Skeleton Hill (29 page)

‘Where was the box parked? Among all the others?’

‘No, that’s a secure area for the racing. We were away from them. As he wasn’t racing, we asked for a different spot near the premier enclosure.’

‘When did you find out that the horse was stolen?’

‘The end of the evening. I was among the last to leave, yarning with a couple of other trainers. Charles came to collect me and we went back to the box. I saw straight away that the doors had been forced and Hang-glider wasn’t inside.’

‘Wasn’t there an alarm system?’

‘Neutralised. They knew what they were doing. We alerted secu-r ity and they checked the boxes that hadn’t been driven off already. He must have been moved to another box and transported that way. By this time it was dark, of course, over an hour since the last race, and most people had left.’

‘Did you tell Sir Colin?’

‘After he got home. He’d already left. He was shattered when I told him. That horse was worth well over a million to him in stud fees.’

‘I heard,’ Diamond said and moved on to a matter that had mystified him for some time. ‘What I can’t understand is why it didn’t become a police matter. I was on the stength then. To my recollection, CID had nothing to do with it.’

McDart gave a shrug. ‘Racing is like that. We have our own secu-r ity through the British Horseracing Authority. We’re pig-headed enough to think we know more about horses than you do, and if you think about it you’ll have to admit we’re right.’

‘I might – if your people had solved the mystery. What’s your theory about it?’

He expelled a long breath. ‘With this amount of money involved, there will always be criminals out to abuse the system for their own ends. Hang-glider was a valuable property as a stallion, even though his racing days were over.’

‘But you can’t breed with a stolen horse?’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s all about pedigrees, isn’t it? Anyone buying a foal wants to know who sired it.’

‘Speaking off the record, if I’m sent a foal that can run well, I won’t care what sired it. The paperwork can be forged to make it appear right. I’ve never got into anything like that myself, but fiddling registration papers must be easier than forging banknotes, mustn’t it?’

‘So could Hang-glider still be alive under some other name?’

‘At this distance in time? I very much doubt it.’ He stopped and shouted at one of the lads who had been silently going about their work, ‘You! You’re spilling feed all over the yard. Get a broom and clear up your bloody mess.’ Then he resumed with Diamond in a mild tone: ‘You still haven’t told me who was murdered and what the connection is.’

‘A young Ukrainian woman called Nadia. She was killed about the same time and buried on Lansdown Hill. She was in the area and she may have been seeking work with horses.’

He shook his head. ‘Means nothing to me. I don’t employ casuals on the racecourse. That’s an offence. I could lose my licence for that.’

‘I wonder if your son may have met her that evening.’

‘You can ask him,’ McDart said.

‘Is he about?’

He rocked with laughter. ‘No.’

‘What’s the joke?’

‘He could have had a good career with me, but he didn’t stick at it. He joined your lot.’

Diamond opened his eyes wide. ‘The police?’

‘Bristol CID. I hardly recognise him now. The silly mutt shaves his head, goes to the gym, wears an ear-ring. He doesn’t even use the name we gave him. Calls himself Chaz.’

34

I‘Disappointment to his father.’

‘I expect he got pissed off being shouted at.’

‘He’d get some of that in our job, too.’

‘But not from his old man. There’s a difference.’ He reached for his mobile phone. The thing had its uses after all. He might even get to like it one day. ‘Let’s see if he’s at work this morning.’ Getting through to Bristol Central meant first calling Septimus at Bath for the number: an opportunity to get another opinion on Sergeant Chaz McDart. Salt of the earth, Septimus affirmed, a good colleague and a man you could depend on.

‘Then why isn’t he in your team at Bath?’

‘Because I needed someone to look after the shop.’

The switchboard operator confirmed that Chaz was in and asked if Diamond wished to speak to him.

‘Not over the phone,’ he said. ‘Tell him him I’m on my way to see him.’

Up to now, Paul Gilbert had been a model of tolerance, driving at the slow speeds Diamond preferred and acting as the sounding board for the big man’s theories. Suddenly a manageable trip was being extended into a grand tour. ‘To Bristol? Now?’

‘Junction nineteen,’ Diamond said. ‘I didn’t fix a time. You don’t have to put your foot down.’

They were on the long stretch between 16 and 17. Gilbert gritted his teeth and said no more about it.

There wasn’t much for Diamond to see outside the window. Pleased that so much could achieved from inside a car, he continued to hold the mobile in his hand. He’d come a long way to mastering the little monster, dialling the numbers with his thumb, like the teenagers did. Soon he’d progress to texting . . . Soon? Who am I kidding? he thought. Eventually, perhaps. Toying with it, he pressed the menu key and found the phone book. Not many names were listed.

He’d try Ingeborg and see if she’d got to her event in good time. She’d almost certainly be waiting around for her two minutes of action.

He highlighted her name and pressed the key.

It rang a few times and a recorded voice, not Inge’s, asked him to leave a message.

‘Funny,’ he said to Gilbert. ‘I called Ingeborg and she isn’t answering.’

Gilbert gripped the wheel a little harder.

‘I said Ingeborg isn’t answering.’

‘She’s at the jousting, or whatever it’s called,’ Gilbert said. The longer this journey went on, the more this young man was sounding like one of the more cynical veterans of the murder squad.

‘Better not be jousting. I don’t want her knocked off the horse.’

‘She’s more likely to knock the other guy off.’

‘She’s just a recruit.’

‘They’ll go easy on her, then.’

‘I don’t know. Dave Barton is in charge. Not sure I trust him.’

‘The blacksmith who found the leg bone?’

‘He’s her commanding officer. I wonder why she doesn’t answer.’ He tried again, with the same result.

‘I expect she’s wearing gauntlet gloves,’ Gilbert said.

He had to think about that. ‘Difficult to use the phone. Good point.’

‘And she wouldn’t want her mobile going off. It’s not very Civil War, is it?’

That also made sense to Diamond. He told himself not to fret.

Another mile of green hills went by.

‘Which way is Farleigh Hungerford from here?’

‘Your side,’ Gilbert said. ‘Fifteen to twenty miles from the next exit. You’re not worried about her?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘Barton isn’t a serious suspect any more, is he?’

‘No. He’s in the clear.’ Shielding the phone from Gilbert’s view, he tried one more time, pretending he was adjusting the safety belt. Still the recorded message.

A disturbing thought was forming. All along, Septimus had clung to his theory that Dave Barton was the killer. Even after the interrogation, Septimus remained suspicious. The new witness, Bert Pope, the roundhead who had watched the lager being hidden and gone back and dug it up, had appeared to confirm Dave’s story and prove Septimus wrong.

But had he?

The version Septimus had relayed to Diamond was that Bert Pope had seen ‘the soldier in royalist red’ burying the six-pack.

They’d assumed the soldier was Dave. It now struck Diamond that he could equally have been Rupert.

Septimus could yet be right.

‘We’ll take the turn to Farleigh,’ he told Gilbert.

‘I thought we were going to Bristol.’

‘Farleigh Hungerford Castle. And put your foot down.’

Gilbert grasped that this must be an emergency. He steered into the fast lane and powered forward at a heart-stopping rate while Diamond, averting his eyes, called Septimus again and told him his concerns.

All Septimus could find to say was, ‘Oh, man,’ several times over.

‘So we’re on our way to Farleigh Castle,’ Diamond told him. ‘Put out a call. Get some manpower there. He’ll be armed with a sword at the very least. If he suspects Inge is police I don’t like to think what could happen.’

‘I’ll come myself,’ Septimus said.

‘Quick as you can, then.’ He looked up and spotted the sign for Junction 17. ‘We’re ten to fifteen minutes off.’

This was wildly optimistic, given the amount of slow, heavy traffic on the road. Paul Gilbert added to the suspense by steering with one hand and keying FARLEIGH into the Sat-Nav.

‘Couldn’t I do that?’ Diamond said, and got no answer. On reflection, he didn’t need one. His technophobia would have meant reaching across and getting it wrong several times over. Instead, he said, ‘Don’t you know where it is?’

‘I want the quickest route.’

The machine asked DO YOU MEAN FARLEY?

Gilbert persuaded the microchip that his first choice was correct. They took the Chippenham by-pass and then diverted briefly to the A4 before turning onto a B road at Corsham.

‘It’s taking us through Bradford on Avon,’ Diamond said. ‘That’s a bottleneck any day of the week.’

‘Tell me how to avoid it,’ Gilbert said through his teeth.

There were ways, but they would add desperate minutes.

There were ways, but they would add ‘I’d better shut up,’ Diamond said.

Gilbert didn’t comment.

Winding roads, steep hills, tractors crossing: they suffered it all. Mercifully Bradford didn’t delay them by much. Once they were through the little town the system brought them onto ever narrower lanes.

‘We must be close now.’

‘Thank God for that.’

Ahead were flags and the two ruined towers of the castle, stra-tegically positioned above the River Frome. They crossed over two small bridges. Cars were being diverted down a slope into a temporary park in a field.

‘We don’t have time for that,’ Diamond said. ‘Put me down here.’

A police patrol car came from the opposite direction with its blue beacon lights flashing. Diamond was already scrambling up a grassy bank into the area below the castle where the crowd had gathered. Things were being said over a public address system, but he was too concerned to stop and listen. The hairs on the nape of his neck bristled. In the roped-off area where the display should have been taking place was an ambulance with the doors open and someone was being stretchered inside.

‘What happened?’ he asked the first person he met, a man with two children.

‘One of them copped it,’ he was told. ‘Fell off the horse and didn’t move. Looked serious from here.’

He ran on towards the ambulance. An official tried to stop him crossing the rope. ‘Police,’ he hissed.

The ambulance doors had closed before he got there.

‘Who is it?’

‘Sorry, mate,’ the paramedic told him. ‘We’ve got an emergency here. Talk to the police.’

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned.

‘Guv, what are you doing here?’ It was Ingeborg, unhurt, radiant in her royalist uniform.

His relief was overwhelming. He would have hugged her if she hadn’t been holding the reins of a large black horse. ‘I thought that was you in the ambulance,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Sure. I told you I can look after myself. It was Dave who bought it, poor guy.’

‘Dave Barton?’

‘He lost his balance and came off his horse very awkwardly. He seems to have knocked himself out.’

‘Was he in a swordfight, then?’

She nodded. ‘The roundheads were down on numbers, so he was asked to switch sides. Anyone in the crowd will tell you I never even made contact. I swung my sword and he ducked and that was it.’

35

I
t doesn’t get much worse than a police officer being questioned about a murder. To avoid the rumour merchants, Diamond had brought Sergeant Chaz McDart out of Bristol Central to one of the few locations where a quiet exchange is possible on a Saturday afternoon, the harbourside. They’d picked a table under the trees in front of the Arnolfini Gallery. True, this agreeable setting was a lot less secure than an interview room, but with Paul Gilbert’s support it was workable. If Chaz tried to make a break for it, the two of them could surely grab him.

For the moment, their man appeared docile, even allowing that the shaven head and muscled torso suggested he wouldn’t come off second best in a fight. When they’d first spoken in the reception area at the police station, he’d said with an air of resignation he knew why they were there and they could count on him to co-operate.

Now, over coffee, looking out at the glittering water, he said, ‘I’m glad you came for me, really I am. Where do you want me to start?’

‘We spoke to your father in Lambourn this morning,’ Diamond told him. ‘That’s why we’re here.’

‘He doesn’t know the whole story,’ Chaz said in a sharp tone eloquent of a history of family tension. ‘He’d have given me a thrashing if I’d told him. They have old-fashioned discipline in stable yards, or at least my dad does. I was only a kid at the time, seventeen or thereabouts, son of the boss, serving an apprenticeship. He was tougher on me than the other lads, not wanting to show favouritism. It was impossible to talk to him – really talk, I mean.’

‘What part of the story doesn’t he know?’ Diamond asked, in control, yet eager for information.

‘The evening we went to Lansdown Races with Hang-glider. Did he tell you much about that?’

‘You and he drove the horsebox there and parked it away from the secure area, somewhere near the Premier Enclosure.’

‘That much is right. And it was my job to parade the horse in front of the two grandstands and return him to his box and see that it was properly locked. I did all that. I gave him water and hay and fitted on his travel boots, tail guard and rug. He was strapped into his stall. I told all this to the HRA people several times over, the same evening, the next day and when they had the enquiry. I wasn’t lying.’

‘Economical with the truth?’

He hesitated, then grinned and nodded. ‘Sums it up. I could have said more and I didn’t. All they were interested in was what happened to Hang-glider and they got their answers. It was obvious I wasn’t the horse thief. I had sod all to gain. So they didn’t question me except for the boring stuff about what I did with the horse. And if they had, it wouldn’t have told them anything. A stable lad and a woman. What’s wrong with that?’

‘This was Nadia?’

He nodded.

Diamond remained outwardly calm while his heart-rate quickened. The case was moving to a conclusion. This was what he’d needed for so long – proof positive that Nadia had been on the racecourse that night in August, 1993.

‘After I’d settled the horse in its box I had some time on my hands. Dad was sure to be in the owners’ and trainers’ bar with his friends. I went to the marquee. It’s a trick known to all the lads. Parties of race-goers get drinking at tables and then someone hears an announcement about the next race and they’re up and away. Some carry their drinks with them, but not all. Plenty of glasses get left behind more than half full. If you don’t mind drinking from someone else’s glass, you’ve got it made. Pimm’s, champagne, G&T – take your choice. I picked up some drink or other and looked up and this gorgeous babe was smiling at me.’

‘She was already there?’

‘Standing alone by another table. I could see straight away she was older than me, in her twenties, and she wasn’t dressed up for the racing like most women are. She was in jeans and some kind of top. They wouldn’t let someone into the premier enclosure dressed like that at most courses, but this was an evening meeting at Lansdown and they’re not too strict there. I went over and introduced myself and she was great – friendly, ready for a chat, standing really close to me. I couldn’t believe my luck.’

‘Did she give her name?’

‘Yes. I could tell she was a foreigner by the accent. I asked if Nadia was a Russian name and she laughed and said not in her case and we had a bit of a guessing game and she still didn’t actually say which country it was. She’d been in Bath for a week or two and was in lodgings at Swainswick, down in the valley. She’d come to the races because she loved horses.’

‘So you told her about Hang-glider?’

‘Well, I wanted to impress her, didn’t I? I wasn’t sure if she’d seen me doing my lap of honour bit in front of the crowd and it turned out she hadn’t. I told her about my job and my dad and she said would I mind showing her this famous horse. The way she said it, curving her mouth, I took as a coded way of saying she fancied me. I gulped down my drink as if it was water. Outside, she slipped her hand round my arm and I thought I’d got it made. The horsebox was parked some way out on the grass at the end of the enclosure, well away from the crowds. I playfully told her it would cost her a kiss to see Hang-glider and she laughed and took me into a clinch right away.’ He released a sharp breath at the memory. ‘I don’t know where she learned how to kiss like that.’

Diamond refrained from telling him. ‘Did it go any further?’

‘I’m coming to that. At this stage she wanted to get inside the horsebox. I unlocked and helped her up. The box was small compared to some of them, what we called a two-box, with room for a second horse. I wondered if Hang-glider would get nervous, but he didn’t. He let her stroke his neck and feed him some titbits. It was obvious she was used to horses, like she claimed. She said he was adorable and she’d really give anything to work with him, and then repeated the word “anything” in a way that left no doubt what she really meant. I was in two minds then.’

‘Nervous, you mean?’

‘Right. I stalled a bit, and told her he was being sold for stud.’

‘What did she say to that?’

‘She didn’t mind. What she really wanted was a job with horses.’ ‘She told you that?’

‘Asked me straight out if I could help her get work with my father. I said it wasn’t so easy and he liked his stable lads to have the right paperwork and serve an apprenticeship. She didn’t let up at all and said she’d sign anything. I was getting jumpy, thinking what my dad would make of this. Then she turned away from the horse and said something about persuading me and the next thing she was kissing me again and groping me at the same time. I’d had girlfriends before and done some heavy petting but none of them had made the first move.’ He glanced at Paul Gilbert. ‘You know what I mean? I was really turned on.’

Gilbert nodded as if from a rich store of experience.

Diamond asked, ‘Where did you do it? In the horsebox, with the horse beside you?’

‘No, we used the front cab. Plenty of room in there.’

‘Locking the box first?’

‘You’re damn right. My dad would have roasted me if I’d put the horse at risk. Even with the offer of sex, I thought of that.’ He looked down at the empty coffee cup. ‘So I did it with Nadia and it was sensational. The first time I’d gone the whole way. You’ve probably worked that out. You’ve got to remember I was just a kid.’

And she was a professional, Diamond thought, and stopped himself saying it. ‘What happened after?’

‘She said some stuff about how good I was. How good! I shudder to think what I was really like. In the same breath she told me I could have her any way I wanted if I persuaded my dad to give her a job.’

‘What did you say to that?’

‘I don’t remember. By this time I’d had my big moment and the excitement was turning to panic. All I could think about was how to get out of this without Dad finding out.’

The account rang true. Diamond had listened with understanding – and it wasn’t just because Chaz was a brother officer. He had chastening memories of his own initiation into full sex as a teenager, woefully inept. But the empathy only went so far. All the elements for an unpremeditated killing were present here: the powerful youth, eager for sex without a thought of what it might cost him; the ex-prostitute desperate for a new start; and the domineering father terrifying the boy.

‘How did you deal with it?’ he asked, uncertain of what was to come.

‘Not well. I couldn’t just ask her to clear off. I played for time, telling her I’d try and work it with my dad if she’d come to Lambourn in a week or two. She got a bit stroppy, saying that was no bloody use because she didn’t have the money to get there and didn’t know where it was. She needed to meet my father now – the same evening. Time was going on and I was shit-scared he’d suddenly appear and find me with her in the cab. I told her I’d better go off and talk to him right away. She wanted to wait inside the cab, but I persuaded her that wasn’t a good idea. I locked everything up and left her waiting outside.’

‘You went back to the race meeting?’

‘The races were well over by then and it was getting dark. Most people were leaving. Dad was always one of the last to go home. He was still in the bar with a few of his cronies. He doesn’t actually drink much. It’s the shop-talk he likes. I wasn’t in any hurry to root him out of there.’

‘You had a problem on your hands.’

‘Did I just! I was hoping she’d get tired of waiting and simply walk away. A bit unrealistic.’

‘Totally, I’d say, knowing her situation. Did you go back to her?’

‘No.’

Diamond leaned closer. ‘Is that the truth, Chaz?’

‘Gospel. I hung about for almost another hour. Finally Dad came out and he was in quite a good mood.’

‘Did you tell him about Nadia?’

‘No chance. I was hoping she’d given up and left. If she hadn’t, I was counting on Dad to deal with her. He can shoot anyone down in flames. She might have decided she wouldn’t want to work for a mean sod like him.’

‘I doubt it. What happened next?’

Chaz shrugged. ‘You know, don’t you? Dad and I returned to the horsebox and found it broken into and Hang-glider gone. The sky fell in on us.’

‘Was Nadia there?’

He opened both hands. ‘Gone. I’ve never seen her since.’

Was it staged, or could he be believed? The gesture was a touch too contrived, Diamond thought, but then Chaz had no doubt been visualising the impression he would make.

‘Your father said you alerted racecourse security.’

‘Yes, it was mayhem. Cars, vans and horseboxes leaving. Searches at the exits. People getting angry, wanting to leave. Whoever had done it had got clean away before the search began. They should have contacted the police and made road blocks, but they didn’t. The racing world likes to handle its own wrongdoings.’

‘Do you think Nadia was in on it?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve thought about it many times. I was fearful that she’d tricked me. I can’t see how.’

‘Is it possible the box was broken into while the pair of you were making love in the cab?’

‘No. We’d have heard. You can hear any move the horse makes. Besides, I checked that the door was locked. I swear it. Even with the offer of sex I couldn’t forget I was responsible for Hang-glider.’ ‘And after? You didn’t unlock the box for any reason?’

He shook his head. ‘Everything was secure when I left Nadia there. Anyway, the door was forced by the robbers, which proves it had been locked.’

‘You know what really happened – that Nadia was murdered?’ He swallowed hard. ‘I do now.’

‘When did you find out?’

‘Only last night when I saw the poster of her. A batch of them were delivered to Bristol Central.’

‘Why didn’t you get in touch last night?’

He lowered his eyes and sighed. ‘I was shocked rigid. Scared, too. I’d kept this secret – about having sex with her – for all these years. I didn’t say anything about it to the security people. I couldn’t see how it affected the theft of the horse. Then, last night, this bombshell. My first instinct was to see if I could ride the storm like I had before. I was asking myself if anyone really needed to know. I decided to sleep on it and come to a decision today.’

This sounded credible, if reprehensible. People in a spot behave like that, trying to convince themselves nothing has changed. ‘Didn’t it occur to you when the skeleton was found on Lansdown that it might be Nadia?’

‘It crossed my mind, but I thought of all kinds of reasons why it could be someone else.’

‘As a serving police officer, you had a duty to speak out.’

‘I know. I should have reported what I knew in case it had a bearing. I’m a bloody disgrace.’

‘You worked with me on the Rupert Hope murder – briefly, I know, but you did.’

‘At the time, I couldn’t see any connection, and since then I’ve been running CID here, covering other cases.’

Diamond wasn’t dishing out blame. There was a bigger agenda here. ‘You heard that a horse rug was found with hairs attached to it that matched the single horse hair discovered with the skeleton? Rupert found this rug, an under-rug with the Phil Drake label. We don’t know where. Do you recall if Hang-glider had such a rug?’

Chaz looked up, his eyes brighter. ‘He did, yes. It was on his back in the horsebox. I put it on him myself. How the hell could it have turned up after all this time?’

‘That was my next question.’

‘God knows. I can’t begin to get my head round that.’

Diamond knew when a witness was going cold on him, and it wouldn’t be allowed to happen here. ‘I need your help on this. You’ve lived with this mystery longer than anyone in the police. What do you think happened that night?’

Chaz glanced towards the glittering expanse of water between the harbour walls. ‘Obviously it happened in that hour or so after I left Nadia standing by the horsebox and when I returned with my father. There must have been more than one person involved, but I doubt if she was part of it. I guess she was killed because she got in the way. They were there to steal a valuable horse and she would have been a witness.’

‘Physically, how do you think it was it done?’

‘The horse-thieves seem to have transferred Hang-glider to a trailer hitched to another vehicle, probably a four by four. There were tyre tracks found by the security team. That way, they would have got on the road before the mass of cars were leaving the racecourse. They could have gone anywhere.’