Bloodhounds (Peter Diamond Book 4) by Lovesey Peter

Author:Lovesey, Peter [Lovesey, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781569477953
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2004-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-three

JULIE WAS KEEN for some human contact after her long session with the Police National Computer. “Ready to demonstrate your sleuthing skills, Mr. Diamond? Let’s match you against the PNC. Which one of the Bloodhounds has a police record?”

“Only one?”

“That’s all.”

“The fellow with the mean-streets dog. Rupert Darby.”

She shrugged and smiled. “You could have saved me nearly two hours of eye strain. Two prison terms, of six months and eighteen months, for obtaining money by deception. Seven fines for drunkenness and one for indecency.”

“When was this?” Diamond asked.

“The indecency?”

“No, the bird.”

“In 1977 and 1983.”

“Long time ago. What was the scam?”

“I don’t know. The PNC doesn’t go into the details.”

“But you will, won’t you, Julie? That’s where the human brain scores over the computer.”

“It isn’t the brain,” she said. “It’s hard slog.”

“Put a hard slogger on the job, then. Delegate, Julie. I do. And get the facts on the indecency, will you? That could mean anything from streaking at a test match to pissing in a shop doorway.”

She didn’t complain. She wouldn’t have told Diamond, but she was encouraged that the murder inquiry was back on track.

Diamond was off on another tack. “Funny idea,” he said, “calling a dog after a character in a book. We’ve got a cat—well, a kitten, really. Steph brought it home. Haven’t thought of a name for it yet. I wouldn’t call it Marlowe.”

“That wouldn’t do,” Julie agreed. “Is it a torn?”

“Yes.”

“You could call it Sherlock, or Wimsey, or Father Brown.”

He pulled a face. “It’ll let us know.”

Sitting in bed, clutching a mug of cocoa, Shirley-Ann told Bert about the writing on the Walsingham Gallery window. And why shouldn’t she? It wasn’t as if she had been asked to keep the incident to herself, though she appreciated that the words had been cleaned off in the hope that no one else would find out. She always told Bert everything. It would have made her feel furtive not to have spoken to him.

“Who did it, then?” he asked, yawning. He was already horizontal, physically tired. So much of his day was spent doing sport that if the truth were told he wasn’t much of a sport at night.

“Wrote the words on the window? I’ve no idea,” said Shirley-Ann, with energy still to burn. Even the weekends were filled with football refereeing that tired Bert. “It could be anybody. Milo was at the party and so was Rupert, but I wouldn’t read anything into that. It may have been done by someone who didn’t come.”

“Someone bitter about not being invited?”

“Well, yes.”

“Who, for instance?”

“I didn’t see Polly or Miss Chilmark there. I suppose either of them could have sneaked up and got busy with a spray can.”

“Just out of spite?”

“I don’t know them all that well, but I wouldn’t put it past one of them. They’re formidable ladies, those two. The only thing I doubt is whether they’d use that way to register a protest.”

“It doesn’t have to be one of the Bloodhounds,” Bert pointed out.

“Do you think so?” Shirley-Ann said dubiously.

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