'Oh.'
'First, I want to tell you how sorry I am.'
'Thanks.'
'And any number of people asked me to pass on their sympathy and support. Everyone is gutted. You can be sure we won't rest until we've caught this jerk. Do you mind if I talk about it?'
'Feel free.'
'The bullets are with forensics. They'll check them against their database and tell us the class of weapon. I've asked them to give it top priority. Some kind of handgun was used, obviously, and I'm assuming it was a revolver.'
'Why?'
'There'd have been cartridges lying around if a self-loading pistol was used.'
'Not if the killer was careful.'
'Picked up the cartridges, you mean?' McGarvie was silent, absorbing the point. 'Well, there weren't any, I promise you.'
'The striker pin marks the cartridge differently with each gun,' Diamond said with the confidence of the weapons training he did in his time with the Met. 'Important to ballistics. A professional would know that. He might well decide not to leave them there to be found. I think we should keep an open mind about the weapon.'
'I intend to,' McGarvie said, stressing the first word. 'Otherwise not much came up in the search. Do you know if your wife normally carried a bag of some kind?'
A bag? He meant a handbag. Of course she carried a handbag. 'Black leather, quite large, with a shoulder strap and zip. Didn't you find it?'
'Nothing so far. Maybe you could look around the house and see if it's gone for certain.'
'I'll do it now.'
'No rush.'
'I said I'll do it now.'
'Okay. And I'd like to come to your place tomorrow and talk to you.'
'I'll come to the nick.'
'No, I'd prefer to visit your home, if you don't mind. That way, I'll get a better sense of your wife.'
He would have done the same. 'All right.'
'Is nine too early? If you can find a recent photo, we'll need to appeal for witnesses. Have you been bothered by the press at all?'
'Told them to bugger off.'
'If it happens again, tell them we're calling a press conference for midday tomorrow. Should get them off your back.'
'Thanks. Do you want me there?'
'No need at this stage. Is anyone with you? Friends or family?'
'I'm alone.'
'Would you like—?'
'It's my choice.'
He searched for that handbag without any confidence that it would turn up. Steph always took it with her if she went out. Just as he expected, it wasn't in the house -which raised a question. If the killer had picked it up, what was his reason?
Would a hitman walk off with his victim's handbag after firing the fatal shot? Unlikely.
It raised the possibility that the hitman theory was wrong, and that Steph had been shot by a thief.
He stood in the living room with head bowed, hands pressed to his face, pondering that one. Had she been killed for a few pounds and some credit cards? That would be even more cruel.
He called the nick and left a message for McGarvie that the bag was not in the house.
During the evening he answered the door twice more to reporters, and told them about McGarvie's press conference. And the phone rang intermittently. The word 'condolences' kept coming up. And 'tragic'. And 'bereavement'. Death has its own jargon.
But he was pleased to get a call from Julie Hargreaves, his former deputy in the Bath murder team - the best he'd ever had. Julie always knew exactly what was going through his mind.
When she'd expressed her sympathy Julie said, 'Let Curtis McGarvie take this on, whatever your heart tells you. He's well up to the job.'
'Have you worked with him?'
'Yes, and he's good without making a big deal out of it'
'Better than me?'
'For this case - yes. You want a result. If you handled it yourself, you'd get one, I'm sure - only for the CPS to
