Like what?
Picking up a phone? Ringing her doorbell?
No chance, he told himself.
The search of the river banks got under way in the morning, twelve officers in overalls and boots progressing methodically along both sides below Pulteney weir. As one constable cynically remarked, it was a cheap way for the council to get its rubbish collected. Everything from cigarette stubs to beer cans was painstakingly picked up, and its position noted.
The first stretch as far as North Parade Bridge was deceptively easy. Then the footpath along the west bank came to an end and the footing became perilous. One side of a river is generally easier than another to move along, so they switched duties when possible and everyone was given a share of wrestling with brambles and scrambling along the muddy, uncultivated side. The quality of the finds didn’t do much to improve morale. They were the boring throwaway items you would expect and mostly coated in ‘grime or slime’, as one of the searchers put it.
Diamond put in a mid-morning appearance at Ferry Lane, alongside the cricket ground, and watched the unfortunates making slow progress through the undergrowth. He didn’t have much sympathy, especially when he learned that nothing of interest had been found. He’d endured worse in his days as a rookie sifting the contents of a London council tip for bits of a dismembered corpse.
While he was there someone picked up a clay pipe and said it might interest the local historians. The sergeant in charge said it was probably at least a century old and could have been smoked by one of the bargees who once navigated the canal.
‘It’s a river, not a canal,’ Diamond said.
‘A waterway,’ the sergeant said.
‘So what?’
‘So it was used by the barges that used the Kennet and Avon canal. To all intents and purposes it’s part of the canal. The man-made bit feeds in at Dolemeads. They came down from Reading and linked up with the river for the last stretch to the docks at Bristol.’
The man was right. Never having taken much interest in the canal system, Diamond hadn’t given any thought to the river as a waterway. In his mind there was a clear distinction between a river and a canal. A canal was a man-made thing, like the one he’d walked beside in Vienna.
And now that the Danube canal popped into his mind, he thought fleetingly about the woman murdered there.
One dead Japanese woman in a canal in Vienna and another here in the Kennet and Avon.
Coincidence?
Sensible thinking suggested nothing more. It wouldn’t be wise or profitable to start constructing theories of an international killer.
‘Keep up the good work,’ he told the sergeant, ‘but tell them I’m not really interested in clay pipes.’
Back in Manvers Street, he found John Leaman practically turning cartwheels in excitement. ‘It’s all under way, guv.’
‘What is?’
‘The facial reconstruction. I found a really helpful technician at the Royal United who arranges the CT scans and he knew exactly what I wanted. In fact, he’s really chuffed to be helping us.’
‘Probably watches CSI on the telly.’
Leaman took this as encouragement. ‘He does. So he’s already done the scan and emailed it to Philadelphia.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I found Professor Hackenschmidt through the internet. He’s a world expert in plastic surgery and uses computer imaging all the time. We’re hoping he can use his skills to recreate her face. We could have a result in a matter of hours.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ Diamond said. ‘The skull was put through the scanner in Bath and the pictures sent to Philadelphia?’
Leaman’s face betrayed some nervousness, as if he knew he’d overstepped the mark. Budgetary considerations were always a worry. ‘Correct.’
‘Did you ask for any to be sent here?’
‘Well, no. We wouldn’t know what to do with them.’
‘Oh yes we would,’ Diamond said. ‘You missed the point, John. We’d stick them on our board and look as if we’re going places with this investigation. Get on to your friend at the RUH and tell him this is our baby and we need a copy of everything.’
In other respects the progress was less spectacular. All the listed hotels and boarding houses had been checked and there was not a single report of a missing Japanese woman.
‘If some of you can’t look busier than this,’ Diamond said, ‘I’ll tell the search party on the river bank that reinforcements are on the way.’
After he’d gone into his office and slammed the door, there was a spell of silence. Then Paul Gilbert said, ‘Who’s that Swedish detective Kenneth Branagh plays on TV?’