'You wouldn't be stringing me along?'
'No way. Wednesday, then. And Mr D . . .'
'Yep?'
'I've run through my expenses.'
He got twenty more.
Next morning, appallingly early, Peter Diamond's lie-in after a night of little sleep was disturbed by a heavy vehicle drawing up outside the house, followed by a voice issuing orders. He would have sworn and turned over in bed if the voice had not been pitched so low that it was obvious something underhand was going on. He groaned, sat up, shuffled to the bedroom window, and was amazed to see men in police-issue Kevlar body armour scrambling out of the back of a van. Two of them carried an enforcer, the 'fifty-pound key' used by rapid entry teams as a battering ram. Curtis McGarvie got out of a separate car and marched up the short path to the front door.
Diamond belted downstairs in the T-shirt and shorts he slept in and flung open the door. 'What the fuck is going on?'
McGarvie raised his palms in a pacifying way. 'Stay cool, Peter. We need to make a further search.'
'Go to hell.'
'Can we speak inside?'
'You're out of your mind.'
'I'd rather not have this conversation on your doorstep.'
'What are you looking for?'
'The firearm used in the murder of your wife.'
'For crying out loud.'
'So I'm formally requesting permission to search your house and garden.'
'You can piss off, McGarvie.'
'I thought that would be your response.' He handed over a sheet of paper. 'This is your copy of a warrant issued by a magistrate last night.'
'A
But it was. And you don't argue with a warrant unless you want your door smashed in. Diamond stepped aside, and three of the ninjas moved in. 'Why wasn't I told? You can pick up a phone.'
'Do you want it straight? I had reason to think you might dispose of the evidence.'
He was speechless.
McGarvie admitted more men, and every one avoided eye contact with Diamond. They obviously had their orders. They must have been briefed before dawn. Some went straight upstairs, others through to the kitchen.
Diamond slumped into a chair in the front room.
McGarvie told him, 'You know you have the right to ask a friend or neighbour to witness the search?'
'I don't need lecturing on my rights.'
'Don't you want to see what's going on?'
'No. This whole charade is a waste of time.'
'In that case why don't you get dressed? I'm going to take you in, whether we find anything or not.'
'You'll find sod all. You're out of order. I'll hang you out to dry for this.'
'It's all according to the book.'
'I opened the place to you before. You've been through here already.'
'That wasn't a full search.'
'God help us.' Diamond trudged upstairs and saw what he meant. Three men in the bedroom were ripping the fitted carpet from its stays. His entire wardrobe had been emptied and the clothes were on the bed. All the drawers had been removed from the chests and sideboard.
He looked out of the window. Two officers with metal detectors were at work in the garden.
He grabbed a pair of trousers and got into them.
At the nick - his own nick - they offered to call his solicitor. He said he'd done nothing wrong, so he didn't need one.
They kept him waiting over three hours.
His anger hadn't subsided. In the interview room with the tapes running he stared McGarvie out like a boxer at the weigh-in. A sergeant he'd never seen before was in the other chair. He was damned sure Georgina and most of the senior detectives were watching on video monitors.
McGarvie said in that voice like a rusty lawn mower, 'At the previous interview, you stated that you didn't possess a gun. Is that still your position?'
His thoughts flew to the empty shoebox in the loft. They couldn't have found anything. He'd gone through the place. 'Yes, it is.'
'When you served in the Met, you were an authorised shot - right?'
'We've been over this.'
