putting his feet up and watching television. Or doing the crossword. ‘How about a walk, then?’ she suggested.
‘But it’s dark.’
‘So what? Afraid we’ll get mugged or something?’
He laughed. ‘In the Floral City?’
‘But this isn’t exactly the centre of Bath.’ She took the opposite line, straight-faced. ‘This is Weston. Who knows what dangers lurk out there? It’s gone awfully quiet. The bell-ringers must have finished. They could be on the streets.’
‘You’re on,’ he said, shoving Raffles off his lap. ‘Live dangerously.’
They met no one. They stopped to watch some bats swooping in and out of the light of a lamp-post and Diamond commented that it could easily be Transylvania.
At least conversation came more readily at walking pace than from armchairs. He admitted that he was uneasy about his job.
‘In what way?’ Stephanie asked.
‘Like you were saying, we’re not exactly the crime capital of Europe. I’m supposed to be the murder man here. I make a big deal out of leading the Bath murder squad, and our record is damned good, but we’re being squeezed all the time.’
‘Under threat?’
‘Nobody has said anything…’
‘But you can feel the vibes.’ Stephanie squeezed his arm. ‘Oh, come on, Pete. If nobody has said anything, forget it.’
‘But you wanted to know what was on my mind.’
‘There’s more?’
‘The crime figures don’t look so good. No, that’s wrong. They’ re too good, really. Our clear-up rate is brilliant compared to Bristol, but it isn’t based on many cases. They’ve got a lot of drug-related crime, a bunch of unsolved killings. See it on a computer and it’s obvious. They need support. That’s the way they see it at Headquarters.’
‘You’ve helped Bristol out before. There was that bank manager at Keynsham.’
‘I don’t mind helping out. I don’t want to move over there, lock, stock and barrel.’
‘Nor do I, just when we’ve got the house straight. What about your boss – the Assistant Chief Constable? Will he fight your corner for you?’
‘He’s new.’
‘Same old story.’ Stephanie sighed. ‘We need some action, then, and fast. A shoot-out over the teacups in the Pump-Room.’
‘Fix it, will you?’ said Diamond.
‘Do my best,’ she said.
They completed a slow circuit around Locksbrook Cemetery and returned to the semi-detached house they occupied in Weston.
Diamond stopped unexpectedly at the front gate.
‘What’s up?’ Stephanie asked.
He put a finger to his lips, opened the gate and crept low across the small lawn like an Apache. Stephanie watched in silence, grateful for the darkness. He was heading straight for the camellia, the barely surviving camellia.
With a triumphant ‘Got you!’ he sank to his knees and thrust his hand towards the plant.
There was a screech, followed by a yell of pain from Diamond. A dark feline shape bolted from under the camellia, raced across the lawn, leapt at the fence and scrambled over it. ‘He bit me! He bloody well bit me.’
Gripping the fleshy edge of his right hand, high-stepping across the lawn, the Head of the Murder Squad looked as if he was performing a war dance now.
Stephanie was calm. ‘Come inside, love. We’d better get some TCP on that.’
Indoors, they examined the bite. The cat’s top teeth had punctured the flesh quite deeply. Stephanie found the antiseptic and dabbed some on. ‘I expect he felt vulnerable,’ she pointed out in the cat’s defence, ‘doing his business, with you creeping up and making a grab for him.’
‘My own bloody cat,’ said Diamond. ‘He’s had his last saucer of cream from me.’
‘What do you mean – “your own cat”? That wasn’t Raffles.’
‘Of course it was Raffles. Don’t take his side. He was caught in the bloody act.’
‘Red-handed?’ murmured Stephanie, adding quickly, ‘A fine detective you are, if you can’t tell the difference between your own cat and the moggy next door. That was Samson. I saw the white bit under his chin.’
‘That was never Samson.’
‘Why did he bolt straight over the fence into their garden?’
‘It was the shortest escape route, that’s why.’
She chose not to pursue the matter. ‘How does it feel?’
‘I’ll survive, I suppose. Thanks for the nursing.’
She made some tea. When they walked into the sitting room, Raffles was curled on Diamond’s armchair, asleep. It was obvious he had not stirred in the past hour.
‘Incidentally…’ Stephanie said.
‘Mm?’
‘When did you last have a jab for tetanus?’
Four
Ada Shaftsbury’s breathing was impaired by her bloated physique, particularly when she moved. With each step she emitted a breath or a sigh. Climbing the stairs sounded like competitive weight-lifting because the breaths became grunts and the sighs groans. The entire hostel must have heard her come in some time after eleven.
She stood for a short while by the bedroom door, recovering. Finally she managed to say, ‘You’re not asleep, are you, petal?’
‘No.’ But ‘petal’ had hoped to be. She was exhausted.
‘I brought back a few nibbles from the pub, a pork pie, if you want, and some crisps.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Aren’t you going to keep me company?’
‘I thought you didn’t eat snacks.’
‘This is supper,’ said Ada.
‘Wasn’t supper what you went to the chippie for?’
‘That was dinner.’
‘Actually, Ada, I don’t like to eat as late as this.’
‘How do you know?’
‘What?’
‘If you lost your memory, how do you know when you like to eat and when you don’t?’
Rose couldn’t answer that. ‘What I mean is that I’m ready for sleep.’
‘You don’t mind if I have yours, then?’
‘Don’t mind at all. Goodnight.’
There was an encouraging interval of near silence, disturbed only by the smack of lips.
Then:
‘I say…?’
‘Mm?’
‘Did the photographer come – the photographer from the police?’
‘Yes.’
Another interval.
‘You want to be careful, getting in their records. You don’t know what they do with the photos they take.’
