'We have a positive ID on the body in Crescent Gardens. Confirmed as Mrs Stephanie Diamond, wife of Detective Superintendent Diamond. I repeat. . .' Diamond remained on his knees beside his dead wife, registering nothing of what was going on around him. This was not self-pity. The focus of his grief was entirely on Steph, and her life so abruptly ended. Dry-eyed and blank-faced, he was weeping inwardly for her, for her compassion, her wisdom, her sense of humour, her integrity, her serenity, her mental strength, her brilliant insights. It had been almost a psychic gift, that ability of hers to draw his attention to hidden truths. With uncanny timing, she had reminded him only the night before how he hated surprises. Here was the worst surprise ever. He hadn't remotely imagined it could happen. Had she? Without the faintest idea of why she had come to this place, he wasn't going to make sense of it now, or in the next hour, or the next day. He knew only that Steph had been the one love of his life and she had been shot through the head at point-blank range.
