Peter Lovesey - Diamond Dust

He had not gone far when a cyclist turned the corner and pedalled towards him: the first sign of life. A man of around his own age, dressed in a blue suit and flat cap, riding along in that focused way cyclists have. Diamond didn't hail him, as he might have done. Westway Terrace was a cul-de-sac, so it was certain that the cyclist would stop at one of the houses and there was just a chance…

His hunch was right. The man came to a halt outside number seventeen and felt in his pocket for keys.

A change of luck was overdue.

'Mr Dixon-Bligh?'

The cyclist turned and stared. There was panic, or guilt, or both, in the look. His hands gripped the bike as if he was considering escape. He didn't say a word.

Diamond stepped purposefully towards him. 'I'm Peter Diamond, Steph's second husband.'

He watched it register. Diamond the policeman. Saw the eyes widen, the jaw gape. Any jury would have convicted on that reaction.

'Mind if I come in?' Diamond asked, with a huge effort to sound friendly and disarming. 'I'm up from Bath to see you.'

'What on earth for?'

'It'll be easier inside.'

Dixon-Bligh unlocked and wheeled the bike in first, leaning it against the wall just inside. Diamond stepped in after him and closed the door. The place smelt damp and the wallpaper was coated with mould.

'I tried to reach you on the phone. The number I had was obviously out of date. Are you on a mobile these days?'

Dixon-Bligh was not saying.

'You did know she was killed?'

He nodded. It had been in all the papers and on radio and television, so he could hardly have failed to find out.

Diamond added, 'I tried to let you know about the funeral. She had a good one, in the Abbey. Lots of people came.'

The funeral didn't interest Dixon-Bligh. 'What do you want from me?' he succeeded in saying. He still hadn't taken off the hat.

'A cup of coffee wouldn't come amiss. Didn't get one on the train. Can't stand those paper cups.'

Glad, it seemed, of any opportunity to mark time while he marshalled his thoughts, Dixon-Bligh stepped through to the kitchen, and Diamond made sure he was close behind. There wasn't much in there, considering this was a professional caterer's kitchen. A packet of cornflakes and a cut loaf. One mug. Dixon-Bligh looked around for another and took one out of a box, still wrapped in newspaper from the house-move.

'You don't have many visitors, then?' Diamond remarked. 'I'm having to get used to being a loner myself.

Can't say I'm much good at it.'

No matey response to that.

'Is this where you keep the milk?' He opened the small fridge to the right of the door and took out a packet of semi-skimmed and checked the sell-by date. It was just about drinkable. 'I expect you get a main meal at work, like me. You do work?'

Dixon-Bligh nodded and picked up the kettle and filled it. The old-fashioned gas ring had to be lit with a match. Then he took off his cap and hung it on the door, accepting the obligation to say something. Now that the words came, they were fluent and articulate. 'I'm sorry about the way she died, truly sorry. Thought about coming to the funeral, and decided against it. The point is, there was a residue of bitterness after we parted. The marriage had been a mistake. I'm sure Stephanie must have told you. Harsh things were said, deeply wounding on both sides. I'm ashamed, looking back. I gather she was happier with you.'

'It worked,' Diamond said, not trusting himself to say more.

The man was pouring on the oil now he was over the first shock. 'I decided turning up at the funeral would have been hypocritical. I should have let you know, written a note or sent a card at the very least. I have this tendency to turn my back on things I can't handle.' He took a packet of teabags from an otherwise empty cupboard. 'I expect her family came to the funeral. Her sister… the name has gone.'

'Angela. Yes, she was there.'

'Didn't approve of me.'

'Me, neither,' Diamond said to encourage confidences. 'She thinks my job contributed in some way to Steph's murder. She could be right.'

'Really? I hadn't thought of that.'

'Do you have any idea who would have wanted her killed?'

'None whatsoever. She didn't have enemies. She wasn't that kind of person, as you know.'

This comparing of notes by the two men Steph had married was taking out some of the tension. Dixon-Bligh may not have dropped his guard yet, but he was willing to respond to questions.

Diamond said, 'I was going to ask if you remember anyone who took against her, with or without cause.'

'From that far back, you mean? It's a long shot, isn't it?'

'You were in the Air Force when she met you, I believe.'

'True, and there were some weird characters around then, but Steph didn't come across them. We weren't housed in married quarters. We had a flat in the city, and she didn't see much of the other officers. Even on mess nights, when some of the wives attended, Steph stayed at home because I was always on duty supervising the catering staff. Wouldn't have been much of a night out for her.'

'Where was this?'

'Hereford. Not a bad posting.'

'Hereford, right,' Diamond said placidly, making immense efforts to suppress his gut feeling that the man had murdered Steph. 'She spoke of it quite often, and I didn't link it up with the RAF. I thought she'd lived there at some earlier stage of her life. She liked it there. She more than once mentioned the view of the Black Mountains from the kitchen window.'

'Typical.'

'What's that?'

'Steph remembering the view. You could see it on a fine day, but most of the time it rained.'

'She was an optimist. And how about you? Did you like Hereford?'

'Unreservedly. Great pubs, good cider, terrific steaks.'

Diamond's eyes widened. 'Was Steph eating steak in those days?'

Dixon-Bligh grinned faintly. 'No, that was a personal memory.' The water had come to the boil, and he tossed a teabag into each cup and poured some in.

Judging that the preliminaries were at an end, Diamond sat at the table and asked, 'Do you mind talking about what went wrong in your marriage?'

'I don't mind,' he answered evenly. 'We went into it blindly, that was what was wrong. We were attracted to each other, very considerate when we were going out together, full of plans. After we married, after the nuptial bliss, I relaxed – or relapsed – and became the selfish bastard I am. To Stephanie, this came as a shock. Service life makes heavy demands anyway. A career officer is expected to spend time in the mess and she couldn't understand why I was out so often.' With a sigh, he said, 'If you want the absolute truth, I had affairs. My duties in the catering branch meant I had more women around me than men, and – well, you know how it is – there are always those who are game for some fun.'

'Did she find out?'

'Not for a while. She had her suspicions, I'm certain. Even so, our sex life was normal. I'm a twice-a-day man, or was, given the opportunity. I think if we'd had the child she wanted, we might still be married, regardless of my playing around. She was so keen to get pregnant'

'I know.'

'The miscarriages did for us. She was weak and weepy and I couldn't handle that at all. I played away more blatantly than before. She found out and angry things were said and we split. Simple as that.'

'Had you spoken since the divorce?'

'Only when necessary. Some couples stay friendly, I know. In our case, it was impossible.'

'You say "when necessary". Did you get in touch in the weeks before her death?'

'No.' A fiat denial without a glimmer of guilt. This was not what Diamond had come to hear.

'You're certain? Her diary mentions phone calls and meetings with someone.'

'Not me, old chum.'