Peter Lovesey: Upon A Dark Night

‘The said Ada, going pale. police? ‘

‘They’re going to take some photos.’

‘In here, you mean?’

‘Well, I’ve got some scars on my legs. If you don’t mind, it would be easiest in here.’

‘I’ll go down the chippie for supper,’Ada decided.

‘I don’t want to drive you out. It’s your room as much as mine.’

‘You carry on, petal. If there’s a cop with a camera, I’m not at home. We’ll have our fry-up another day.’

She gulped the rest of her tea and was gone in two minutes.

The photography didn’t start for a couple of hours, and Ada had still not returned.

Having the pictures taken was more of a major production than Rose expected, but she was relieved that the photographer was a woman. Jenny, in dungarees and black boots with red laces, took her work seriously enough to have come equipped with extra lighting and a tripod. Fortunately she had a chirpy style that made the business less of an ordeal. ‘I can’t tell you what a nice change it is to be snapping someone who can breathe. Most jobs I’m looking at corpses through this thing. Shall we try the full length first? In pants and bra studying the wallpaper, if you don’t mind slipping out of your things. It won’t take long.’

Jenny thoughtfully put a chair against the door.

‘Okay, the back view first. Arms at your side. Fine… Now the front shot. Relax your arms, dear… My, you’re getting some prize-winning bruises there. Sure you’re not a rugby player?… Now I think we’d better do a couple without the undies, don’t you? I mean the blue bits don’t stop at your pantie-line.’

Rose swallowed hard, stripped to her skin and was photographed unclothed in a couple of standing poses.

‘You can dress again now,’Jenny said. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. Whoever you are, you’re not used to flaunting it in front of a camera.’

Rarely in his police career had Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond spent so many evenings at home. He was starting to follow the plot-lines in the television soaps, a sure sign of under-employment. Even the cat, Raffles, had fitted Diamond seamlessly into its evening routine, springing onto his lap at nine-fifteen (after a last foray in the garden) and remaining there until forced to move – which did not usually take long.

One evening when it was obvious that Raffles’ tolerance was stretched to breaking point, Stephanie Diamond remarked, ‘If you relaxed, so would he.’

‘But I’m not here for his benefit.’

‘For yours, my love. Why don’t you stroke him? He’ll purr beautifully if you encourage him. It’s been proved to reduce blood pressure.’

He gave her a sharp look. ‘Mine?’

‘Well, I don’t mean the cat’s.’

‘Who says my blood pressure is too high?’ She knew better than to answer that. Her overweight husband hadn’t had a check-up in years. ‘I’m just saying you should unwind more. You sit there each evening as if you expect the phone to ring any moment.’

He said offhandedly, ‘Who’s going to ring me?’

She returned to the crossword she was doing. ‘Well, if you don’t know…’

He placed his hand on the cat’s back, but it refused to purr. ‘I take it as a positive sign. If there’s a quiet phase at work, as there is now, we must be winning the battle. Crime prevention.’

Stephanie said without looking up, ‘I expect they’re all too busy watering the geraniums.’

His eyes widened.

‘This is Bath,’ she went on, ‘the Floral City. Nobody can spare the time to commit murders.’

He smiled. Steph’s quirky humour had its own way of keeping a sense of proportion in their lives.

‘Speaking of murder,’ he said, ‘he’s killed that camellia we put in last spring.’

“Who has?’

‘Raffles.’

The cat’s ears twitched.

‘He goes to it every time,’ Diamond insensitively said. ‘Treats it as his personal privy.’

Stephanie was quick to defend the cat. ‘It isn’t his fault. We made a mistake buying a camellia. They don’t like a lime soil. They grow best in acid ground.’

‘It is now.’

He liked to have the last word. And she knew it was no use telling him to relax. He’d never been one for 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.’