'You'd tell him?' Now there was definite disapproval in her voice.
'That's the size of it, Julie. Poor sod, he's going to be poleaxed when he finds out his wife has been lying dead for six months, half eaten by foxes.'
'You can't tell him that. You don't know for sure.'
'He'll read about the body in the paper tomorrow. It's going to cross his mind, isn't it?'
'That may be so, Peter, but I think you're making a mistake here. You should let things take their course.'
'What? Wait for everyone to find out?'
'Mm.'
'For Christ's sake, why?'
Julie said in the firm tone she'd learned to use when this ex-boss of hers was at his most overbearing, 'You're asking for my advice, and this is it. Talking to Weather at this stage isn't going to help you. He'll be in no state to think straight.'
He was silent, locked into his own thoughts, forced to accept the simple truth of her conclusion. 'That's a point. I wasn't.'
She waited a moment, making sure it had sunk in. 'So you'll stay clear?'
He sighed heavily. 'Of Stormy? I guess I'll have to. But I can do some ferreting of my own - with a little help from my old chum Louis Voss - getting up to speed with stuff I thought I'd never need to bother with again.'
'Case files from the nineteen-eighties?'
'Yes.'
'Property of the Met? Dodgy.'
'You're not going to give me another no, no?'
'I wouldn't dream of it, guv.'
After putting down the phone he fed the cat from one tin and himself from another. The basics of existence. Coping better than I expected, he'd claimed to Julie. True, in a way. He didn't have space in his life for self-pity. The drive to find Steph's killer occupied him totally.
But he would let Stormy Weather have one more night in ignorance.
He put in an early appearance at the nick next morning. Early by his standards. Curtis McGarvie, the focused, committed, hot-shit detective was always in by eight and expected the incident room to be humming when he arrived. An impressive regime - and what results had it achieved?
So Diamond looked in about eight-thirty, trying to fix his eyes on people rather than the photos of Steph's body displayed along one wall. There was a school of thought that said a murder squad worked better with visual reminders of the crime all around them. He'd never subscribed to it.
Keith Halliwell came over. 'All right, guv?'
'Fair to middling. Is robocop about?'
'Upstairs with the ACC. Something he saw in the papers.'
No prize for guessing. He'd catch up with the papers shortly. 'Maybe you can tell me, Keith. What's the latest take on Dixon-Bligh, Steph's ex?'
'None that I heard. We asked the Met to trace him if they can. Thought it would be straightforward, but nothing has come through. He's covered his tracks apparently.'
'I put the frighteners on him. Between you and me, Keith, he gave me some lip and I stuck one on him. Better not tell your boss.'
'I won't. Is he a toerag, then?'
Diamond couldn't let it pass. 'Who do you mean?'
Straight-faced, Halliwell said, 'Dixon-Bligh.' He'd missed the point entirely, which was a good thing.
'Don't ask me,' Diamond said. 'I'm going to be biased, aren't I? Actually, I shouldn't have hit him. I was needling the bastard, trying to get a response, so it's no wonder he slagged me off. I hardly know the guy. What I heard from Steph didn't impress me much. No doubt you've checked his service record and everything else?'
'School reports, library tickets, vaccinations, birth weight and date of conception,' Halliwell said with a slight smile. 'We don't do things by half. He was running a restaurant after he left the Air Force.'
'Yes, he—' Diamond stopped before the rest came out. 'It was in Guildford, Surrey, that restaurant.'
'That's right, guv. Is it important?'
Diamond was asking himself the same question. Guildford was only five miles south of Woking, the next stop on the railway. Anyone travelling from Guildford to London would pass the stretch of embankment where yesterday's body had been found. 'May be nothing,' he told Halliwell. 'Just a passing thought. He had a partner in the restaurant. Did you find out her name?'
'Fiona Appleby. They parted, we understand. Then he sold the business and moved to London.'
'Blyth Road, Hammersmith, for a bit. Then Westway Terrace, Paddington.'
'Right. Then he goes off the screen. Do you really think he hoofed it because you showed up in his life, guv?'
'Could be. But I have to say Westway Terrace is not a place anyone would want to stay in for long. Does he have a job?'
