Diamond Dust

'Nicer than Latchmere Road,' Stormy said.

Wayne turned. 'Listen, I only pick up the social to keep my probation officer happy.'

'Rest easy, Wayne. We're not here about your fraudulent claims.'

Beach removed the hat and hung it on a peg. He wasn't wearing a wig. He'd grown his own brown hair to a thickness any woman would have envied and had it clipped sheer at the back, twenties-style. In the kitchen - a gleaming place of natural wood and silvery appliances -he filled the kettle. They all sat on stools.

'What do you want?'

'You were released from the Scrubs when?' Diamond asked.

'Christmas. Just before.'

'So when did you move down here?'

'Not long after.'

'Not good enough,' Stormy said. 'We're talking dates, Wayne. You know the day you moved in.'

Beach gave a sigh and a toss of the head, playing the harassed female to perfection. He unhooked a spiral diary from the wall and flicked through the months. 'February the fifth.'

'Let's see that.' Diamond was reviewing his mental picture of that February morning in Royal Victoria Park. What if Steph had been approached by someone she supposed was a woman? Might that have been why her killer got so close before firing the shots? And why Wayne Beach got away without being noticed?

He handed the diary across. Diamond studied it. Each day was a narrow strip where appointments could be written in. February the fifth had the pencilled entry 'Bristol. Keys from Homefinders 11.30.' Various other appointments were filled in throughout the month, some indicated by initial letters. He looked at Tuesday the twenty-third, the day of the murder, and it was blank.

'What about this day here?'

Beach came over to look and treated Diamond to a whiff of some perfume heavy with musk. 'It's blank.'

'Does that mean you had a free day, or what?'

'No. If you look, you'll see each Tuesday is blank. I keep Tuesdays clear.'

Diamond checked the rest of the diary and saw that this was so. 'Why?'

'They're not really clear. Every Tuesday is spoken for. That's when I go to London to see Mr Dawkins.'

'Who's he?'

'My probation officer.'

'Ah.' The sound came from Diamond as if he'd taken a low punch, and that was how he felt. 'And you definitely went to London on the twenty-third?'

'I had to. Dawkins thinks I'm living in Clapham.'

'What train do you get?'

'The seven-twenty. I check in at his office at ten-thirty.'

This was beginning to look like a solid alibi. 'I'll check with him myself.'

'You wouldn't let on?' Wayne said in horror.

'What - that you're living the life of Riley here in Bristol flogging guns to any lunatic with cash in hand? Of course I'm going to let on. I'm a copper, Wayne, not your favourite uncle.'

In the act of pouring the coffee, Beach spilt some over his immaculate work surface. 'Who said anything about guns?'

'Half the criminal fraternity of Bristol. You're well known. It's a change from shooting taxi drivers in the leg. Two sugars, please.'

'Do I look like a gun dealer?'

'In your skirt and lipstick? At the risk of being misunderstood, I'd say you've got a very good front. I suppose the weapons are shipped in, up the Channel.'

'You're talking through your arse.'

'Can we look in your basement?'

Beach sighed, and dropped the pretence. 'What exactly do you want?'

'I want you to look at that calendar and tell me who bought automatic handguns in the month of February.'

'I wasn't dealing then. Honest to God. I'd only just moved in. You can't start a business from nothing.'

Diamond reached for the calendar again. 'There are letters here I recognise. DC on the twelfth, and again on the fifteenth. Would that be Danny Carpenter?'

Wayne passed a hand nervously through the shingled hair. 'Listen, you don't move into someone else's manor without a by-your-leave. I had to square it with the local chiefs, or I wouldn't last five minutes. On the days you're talking about, I wasn't dealing. I was making arrangements.'

'Dressed like this?'

He glared. 'I might be different, but I'm not stupid.'