Peter Lovesey - Diamond Dust

'I wouldn't bet on it,' Bowers said. 'The thing about Woking is it's so near the motorways. Driving the M25 is a joy at night. Any street map would show him how close he could get to the trains. He could have scouted out the route one evening and brought the body here the next.'

'He'd still need to have decided on that stretch of embankment.'

'Thousands of people use the trains. Some guy living as far away as Portsmouth could have planned it. Or equally someone in London.'

'Bath is way off the route,' Diamond said, as much to himself as Bowers. 'It's not too likely he came from Bath. The killer of my wife had local knowledge.'

'Doesn't matter where he comes from,' Bowers pointed out. 'A professional hitman does his homework first. They suss out the spot they want on a couple of visits.'

Fair point, Diamond had to admit. This young detective had a good grasp. He'd be an asset in any investigation.

When he drove out of Woking that evening, with the September sun shooting blood-red streaks above Bagshot Heath, he was mentally crossing theories off his list.

All the way back, chugging along in the slow lane of the M4 at a steady fifty (the fastest he drove under any circumstances), he argued with himself over his next move. He was home shortly after nine, and went straight to the phone and called Julie Hargreaves, the ex-colleague he could safely confide in. This link with Steph's murder – and he was ninety per cent sure it was a link – had huge possibilities, and no one else was aware of it yet. Ahead of the field now, he knew his dangerous tendency to rush fences, and even he could see that this one had a built-in hazard. Julie's advice was worth seeking.

They got the preliminaries out of the way. Yes, he was coping better than he expected, and yes, he was sorry he hadn't been in touch for months. The subtext, understood by them both, was the awkwardness he felt as a widower calling up a woman friend. You couldn't do it without suggesting you were feeling the strain of living alone. For her part, Julie said she was sorry they hadn't been in touch more. She'd tried phoning any number of times. She asked what had happened to the answerphone he'd once had.

'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.'