Diamond Dust

'Night-things? Day clothes?'

'I see. The things she was found in, apart from the raincoat and scarf.'

'So you drove here, to work?'

'Yes.'

'Arriving at what time?'

'Must have been before nine. I didn't check exactly. Ten to?'

'It takes you that long?'

'The traffic is heavy that time of day.'

'Which way did you enter the building?'

'From the car park.'

'Using the back stairs?'

'Does it matter which stairs I used?'

'Anyone see you arrive?'

'I've no idea.'

'You didn't pass the time of day with anyone, in the car park, or coming upstairs?'

'Don't remember.'

'Okay. Where did you go?'

'My office.'

'Without speaking to anyone at all?'

'You asked that already.'

'And then?'

'Took off all my clothes, stood on my head and recited The Charge of the Light Brigade. For the love of God. What does anyone do when he comes into his office in the morning? Opens the window, looks at the stuff on the desk, kicks the wastepaper basket. One day is like another, and I can't tell you what I did.'

'Perhaps you used the phone?'

'First thing? I doubt it.' Eyes closed, he made an effort to think back. 'At some point I was called by Helen, the ACC's PA, and asked upstairs.'

'We know that.'

'Then you don't need to ask. And you know what time it was.'

'Shortly after eleven. Were there any callers prior to that?'

'Not that I remember.'

'In short, you can't name anyone who can place you at work in your office between nine and eleven o'clock.'

'Someone could have come in. I don't recall.' He was in difficulty with this line of questioning. Everything prior to Steph's murder was very hazy indeed. It was almost like the after-effect of concussion, with the trauma blocking out everything. He hadn't expected to be questioned about it, and until now hadn't given a thought to what he had been doing.

'Two hours, alone in your office?'

'Things were quiet in CID. I was keeping my head down. If you show you're at a loose end in this place you get dumped on.' Having said this, he knew it wouldn't win any sympathy from Georgina, but it was the truth and he was too far gone to care. Georgina was tight-lipped.

McGarvie drew his right hand slowly across the table as though testing for dust and pressed his palms together, rubbing them lightly. He was ill at ease, and his next question showed why. 'Forgive me. I have to ask this. Was your marriage in good shape?'

Diamond heard the words, played them over in his head, and had an impulse to grab the man by the shirt and head-butt him. He'd asked the same insulting question when he came to the house. This was bloody incitement.

Then Georgina chose to come in with her smooth talk, learned in all those management courses for high- ranking officers. 'You appreciate that we need to know for sure. It is a legitimate question, Peter.'

Legitimate? It was a bastard question, and they knew it. 'I didn't have any reason to shoot my wife, if that's what you're asking.'

'No,' McGarvie said, 'that isn't what I asked.'

He pressed down on his legs to stop them shaking. The stress had to break out some way. 'Steph and I were happy together, happy as any couple can be. Is that what you want to hear?'

'Do you own a gun?'

Another crass question. He hesitated before answering, 'No.' It was the truth . . .just about. The Smith & Wesson revolver in his loft at home was police properly, acquired years ago when he worked in London.