Diamond Dust

top pocket. 'You heard what happened to my wife?'

'It was in all the papers, wasn't it?' said Bernie, a twitchy, under-nourished ex-con in a Bristol Rovers shirt. 'Wouldn't wish that on anyone.'

'It was done by a pro.'

'You think so?'

'I was going to ask John Seville if he'd heard a whisper about a hitman.'

'Was you? Well, he's not around.'

Diamond fingered the note in his pocket. 'I could ask you, couldn't I?'

Bernie shrugged and took a sip.

'Who do the Carpenters use - their own men, or someone down from London?'

'What - for a contract?'

'Yes.'

'Job like that - I'm talking theory now - she was gunned down in broad daylight, I heard - job like that doesn't look like a local lad. There's no one I can think of in Bristol.'

Diamond took the folded banknote from his pocket and placed it on the table with his hand over it. 'I could show appreciation, Bernie, if you put out some feelers.'

'Bloody dangerous.'

'You can't help me, then?'

'It'll cost you.'

'This is personal. It's worth it' He took his hand off the banknote and revealed a crisp new fifty. He lifted it and the twenty was underneath. He returned the fifty to his pocket and slid the twenty across the table. 'I'll be in again Friday or Saturday.'

He drove up College Road to Clifton, looking for the house where Danny Carpenter lived. Back in the early nineteenth century when the city had been infested with cholera, the affluent Clifton residents instructed their servants to leave blankets and clothes halfway down the hill for the poor wretches in Bristol, and the place still has a determination not to be contaminated by the noxious life below Whiteladies Road. Danny's residence was on the Down, in one of the best positions in the city, with views along the Gorge to the Suspension Bridge. Old stone pillars at the entrance with griffins aloft gave promise of a gracious house. In fact, the original building at the end of the curved drive had been demolished at the time when architects went starry- eyed over steel and concrete. To Diamond's eye the replacement was an ugly pile of lemon-coloured, flat-roofed blocks. Even so, its location and scale represented money.

Before he got out, the security lights came on. A dog barked. A large bark. No need, really, to touch the bell push, but he did, and was rewarded with the first bars of Danny Boy.

The door opened a fraction and a snarling muzzle was thrust through.

Diamond took a step back. Someone swore, and hauled the dog inside. A man's face appeared, without doubt the face of a minder. 'Yeah?'

'Danny at home?'

'Yeah.'

'I'd like to see him, then.'

'Yeah?'

'The name's Diamond. He's heard of it.'

'Yeah?'

This might have continued for some time if a woman's voice had not said from the inner depths, 'Who is it, Gary?'

Silence. Gary had forgotten already.

Diamond called out his own name and presently Gary's ravaged head was replaced by one easier on the eye, one Diamond knew, red-blond and green-eyed. She had been in court for much of the Jake Carpenter trial.

'Evening, Celia.'

She said, 'You've got a bloody nerve.'

'I'm here to see Danny.'

'Not by invitation, you're not.'

'About the murder of my wife.'

'We don't know nothing about that. He spoke to your people and he's in the clear.'

'Then he hasn't got a problem. He can see me.'

'Aren't you forgetting you banged up his brother for a life term? Why don't you go forth and multiply, Mr Diamond? Danny's busy.' She turned her head and shouted, 'Gary, we may need that dog again. The visitor is leaving.'

'I've got some questions for you,' Diamond said.

'Me? What have I got to do with it?'

'Do you want to come down to Bath, or shall we talk inside?'