Skeleton Hill (31 page)

38

T
he moon was the only source of light and there wasn’t much of that. Paul Gilbert, still on duty in the field below the cemetery, was having doubts. Doubt One: would Duckett, the forensics man, bother to come out on a Saturday night to look at a dead horse? From all he’d heard, Duckett was an awkward type who’d clashed with Diamond and might well ignore the call, or leave it to the next day.

Doubt Two: would Diamond remember his promise to send a car? The boss had more urgent matters on his mind, like arresting suspects and bringing the whole investigation to a climax. Would he give another thought to the most junior member of the team, stuck on this godforsaken hill?

This could be a long night.

Get a grip, he told himself. Give it an hour at most and then phone the nick and ask them to send a replacement. If someone has to stand guard all night, it’s a job for uniform, not CID.

He felt better for that – until he checked his back pocket and remembered he’d left his phone in the car.

Idiot.

Somewhere on the hill came the hoarse triple bark of a dog fox, answered by a vixen’s scream, a hair-raising sound.

A short way off, vehicles were going by intermittently, each set of headlight beams offering the faint hope that Duckett was immi-n ent. Faint indeed. What was the point of Duckett coming out here after dark? Once he took over the scene he and his people would be responsible. There were rules about continuity of evidence. Someone had to be on watch all night because of the remote chance that an intruder or one of the suspects would visit the place and corrupt the evidence.

Let an intruder come, Gilbert thought. Let
someone
come.

Preferably not the killer.

His thoughts turned to the victim, who’d lived up here for a couple of weeks, concussed, off his chump, not knowing he had a car and a home. What threat had poor old Rupert Hope presented in his pathetic state? Finishing him off in the graveyard had been a heartless act. This killer had no mercy.

The cool of early evening had turned in a matter of minutes to shivery cold. What else could you expect on an exposed hill seven hundred feet above sea level? The luckless Rupert had at least found himself a rug and a place to lie down. There was nowhere in this field except the grotto itself, and Gilbert didn’t fancy that, but he was starting to understand what had driven Rupert to rob the tomb.

A twig snapped nearby. His self-pitying stopped.

He looked where he thought the sound had come from, straining to detect a shape or movement.

Then he heard what sounded like short gasps for air.

‘Who’s that?’ he said.

No answer. Only an animal, he tried telling himself. The breathing was too heavy to be a fox. Were there deer on Lansdown? He’d never seen one.

He had nothing to defend himself with. Should have thought of that.

In his heightened state, he started to see shadowy shapes closing in. He looked over his shoulder and they were all around him. Bushes stirred by the breeze, or attackers closing for the kill?

‘I can hear you,’ he said aloud. ‘I know you’re there.’

A beam of light shone directly into his face, dazzling him. ‘Stay still, absolutely still.’ The voice was male, high-pitched, yet authoritative.

Gilbert obeyed.

‘What’s going on?’ the voice asked. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘My job.’ Gilbert managed to add, ‘I’m a police officer.’

‘You’re not dressed like one.’

‘I’m CID. Plain clothes. I can show you my ID. Who are you?’

The man with the torch had the advantage and intended to keep it. ‘What’s a police officer skulking around in the dark for?’

He was cautious. ‘I can’t say. I’m on duty.’ He fished his warrant card from his back pocket. ‘See?’

The beam shifted down and Gilbert took his opportunity, grabbed the arm holding the torch, hauled the man towards him, at the same time thrusting out a leg and toppling him over. It wasn’t the sweetest of judo moves, but it worked. They both hit the ground heavily. The torch flew out of range. The advantage had swung to Gilbert. Bearing down with all his strength, he clung to that arm and twisted it behind the man’s back.

‘You’re breaking my arm.’

‘Who the fuck are you?’ Gilbert demanded.

‘A man of God.’

‘What?’

‘Charles Smart. I live in the vicarage across the road.’

If this was a try-on, it was a clever one. If not, Gilbert was wrestling with a vicar. Now that the name was sinking in, he remembered seeing Charlie Smart’s name listed on the display board in the incident room. ‘What are you doing here, then?’

‘I saw the light earlier.’ This, from a vicar, would have been laughable in other circumstances. ‘I came over to see what was going on.’

‘You were taking a chance.’

‘If God be for us, who can be against us? Do you mind? The pain in my arm is unspeakable.’

Gilbert let go, made a grab for the torch and shone it on his adversary. The man had wide blue eyes and a shock of blond hair. True to his claim, he was wearing a strip of white across his throat, a clerical collar. He propped himself up with difficulty and massaged the top of his arm, saying, ‘That really wasn’t necessary.’ ‘Creeping up on me and shoving a torch in my face wasn’t necessary,’ Gilbert said.

‘I’m in the Lansdown Society. I made a solemn promise to keep an eye on things up here.’

That
was the connection.

‘And if you’re about to ask me if I witnessed the murder, save your breath,’ Charlie Smart continued. ‘Your superintendent already covered the matter and I couldn’t help at all.’

‘Did you see the victim roaming around here?’

‘We covered that, too. No. The first suspicious behaviour I’ve seen was yours tonight. Lights in the field. A car parked up the road. Very dubious, after all that’s been going on. As a responsible citizen, I dialled 999 straight away. They should be here any minute.’

‘Thank God for that,’ Gilbert said.

In the incident room, Diamond checked with his team on the results of the house arrests. The suspects were in custody and the evidence had been gathered, labelled and sealed. ‘Nice work, people,’ he said. ‘That was the easy part. The real job starts now and I’m not expecting any favours from the suspects. We’ll take them one at a time, using the interview room with one-way glass, so the rest of you can see how we do. Cavalry Officer Smith, I need you with me for the first one.’

Excitement was written large on Inge’s face and no one seemed to mind that she was the first choice, particularly as the suspect was female.

The custody sergeant brought Davina Temple-Smith to the interview room. White-faced and with a sullen stare, she was a different incarnation from the radiant winning owner at the races. She had the consolation of appearing in her own clothes – jeans and a red sweater – rather than a zipper suit. A personal search hadn’t been deemed necessary. Her DNA sample and fingerprints had been insisted on as routine procedure following an arrest.

She had her own solicitor seated beside her, a woman new to Manvers Street interviews.

After Ingeborg had gone through the preliminaries of place, time and who was present, Diamond took over.

‘We found Hang-glider this afternoon, what’s left of him, the neat hole in his skull where he was despatched with a vet’s equipment, the penetrating captive bolt gun. Expertly done, right on the spot, humanely, I don’t doubt.’

Shocking her with the discovery was worth a try. He might not have said a word for all the reaction he got.

He reached for an evidence bag containing a bolt gun and dropped it on the table. ‘There’s no telling if this was the one, but we picked it up from your surgery in case. The big question I asked myself many times was why anyone needed to destroy a marvellous horse worth over a million to your father. The deal with Sheikh Abdul was drawn up and ready to sign.’

Davina continued to stare ahead.

This wasn’t meant to be a monologue. Diamond gave her the chance to say something that wouldn’t incriminate her. ‘Your father bought Hang-glider in the yearling sales at Newmarket in October, 1990. Remember how much he paid?’ He knew, of course. It was on public record.

‘Two hundred thousand,’ she said in an expressionless tone.

‘Pounds?’

Her lip curled in contempt. ‘Guineas.’

‘He must have had great faith in the colt.’

‘Great judgement,’ she said. ‘It was a half-brother to a Prix Lupin winner who lost the Irish Derby in a photo.’ Diamond was outside the racing fraternity and she wanted him to know it.

‘Still a risk, wasn’t it?’

She shrugged. ‘The whole of the sport is risky. Some expensive yearlings never do anything.’

‘I mean he could have lost his investment through the choice he made.’

‘If you want to invest, put your money in National Savings. He was buying a horse.’

‘You speak as a successful owner yourself,’ he said.

‘In a different league.’

‘What made your father spend so much?’

‘He’d talked about owning a thoroughbred for years. It was his life’s ambition. He’d raced horses before, but they never had the breeding. Let’s give him credit. He picked a champion.’

‘At a cost,’ Diamond said.

‘Tell me about it.’ The bitterness cut through. Was this a factor in her behaviour – father blueing her inheritance on a horse?

‘Two hundred thou was just the beginning,’ she added. ‘A top trainer like McDart doesn’t come cheap, and then there were all the extras. Stabling, race fees, transportation, jockeys.’

‘Vets.’

She gave a cautious nod.

‘He could save on vet fees by using you.’

‘He didn’t,’ she said, spotting the trap. ‘McDart uses his own Lambourn vet.’

‘All this outlay on Hang-glider,’ he said. ‘Was it funded from his surveying business?’

‘No chance. It was private money. Look at his company accounts if you don’t believe me.’

‘Family money, then?’

‘His savings, and he took out a loan as well.’

‘Good thing it was such a fine racehorse. Did it earn back the money?’

‘Hardly,’ she said. ‘Another season might have made a difference, but it got the injury and that was it. That’s why you have to treat racing as a gamble. Things go wrong.’

‘But you insure against accidents.’

‘Insurance. That’s another expense I didn’t mention,’ she said. ‘It’s massive in the case of a racing thoroughbred. They base the premium on the value of the animal by looking at the bloodline, the price paid and so on. You’re shown a portfolio of options and you have to decide which you can afford.’

‘He must have bought medical insurance.’

‘It covered the cost of treatment, not the loss of income.’

‘But all was not lost . . . yet,’ Diamond said. ‘Hang-glider’s stud value as a classic winner was considerable, and along came the sheikh with an offer that would make light of all these costs you’ve talked about. Half a million, wasn’t it, with an extra fee for every mare Hang-glider covered?’

‘That’s what I read in the
Racing Post
.’

‘Didn’t your father let you in on it?’

‘He wasn’t counting on anything until the money was in the bank,’ she said. ‘Rightly, as it turned out.’

‘The agreement was drawn up, but not yet signed by Sheikh Abdul. Then this ill-fated farewell to Lansdown was arranged, parading Hang-glider for his admirers to see him one last time.’

‘It was home territory,’ she said. ‘His debut win was at Bath. The racegoers knew him and they knew Fa. He deserved his tribute.’

‘They didn’t know he was about to be put down.’

‘No one knew.’

‘That isn’t true, is it, Davina? Where were you that evening?’

‘Delivering twin calves at Upper Westwood.’

The answer came pat, as if she’d expected the question. Westwood was the other side of Bath. Difficult to prove or disprove at this distance in time.

‘I thought as a lady of the turf, you wouldn’t miss an evening meeting at Lansdown.’

‘Nobody explained that to the cow.’

‘Do you keep some sort of diary or appointment book?’

‘For 1993? I threw it out years ago.’

‘Yet you remember where you were that evening.’

‘Of course. It was a huge, horrible day for our family.’

‘Your father lost a fortune. He told me he got something back in insurance that he described as a pittance. Under a hundred thousand. It still sounds a lot to me.’

‘It didn’t cover the outlay,’ she pointed out. ‘And it was way below the offer he had in writing. He’s never owned a horse since.’

‘When we question him, as we will shortly, do you seriously expect him to confirm your version of events?’

There was a telling moment of hesitation before Davina said, ‘Certainly.’

‘Because we all know this isn’t only about the killing of the racehorse. We’re investigating two murders and we have evidence that incriminates you both.’

‘A stun gun that I bought last year?’ she said with contempt.

Her solicitor put a restraining hand on Davina’s arm. ‘If there’s evidence of the sort you’re describing, superintendent, we wish to be informed about it.’

‘Forensic tests need to be completed before we can release any details,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, we’ll have a word with Sir Colin.’

Outside, he said to Ingeborg, ‘We’ll let that sink in. It’s time to talk to the father.’

She said, ‘She’s got an answer for everything.’

‘Up to now.’

39

O
n the other side of the observation window Diamond asked where Septimus was. The shrewd DI from Bristol was the obvious choice to have beside him for the second interview. John Leaman said Septimus was using his computer in the incident room.

‘Doing what?’

‘Checking stuff from way back, he told me.’

‘Ah. Should have remembered. A task I set him.’

‘Do you want me to fetch him, guv?’

‘He’ll come when he’s ready.’ He looked around the room to see who else was there. Paul Gilbert was in the back row cradling a mug of coffee. ‘You made it, then. Did Duckett actually appear?’

Gilbert shook his head. ‘There’s a lad from uniform guarding the site.’

‘Bit of luck came your way?’

‘Charlie Smart came over to check up on me and I borrowed his phone.’

‘Good initiative. You slipped my mind, I have to admit. Have you had supper?’

‘Not yet, guv.’

Diamond took a fiver from his back pocket. ‘For you. I meant it, about the bangers and mash. You did well today.’

There was an awed silence. Such generosity from the main man was rare.

‘Inge did well, too,’ Leaman said.

‘Putting a witness in hospital?’

‘Fortunes of war,’ Leaman said. ‘She could have been the one who was hurt.’

‘Okay. Inge gets supper, too.’ He felt in his pocket again and peeled off another note.

Amazing.

‘Nice to know the front line people are appreciated,’ Leaman said. ‘The boys in the back room may get a chance to shine some time.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Diamond said. ‘All right, team. It’s supper for everyone when this job is done.’

‘Me included?’ a voice behind him said.

He swung round in surprise. Georgina had come in.

‘I thought it was your choir night, ma’am.’

‘I heard there was singing in prospect here.’

‘It hasn’t begun yet, unfortunately.’

Not long after, Septimus appeared with a piece of paper in his hand.

‘Was I right?’ Diamond asked him.

A nod. ‘It took some finding.’

The two of them took their places in the interview room, Sir Colin Tipping now occupying the seat his daughter had, with an elderly pin-striped Bath solicitor at his side.

‘We’ll begin with the game of golf,’ Diamond said after Septimus had spoken the formalities for the tape.

Tipping rubbed his hands. He had a confident smile. ‘What a splendid idea.’

‘I’m referring to the game you were playing with Major Swithin on July seventeenth, the date of the battle re-enactment.’

‘That’s put me on the spot straight away. We play almost every day. If you’re asking the score, I doubt if I can recall it, but I’m usually the winner.’

This would be his defence then, making light of the interview in his jocular style. Better than silence, Diamond thought. ‘You’ll recall this one because the major took a call from his wife.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time. Agnes never lets the poor fellow off the leash.’ He turned to his solicitor. ‘Don’t you agree that pocket telephones are the curse of the modern age? One sounded off at morning service in the Abbey the other day. Colonel Bogey in the Bishop’s sermon. It isn’t on.’

Diamond kept to his brief. ‘What Mrs Swithin had seen through her binoculars was two soldiers in royalist uniform up to their elbows in earth by the fallen oak tree your society has vowed to protect. They unearthed a bone, a human bone that they reburied. The major tells me he shared this information with you, as a fellow member of the Lansdown Society.’

‘Do you know, I sometimes think Agnes Swithin suspects Reggie of being with some floozy when he’s out of her sight? She finds these silly pretexts to call him unexpectedly.’

‘Except you didn’t treat this as a silly pretext. You completed the round – it was almost through when you took the call – and broke with your usual habit of a drinking session afterwards in the clubhouse. You made some excuse about an appointment and left immediately.’

‘Doesn’t sound like me. At my age you don’t do anything immediately.’

‘I spoke to the major at his home this evening.’

‘He said I left without having a drink? Or without
buying
one?’ He grinned at his solicitor.

‘You had reason to be alarmed about what you’d heard, and we’ll deal with that presently. You’re going to tell me you got in your car and drove to the battlefield on behalf of the Lansdown Society, to check the tree, which was supposed to be off limits to the Sealed Knot.’

The solicitor raised a finger. ‘Have a care, superintendent. You know very well you shouldn’t put words into my client’s mouth.’

‘Did I get it wrong?’ Diamond said, pretending to be mystified. ‘Did he go there for another purpose?’

Tipping looked from one to the other. Suddenly the questioning had turned serious and he was uncertain how to proceed. ‘What if I tell you I didn’t go there at all?’

Diamond countered with, ‘What if I tell you we have a sighting of your car at the side of the road?’ Actually they hadn’t, but if Tipping wanted to trade in speculation, so could he.

‘All right, I was testing you out. Your first assumption was correct, old boy. I take a particular interest in that tree. It’s treasure trove to a botanist, host to one of the rarest lichens in Great Britain.’

‘It isn’t,’ Diamond said. ‘And I doubt if it ever was.’

Tipping took a sharp, surprised breath that he was forced to account for. ‘What’s this? A policeman with some knowledge of botany? I think he’s about to tell us lichens don’t grow on trees.’ He shook with amusement.

‘I’m quoting one of the Lansdown Society. Your botanist member, Charlie Smart, told me the only lichen on that fallen oak is a common variety found everywhere.’

‘Charlie hasn’t been with us long. Probably doesn’t know where to look.’

‘Neither does the British Lichen Society, it seems. They have no record of it on Lansdown. Could you be mistaken?’

A climbdown was called for. ‘I’ll look pretty damn silly if I am. The identification was done years ago by one of our members who passed on. Let’s hope the rare lichen didn’t hop the twig as well.’ He chanced a smile at Septimus and got a cold stare in return. ‘Why don’t we talk about something we all know more about?’

Diamond nodded, encouraged not from scoring a point, but from teasing out a major admission from the suspect: he’d defi-n itely visited the tree. ‘We’ll turn to Rupert Hope, then – one of the men Mrs Swithin saw unearthing the bone, a history lecturer with an interest in the Civil War. That bone could have been of historical interest if it belonged to a soldier in the real battle. Although Rupert agreed to put it back in the soil, he appears to have gone back secretly after everyone left the field. He thought he’d made a find, you see.’

‘We’re in the realm of speculation again,’ Tipping said, more to his solicitor than Diamond. ‘They don’t have a clue what happened. “He appears to have gone back secretly.” That’s a stab in the dark, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Does it matter to you if we get it wrong?’ Diamond asked.

‘It does if you’re accusing me of crimes I didn’t commit.’

‘You’re ahead of me. I haven’t accused you of anything. We know Rupert was attacked that evening because he didn’t return to his car. He’d changed out of his battle armour. He was struck on the back of the head with a blunt instrument. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but he was left for dead. He wandered Lansdown in a confused state, suffering memory loss, for over three weeks. Then he was hit again, fatally.’

‘Nothing to do with me, old chum.’

‘You carry a blunt instrument in your car. In fact, you have a selection of them – your golf clubs.’

‘Is this a joke?’

Diamond turned to Septimus and nodded.

‘What on earth . . .?’ Tipping said, as the colour rose in his cheeks.

Septimus had stooped down and lifted a bag of golf clubs.

‘The nerve of it. Those are mine,’ Tipping said.

His solicitor leaned close and spoke to him in an undertone, no doubt informing him that the police are permitted to enter and search the house of a person detained for a serious arrestable offence.

It was a lightweight bag of the sort golfers without caddies can carry themselves. Septimus unzipped the top.

Diamond asked him to count the clubs.

‘Thirteen.’

‘Unlucky for some,’ Diamond couldn’t resist saying. ‘According to the laws, which I’ve checked, you’re allowed a maximum of fourteen. A dedicated golfer such as yourself won’t carry fewer. Where’s the missing club, Sir Colin?’

For the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

‘I expect it’s a heavy one,’ Diamond said. ‘An iron, going by the shape of the injuries to the dead man’s skull.’

‘Are you accusing my client of murder?’ the solicitor asked.

‘I haven’t yet,’ Diamond said. ‘I’m waiting to hear what he did with the fourteenth club.’

There was still no response from Tipping.

‘If you are,’ the solicitor said, ‘I must insist on an adjournment.’

‘Painful as it must be to a golfer to destroy one of his clubs,’ Diamond said, ‘that seems to have happened here. I don’t see how he could have lost it.’ He thanked Septimus and told him to put the bag aside. ‘Rupert survived one crack on the head, but the second really did for him. Why the delay? For a few days he was missing. Then he was seen trying car doors; foraging, in effect. The amnesia had set in. He didn’t even remember his own name. The danger for his killer was that Rupert’s memory would come back. Worse, he’d taken to sleeping in the gatehouse, a short distance from Beckford’s grotto.’

‘Beckford’s what?’ the solicitor said.

‘An underground tunnel with a secret of its own that your client knows all about.’

Tipping gripped the desk with both hands and still said nothing. All the colour had drained from his face.

‘It’s a matter of record that Rupert Hope was hit from behind and killed in the cemetery near the tower. He’d found an under-rug last seen strapped to the racehorse Hang-glider’s back. We’ve done the tests. This afternoon we went into the grotto and found the remains of the horse. Are you listening, Sir Colin?’

A nod. All the fight had gone out of him.

‘I’ve interviewed your daughter and discussed how it was done. You couldn’t have managed it alone. Each of you brought your professional skills to the job. In your case, it was knowing the existence of the grotto. You’re a chartered surveyor dealing in major civic works. DI Ward, would you take over?’

Septimus was ready. ‘In January, 1991, a section of the Lansdown Road collapsed near Beckford’s tower, due to subsidence. A survey of the immediate area was commissioned.’ He took from his pocket the printout he’d shown Diamond and passed it across the table. ‘From the council planning department website. You’ll see that C. Tipping and Associates carried out the survey. You identified nineteenth century excavations as the cause, an exploratory dig for the grotto. The tunnel itself was a short way off and you located that as well. Two years later, this knowledge would come in useful. Disposing of a dead racehorse can be a problem.’

‘That was your contribution,’ Diamond said. ‘Davina supplied the veterinary skills, obtained a horse-trailer and drove it to the races the night Hang-glider was paraded there. You knew McDart would be in the owners’ and trainers’ bar until late. You saw that the stable lad had returned from the horsebox. You went there, broke in and transferred the horse to the trailer. But there was an unforeseen problem in the shape of Nadia, a young woman waiting by the trailer in hope of getting a job with McDart. She would have ruined the scam. She had to be disposed of, and quickly. Correct me if I’m wrong. You held her and Davina killed her with the bolt gun and you bundled the body into the back seat of the Land Rover before driving off with the horse.’

‘No comment,’ Tipping said.

‘We insist on an adjournment,’ his solicitor said.

‘No,’ Tipping said in an abrupt change of tactics. ‘Let’s nail this now for the bullshit it is.’

‘I’m advising you not to say any more.’

‘They can’t stitch us up like this. There’s no motive, for Christ’s sake. Why would I go to all this trouble to destroy my own horse when I was on the brink of the biggest deal of my life? I lost a fortune when that horse was stolen.’

Diamond refused to be sidetracked. He was telling it his way. ‘With the horse in the trailer and the dead woman in the Land Rover you drove to the grotto, right into the field and up to the entrance. Davina used the stun gun on the horse and you reversed the trailer to the steps and let it roll inside and out of sight. That was enough for one evening. The next night, working together, you buried Nadia’s body in a place you knew, the hole left by the fallen oak’s root system, first removing the victim’s head. Why? Because the bolt-hole in the skull would have revealed the form of death and led us to suspect a slaughterman or a vet. I expect your daughter carried out that necessary task and also disposed of the head. Murder is gruesome, however clinically it is done.’

‘You’ve missed the point,’ Tipping said. ‘We had no motive.’

‘The motive in both cases is the same. These unfortunate people strayed into your danger zone. The only thing you had against them was that they would give you away. With the help of the Lansdown Society you kept watch on the burial site and you were compelled to act when Rupert returned there. He survived one clubbing and had to be given another. The attempt to dress up his killing as accidental was pretty inept. I suppose you hoped we’d think he’d died in a brawl. I won’t pretend it was easy to track you down. Casual killings of strangers are the hardest of all to investigate.’

‘Have you finished?’ Tipping said. For all the revelations, he’d recovered some of that air of infallibity. ‘We’ll award you A+ for invention and B for effort, but I’m afraid you fail on the argument. You could have saved us all a lot of time if you’d addressed the simple fact I raised just now. I had no reason to kill my horse. Quite the reverse. He was going to make me very rich indeed.’

‘You’re talking about your motive for killing the horse?’

‘The penny drops. Yes, Mr Diamond. We’re on tenterhooks to hear your theory on that.’