guess.'
Stormy insisted on driving Diamond across London to Paddington Station. 'We won't let it get to us, Peter,' he said. 'We're still ahead of the game.'
'Not for long,' Diamond said. 'McGarvie's no fool, and neither is Bowers. You can bet they spent today going through those old files, reaching the same conclusions we have. My worry is that they'll go in like the tank corps and the killer will see them coming a mile off.'
'Looks as if Wayne Beach already has.'
'He's using the place as a cover. As far as the social services are concerned, he's trapped in that slum, living from hand to mouth. No doubt he's got a nice pad somewhere else.'
'And a nice income as a hitman.'
'Could be.'
'So we wasted our bloody time.'
Briefly it seemed Stormy might be going cool on cooperation, but this proved false.
'There was something you said earlier, about us putting our heads together and finding the truth before anyone else. I was impressed.'
'You want to keep trying?'
'Definitely.'
If Diamond had believed in fate, he might have been awed by what happened to him that evening. Exhausted after so much waiting with no result, he fell asleep on the seven-thirty from Paddington and was out to the world when it stopped at Bath Spa. He ended up at Bristol Temple Meads Station some time after nine-thirty. Not for the first time. Only now there was no one at home to phone any more. Rather than cross the bridge and wait for a train, he made the best of his situation and took a taxi to the Rummer.
Bernie Hescott, his well-paid, worse than useless snout, was not in the public bar. 'Haven't seen him all week, squire,' the barman told Diamond.
'Doesn't surprise me. I'll have a pint, just the same.'
'Bitter?'
A fair expression of his state of mind. He settled down with the drink and let ten minutes go by. The place was warm and the music just about bearable.
Then fate gave an emphatic pull on the strings, for in walked the informer he should have used in preference to Bernie. John Seville caught Diamond's startled eye, turned and left the bar at once. He went after him.
'Can't help you,' Seville said while Diamond tried to keep pace with him, striding through one of the paved alleyways behind the Exchange.
'You don't even know what I want.'
'Jesus Christ, the whole world heard what happened, and I know sweet fuck all about it.'
Diamond grabbed his arm and shoved him against a shuttered shop front. 'John, if this is your way of raising the stakes, save your breath. I'll pay top dollar.'
'I'm not haggling, Mr Diamond. I got nothing for you. Nothing.'
'What are you scared of? The Carpenters? Forget them. They're in the clear for once. This wasn't local. This has a London connection. You do know what I'm talking about?'
'Your wife. What can I say? I wouldn't wish that on anyone. But I know nothing.'
'Someone, some hitman, gunned her down in a public park in broad daylight. He'd done his homework, John. Picked his spot. Got away fast. Did you hear of anyone - a Londoner, maybe, a professional, who was holed up here six, seven months ago?'
'In Bristol?'
'Bristol or Bath, but he's more likely to have used here as his base. Bristol is bigger, easier to get lost in. What have you got for me, John?'
'I keep telling you—'
Diamond jammed a thumb under Seville's chin, forcing his jaws together with a crunch. 'I'm not messing. I want a result. I can pay fifty, or I can beat it out of you, or I can tell my chums at Bristol Central to make your life impossible. Which is it to be?'
'You just cut my tongue.'
'Too bad.' He relaxed his hold.
Seville wiped blood from the edge of his mouth and stared at his fingers. He darted looks to either side. No one was about. 'You said fifty?'
'This had better be kosher.'
'Take it or leave it, this is all I have. There's an ex-con living in clover in a smart house on Sion Hill, near the Suspension Bridge. Been around most of this year. Makes trips to London sometimes. The word is that if you want to buy a shooter, that's where you go. But don't bring me into it, for Christ's sake.'
'A local?'
'No, not from round here.'
'I'll need his name.'
'Beach. The name is Beach.'
John Seville got his fifty pounds.
