going right round, like a collar? That’s the one that interests me.’
‘So what does this mean – that she was strangled first, and strung up?’
‘Don’t rush your fences, Inspector.’
‘Superintendent.’
‘Oops,’ said Sealy, and made a mock salute.
‘Someone could have faked the suicide to cover up a murder?’
‘I’d have thought a superintendent would know we men of science like to assemble all the facts before reaching an opinion.’
‘Pompous twit,’ Diamond muttered.
Sealy was making more notes.
Diamond stepped off the crate and waited for him to finish.
Without looking up from the notebook Sealy asked, ‘How do you spell your name?’
‘The usual way.’
‘You’re a bit of a card, then?’
That old joke fell flat.
But Sealy wanted to run with it. ‘The king, the ace or the joker?’
Diamond said nothing. Why encourage him?
‘If it isn’t a card you are,’ Sealy said, ‘you must be a gem. Diamond . . . gem . . . Follow me? In which case you might be interested in a little-known service they provide in America. You look reasonably fit to me, Mr Diamond, but of course we all have to make provision for what lies ahead. The one certainty, as they say. You may have decided already what you want done with your mortal remains. Even if you have, I suggest you think about this, a beautiful prospect for a man lucky enough to bear the name you do. There’s a firm in California who will take a cadaver and subject it to intense heat and pressure for eighteen weeks, reducing it to carbon atoms. The end product is a small, but exquisite, one-carat diamond.’
The only one to smile was Sealy.
‘And if you’re quick’ – he looked at his watch – ‘I can do the PM . . . p.m.’ He took back his vacuum flask and strutted towards his car as if he’d knocked out the heavyweight champ.
Diamond arranged with Halliwell to oversee the removal of the body to an undertaker’s van already parked nearby. The duty of observing the post-mortem also fell to Halliwell.
Diamond said, ‘Ingeborg.’
‘Guv?’ She was about to pick up the crate and return it to Dr Sealy’s car.
‘Leave that.’
‘But he’s going to forget it.’
‘Yes.’
Ingeborg had recently treated herself to one of those bug-shaped Fords known as a Ka, comfortable once Diamond had persuaded his bulk into the passenger seat and drawn the belt across. He asked her to drive him to the house in Walcot.
‘Tell me about the men in this lady’s life.’
‘The one I met is Ashley Corcoran, her partner. He’s cool.’
Aware that the last word had refinements he hadn’t kept up with, Diamond said, ‘Which is . . . ?
‘In control. No panic. He strikes me as responsible, if a little too laid back,’ she told him. ‘He’s great with the kids. He collects them from school every day. Reads to them at bedtime.’
‘What’s his job?’
‘Composing theme music for television. He’s got a Steinway piano and all kinds of synthesisers and stuff.’
‘Swish place, then?’
‘A converted warehouse close to the river. Made me envious.’
‘But he wasn’t too worried about his partner’s disappearance?’
‘He said she’d be back. She’d always valued her freedom and he respected that, or some such.’
‘Leaving him with her kids?’
‘No problem, apparently.’
‘So was he annoyed with Delia’s mother for reporting her missing?’
‘He just smiled and said she’s a worrier.’
‘With good reason, it turns out. Did you sense anything suggesting this man could be violent?’
‘Absolutely not.’
They were already across Pulteney Bridge. Ingeborg was a nifty driver.
‘And what did you discover about the other guy, the father of the girls?’
‘Not a lot. Only his first name, which is Danny.’
‘Not much to go on.’
‘Ashley Corcoran said he’d never asked. I can believe that’s true.’
‘He is cool. What are the girls called, then? They must have a surname.’
‘Williamson. They