Down Among the Dead Men

11

His thoughts were spinning like electrons, but he stayed silent and appeared unmoved.

He wasn’t giving Georgina the satisfaction of seeing the shock she’d just delivered.

Ten years and more had gone by since he had worked with Hen Mallin on a case involving a Bath woman murdered on Wightview Sands, a south coast beach. The short, cigarillo-smoking DI from Bognor had been lively company on a complex, demanding investigation. Any woman heading a CID team had to be tough and vocal, and Hen was. Given a hard time when she was a rookie — more than her share of dangerous dogs, delinquent teenagers, abusive men and over-ripe corpses — she’d come through and risen in the ranks. With Diamond she’d formed an unlikely bond. He’d learned early on that she lived alone, a status that had been recently and painfully forced on him, and her strength of character had been an inspiration.

He couldn’t believe Hen was the corrupt SIO.

Gulls were swooping over the canal, screaming a soundtrack to the mayhem in his brain.

‘Yes, a woman,’ Georgina added. ‘Believe it or not, my half of the human race is as capable as yours of going wrong.’

She had misread his silence.

‘Of course,’ she went on, ‘it pains me to investigate one of my own sex who has reached high rank and misbehaved, but that won’t put me off. Whoever she is, she needn’t expect any favours from me.’

Whoever she is?

She was talking as if Hen was a stranger. What’s going on here, Diamond asked himself. Surely she remembers.

He made a huge effort to get his brain functioning as it should, to recall that summer of 2003. Georgina had been in the job for sure. She was well established as the ACC by then. She liked to keep tabs on every investigation. She must have known about Hen. No one could forget a character like that. Hen had come to Bath at least once. He remembered questioning a suspect with her.

But had the two actually met?

Any conceivable reason why they hadn’t?

A memory popped up, something to do with a cat.

A cat?

A cat called Sultan.

Georgina on the point of taking time off to go on a Nile cruise, all her thoughts focused on Egypt — except for the problem of what to do with her long-haired cat, Sultan. Diamond had come to her aid by finding her a house sitter and — sod’s law — Anna, the house sitter, had been allergic to cats. He’d ended up taking Sultan home.

By the time Georgina had returned from her cruise, the case was closed and Hen had gone back to Sussex.

So this wasn’t loss of memory. She and Hen had never met.

Now she was filling the silence again. ‘I didn’t think you’d have a problem dealing with a woman under suspension.’

‘I don’t.’

‘That’s all right, then.’ She smiled in a superior way.

But it wasn’t all right. It was all wrong. He should declare an interest and extract himself from this mess.

He couldn’t. He had a mental picture of Hen, her career in ruins, forced out of the job she loved and now about to be put on the rack by Georgina. Two formidable women. If each had the effect on the other he expected, Hen could only suffer more.

She needed support.

But was he the right person to supply it? How would she react to having him around at this low point in her career? She might take it as more humiliation than she could bear. He knew how he would feel. In time of trouble, he’d rather go to strangers than friends.

He could back off and be home tonight.

Except that he’d seen what Archie Hahn had written about Georgina. ‘If — heaven forbid — anything more damaging should emerge, we can rely on her to miss it altogether, or, at worst, bury it.’

Cruel, but true. Left to manage alone, Georgina would rubber-stamp everything headquarters had decided.

‘Where does she live?’

‘Chichester, I was told.’

‘When do you want to see her?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘At home?’

‘It has to be. She’s banned from the police station.’

‘Better get someone to phone and let her know.’

They returned to their task of going through the files.

The anonymous letter was delivered by a despatch rider under instructions to hand it to ACC Dallymore in person and then return with it to headquarters.

Georgina opened the envelope and read what was inside before handing it to Diamond.

The message had been produced on standard A4 paper on a printer. It had been rubber-stamped Sussex Police Headquarters. Someone had added a note and initials: Received by post 3/8/14. Chichester postmark dated 2/8/14. The initials were familiar: AH.

‘Pretty damning, wouldn’t you say?’ Georgina said.

‘This is accurate?’

‘That’s why DCI Mallin is suspended and we’re here.’

‘Quite a professional job,’ he said, trying to sound unmoved. ‘Lays out the facts without any emotion, unlike other anonymous letters I’ve come across. I’m glad we’ve seen it. I’ll photocopy it.’

Georgina took a sharp breath. ‘I don’t think we’re entitled to do that.’

‘No one said we can’t. We may need to refer to it.’

‘The rider is waiting to return it to headquarters.’

‘He can carry on waiting.’

‘That isn’t what I’m saying, Peter. We saw this on the understanding that it was for our eyes only. Archie won’t want us making a spare copy.’

Archie could go to hell, but he didn’t say so. ‘I’m not going to show it to anyone. We’ve been asked to do a job, ma’am. They must trust us. Sorry about the “ma’am”. It slipped out.’ He crossed the room to the machine that served as printer, copier and scanner. ‘Any idea how this thing works?’

If you want to be a Mr Fixit in the twenty-first century, it helps to be computer-literate.

Georgina sighed heavily, joined him and showed him how. Even so, it was a significant moment in their partnership. They made the photocopy and he folded it and put it in his pocket with Archie’s damning note about Georgina. Then he sealed the original in an envelope addressed to Commander A. Hahn and handed it to the despatch rider.

Soon after, they finished reading the files and walked back to their hotel.

‘Shall we meet for a meal in an hour or so?’ Diamond said when they got there.

‘I think not,’ Georgina said. ‘I’ve developed a headache. I’ll have room service.’

She can’t take any more of me, he thought with satisfaction. I’ll find a pub that serves pie and chips.