‘Binned it,’ he told her, relieved to have something functional to speak about. ‘More trouble than it was worth. And don’t tell me I’m back in the Stone Age, or I’ll come looking for you with my club. I want your advice, Julie, but not about phones.’ He told her everything he knew about the human remains beside the railway at Woking. ‘You’ll understand what drew me there. Middle-aged woman shot twice through the head, execution-style. That’s so rare in this country I can’t recall any other case except-‘
‘Neither can I,’ she cut in. She was as keyed up as he was.
‘She’s been dead six months to a year, they estimate. It’s mainly guesswork at this stage based on the clothes she was wearing. The body’s terribly chewed up.’
‘And how long has it been since…?’
‘Seven months on Tuesday,’ he said. ‘February twenty-third.’
‘I suppose there could be a connection. On the other hand,’ she sounded a more cautious note, ‘there are obvious differences, aren’t there?’
This was why he had phoned Julie, for her ability to weigh the facts.
‘Such as?’
‘You said this woman was shot twice in the side of the head.’
‘I wouldn’t make too much of that. Steph took one to the forehead and one to the side. That could be down to a head movement as the shots were fired.’
‘All right. There’s a bigger difference, isn’t there? You say this body at Woking was well hidden?’
‘The weeds are shoulder-high.’
‘Well then, the killer went to some trouble to take the body there and hide it. She might not have been found for years. Whereas Steph was shot and left in the open where she was certain to be seen.’
‘Okay, I’ll give you that, Julie. It’s not the same m.o. at all.’
‘And Woking is a long way from Bath.’
‘That doesn’t bother me,’ he said.
Julie said, ‘You’re keeping something back, aren’t you? Is she identified?’
‘Not yet.’
‘But you think you know?’
‘An idea – that’s all.’
She was there. It wasn’t intuition or telepathy that made her say, ‘The missing wife of that DCI? The ex-police sergeant. What was her name – Weather? Wasn’t she found?’
Doubt flooded in. ‘Was she?’
‘I’m asking you,’ Julie said.
He was mightily relieved. He’d built a mental case study of Mrs Weather’s murder already. ‘If she’d turned up, we’d have heard something, wouldn’t we?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’ll check the Missing Persons Index.’
‘What makes you think it’s her?’ she asked.
‘Hang about, Julie. You put the idea in my head.’
She gave a quick, nervous laugh. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘And that was before this body turned up. Think about it. We know Mrs Weather went missing a week or so after Steph was shot. Early March. She’d have been wearing winter things.’
‘Agreed.’
‘You saw the computer item about her. Was there a description?’
‘Nothing about clothes I can recall. There may have been something on her age and build. Hair colour. We can check again.’ She paused before asking the key question. ‘Why would anyone murder the wives of two policemen?’
‘The wives of two detectives who worked out of Fulham nick in the early eighties,’ he stressed.
She digested that for a moment. ‘If it’s true, it’s going to transform the case.’
‘Right – we can ditch all the cock-eyed theories and focus on this.’
‘Where did Mrs Weather live?’
‘Raynes Park, I was told by Louis Voss.’
‘That’s near Wimbledon, isn’t it? How far from Woking?’
‘Twenty miles, maximum,’ Diamond said, sounding like Bobby Bowers. ‘A hitman plots his route and goes where he needs to.’ He hesitated. ‘Julie, is this just one more theory, or have I struck gold?’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as that,‘Julie said. ‘But it deserves an airing. What’s your next move?’
‘That’s my problem. Bowers is quick on the draw. It won’t be long before he puts a name to his corpse. If she is Patricia Weather, they’ll find out tomorrow, I reckon. All they have to do is check the MPL’
‘Against what?’ said Julie. ‘It’s not so straightforward. They have some bones of a mature woman and some unremarkable clothes. No handbag, no rings.’
‘Teeth.’
‘That only helps if they can match them to a dental record.’
‘They’ll have a record for her.’
Still Julie doubted the efficiency of the system. ‘They won’t have her name – unless you suggest it. Remember there are different police services involved. I’ll be surprised if anything is confirmed in the next twenty-four hours.’ She paused. ‘Is that what you wanted to hear?’
‘If it buys me time, yes.’
‘To outflank Curtis McGarvie?‘Julie knew too well how he felt.
He said in his defence, ‘It isn’t personal. OK, I don’t get on with the man, but I’m professional enough to put that aside. My confidence was shattered when he turned up on my doorstep with that search warrant. That was overkill, Julie. My worry is that when he gets this information, he’ll cock up. The killer will get wise and head for the hills.’
‘McGarvie is smarter than that.’
‘I can’t take the risk.’
She sounded sceptical when she asked, ‘What can you do on your own?’
‘If my gut feeling is right, and this body is Weather’s wife, I’ll know this goes back fifteen years, to my time in the Met. Some psycho out there has a major grudge against Stormy Weather and me. We need to compare notes.’
‘You’d tell him?’ Now there was definite disapproval in her voice.
‘That’s the size of it, Julie. Poor sod, he’s going to be poleaxed when he finds out his wife has been lying dead for six months, half eaten by foxes.’
‘You can’t tell him that. You don’t know for sure.’
‘He’ll read about the body in the paper tomorrow. It’s going to cross his mind, isn’t it?’
‘That may be so, Peter, but I think you’re making a mistake here. You should let things take their course.’
‘What? Wait for everyone to find out?’
‘Mm.’
‘For Christ’s sake, why?’
Julie said in the firm tone she’d learned to use when this ex-boss of hers was at his most overbearing, ‘You’re asking for my advice, and this is it. Talking to Weather at this stage isn’t going to help you. He’ll be in no state to think straight.’
He was silent, locked into his own thoughts, forced to accept the simple truth of her conclusion. ‘That’s a point. I wasn’t.’
She waited a moment, making sure it had sunk in. ‘So you’ll stay clear?’
He sighed heavily. ‘Of Stormy? I guess I’ll have to. But I can do some ferreting of my own – with a little help from my old chum Louis Voss – getting up to speed with stuff I thought I’d never need to bother with again.’
‘Case files from the nineteen-eighties?’
‘Yes.’
‘Property of the Met? Dodgy.’
‘You’re not going to give me another no, no?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, guv.’
After putting down the phone he fed the cat from one tin and himself from another. The basics of existence. Coping better than I expected, he’d claimed to Julie. True, in a way. He didn’t have space in his life for self-pity. The drive to find Steph’s killer occupied him totally.
But he would let Stormy Weather have one more night in ignorance.
He put in an early appearance at the nick next morning. Early by his standards. Curtis McGarvie, the focused, committed, hot-shit detective was always in by eight and expected the incident room to be humming when he arrived. An impressive regime – and what results had it achieved?
Keith Halliwell came over. ‘All right, guv?’
‘Fair to middling. Is robocop about?’
‘Upstairs with the ACC. Something he saw in the papers.’
No prize for guessing. He’d catch up with the papers shortly. ‘Maybe you can tell me, Keith. What’s the latest take on Dixon-Bligh, Steph’s ex?’
‘None that I heard. We asked the Met to trace him if they can. Thought it would be straightforward, but nothing has come through. He’s covered his tracks apparently.’
‘I put the frighteners on him. Between you and me, Keith, he gave me some lip and I stuck one on him. Better not tell your boss.’
‘I won’t. Is he a toerag, then?’
Diamond couldn’t let it pass. ‘Who do you mean?’
Straight-faced, Halliwell said, ‘Dixon-Bligh.’ He’d missed the point entirely, which was a good thing.
‘Don’t ask me,’ Diamond said. ‘I’m going to be biased, aren’t I? Actually, I shouldn’t have hit him. I was needling the bastard, trying to get a response, so it’s no wonder he slagged me off. I hardly know the guy. What I heard from Steph didn’t impress me much. No doubt you’ve checked his service record and everything else?’
‘School reports, library tickets, vaccinations, birth weight and date of conception,’ Halliwell said with a slight smile. ‘We don’t do things by half. He was running a restaurant after he left the Air Force.’
‘Yes, he-‘ Diamond stopped before the rest came out. ‘It was in Guildford, Surrey, that restaurant.’
‘That’s right, guv. Is it important?’
Diamond was asking himself the same question. Guildford was only five miles south of Woking, the next stop on the railway. Anyone travelling from Guildford to London would pass the stretch of embankment where yesterday’s body had been found. ‘May be nothing,’ he told Halliwell. ‘Just a passing thought. He had a partner in the restaurant. Did you find out her name?’
‘Fiona Appleby. They parted, we understand. Then he sold the business and moved to London.’
‘Blyth Road, Hammersmith, for a bit. Then Westway Terrace, Paddington.’
‘Right. Then he goes off the screen. Do you really think he hoofed it because you showed up in his life, guv?’
‘Could be. But I have to say Westway Terrace is not a place anyone would want to stay in for long. Does he have a job?’
‘He isn’t on the unemployed register.’
‘Got on his bike and looked for work, I expect,’ Diamond murmured. He heard someone enter the room behind him and noticed a change in the posture of the civilian computer operator, a definite bracing of the neck and shoulders.
Without turning, he said, ‘Morning, Mr McGarvie.’
‘Peter. Is this a courtesy call, or have you remembered something?’ asked the Senior Investigating Officer with a touch of sarcasm. There was a distinct gleam in the bloodshot eyes this morning.
‘Just comparing notes with Keith on Dixon-Bligh,’ Diamond said. ‘He’s proving elusive.’
‘Rather.’ But McGarvie had something more urgent on his mind. ‘Seen the papers?’
‘Not yet.’
He had the Daily Telegraph folded open at an inner page. ‘What do you make of that?’
Diamond skimmed through the report of the grisly find by the railway at Woking. ‘Nasty.’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘Shocking, then.’
‘This woman was killed by two shots to the head.’
‘I spotted that.’
‘And you can’t find anything more to say than “shocking”? Doesn’t it strike you as a remarkable coincidence? A middle-aged woman?’
‘Actually, no,’ Diamond said in the bored voice of a man who has heard nothing new. ‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all. This is another shooting by the same gunman. I’d put money on it.’
McGarvie glared. ‘My point exactly. I’ve just been with the ACC, and she agrees. We’ve contacted Surrey Headquarters and I’m going up to the crime scene this afternoon. It could be the breakthrough I’ve…’ His voice faltered.
‘Been waiting for?’
He’d laid himself wide open, and he knew it. ‘I’ll remind you that this case has twice been reviewed, and each time I’ve been confirmed as the SIO.’
‘They must think highly of you. Enjoy your trip to Woking.’ He managed to resist adding, ‘Been there, done that.’ He’d asked that bright young detective Billy Bowers to play dumb with McGarvie, and he probably would.
About the time McGarvie was motoring along the M4 to Woking, Diamond boarded the train to London. Whoever wrote the slogan about letting the train take the strain could have had the big detective in mind. Travel by motorway was on a par with ordeal by fire. In the comfort of the InterCity Express, he could review a case and decide on the next move. That was the theory, anyway. He read the report in the Express of WOMAN ON LINE SHOT ‘EXECUTION STYLE’ and woke up at Paddington unsure when he’d nodded off.
He was fully alert when he entered the Fox and Pheasant in Fulham. Louis Voss came in soon after with a briefcase under his arm.
‘I feel like a character in a le Carre novel.’
‘In your dreams, Louis. Inspector Clouseau, more like. Is it a lager for you?’
‘Scotch.’
When Diamond returned with the drinks, he came straight to the point. ‘You’ve got something in the briefcase?’
‘I thought it would be simple accessing the old files through the computer system, but of course you were pre-computer. I had to go downstairs to Records and talk my way in there. Then it was a matter of sorting through any number of dusty old packets tied with string.’
‘And…?’
‘My clothes are filthy. I’ve a good mind to send you the dry-cleaning bill, but I think I found your main cases – except for Missendale.’
‘That went to a board of inquiry. It wouldn’t be down there. Doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have any bearing. You found the protection case, I hope? Joe Florida?’
‘That’s there. And the Brook Green shooting. Two or three others.’
‘Great work, Louis.’
‘What you’ve got here are photocopies of the main documents. I couldn’t copy everything.’
‘Understood.’
Louis eyed him speculatively. ‘Does a le Carre character ever ask George Smiley what the hell he’s up to?’
Diamond shook his head. ‘They skirt around it. That’s why the books are so long.’
‘Would it have anything to do with the body found at Woking yesterday?’
‘You read the papers, too.’
‘Couldn’t miss it. You want to be careful, Peter. There’s a professional gunman out there. You may think you’re on his tail, but he’s on yours.’
‘Thanks, Louis. I’ll sleep better for knowing that.’
He left soon after with the files.
25
Julie was right. It took two whole days for anyone else to make the connection with DCI Weather’s missing wife. Two days of inertia for Peter Diamond. True, he studied the case files Louis had photocopied. He combed them minutely, regardless that he’d extracted everything of substance inside an hour on his train ride back to Bath.
Top of the heap was the protection racketeer, Joe Florida, released from Wandsworth in 1995 after serving seven years of a twelve-stretch. Joe Florida’s wish-list of slow tortures, emasculations and other cruel fates for police officers who had crossed him was well documented. He told Diamond in one of his interviews prior to being charged that he would ‘blow you away, you pig’ (though Diamond remembered some adjectives the transcription left out) and repeated the threat more graphically in court after sentencing. As he
was being taken down he had shouted – and Diamond remembered this clearly -‘I’ve put a notice on you, copper. I’ll do the business on you when I come out. You’ll wish you’d never heard of me.’ Such taunts from the dock were not uncommon, and the police and judiciary treated them philosophically in the knowledge that several years behind bars dulled the memory and weakened the intent. But in view of what had happened, Joe Florida had to be taken seriously. The probation service had kept tabs on him for three more years after release. He’d returned to West London, to a flat in an upmarket street in Chelsea, so he was obviously not without funds. Under ‘Current Employment’ on his file someone had written Nothing known, a succinct summing up. He was a career crook, well capable of slipping back into crime without drawing attention to himself.
Tucked away in a section about the surveillance operation on Joe Florida was a name Diamond noted with interest. He circled it with a pen. One of the team assigned to watch the suspect’s flat had been DC Weather. A minor role apparently, but it was not impossible Stormy had helped make the arrest and got himself on Florida’s wish-list
The Assistant Chief Constable herself, Georgina Dallymore, brought the news late Monday afternoon when things had gone quiet, stepping unannounced into Diamond’s cluttered office and exclaiming breathlessly, ‘Peter, I think we have the breakthrough. Curtis has been talking to the Surrey Police at Woking, where the remains of that woman were found at the end of last week. They have an ID now, and she’s confirmed as an ex-police officer, the wife of a CID officer you may well have worked with in the Met.’
‘DCI Weather,’ he said as if they were discussing nothing more enthralling than last night’s television. ‘Yes, I know the bloke.’
‘You’ve heard already?’ He’d just shot Georgina’s fox, and she was not pleased.
He said in the same flat tone, ‘Mrs Patricia Weather, aged thirty-eight, dark-haired, five-six, stocky, dressed in a dark green padded coat, black woollen skirt with an artificial leather belt, pink jumper, Marks and Spencer underwear, tights and low unfashionable black shoes, size seven with a narrow heel.’
‘How do you know all this?’
Diamond Dust Page 19
