head? When I looked at her, she was lying face up in the undertaker's van.'
'It doesn't matter, John. What matters is the way we handle the professor.'
'We?'
'This could be murder.'
'But it's my case. I was down at the weir directing the operation.'
'She was just a floater then.' He waited for Wigfull to grasp the altered situation.
He was defiant. 'So she could be a murder victim. I can handle it myself.'
'I think we should work together at this stage,' Diamond said firmly. If he had to pull rank, he would. He had prior responsibility for murder cases.
'I thought you were fully stretched on the other inquiry-the body parts in the vault-what with all the media interest.'
'You've put your finger on it, John. The professor may be involved. He conned his way into the vault the day before yesterday. The lads stupidly took him for a pathologist.'
'I heard about that. It was just a mistake.'
'He lost his way. Oh, yeah.'
'What's it got to do with his wife being found dead?'
'We'll find out presently. Before we show him the body, I want a preview, a look at these injuries, if you don't object.'
'I'll come with you,' Wigfull said quickly.
Inside, a mortuary attendant had the body ready on a trolley. He lifted the sheet from the bloated face of a small-featured, middle-aged woman with dark hair.
Neither detective spoke. A few hours' immersion in water has dramatic effects on the appearance of a body. Not only does the face swell. After removal from the water the pigmentation darkens.
'The back of the head, if you don't mind,' Diamond said.
The attendant put his hands under the shoulders and raised the torso towards him, untroubled by the strange embrace. Diamond lifted some matted strands of hair and the injuries underneath were obvious. The surface was concave in one place. It must have taken a terrific impact.
'A cosh?'
Wigfull shrugged.
Diamond thanked the attendant and went to a sink to wash his hands.
Joe Dougan stood up when they returned to the waiting room. His eyes were bloodshot and deep ridges of tension had appeared at the edge of his mouth. 'Can we get this over now?'
'I didn't introduce myself,' said Diamond. 'Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond. Murder squad.'
'Joe Dougan.' Then he reacted, blinked and swayed. 'Did I hear you right?'
'I head the murder squad,' Diamond said genially. 'I don't think we've met. I missed you the other day when you visited one of our crime scenes, the vault under the Pump Room.'
'That seems a long time ago now,' said Joe. 'You did say murder?'
'That's my job. Someone has to do it. What was your interest in the vault?'
'What did you say?' Joe was ashen-faced.
'The vault. What were you doing there?'
'Do I have to explain at this point in time? If you don't mind, I'd like to get this ordeal over with and get out of this place.'
'Understood, sir,' said Diamond, unusually considerate. 'We'll talk about it after.'
They went back to the main post mortem room, a tiled, white place. The corpse had been covered again for this formality. The attendant stood ready.
Wigfull explained, 'It's just a matter of letting us know if you recognise her. I'd better warn you that her face has puffed up and darkened a bit. The water does that.'
He nodded to the attendant. The dead features were revealed again.
Only a faint sibilance, a slight in drawing of breath, came from Joe.
Diamond put the necessary question to him.
The little man was silent some time before saying in a low, but steady voice, 'Yes, I recognise her.'
Unable to deal impassively with the stress of the moment, Wigfull swept suspicion aside and said, 'You have my sympathy, professor.'
Joe turned to him and said with raised eyebrows, 'All I said is I recognise her. This isn't Donna. It's a lady who runs an antique store I visited. Miss Redbird.'
seventeen
'WHERE ARE WE GOING?' Joe Dougan asked Diamond.
'Bath Central Police Station.'
'You taking me in, or what?'
'Depends what you mean. We just want to ask you some questions.'
'Can't it be done here?'
'In the hospital grounds? We'd rather do it at the nick.'
'And if I refuse?'
Diamond was being unusually considerate. 'Is there somewhere else you would rather go?'
'My hotel.'
'Fine. We'll go there.'
'I'm thinking my wife may have come back.'
'Let's find out, then.'
From the car, they radioed headquarters that the body taken from the river was that of Peg Redbird and gave instructions for her shop to be sealed as a possible crime scene.
THE ROYAL Crescent Hotel is at the centre of the great terrace from which its name is taken. At the sedate pace of a horse-drawn carriage, they were driven over the cobbles in front. A top-hatted concierge in blue livery automatically started towards the car, saw that it was a police vehicle and hesitated. Joe swung open the door and hailed him by name. 'Any news of my wife yet?'
'I haven't heard anything, professor.'
'Darn.'
The Dougans' suite was on the second floor. The two trim members of the party moved towards the elegant main staircase. Diamond stopped to press the lift button. They looked round for him and came back.
He said with an air of dignity, 'If there's such a place as Heaven, and I get the nod from St Peter, he'd better not expect me to use the stairs.'
Wigfull passed no comment.
This went over Joe's head. He was still talking about his wife. 'She may have come back when the concierge was off duty.'
'It's possible.'
But when they entered the John Wood suite, nobody was there.
'Hell,' said Joe, and he couldn't have been talking about the accommodation. The lounge area in a toning scheme of brown, orange and cream, was bigger than the dining room of some hotels. Padded settee and armchairs, fireplace and huge pelmeted and draped windows with front views across the lawns to the city. Up a couple of steps a white balustrade like a communion rail separated the bedroom from the rest.
It definitely had the edge over an interview room at the nick.
'I'm not paying for this,' Joe thought fit to explain, as if affluence would damn him in the eyes of the law. 'We ordered a simple bedroom at one-sixty a night, but as this suite wasn't in use they upgraded us for no extra charge.'
'Lucky for you.'
'My luck ran out last night. So what are you going to do about Donna?'
