And Diamond wasn’t going to break that confidence, even though the father had tried to headbutt him. How interesting that none of the company knew of the relationship. Fergus kept his private life well concealed. Maybe it was about his macho image. It was hard to imagine the hard man sharing baby pictures with his workmates. “Are you a family man, Greg?”
Deans gave Diamond a sharp look. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“The sympathetic way you talked about the miscarriage made me think you must be in a relationship.”
He looked down at his watch. “Time’s up, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t you want me to know?”
“Know what?”
“About your home life.”
Deans gave Diamond a stare that could have cut through granite. “That’s not for debate.”
“I’m not interested in debate. Are you married?”
“You have no right—” he started to say.
“Sorry, but I do. It’s my duty to ask questions. You’re going to say it’s your right to remain silent and you’re entitled to do so if you choose, in which case I can get the answer to my question by having you followed, which I’m entitled to do, but I’d find that excessive and so would you.”
He’d seen this obduracy coming. Deans had built a wall around himself. Somewhere behind the theatre-speak, the call sheets, the production schedule and the budget was a real man.
Diamond was determined to break through the wall. “It was a personal question,” he said, switching to a more reasonable tone. “Fair play, I’ll tell you about my own situation. It’s no big deal. I married quite late and sadly it didn’t last all that long because my wife was murdered. I lived the life of a widowed man for a long time after and now I’ve moved in with somebody else.”
In the silence that followed, a series of tiny muscle movements on Deans’s features showed he was in two minds. He scratched his beard, pressed his mouth more firmly shut for a few seconds and then gave in to the moral pressure. “I have a partner, but she has no connection with television, if that’s what you’re thinking. Natalie is disabled. She’s a potter. We first met before I worked in television and before she got this wretched multiple sclerosis. I was a man with a van who did delivery jobs, and she took me on. I drove around the district delivering her products. We became friendly, it got serious and she invited me to live with her. She still works, but we don’t know how much longer she can keep going. When I get home, I help her load the kiln and there’s no shop talk about Swift or anything else I’ve done in the day. I leave it all behind me. And no, I don’t have children.”
“Neither do I,” Diamond said with a sigh so slight it would have passed unnoticed. “Neither do I.”
16
Unlike Greg Deans, Diamond didn’t mind discussing work matters at home. His late wife, Stephanie, had always been willing to listen and chip in with thoughts of her own. More than once she had given him an insight that transformed a case and led to a conviction. His current partner, Paloma, too, brought fresh thinking to his problems. Keeping an open mind was the hardest part of his job. It could be painful to question assumptions he’d already made, but if he was willing to take the pain from anyone, she was the woman closest to his heart.
Paloma enjoyed cooking and had made it her mission to educate Diamond’s palette. They didn’t often go out for meals. Tonight he’d persuaded her to try the Hudson Steakhouse on London Street. When he’d first come to Bath, the place had been a pub called the Hat and Feather, known to locals as the Hat. Back in its glory days it had been the social hub of the Walcot community, famous for charabanc trips to the seaside, children’s parties and lavish wedding receptions, but by Diamond’s time it was badly in need of a makeover and he’d shed no tears at the change of use.
Paloma wasn’t much of a meat eater, so coming to a steak house was largely an act of altruism. To Diamond’s relief she gave a squeak of delight when she saw the menu.
“Tortelloni. And stuffed with the goodies I like most.”
“Specially for you,” he said as if he’d fixed it with the chef. He had no idea what tortelloni was, but he was willing to believe it was delicious as long as he didn’t have to eat any. He’d already decided on the twelve-ounce rib eye.
“I expect you know the difference between tortelloni and tortellini,” she said.
He knew he was being teased. “I thought they were opera singers.”
She solemnly explained and he solemnly listened. “I’ll give you one to sample when it arrives.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You need this,” Paloma said when the steak was in front of him. “If you’ll forgive the expression, you were looking jinxed when you left for work this morning.”
Still sensitive about that word, he gave a smile like a reopened wound. “The day ended better than it started. We made a breakthrough. I discovered who fed the story to the Bristol Post.”
“Anyone I’ve heard of?”
He told her about Candida, the full works.
Paloma took a sympathetic view. “I can understand why she did it, stuck on that boat with a two-year-old. You feel as if your life has closed down. Talking to the press brought back some of the fun she was missing.”
“No fun for the people she used to work with.”
“Oh, come on, Pete, everyone knows the jinx thing is a load of nonsense.”
“That’s what I keep saying. Actually all of it really happened.”
“The incidents, yes. It’s the spin the paper gave them.”
“Which came from Candida. She was the one who strung everything together and told the press about the damned jinx.”
“But the substance of the story is true, as you just said. It adds up to a remarkable run of bad luck. It’s not as if she made everything up.”
He shook his head. “It was a calculated act of mischief.”
“I can see it’s a sore point, but I do understand why she did it. At least you can cross her off your list of suspects.”
“Really?” He couldn’t let that pass.
“Obvious, isn’t it? If she’d done anything criminal, she wouldn’t have made it public.”
“That’s not the way I see it.”
She laughed. “Typical. Go on then. I’m listening.”
Without seriously interrupting his work on the steak, he did. “She’s firmly in the frame. She profited from Dave Tudor’s departure by taking over his plum job as assistant producer. And she was the last to be seen with Mary Wroxeter. She drove Mary home that night.”
“The sainted Mary everyone loved and depended on? Hold on. Are you thinking she was murdered?”
“Helped to die, possibly.”
Paloma put down her fork and sat back in her chair. “You’re serious?”
“I’m looking into it.”
“Along with all the other troubles that hit the show?”
He shook his head. “Only the suspicious ones that could be murder.”
“But if Candida had anything to do with whatever happened, why would she bring it to everyone’s attention?”
“The real reason for contacting the newspaper? It’s smart. The killings get lumped in with all the other stuff that happened and passed off as more bad luck, the work of the jinx. Tudor went missing and Mary drank too much. They’re not viewed as murders.”
Her gaze slipped away from him, taking in the deviousness of such a plan. When their eyes met again, she still seemed unconvinced. “And the other man who has gone missing — do you think she killed him?”