance to mislead everyone about the date of your own wife's death. You waited another two weeks before reporting that Trish was missing. And ever since, you've been doing your damnedest to lay false trails, insisting on calling her Patsy, putting in the frame every villain we ever crossed, sending me every bloody way but here. I took you for a friend and you're a bloody Judas, the worst enemy I could have had.'
The man had nothing to say. His eyes were opaque. He seemed indifferent, passive. But it was a trick.
Abruptly his two hands reached up and smashed down on Diamond's wrist, wrenching it away from the shirt. He stood, wheeled around and made a dash for a door at the back.
Diamond's reaction was slower than it should have been, partly because of where he was seated. The table tipped over and the glasses crashed as he shoved them aside and stepped out. Unfortunately he blundered into a bar-stool and stumbled to his knees. The door had slammed before he was on his feet again.
He charged across and yanked it open. He was looking out at the car park, and Stormy Weather was already climbing into the passenger seat of a white motor home driven by the woman in the blue dress. He must have given her the order to wait with the engine running.
Diamond sprinted.
The vehicle had revved and powered away before he made a grab for the door. He grasped the handle and had his right arm tugged almost out of its socket. Acting on impulse and anger alone, he held on, taking huge strides beside the cab, and jerked the door fully open.
A mistake.
He was staring at imminent death, into the muzzle of a gun. Stormy Weather, eyes wild with panic, took aim.
The bullet hit Diamond like a sledgehammer and he fell backwards and knew no more.
