'Anything else?' asked Diamond.
'A fair number of sightings.'
'But of what?'
'Horizontal jogging, mostly.'
'No reports of violence?'
'Nothing yet.'
'Not much, is it? I may go on the box again towards the end of the week. Let's see if Chewton Mendip amounts to anything. Is that where the sister lives as well?'
She was Mrs Muriel Pietri, and her husband Joe owned a motor repair business beside the A39 that had a sign that promised, 'Low Cost High Class Repairs. We Get You Back On The Road.' The police often visited the place to follow up hit and run accidents. Diamond himself called there early next morning. Someone lower in rank could have handled the interview, but the prospect of question and answer was so much more appealing than another morning in the caravan.
The sickly-sweet vapour of cellulose paint hung in the air as he manoeuvred his bulk unskilfully through a narrow passage between damaged vehicles, collecting rust on his grey check suit. He had brought a sergeant with him to take the statement.
Mrs Pietri stood at the open door in a floral print frock that she probably wore for visitors. She was made up for the occasion – the works: foundation, lipstick, mascara and some sort of cheap scent that made the paint quite fragrant in retrospect. A slim, dark-haired, slow-speaking woman, burning with the enormity of what she believed had happened. 'I do fear the worst this time,' she said in the broad accent of Somerset as she led them into her scrupulously tidy front room. 'Carl's behaviour is a proper disgrace. He do clout my sister summat wicked. Terrible. I can show you photographs my husband took with one of they Instamatics last time poor Elly came here. Black and blue, she were. I hope you'll be giving the bugger a dose of his own medicine when you visit him. He do deserve no blimmin mercy, none at all. Won't 'ee sit down?'
'You saw the artist's impression of the woman we found?' said Diamond.
'On Points West last night. That be Elly, without a blimmin doubt.'
'Sergeant Boon has a copy of the picture. Take another look at it, would you? It's only an artist's sketch, you understand.'
She handed it back almost at once. 'I swear to it.'
'What colour is your sister's hair, Mrs Pietri?'
'Red – a gorgeous, flaming red. It were her best feature, and it were natural, too. Women spend fortunes being tinted at the hairdressers for hair that colour and it never looks half so good as Elly's did.'
Her use of the past tense reinforced her conviction that the dead woman was her sister. Diamond made it just as clear that he was keeping an open mind. 'Flaming red, you say. Is that what you mean – pure red?'
'Natural, I did say, didn't I? Nobody's hair is pure red, except for they punks and pop stars.'
'I need to know.'
She pointed to a rosewood ornamental box that stood on the sideboard. 'That colour, near enough.'
'Her eyes – what colour are they?'
'Some folk called they hazel. They always looked green to I.'
'What height is she?'
'The same as I – five-seven.'
'Age?'
'Wait a mo – Elly were born two years after I. St George's Day. She must have been thirty-four.'
'You said that your husband took photographs of her.'
'Not of her face, my dear. The backs of her legs, where she were marked. It were in case she wanted evidence for a divorce. I don't believe I got a picture of her face, not since her and I were kids at school, anyways. We were never a family for taking pictures.'
'But you said your husband has a camera.'
'For his business. He do photograph the damage in case the insurance people get funny.'
'I see.'
'It were his idea to take they pictures of Elly's legs.'
'Photographing the damage.'
'I can find they if you want.'
'Not now. Tell me how you heard that your sister is missing.'
'Well, being that she lived so near, she used to call in here regular for a bit o' gossip Tuesday morning. She didn't come last Tuesday, or the Tuesday afore that, so I got on the blower and asked that bugger of a brother-in- law what happened to my sister.'
'And?'
'The blighter tells I this bit o' hogwash about Elly taking off with Mr Middleton who collects the milk. Your sister is a shameless woman, he did tell I, no better than the whores of Babylon. He called her other things, too, that you wouldn't find in the scriptures. Riled I proper, I can tell 'ee.'
'When is this supposed to have happened?'
'Last Monday fortnight, he did say. I didn't believe a word of it, and I were right. She must have been dead already, lying naked in Chew Valley Lake, poor lamb. Do you want I to come with 'ee to identify her proper?'
'That may not be necessary.'
'Will you be going over to arrest the bugger?'
'I want you to sign a statement, Mrs Pietri. The sergeant will assist you.' Diamond got up and walked out.
Over the radio he made contact with Inspector Wigfull. 'Any news?'
'Yes,' Wigfull answered. 'I just called at the milkman's cottage.'
'Middleton?'
'Yes.'
'And?'
'Elly Troop opened the door.'
Chapter Five
IN THE MODERN POLICE, AS any detective will tell you, a murder mystery is rarely, if ever, solved by scintillating deductions from clues that baffle inferior minds. Unless the killer's identity is so obvious that the case is cleared up in the first hours, the investigative process is likely to be laborious, involving hundreds of man-hours by police officers, forensic scientists and clerical staff. If any credit attaches ultimately to a conviction, it is diffused among numerous individuals, and has to be qualified by administrative delays, false assumptions and sometimes fatal errors. These days criminal investigation is not a sport for glory hunters.
After the unproductive interview with Mrs Pietri, Diamond returned to the mobile incident room and pounded the floor again. He demanded another look at the missing persons files for Avon and Somerset and the adjacent counties and vented his anger on a filing clerk when he found that the list hadn't been updated since he had last seen it. The atmosphere in the caravan was sulphurous as he reduced the girl to tears, blaming her for other shortcomings in the list that were apparently not her responsibility.
Inspector Wigfull's return should have defused the tension. Wigfull, the sunbeam of the squad, as Diamond unkindly dubbed him, always had a word of encouragement for everyone, including the civilian clerks, each of whom he knew by their first names. His was the shoulder to cry on. He smiled a lot, and when he wasn't smiling he still appeared to be, because of the tendency of his exuberant moustache to curl upwards at the ends. This time the mere sight of him coming up the steps – playing a catching game with his car keys – triggered Diamond into another tirade.
'You took your bloody time.'
'Sorry, sir. Mrs Troop was in a bit of a state. She needed advice.'
'John, if you want to join the bloody Marriage Guidance people and hold hands with weeping wives, why don't
