Skeleton Hill (23 page)

‘It’s only a theory. How’s your side of the investigation going?’ ‘We’ve been working on the days between the re-enactment and his death. We traced a few more witnesses, dog-walkers and car-booters. They all agreed he was acting strangely.’

‘From the blow on the head?’

‘It sounds like it. He could talk, but he had no idea who he was, or what to do, except he stole food when he was hungry. He slept rough and wandered about the down until his killer caught up with him and finished him off.’

‘You’re assuming both attacks came from the same individual?’ ‘It’s the most likely explanation. Similar injuries.’

‘And in each case the attacker didn’t leave the weapon lying about nearby. Is the search of the cemetery complete?’

‘All done. A few objects were picked up and sent for testing, but the result was negative. I think the killer was smart. He took the weapon away with him.’

‘We’re still talking about a blunt instrument, right?’

‘Something clean, that left no traces in the head wound. Heavy enough to split the skin and dent the skull, but not to cleave it. Yes, blunt is right.’

26

T
hat evening Peter Diamond stood in shadow at one end of a disused aircraft hangar watching and hearing the clash of pikes as three pairs went through their movements. The ash-wood weapons, some sixteen feet in length, looked and sounded dangerous, even though the moves were being choreographed by an expert, an officer of the Sealed Knot. Knowing Ingeborg’s steely resolve to be at least as capable as any man, Diamond wasn’t surprised to see her wielding her pike with gusto. Like the others she was wearing casual clothes except for a metal helmet and leather gauntlet gloves.

‘We’ll try that again,’ the officer said. ‘First positions. Pikes at the advance.’

They stepped back, hoisted the cumbersome staves to waist height and rested them on their shoulders.

Diamond was thinking he wouldn’t have gone into battle armed only with one of those. Engrossed in all this, he failed to notice he was not alone.

‘Thinking about enlisting?’ The voice at his side made him jerk in surprise. The speaker was a woman with a silver ponytail. Her stylish black suede jacket and pale blue jeans projected self-confidence, as did the voice. Definitely not an interloper, as he was.

‘Hasn’t crossed my mind,’ he said.

‘It’s good for fitness.’ She seemed a fine advert herself, over seventy, he reckoned, yet with the figure of a woman thirty years younger. ‘You could do a lot worse.’

‘I do,’ he said, patting his pot belly. ‘All the time.’

She smiled.

He asked, ‘Am I in the way here?’

‘You’re welcome to watch. Is it the young lady who interests you?’

He couldn’t get away with anything here. ‘Not specially.’

‘These days the female recruits insist on doing everything,’ she said. ‘When I joined more than thirty years ago we delicate creatures didn’t think about joining in the fighting. We were angels of mercy, ministering to the dying and wounded. And if that sounds wimpish – is that the word? – it was actually rather bold, wearing low-cut frocks and leaning over fellows. That’s how I met my husband.’

‘Nice work.’

‘The modern generation want to wear armour and carry pikes for liberation’s sake. They don’t know the half of it.’

‘You’ve been a member how long?’

‘Still am. An active member, too, out on the battlefield. The neckline is more modest these days, but I’ll carry on as long as my knees allow me.’

‘You did say more than thirty years?’ People often exaggerate about spans of time. However, this sprightly lady might be a useful witness if she’d been a Sealed Knot member for that long.

‘I can tell you precisely when I joined. It got going in Bath in 1971 with a commemorative parade, as they called it, got up by Count Nicolai Tolstoy – handsome man – and his King’s Own Army, which was based in Sherborne. I saw them lined up, wonderfully gorgeous and magnificent, with their horses and banners, and vowed to join at the first opportunity. Next year we had a skirmish on the battlefield and I was part of it.’

‘Comforting the fallen?’

She laughed. ‘They seemed to appreciate it.’

At the end of the hangar another order was shouted. The soldiers lowered their pikes to the horizontal, all pointing to where Diamond and his companion were standing.

‘Advancing at point of pike,’ she told him. ‘It’s a fearsome sight in battle. Just imagine.’

‘It’s pretty scary from here. Are they about to charge us?’

‘I don’t think so. You’re not from Cromwell’s lot, are you?’

‘Not when I last checked.’

‘If you were, you’d be wishing you had your own pikestaff at least as long as theirs and fifty others with you. And even then, you’d probably not survive. The front men are usually impaled, but the others behind them still push. Dreadful for men and horses.’

‘You’re talking about the real thing. You don’t injure each other when you’re putting on one of your mock battles?’

‘Thankfully, no. The pikeheads look like metal, but they’re wood or vulcanised rubber painted silver.’

‘You wouldn’t want a poke in the eye with one of them.’

‘You wouldn’t want ‘Preferably not.’

The officer shouted another order. The pikes were raised.

‘You see?’ she said. ‘That’s the difference between real war and re-enactment. Our pikemen fight with points upwards when they clash. Safety first. We’re disciplined. The officers have to pass a series of safety tests, and that goes for the enemy as well as ourselves.’

‘And who are the enemy?’

‘The parliamentarians, of course. We’re fighting for the King.’

‘Doesn’t everyone want to be a cavalier?’

She shook her head. ‘If you’re left wing in your politics you probably want to join the other lot. Suits me. I don’t want to listen to all that rubbish about the minimum wage and the right to strike.’

He sidestepped the politics. ‘And do the roundheads meet in a hall somewhere and drill separately?’

‘They use this place on the nights we’re not here.’ She gripped his arm. ‘Ah, now they’re putting the pikes away and they’ll do some swordplay, just for fun. Our pikemen don’t carry swords in battle. The young lady’s done some fencing before. I’ve watched her. She can take on any of the men.’

He could believe Ingeborg was a fencer. She’d never mentioned it, though.

‘It sounds to me as if this is a big part of your life,’ he said.

‘The best part, believe me. And it isn’t only battles. We do a huge amount for charity.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ he said, deciding this might be the moment to raise the matter on his mind. ‘I dare say you remember most of the women who’ve enlisted.’

‘Since I joined, certainly.’

‘Was there ever one from East Europe?’

‘In the King’s Army? Not to my knowledge.’

‘Her name might have been Nadia.’

‘Rings no bells with me, dear.’

Disappointing.

Ingeborg had put on a fencing mask and was clashing swords with a young man who had the swagger of one of the Three Musketeers, but without the skill. A parry, a lunge and Inge whipped the sword out of his hand. It clattered on the concrete and slid across the floor, leaving him as hors de combat as Diamond’s latest theory.

‘If she carries on like this, she’ll be picked for single combat,’ his companion said. ‘That’s a massive honour. I’m glad she’s joined.’

‘She’s no angel of mercy, that’s for sure.’

She laughed. ‘I hope you’re not mocking old-timers like me.’ ‘I’m not. She won’t get a husband beating up the guys.’

She turned to look at him ‘You’re not her father, are you?’

‘Lord, no.’

‘Grandfather?’

He grimaced at that. Old people lose all concept of age.

‘A roundhead spy?’ She was not giving up.

‘You’re safe there. I’m a policeman. Peter Diamond, Detective Superintendent.’

‘I wasn’t far out, then.’ She sighed. ‘I should have guessed. You’re something to do with that dreadful murder of one of our members, the lecturer from Bristol.’

‘A detective on the case, yes.’

Her posture changed. She became defensive. ‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with us. Pure coincidence that he happened to be a new recruit.’ Sensing apparently that this sounded unfeeling, she added, ‘We’re all very upset, naturally. We support each other like family.’

‘Did you know the victim personally, then?’

‘In point of fact, no. He would have done his arms drill in Bristol.’

‘Distant family, then?’

She gave an embarrassed smile. ‘I suppose you could say that.’

She’d been so generous with information that he decided to lay out his game plan. ‘I came here hoping to find out more about what goes on. Do you keep a list of members?’

‘A muster roll. I don’t, but I’m sure there is one.’

‘What about former members? Are they listed somewhere?’

‘I expect so, but it may be restricted information. I’m not a spokesperson for the Knot. I’m sure they have a policy about such things. You’ll have to do it the official way and talk to the senior officer.’

‘Good advice, ma’am. And is your name restricted information as well?’

She laughed. ‘Agnes Swithin.’

Swithin
. It clicked into place. ‘Married to Major Swithin, golfer and member of the Lansdown Society?’

‘And one-time handsome cavalier,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately the golf took over. You can’t serve two masters and I’m sorry to say Reggie prefers the little white ball to good King Charles.’

‘So you met Rupert Hope.’

She turned to face him, puzzled. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You and your husband saw him trying to break into cars. You called out the police.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Was that the man who was murdered?’

‘The same.’

‘I had no idea. Didn’t make the connection at all. Why was he doing such a stupid thing? We spotted him behaving suspiciously and thought it our public duty to report him.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘No, we kept our distance. At our age you don’t tangle with car thieves. I kept him under observation through my field glasses until your people arrived. I had no inkling that he was a fellow Knotter. What on earth possessed him to behave like that?’

‘He’d been hit on the head. We think he’d lost his memory.’

She thought about it with a troubled expression. ‘Oh dear. You’ve made me feel guilty for reporting him.’

‘No need, ma’am. You did the right thing as you saw it.’

At the other end, Ingeborg was fencing with another of the squad, a young man with a better technique. The exchange was longer this time, the blades flashing under the strip light. She took a couple of steps backwards and appeared to be on the retreat. A sudden forward movement signalled the riposte, a clever feint, drawing the opponent’s defence. He’d committed and she lunged again and had the point of her sword at his chest. He lowered his sword.

‘Good on you, girl!’ Agnes Swithin said, clapping.

The instructor wasn’t so delighted. ‘It’s not meant to be compet-i tive,’ he told Ingeborg. ‘You could cause damage like that. We’re exercising here, not trying out for the Olympics.’

‘Sorry.’

Agnes clicked her tongue and told Diamond, ‘He’s putting her down because she’s a woman. They hate it if you show any talent.’

‘You’ve obviously fenced with the foil before,’ the instructor was saying to Ingeborg. ‘Have you used a backsword?’

She shook her head.

‘You’d know it better as a rapier, the Civil War weapon of choice, but you won’t get to use one in battle unless you transfer to the cavalry. Can you ride?’

‘A bit.’

‘You might like to make enquiries.’

At Diamond’s side, Agnes took a sharp, accusing breath. ‘There speaks an infantry officer. Doesn’t want her showing him up. Actually she’d look good on a horse. At least a third of our cavalry are ladies.’

‘Really?’

‘Think about it. You see far more horsewomen than men out and about, don’t you?’

After losing one of his team already this week he wasn’t sure he wanted Ingeborg fighting duels on horseback. ‘She looks more like infantry to me. Do you have a say in these decisions?’

‘No, I’m a minor player.’

‘Were you there for the big one, in 1993?’

‘All these questions. This is about the skeleton they dug up on Lansdown, isn’t it? Yes, I was there for the major muster and I remember it well. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, and I can assure you I didn’t see any foul play. I was too busy with my casualties.’

‘Real casualties?’

She flapped her hand. ‘A few dents and bruises. Nothing serious. If there is, I wave to the St John Ambulance man. There’s always one on hand.’

‘So you didn’t spot anyone behaving suspiciously in the battle?’

‘I’d remember if I did. It all passed off very smoothly and we had a lovely write-up in the paper. If you ask me, the Sealed Knot had nothing to do with that skeleton, whoever it is.’

If that’s the truth, he thought, I’m wasting my time here and so is Ingeborg. Soon after, he slipped out of the building and drove home.

27

B
efore ten next morning, DC Paul Gilbert called the incident room and asked to speak to the boss. There was such a rasp of excitement in the young man’s voice that Diamond moved the phone away from his ear and still heard everything. ‘Guv, I’m at Lower Swainswick with a lady by the name of Mrs Jarvie. She worships at St John’s in South Parade. She had Nadia as a house guest for two weeks in 1993. It’s proof positive that she came to Bath.’

Diamond wasn’t immune to excitement himself. His voice gave nothing away, but his arms and legs were prickling. All the years of experience didn’t suppress the adrenalin surge that came with a discovery as big as this. ‘What’s the address? I’ll come now.’

Lower Swainswick is a one-time village long since absorbed by Bath’s urban sprawl, on rising ground to the north-east. He kept telling himself to think about his driving as he headed out along the London Road and between the lines of parked cars in the built-up streets of Larkhall, but of course the reason for the trip kept breaking his concentration. This was it. The timing was right – 1993, nicely inside the time span Lofty Peake had given for the death of the skeleton woman. And it fitted what he’d learned in London about the Ukrainian call girl who’d made her escape to the West Country. This local landlady sounded like a terrific find. With any luck she’d finger Nadia’s murderer.

Paul Gilbert’s car was outside a cottage in Deadmill Lane that was almost entirely covered in clematis. The young constable himself came to the door – the man of the hour, in Diamond’s estimation.

He was a shade less triumphant than he’d sounded on the phone. ‘I’d better warn you, guv. She’s elderly – well, very old, in actual fact – only I feel sure she’s all there mentally.’

‘That’s okay, then.’

‘She’s also deaf.’

‘I can cope with that. Are you going to let me in, or do you want to go over her entire medical history?’

A sheepish smile from Gilbert. He reversed a step and started to lead the way in. Remembering something else, he turned and started up again. ‘Incidentally, I haven’t told her what happened to Nadia.’

‘If you know for sure, I wish you’d tell me,’ Diamond said.

He hadn’t got far when his eyes started to water. The cottage reeked of cat pee. Or was it curtains in need of laundering?

‘Pongs a bit.’

‘You get used to it,’ Gilbert said, leading the way through a short passage into a back room where the old lady evidently sat by day and slept by night. She was out of bed, dressed in a pink cardigan and blue tracksuit trousers and seated in a rocking-chair with a large white cat on her lap. Two tortoiseshells perched on the windowsill and a sleeping Persian had the eiderdown to itself. The odds had lengthened against the curtains as the source of the odour.

Paul Gilbert hadn’t exaggerated. Mrs Jarvie was very old. She looked halfway to heaven already. The chalk-white skin hung in overlapping folds under the eyes and below the jaw.

Gilbert introduced Diamond and the only reaction this prompted was some adjustment to the hearing aid. At least she could move her hands.

‘He wants to ask you about Nadia,’ Gilbert shouted.

The old lady opened her eyes and spoke, and it was only to say, ‘You don’t have to shout.’

‘Nadia,’ Gilbert shouted again. To Diamond he said, ‘I don’t think the hearing aid works.’

Mrs Jarvie said, ‘I was ninety-six in July.’

‘It takes an effort,’ Gilbert said to Diamond, ‘but it’s worth it.’ He moved closer. ‘Nadia, the Ukrainian girl.’

‘Are you asking about Nadia again?’ she said. ‘I told you all about her.’

‘You said she was here in 1993. Is that right?’

‘I gave her the spare room,’ Mrs Jarvie said. ‘She wasn’t with me very long. She was easier than some of my guests because she spoke good English.’

‘How do you know it was 1993?’ Confirming which year Nadia came to Bath was fundamental to the enquiry and couldn’t be bypassed, so after getting a blank look he nodded to Gilbert to come in with his toastmaster impression.

This time the message seemed to get through. ‘I had my eightieth birthday the weekend before she came. I particularly remember giving her a piece of my birthday cake and a glass of sherry when she arrived.’

‘So which year were you born?’ Diamond asked, not entirely convinced.

No reaction at all.

Gilbert rose to the challenge again.

‘I just told you,’ Mrs Jarvie said with a sigh, as if all the aggravation was coming from the visitors. ‘I’m ninety-six. If I get to a hundred I get a telegram from the Queen.’

‘Yes, but which year?’

‘Guv,’ Gilbert said.

Diamond looked to where the young DC was pointing. On a wall above the bed was a framed sampler in needlework with the letters of the alphabet and under it the words
Bless this house
.
Julia
Mary Jarvie, born 23rd July, 1913.

The mathematics checked. Somebody up there had pity on us, Diamond thought. Bless this house and bless you too, Julia Mary Jarvie. We’ve got a date to work to.

The old lady had noticed what they were looking at. ‘I worked that when I was only eight years old.’

‘Marvellous. Would you tell us about Nadia?’

‘Who?’

He raised the decibels. ‘The Ukrainian.’

‘Is it? I hardly ever go outside, and neither do the cats. They hate getting wet.’

This would not have been an easy process for a patient man, and Diamond wasn’t that. Gilbert stooped close to the old lady’s ear and repeated Nadia’s name with more success.

‘She was a refugee. What do they call them now?’

‘Asylum seeker?’

‘She didn’t have anything except the clothes she was wearing. I took her in as a Christian duty.’

‘For the church?’

‘Father Michael was always asking me to take in homeless girls. He’s crossed the River Jordan now.’

‘Popped his clogs,’ Gilbert explained in an aside, in case Diamond had missed the meaning.

Mrs Jarvie continued: ‘I must have had more than a dozen staying here over the years. Do you want to know about the others?’

As one, her visitors raised their palms to discourage her.

Diamond said to Gilbert, ‘Ask her if Nadia said anything about herself.’

This was a complex question for someone who heard about one word in five and didn’t always get that right, but this time there was a result.

‘She was working in London before she came here, but she didn’t like it there. Someone told her Bath was nice. Well, it is, isn’t it?’

‘Did she talk about her life in the Ukraine?’

She lowered her eyes and stroked the cat. ‘It was all very sad. She didn’t remember her mother and father. She grew up in an orphanage and when she got to sixteen a man came and took her away.’

This tallied closely with Vikki’s information. Any lingering doubt that they were speaking of the same Nadia could safely be dismissed. He listened keenly to every word.

‘He was a stranger, she said, and she had to go to work for him. She didn’t tell me what kind of work it was, but I had my own thoughts about that.’

‘Prostitution?’

‘Did you say streetwalking? I’m afraid it was something of the sort. As I was telling you, they sent her to London. I don’t know how long she was there before she ran away and made her way to Bath. Through God’s abundant mercy she found our church. We try and help lost souls.’

‘But she didn’t stay long.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

Gilbert did his shouting again.

‘No, she didn’t stay,’ she said. ‘She went off one afternoon and I didn’t see her again. To tell you the truth, it upset me. She could have told me if she was unhappy here. Sometimes I wonder if it was the cats that put her off. I don’t think she was comfortable with them.’

Diamond could sympathise, yet he managed a sweeping gesture that was meant to reassure. ‘Did she say where she was going?’

To his great relief, she seemed to tune into his voice, or he was pitching it at a better level. ‘I just told you I have no idea.’

‘While she was staying, did she ever speak of people she knew in Bath?’

‘Never.’

‘Did she bring anyone back to the house?’

‘Men, do you mean?’

‘Anyone at all.’

She shook her head. ‘She was no trouble at all while she was here. She was never late coming home, except for the day she left altogether.’

‘Which day was that?’

‘You want to know which day? You’re asking for the moon. How would I know one day from another after all these years?’

He glanced up at the sampler. ‘It must have been some time after your birthday on July 23rd.’

‘The beginning of August, then. Or thereabouts.’

‘You’ve no way of telling? You don’t keep a diary?’

‘A diary – with all the shopping and cooking and cleaning and gardening as well? When you have a house guest you don’t have time for anything else.’

He sensed that he probably
was
asking for the moon, so he got her back on track. ‘What did you do the night she left?’

She was still tuned in. ‘I went to bed at my usual time, thinking she’d soon be coming in. I slept upstairs in those days. I had the front room and hers was the back. She could have got in if she’d wanted. She knew I keep a spare front door key under the flowerpot beside the front door. In the morning I found the door of her room still open and the bed hadn’t been slept in.’

‘Were her things gone?’

‘What things? She didn’t have any things of her own. She used my towels, my face flannel, even my shampoo and soap. And her clothes were given by the church.’

‘Did you report it? Speak to Father Michael? Call the police?’

‘It’s a pity she didn’t find a little job. They say the devil finds work for idle hands. I do hope she didn’t go back to her old way of life.’

He had to repeat his question.

‘Report it? Not for some time. I thought she might come back, you see, and it would have seemed inhospitable if I’d reported her missing. In the end I think I told someone at the church, but by then she’d been gone a few weeks and no further action was taken. With people like that, who arrive out of the blue, you never know when you’re going to lose them again. Would you like to see a picture of her?’

A picture?
Would he just?

‘There’s a wooden box under the bed.’ She turned to Gilbert. ‘See if you can reach it, young man. Pay no attention to anything else you might see there.’

Gilbert delved underneath and pulled out a dusty rosewood box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The cat on Mrs Jarvie’s lap was forced to move.

‘Now would you hand me my magnifying glass from the bedside table?’ She opened the box. It was stuffed with letters and photos. ‘The picture I’m looking for should be here somewhere.’

This, Diamond reflected, gritting his teeth, could take some time. Cultivate patience, you hothead. To get an image of Nadia will be momentous.

She didn’t take long. ‘Here we are. This was snapped in the garden by my neighbour, Mrs Brixham, now gone to paradise like Father Michael, poor soul. That’s Nadia with me preparing runner beans for dinner. It was such a nice day we sat outside. She had a lovely smile.’ She handed the photo across.

Although the 6 x 4 colour print had faded, the focus was sharp enough to provide a clear image. It showed a slightly less decrepit Mrs Jarvie beside a young woman on a garden seat. They had kitchen knives in their hands and a saucepan between them.

For Diamond this was a moment to set the pulse racing, the chance to see the face of the young woman whose tragic history he’d been investigating. In the picture she appeared untroubled, no doubt relieved that she’d found this safe haven. She was giving a wide smile to the camera, holding up a bean in her left hand to show what the picture was about. Her hair was blonde and long enough to have been drawn back, gathered and held in place with combs. She was wearing little or no make-up. He noted that she was wearing the expected jeans and a T-shirt. Her face was East European in shape, a fraction too broad to be conventionally pretty, but the smile caught a moment of happiness that gave life to the fading image, a point of contact that moved Peter Diamond more than he’d expected. No doubt he was indulging in sentiment he would have ridiculed in anyone else, yet he felt Nadia’s personality lived on in the photo, a young, laughing woman putting her grim past behind her without knowing she had only a few days left.

That photo said more than any e-fit would have done.

‘May we make a copy of this?’

No response.

Moved by what he’d just seen, he’d lowered the pitch of his voice. A second attempt got through.

‘What are you going to do with it?’ the old lady said, frowning. ‘I don’t want it getting into the newspapers.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m wearing an apron, that’s why.’

‘We’ll cut you out of it. We only want Nadia’s head and shoulders.’

‘I can’t think why.’

He wasn’t going to enlighten her at this juncture. ‘We’d like to find out what happened to her. Nobody has seen her since this was taken.’

‘I hope she’s all right. She was no trouble to me.’

They left after replacing the box under the bed and allowing the white cat to reclaim its prime position.

‘Top result, Paul,’ Diamond said, his heart still pumping at a higher rate. It was rare for him to show emotion to a colleague, but he closed a hand over Gilbert’s shoulder. ‘Full marks for this. Now let’s see if the photo jogs some memories.’

There is a stage in every lengthy investigation when the team needs palpable proof of progress. Personally, he’d stayed positive, though he was pretty sure there had been murmurings in the incident room about the lack of suspects. The circumstances had made this case an unusual one. Generally you know from the outset what has happened and why. Most of the team’s efforts up to now had been centred on understanding the basics, the nature of the crime. All of that was about to change.

He was humming to himself as he returned to the car.

Hard facts had emerged at last. In London he’d found a name for the skeleton victim and confirmed her nationality and her way of life. And now thanks to Mrs Jarvie he’d discovered the year and the month Nadia had come to Bath and gone missing. Better still, he had the photo in his pocket. He could show everyone what this tragic young woman had looked like in life. The headless skeleton had been reconstructed into a real person.