‘Don’t,’ I interrupted. Diane had been my confidante throughout the case which had ended with me getting knifed. She also knew how close I’d come to falling apart in the months afterwards. I thought she’d understood my decision to carry on in my line of work. How it was all tied up with wanting to be strong again, asserting my right to earn my living this way, not wanting to spend the rest of my life ruled by fears of what might happen. Maybe she just thought I was being pig-headed.
‘That was different. You know, I’d think twice about taking on anything dodgy. It started off as a missing person, remember. I’m not trying to solve the murder, am I? I just want to know who she was.’
She shot me her sceptical look. ‘The two things aren’t connected?’
‘How the hell do I know?’ I retorted. She sighed and drained her glass.
‘I’ll be careful, I am careful.’ I said. ‘Another?’
When I returned from the bar, I changed the conversation, asking Diane what I’d interrupted the previous evening.
‘Printing. I’d had this brilliant idea for a silk screen. I was in the middle of putting the first colour on.’
I burst out laughing. ‘I thought you were in the middle of a session with Ben. You were all out of breath.’
‘I get like that when the muse is on me.’
‘And Ben?’
‘Not artistic at all.’
‘Diane!’
‘State of truce. He’s going to the christening, I’m not. We’re having a weekend away in Barcelona.’ She made it sound like a trip to the dentist. Ben was paying for the whole thing, which made her uncomfortable. Diane’s a proud pauper, scraping a subsistence living from her artwork. And she feared that being thrown together would bring to a head all the tensions in the relationship.
‘Think of the culture, though,’ I said.
‘I know, Gaudi, cafe society, music…’
‘Construction sites for the Olympics,’ I cut in. She jabbed me in the ribs. Send me a postcard, bring me some vino back.’
Cycling home, I got a puncture. It was still raining. I felt deflated too. Diane’s words rankled. I’d been defensive about wanting to establish what Janice Brookes had been playing at. Cars swished past me, spraying me with water. I wanted to sleep. Diane was right, I was tired. Work usually gave me energy, a sense of purpose, achievement. But I’d had too many shocks to the system and no time to settle myself.
I fantasised about all the treats I could do with; a weekend away, a massage, even just a few days with the garden and the kids. Just what the Detective Inspector ordered. Sod it. A few more days and I’d have the answer to the mystery, and if I didn’t I’d jack it in anyway.
