'You're lucky.'
'Oh, yes?'
'Or were you looking for early retirement?'
'A living death? No thanks.'
Keith Halliwell came to visit later in the day, a call Diamond appreciated. He brought with him a bottle of malt whisky and a Get Well card signed by everyone on the Bath murder squad.
'You should have been in the incident room when the news came through, guv. Mr McGarvie's face had to be seen to be believed. Not only did he screw up, but you got your man and Bill Bowers gets the collar. He's not a happy bunny.'
'If I could move my arm I'd wipe away a tear, Keith.'
'All I can say is it's lucky for Weather he isn't in our nick. What a weasel, cosying up to you when he'd murdered your wife. How could he do that?'
'It suited him nicely, Keith. When I first offered to work with him he back-pedalled a little, but after he thought about it, being with me he was beautifully placed to foul up the works. Any time another suspect was in the frame, whether it was Joe Florida or Wayne Beach or Dixon-Bligh, he said just enough to point the finger their way.'
'You must hate the man.'
'Hate is too good a word.'
'At least you got satisfaction.'
Later, after Halliwell was gone, he thought about that word 'satisfaction'. In earlier times a duellist was said to demand satisfaction for some offence. There had been none in catching Weather, nor would there be when he was sent down for life. It had mattered that he was caught. The law of the land would be upheld.
Satisfaction?
No.
Yet he felt less gloomy than he had at the lowest point. He would never admit to anyone that he believed in the supernatural. The words he'd attributed to Steph when he was lying in the hospital bed must have been spoken by one of the nursing staff. Must have. He'd been drowsy from some pain killer, hadn't he?
At the time, he'd believed every word.
Well, someone sounding very like Steph had said the job was done. He was comforted by that, whatever the explanation. In this savage world any comfort is worth holding onto.
