Skeleton Hill (25 page)

‘Her killer?’

‘No.’

‘How do they know that?’ she said, stung into petulance. ‘They’ve got nothing to compare it with.’

‘Because it isn’t a human hair. It’s animal. It comes from a horse.’

‘Get away!’

‘True.’ He handed across the sheet he’d printed. ‘They reckon it was clipped. Horses get trimmed sometimes, don’t they?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ She read the report right through. ‘Incredible. Can you feature that?’

‘There was I thinking we might have got lucky,’ he said. ‘We end up with a bloody horse.’

‘I’m at a loss, guv.’

‘So was I when I first read it. But I’ve remembered something I was told in London by Vikki, the madam at the brothel. She was Ukrainian herself and she knew Nadia. She said she always thought Nadia came from Cossack stock and she justified it by saying she spent a lot of time watching the racing on TV, not for the betting, but the horses. I don’t know a lot about Cossacks except they’re fierce warriors and they ride horses.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Cool.’

‘So it’s not impossible that when she came here and was looking for a job she thought about working with horses.’

‘I guess.’ She sounded unconvinced.

‘If she heard of an upcoming event involving horses she could well have thought she’d go there in hopes of chatting up some owners and getting work as a stable girl.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, guv, there’s some heavy speculation here.’

‘Sure. I’m trying to link a horse hair to Nadia.’

‘Okay. And what was the upcoming event?’

‘The re-enactment.’

She took a sharp breath. ‘Of course. Plenty of horses there.’

‘As you say, Inge, it’s all speculation, but we have to work something out and this is the best I can think of. I just wanted you to know I’ve had a rethink about you joining the cavalry.’

‘I can do it?’ She gave a scream of excitement and for one alarming moment he thought she was going to fling her arms around his neck.

29

D
id Lansdown itself hold the solution to this mystery? In Diamond’s thoughts the great limestone hill loomed larger than any suspect. From inside the bowl of the city it appeared disarmingly scenic, a pale green backdrop to the undulating ribbons of cream-coloured buildings. He knew its real character. Up there were places of death, the graveyard and the battlefield, bleak, windswept locations even on a summer day. The battleground had yielded up a bone, and then a skeleton, to set this investigation in motion. Nadia had come to Bath for sanctuary, and been slaughtered and buried on the hill. For three weeks poor confused Rupert Hope had roamed the fields and tracks and slept in the Victorian cemetery until, just as cruelly, his life had been stopped. This was an unforgiving place.

He’d never set much store on intuition, so why was he nagged by this conviction that the down held another, larger secret and it was his duty to reveal the truth? The standard method of probing motive, means and opportunity would not be enough. A bigger, bolder vision was called for. Lansdown both repelled him and tugged at him.

He told Septimus he was going to drive up to the cemetery for another look at the entrance gate where Rupert was thought to have slept.

‘There isn’t much to see now,’ Septimus said. ‘Everything we found was bagged up and sent to forensics. We’ll know more if they can tell us for sure if he used that blanket.’

‘For now, I’m assuming he did,’ Diamond said. ‘Can you tear yourself away from that computer and join me?’

On the drive up the hill, Septimus seemed to feel he ought to speak up for his team. ‘We haven’t just been looking for witnesses. We spent a lot of time on Rupert and his life in Bristol. He comes out of it as the kind of guy nobody could hate or feel threatened by. Liked his lecturing and did it well. Always thinking of ways of bringing history to life. Popular with students.’

‘Not so popular in the senior common room.’

‘The other lecturers respected him. He wasn’t big on socialising, but that was who he was, a quiet guy, maybe a shade too serious for their taste.’

‘And outside the university?’

‘The same, really. He got on with the neighbours without living in their pockets. People in local shops said he was honest and easy to deal with. He didn’t give out much. Some guys don’t. That’s life.’

‘No close friends?’

‘Not all that close. Currently he wasn’t in a relationship. There seem to have been a couple of girlfriends in the past. He didn’t ever live with anyone.’

‘Can’t hold that against him.’

‘We checked his bank statements. Nothing unusual there. Not even a small overdraft. He spent his money mainly on books, DVDs and theatre visits. He could make a bottle of wine last almost a week.’

‘I could murder someone like that,’ Diamond said.

‘Yeah, maybe he was too good for this world.’

‘I’m sure you must have checked his computer.’

‘Same thing. The downloaded stuff is heavy on history. The emails are mainly to other historians about topics he was researching. He also kept in touch with his parents that way. Got on well with them and was generous with money at Christmas and birthdays. All in all, no trouble to anyone.’

They’d reached the cemetery gate. Diamond stopped the car and switched off. ‘You know, it’s possible he was just unlucky.’

‘Wrong place, wrong time?’ Septimus scratched his head. ‘How would we ever find out?’

‘We have to.’ Diamond got out and looked up at the ornate Romanesque façade of the gateway. ‘Now show me where you found the blanket.’

They passed through an entrance door to the right of the main gates. ‘A gatekeeper could live in here, no problem,’ Septimus said as he stepped into the section with the stone seats.

‘Where did you find the blanket?’

‘Under here.’ He indicated the seat to their right.

‘What sort of blanket?’

‘Deep red, made of some synthetic material. We didn’t open it out for fear of losing particle evidence. It stayed folded. I’d say it was large and not too clean.’

‘He wasn’t too clean himself. You think he nicked it from a car?’

‘My best suggestion. The fabric was dry, you see. He hadn’t found it lying in the open. And he was seen trying car doors.’

‘When did it go to the lab?’

‘Day before yesterday, when you were in London.’

‘What about the other items? You mentioned a water bottle and some food wrappers.’

‘We bagged them all up and sent them for examination.’

‘Someone was using this as a base for sure, but we can’t take anything for granted. Let me know when you get the lab report.’ He tried to imagine stretching out on the stone surface. ‘Not the most comfortable bed.’

‘Cold, too, these late summer nights,’ Septimus said. ‘We’re two hundred metres above sea level.’

Diamond stepped outside the gatehouse thinking how many more gravestones were revealed than when he’d first come here. They were still close-packed, strangely angled and in disrepair, but the gothic look of crosses and angels poking up from the undergrowth had gone. He wasn’t sure which view was the more eerie. ‘It can’t be more than thirty yards to where the body was found. I’m going to pace it out.’

He didn’t count the steps. His mind was with a terrified Rupert late at night, hounded by his killer, dodging between the graves. Or had it worked out differently: Rupert approaching the lodge, crossing the graveyard and being ambushed, like that scene in David Lean’s film of
Great Expectations
when Magwitch the convict appears from nowhere?

The crime scene tape had been removed. You wouldn’t have known where the body had lain unless you guessed from the state of the ground, trodden to mud by hundreds of footsteps. The only other indication was on the adjacent grave, a faint blue circle enclosing the suspicious bloodstain. He looked at each of the surrounding graves. In the next row was a granite sarcophagus, an ugly grey block a man could easily have crouched behind.

‘What’s your reading of it, Septimus? Was he chased here, or was the killer waiting?’

‘I don’t think he was chased. He was hit on the back of the skull. If you’re running from someone and they catch you, you turn and defend yourself. I say he walked into a trap and was hit from behind.’

‘My feeling, too.’

From above them came a guttural croaking, the caw of a black bird perched on the octagonal balustrade of the tower.

‘Carrion crow,’ Septimus said.

‘More bones than carrion here.’

‘I wouldn’t spend a night in this place if you paid me.’

Back in the incident room he discovered Ingeborg in seventh heaven. ‘I called my drill officer and told him I’d like a transfer to the cavalry and he promised to do what he could.’

‘Cool,’ Diamond said, straight-faced.

‘Yes, and in no time at all I had a call back to say they have a vacancy in Prince Rupert’s Lifeguard of Horse.’

‘Even cooler, then.’

‘What’s more, they’re doing an event on Saturday at Farleigh Hungerford and they want me on parade.’

‘A bit quick, isn’t it?’

‘Someone pulled out through illness. I have to report for practice tonight. Isn’t that neat?’

‘Neat, indeed.’ He didn’t add that she ought to remember why she was doing this. Her joy in being asked to take part was obvious, but she was a professional, too, and he could rely on her to function as a detective. ‘Farleigh Hungerford. There isn’t much there, is there?’

She said in a crushing tone, ‘Farleigh Castle, guv. The scene of a major event in the Civil War. These two half-brothers, Sir Edward Hungerford and John, were on opposing sides. John was the royalist and he held the castle and used it as a garrison. Then some time in 1644 when the royalists were at a low point, Edward made his comeback and secured the place for the roundheads.’

‘And you’ll be re-enacting this?’

‘I’m not sure about that. Apparently the castle was taken without bloodshed.’

‘What a letdown. That’s no help to you lot.’

‘Well, yes. People want to see some action, so we’ll take a few liberties with history.’

‘Do you have a horse?’

‘They’re providing one for me – with battlefield experience.’

More than you have, he thought. ‘And the uniform?’

‘Blue doublet and red sash. I even get to wear the cavalier hat.’

‘I’d like a picture of that.’

He stepped into his office and closed the door. Ingeborg’s elation was in sharp contrast to his own mood since returning from the cemetery. His confidence was draining away. He couldn’t fault Ingeborg or Septimus or Paul Gilbert. They were bright, energetic young officers, committed to the assignments he’d given them. The entire team was among the keenest he’d ever led. Even John Leaman was a beaver with hyperactivity syndrome. And Keith Halliwell had taken a bullet, he was so loyal and brave. How, then, could such an array of talent have failed to produce a single credible suspect? He’d expected by now to have names in the frame and there wasn’t one. Not even a strong motive had emerged. Something was seriously at fault with the investigation and he blamed himself. The process they’d followed had been logical and thorough. He couldn’t think of any lead they’d failed to pursue. At one stage he’d been ready to point the finger in the direction of London, towards some faceless assassin sent by the vice barons, but wise heads like Louis Voss and Vikki had disabused him of that and he was forced to agree with them. These were West Country crimes requiring a West Country solution.

He had to face the possibility that he’d overplayed the possible connection between the two murders. It remained tentative, spec-u lative. Okay, both bodies had been found on Lansdown, and Rupert had actually sat beside Nadia’s grave and handled her bone before being murdered himself. But coincidences happen. Life is full of them.

Nadia had come to Bath in the month of the Sealed Knot re-enactment. Nothing linked her definitely to the Knot. It looked a possibility and that was the best that could be said. He’d been trying from the beginning to unify the investigation and now he wondered if he was forcing the issue too much.

He feared he’d missed something through trying to link the killings. If he’d investigated Rupert’s murder in isolation he might have had stronger suspicions about Dave, who’d come forward long after the original call for witnesses; or Major Swithin, the vigilante who’d called the police to the racecourse; or even the angry woman from the car boot sale who’d made such an issue of Rupert stealing a pie. Because these people had no apparent link to Nadia he’d not rated them as serious suspects. In theory Septimus should have put each of them through the grinder. In the large-scale exercise of reconstructing Rupert’s last three weeks of life, had the basics been neglected?

Somebody knocked on his door. Didn’t they know by now that when it was closed he was not to be interrupted?

Flushed with annoyance, he walked across and flung it open. ‘What is it?’

Septimus stood there.

Ready to confess he’d messed up?

‘Sir, I think you should hear about this.’

No one called him ‘sir’ unless the sky had fallen in.

‘I’m listening.’

Septimus took a deep breath. ‘The lab just called. They’ve been examining the blanket I sent in, the one we think was used by Rupert.’

‘And . . .?’

‘Something cropped up and they want an explanation.’

‘
They
want an explanation?’

‘They’re saying it’s a horse rug.’

‘Okay, it’s not a blanket, it’s a horse rug.’

‘They removed a number of horse hairs from it and compared them with the one we’d sent them previously, from the zip fly. They say it comes from the same horse.’

30

H
e called the lab and asked to speak to the chief scientist.

The voice on the line was urbane, well used to dealing with awkward policemen. ‘Good of you to call back, Mr Diamond. No doubt there’s a rational explanation of our findings and I’m suggesting it must come from your end, not ours.’

‘Why is that?’

A definite chuckle was audible. ‘Because we’re scrupulous in our procedures. We don’t confuse samples.’

Diamond held himself in check. ‘Before I comment, let’s clarify what’s in your report, shall we?’

‘We haven’t made one yet. This was a courtesy call to let you double-check what’s been happening.’

‘A chance to redeem ourselves?’

‘I’m not playing the blame game, Mr Diamond. I’m a scientist looking for an explanation of an improbable result. The horse rug your people sent us contains hair clippings genetically identical to the one you submitted previously. We were led to believe that particular clipping had been buried for up to twenty years.’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Sixteen, then. And we were told this rug had been used recently by a murder victim sleeping rough. How do you reconcile that?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Well, then. There’s only one explanation I can think of, and that’s that you muddled the clippings in some way.’

If this wasn’t the blame game it sounded remarkably like it. ‘You’d better think again because that’s not possible,’ Diamond said, ready to trade blow for blow. ‘Your own scientists found the first hair trapped under the tab.’

‘Ah, but how many people handled the zip before it reached here?’

‘One only, and he was the crime scene investigator. It was put straight into an evidence bag. We followed correct procedures throughout and I don’t much care for these inferences you’re making. There’s no chance it could have been contaminated.’

‘Easy to say, harder to prove, superintendent.’

He was increasingly riled by the man. ‘Explain this, then. The zip was sent to you at least ten days ago. The rug wasn’t even found until the end of last week. How could there be cross-contamination at our end?’

‘You must answer that. It didn’t happen here. We’d be sacked for incompetence if it did.’

How tempting was that? He bit back the comment he wanted to make. Instead, he changed tack. ‘What’s your basis for saying that the hairs came from the same horse?’

‘DNA analysis.’

‘DNA from a horse hair?’

‘Yes, why not?’

‘I know about DNA in humans.’

‘Animals have their unique profiles, just the same.’

‘I’m interested in the science here,’ Diamond said. ‘Genetic profiling in people is well known. How much data is there on horses?’

‘My dear man, it’s been going on for years. There’s a huge database. All the top racing thoroughbreds have their DNA on record and it can be analysed from hair samples just the same as yours or mine.’

‘And you’re totally sure the hairs matched?’

‘We routinely back up every test and I ordered more when this unaccountable result was reported to me. They came back identical to the first batch.’

Diamond felt as if he needed a cigarette, and he’d given up years ago. ‘I’d like to speak to my colleagues about this. I’ll get back to you later.’

‘Good thinking, Mr Diamond. It’s sound science to recheck every damned thing. We do, and we have in this case.’

His blood pressure rocketing, he slammed down the phone. He got up and circled the small office, taking deep breaths to get control of himself. Then he asked Septimus back into the office.

Was the Bristol man blushing under his black skin? He had an uneasy look, for sure.

‘You’ve had time to think while I’ve been on the phone,’ Diamond said. ‘How could this have happened?’

‘Not our fault.’ To the point, and no excuse offered. This was the way Septimus operated. If you wanted alibis, go to someone else.

‘Are you certain?’

‘We bagged up the blanket – sorry, horse rug – where we found it, in the gatehouse, sealed and labelled it and sent it off directly.’

‘If that was handled right, then what about the zip?’

‘Not for me to say. If you recall, the zip was already at the lab being cleaned before I came to Bath.’

Back of the net. Septimus was in the clear.

‘I can’t argue with that.’ Diamond hesitated, casting his thoughts back. ‘Keith Halliwell sent them the zip at my suggestion. He’s ultra-careful. He knows all about the chain of custody and the legal pitfalls if you do anything wrong.’

Septimus gave a shrug. ‘Keith was in London with you when the rug was found. It makes no sense.’

But it had to. Diamond leaned on his elbows and buried his face in his hands, locked in thought. After some while he looked up and said, ‘How long do horses live?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘I’m sure they get to twenty or thirty. It’s not impossible that the horse Nadia came into contact with is still alive. Say it was a three year old in 1993. It could be under twenty now.’

‘So Rupert happened to find the rug used for the same horse?’ Septimus said on a disbelieving note. ‘That’s stretching it.’

‘No, it could be one more link between the cases. You say “happened to”. There could be a logical reason.’

‘I’m not following you.’

‘Rupert the historian had an interest in the Civil War. That’s why he joined the Sealed Knot. Agreed?’

‘Okay.’

‘He was given a pike to carry, but he must have taken an interest in every aspect of the battle, including the cavalry. The horses have got to be battle-trained. What with cannon fire and smoke and all the rest, it’s no place for a nervous animal. I reckon they use the same horses again and again. You’d rather have an expe-ri enced mount than one that’s going to take fright. This was some old warhorse that featured in both re-enactments.’

‘Where does the rug come in?’

‘Left on Lansdown after everyone went home. Rupert found it and used it for bedding.’

‘It must have been left in the dry, then.’

A better idea struck him. ‘How about this? The horse is local and kept on Lansdown. I’ve seen them in fields there. On cold nights they’re covered with a horse rug.’

‘We’re not in winter yet.’

‘At that height it’s cold most nights. By day the rug is going to be stored somewhere. A shed. The place where they keep the fodder. Rupert breaks in and helps himself.’

Septimus digested this and said nothing.

‘Something for Ingeborg to check on tonight,’ Diamond said. ‘She can take an interest in the horses, find out if there’s a veteran among them and where it’s stabled.’

Now that the focus was shifting to someone else, Septimus asked, ‘Do you need me any more?’

A shake of the head. Diamond was planning the next move. Septimus stepped outside and left him to it.

Presently Diamond reached for the phone and called the lab again. He was put through to the supreme boffin and outlined his new theory. Even as he spoke, his confidence ebbed. He hoped it wasn’t showing in his voice.

‘The same horse?’ the scientist said. ‘Each of your victims came into contact with it?’

‘We’re working on the theory that both of them were involved with battle re-enactments on Lansdown.’

‘That’s the explanation and you’re satisfied?’

‘It will do for now. There was no negligence on our part.’

‘In that case we’ll report to you in the usual way. Mind, it would be helpful if you could find the horse.’

‘That’s the next step. And it would help me to know some more about the rug.’

‘It’s an under-rug. Do you know what that is?’

‘I can hazard a guess.’

‘And you’d be right. It’s made of soft material to protect the animal from friction from the heavyweight rug. They tend to get rub marks and bald shoulders, so they need this softer layer underneath. There’s a label. The manufacturer was a firm called Phil Drake.’

‘Cheapo?’

‘Quite the opposite. Top of the range. Unfortunately the firm over-expanded and went bust eleven years ago. This rug was an expensive product in its time.’

‘So if it’s at least eleven years old, it’s not in the best condition?’

‘The original burgundy colour has faded badly and the fabric is disintegrating.’

‘Wear and tear?’

He didn’t answer immediately. ‘Strange you should mention that. There isn’t much wear and tear as such. The deterioration is uniformly spread across the rug. It’s down to the ageing of the fabric more than use. Materials fade and break down in time, as you know.’

‘Not that much,’ Diamond said. ‘I’ve got a twelve-year-old suit I still wear.’

‘And keep in a wardrobe in a warm house, no doubt. Horse rugs tend to be kept in stables and outbuildings where they’re subject to cold and damp.’

‘One other question. We’ve talked about the clippings of horse hair. Did you find anything else?’

‘Why don’t you ask outright if we found any human hairs that match Rupert Hope’s? Actually, we did. We can say for certain that he came into contact with it.’

Finally, something to be pleased about. ‘That confirms one theory, then. We know where he went to have a roof over his head. Anything else I should be told?’

‘If there is, you’ll hear about it.’

Some caffeine-assisted decisions were called for. Diamond went down to the canteen. To top up his blood-sugar he invested in a chocolate chip muffin as well. His thoughts were more positive now.

The horse rug business was intriguing, and made Ingeborg’s assignment with the cavalry unit even more of a challenge. What a good thing he’d given way after first insisting she remained a foot soldier. He’d update her and get her ideas where the horse might be found.

By tonight Nadia’s picture would be on TV and in the
Bath
Chronicle
. If anyone in the city remembered seeing her, the case could be transformed. Had she gone to watch the re-enactment that weekend in August, 1993? Or talked her way into some active role behind the scenes where the cavalry kept their horses?

Encouraging as all this was, the motive for Nadia’s murder still eluded him. He’d rejected the theory that she’d been killed on orders from the London vice ring, but that didn’t mean sex was discounted as a motive. Here was a young, attractive woman alone and looking for work in Bath, a city she didn’t know. She’d needed to meet people. Being experienced in attracting men for paid sex, she may have signalled something she hadn’t intended. It didn’t require much imagination to see one of the re-enactors, high on the experience of the mock battle and tanked up with beer, deciding she was available, discovering she wasn’t, losing control and killing her. An unplanned murder gruesomely covered up and hidden, there on the edge of the battlefield.

The other stock motives didn’t look likely in this case. Nadia had just arrived on the Bath scene, so jealousy, that slow, festering cancer, was out. She was homeless and without funds, so theft or any form of financial gain could be dismissed. She wasn’t being blackmailed or blocking someone’s ambition or giving unreasonable offence. Revenge was unlikely considering she didn’t know anyone here.

It had the feel of a sudden, spontaneous killing by a stranger – the hardest of all to investigate. In such cases, the best hope was that someone had witnessed something. His thoughts returned to those self-appointed snoops, the Lansdown Society.

He drained his coffee and went upstairs for a session with their police representative, Georgina.

The traffic light system on her door showed amber. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes, he decided.

No one came out. She was probably on the phone. He put his ear to the door and it opened and he fell into the arms of John Wigfull, who just about held him upright.

‘Cheers, mate,’ Diamond said.

‘What the hell . . .?’

‘We can’t go on meeting like this.’

‘What?’

From behind her desk, Georgina called, ‘Are you unwell, Peter?’

‘Not at all.’ He sidestepped the startled Wigfull. ‘No harm done. I was thrown by the entry system. Thought it was changing to green.’

She wasn’t getting into a debate about her entry system. ‘We were discussing the publicity budget. Mr Wigfull is going to need a slice of your cake if you continue to demand poster campaigns at the rate of two or three a week.’

An exaggeration he ignored. ‘He’s welcome to whatever’s on offer. I just had a chocolate muffin downstairs.’

She didn’t cotton on.

‘Slice of the cake,’ he said.

His attempts at wit never softened her. ‘What are you here for? I’m expected in Headquarters in half an hour.’

‘This won’t take long, ma’am.’ He looked over his shoulder and waited for Wigfull to close the door behind him. ‘It’s about the Lansdown Society. I see you and your fellow members as potential witnesses, invaluable to the enquiry.’

‘You made that clear a while ago and you seem to have spoken to each of us now.’

‘Actually, no.’

‘Come on, Peter. I know for a fact that you questioned Sir Colin Tipping, Major Swithin and Augusta White.’

‘There’s another.’

‘Me?’ She clapped a hand to her chest. ‘If I noticed anything I’d volunteer it. You wouldn’t have to ask. I don’t know what else you hope to discover. We’re mere mortals, you know, not all-seeing.’

‘Not you. There’s somebody else. He’s not all-seeing, but he may be halfway there. The sky pilot.’

‘The what?’

‘The reverend gentleman.’

‘Charlie Smart? You’ve no need to talk to him. He wasn’t a member in 1993. He was initiated after me, less than three years ago, when the previous vicar retired.’

Initiated.
He was tempted to ask about that. Unfortunately more pressing matters had priority. ‘I expect he’s still an active member, just as you are? Goes for walks and keeps his eyes open and reports back on anything untoward?’

‘We all do that.’

‘He may be the witness I’m looking for.’

‘I can’t think what he could have witnessed.’

‘Rupert Hope in the last hours of his life and possibly his murderer as well. Will I find Charlie Smart at St Stephen’s?’

‘No, you won’t. He’s not the vicar of Lansdown. His parish is higher up the hill, at St Vincent’s on Granville Road, not far from the tower.’