Peter Lovesey - Diamond Dust

'You've made some inroads, then.' Encouragement is always appreciated and Bobby Bowers sounded as if he needed some.

And sometimes it has to be underlined. 'It's no picnic,' Bowers said. 'My lads have a job to keep their footing. The pathologist said he wanted danger money.'

'What did he say about the dismembering?'

'That's down to the foxes. They're rampant around here. There's no sign she was hacked about by the killer.' He glanced along the embankment. 'Ay-up – somebody's found another bit.'

Conversation was suspended while they stepped along the side of the track to where one of the search party was waving. 'What have you got for me, Marty?'

'Two fingers, sir.'

'I know how you feel, but what have you got for me?'

Marty gave a tired grin. They clambered up the incline to examine his find: the brown bones of the fingers with enough skin still attached to link them at the base. They were well camouflaged against the dark soil. The searchers had to be eagle-eyed.

'You were asking about rings,' Bowers said. 'This will be the little finger and the ring finger of the left hand. We already found the right.'

'No joy, then.'

'None for us, anyway. The killer may have removed it, of course.'

'Or she may not have had a ring.'

Some sinewy material remained attached to the bones, and there were traces of varnish at the base of a fingernail, but there was no chance of finding the impression of a wedding ring.

Bowers thanked his man and had the find marked and called for a photographer.

Diamond asked about the skull. Was it still where they had found it?

'No, the doc decided to lift it. It's in one of our boxes waiting to be moved to the forensic lab. You can see it if you want.'

They trudged back to the centre of operations. He had the box opened and the skull grinned at him, or that was the effect. The bared teeth and the curve of the jawbone, picked clean by the joint efforts of foxes, magpies and larvae, seemed to pass on the message 'Don't count on me to give you any help'.

Trying to ignore that, he looked at the circular bullet holes on the right side, just above the ear cavity. No exact match with the pattern of Steph's shooting, but the firing of two shots at such close range did suggest a professional killing.

'Lift it out if you want,' Bowers offered. 'You might like to look at the hair. Some is still attached at the back.'

'No need,' Diamond told him. 'I don't know what I'm looking for. Dark, is it?'

'Tinted brown.'

He switched his interest to the teeth. 'One or two fillings, anyway. If you can find her dental records, you might get a name.'

'A handbag would be quicker,' Bowers said. 'Did you find one with yours?'

'Mine?'

'Your stiff.'

A pause.

Diamond made a huge effort to sound untroubled. 'Er – it was hidden, but yes.'

'So you knew pretty soon who she was?'

'Right.' He put the lid on the smiling skull before it

unsettled him more. 'What about those clothes you mentioned?'

'We found a few. Want to see?' Bowers turned to a stack of cardboard storage boxes. 'These would tell you she's over thirty even if the bones hadn't. More Country Casuals than Top Shop.' He opened a box and took out two transparent zip-bags, each containing a shoe that didn't look the latest in snazzy dressing, even to Diamond's untutored eye. 'Size seven, squat, narrow heel. No bimbo wears things like this.'

Bowers opened another box and lifted out the tattered remains of a green padded coat in some man-made fabric. 'Ripped to shreds by the foxes. The fact that she was wearing a thing like this means she was probably shot last winter, or the spring.'

'It also makes it likely the shooting happened outdoors,' Diamond said more for his own benefit than anyone else's.

'Agreed.'

'What was she wearing underneath?'

'Woollen stuff for warmth, a thick pink jumper, though not much has survived. Black woollen skirt. Very little left of it. Imitation leather belt. Black tights. And Marks and Spencer underwear, same as yours and mine, I dare say'

'Speak for yourself.'

There was a break in the dialogue while Bowers marked his chart with the latest find. The police work all seemed highly efficient except that each time a train went past one of the screens blew down and several of the search party had to shore it up again.

'What do you think?' Bowers asked, when the chart was updated. 'Any chance of a link between your stiff and mine?'

The force of that word struck home harder this time and it took some strength of will to let it pass. Bowers had no idea how close he was to being smeared all over his precious chart. 'It's a long way from Bath, of course,' Diamond succeeded in saying after a pause. 'The two shots to the head are the common factor, plus the sex and approximate age of the victims. Middle-aged women aren't killed this way. Mind, there are some differences in the m.o. Yours was hidden from view, mine left on the ground in a public park. She was found very soon after the shots were fired.'

'Who was she?'

'My wife, actually.'

Bobby Bowers gave a nod, then in a double take, a wide-eyed stare. 'Did you say…?'

Diamond answered with formal precision, as if giving evidence, 'Her name was Stephanie. She went to the park to meet someone known as "T", according to her diary. She was gunned down in broad daylight'

'Christ, I read about this.' Bowers raked a hand distractedly through his hair. 'Bloody hell. Didn't connect you.'

'Well, you wouldn't. You'd expect someone else to be on the case, and he is.'

This drew a frown from the young DCI. There is only so much you can take in at a time, even when you're a fast-track superintendent in a polo shirt and jeans.

With a candour that actually surprised himself, Diamond explained, 'I'm here unofficially, acting on my own. Way out of line, I know, but I mean to find out why my wife was murdered, and who did it'

There was a forced interruption as a train went by.

Then, from Bowers: 'Have you found out anything of use?'

'Here? Not yet.'

'Are you working with the team on your wife's case?'

'Wish I was. Protocol doesn't allow it.'

'So you're doing a Charles Bronson?'

Diamond grinned faintly. 'Better not put it in those terms.'

'I'm glad you told me. I might have said something really tasteless. You don't mind me asking – were you and your wife-?'

'Happily married? Yes.'

'But you must have some theories why she was killed.'

'How much time have you got?' He was relieved the young DCI had taken it so calmly. That generation was less hung up on protocol, thank God. In the next five minutes he sketched out the main facts of the case, pausing only when another train thundered past. At the end of it, he said, 'If you hear all this again from a certain DCI McGarvie, do me a favour and try and sound interested.'

'McGarvie?'

'He's the SIO.'

'I may call him,' Bowers said.

'That's up to you.'

'Not much point till we know who the, em, victim is.'

'Right.' Diamond suddenly felt devious again, and he didn't enjoy it when Bowers had been so obliging. He had a strong theory who the dead woman was, but his maverick status made it necessary for him to keep it to himself. 'It shouldn't take long.'

Bowers looked less confident.

'So how do you think she was brought here?' Diamond asked.

'By road, almost certainly. As you saw, you can bring a vehicle really close.'

'You don't think she was pushed off a train?'

'Unlikely. Too many people travel on them. We're assuming she was driven here by night, already dead, and dumped on the embankment. Most of the torso was found high up the slope. You can park a van up there out of sight of any houses.'

'The killer knew the area, then. A local man?'