Skeleton Hill (7 page)

8

E
arly on Monday, Diamond looked in at Manvers Street and told Keith Halliwell about the press conference fixed for the afternoon. ‘Basically we’re going public about the skeleton in the hope it will jog someone’s memory. John Wigfull is setting it up, but you may get enquiries during the morning. I’ll be at the golf course, so you’re in charge.’

He was amused by Halliwell’s wide-eyed look, a mixture of mystification and umbrage, but nothing was said.

‘Ingeborg will fill you in,’ he added, not wanting to cause real hurt.

On the drive out of town he saw the morning traffic inching down Lansdown Road and for a short while felt what it was like to be on a private income and able to indulge in golf while most of the world was forced to earn a living. In truth he knew he’d soon weary of the life of leisure. Golf wasn’t his sport, anyway. The only white ball game worth playing was table tennis – his sort, in the old ping pong tradition, with sandpaper bats and no crafty spinning allowed.

Not many cars were parked outside the clubhouse. He checked the time. Five minutes to spare. Rather than go inside he made his way around the building to the first tee. The two members he needed to meet probably kept good time, one being a military man.

Even on an August morning, it was cool up here, over seven hundred feet above sea level, and he wished he’d dressed as golfers do, in some kind of sweater and perhaps a baseball cap. Nobody was waiting to play when he arrived. In the distance, the pair who had started earlier had already played the first hole and moved on.

Two minutes to ten. No sign of the Lansdown Society. His assumption about good timekeeping was looking faulty.

Then a whirring sound came from the side of the clubhouse and a golf cart glided into view and across the trimmed turf to arrive at the tee precisely on time. One of the two riders was definitely Sir Colin Tipping. The other, at the wheel, halted the cart. Major Swithin was short and elderly, but had more than a hint of military swagger as he stepped off and approached Diamond.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ Diamond said. ‘Would you be Major Swithin?’

‘I would. We have our round booked for now. It’s a regular arrangement. Are you a member?’

‘Visitor.’

‘You know visitors have to produce a handicap certificate?’

Not the friendliest of welcomes, Diamond thought. ‘I don’t want to play.’

Sir Colin Tipping was slower getting off the cart, as if arthritis had set in. He looked just as distinguished as he had in the winner’s enclosure. Today he was in a loose-fitting yellow sweatshirt and check trousers. ‘What’s this, Reggie?’ he said to the major. ‘Have you hired the professional to improve your game?’ He chuckled at his own humour.

Diamond showed them his warrant card and gave them a moment to absorb the shock. ‘I don’t want to hold up your round, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, we’ll talk as you go along. All I want is the benefit of your expertise.’ This was a phrase he’d fashioned while shaving, the right touch of flattery, he’d decided. ‘Detective Superintendent, are you?’ Tipping said. ‘He’s a senior man, Reggie. You must have done something pretty serious this time. Did you try it on once too often with the barmaid?’

‘He says he wants expertise,’ the major said. In this comedy act he was definitely the straight man.

‘If that means tips on golf, he’s picked the wrong fellows,’ Tipping said. He grinned at Diamond. ‘Our combined handicap is bigger than the national debt.’

‘It’s about Lansdown,’ Diamond told them. ‘I understand you both take a personal interest in this area.’

‘Who told you that?’ the major asked. He was not going to be sweet-talked into co-operating.

‘The reputation of the Lansdown Society is well known.’

‘What do you know about the Lansdown Society?’

‘That’s what this is about,’ Tipping said. ‘He wants to join. He wants to be a member, Reggie. Shall I tell him about the secret initiation ritual with the custard pies?’

Diamond wasn’t sure which of these was the more tiresome: the churlish major or the laugh-a-minute Knight of the Realm.

‘We came here to play golf,’ the major said to Diamond. ‘Can’t this wait until lunchtime?’

Tipping immediately said, ‘Good thinking. See you at the nineteenth hole.’

‘My time is short and so is yours, I gather,’ Diamond said. ‘We’ll talk as you play your round. Who goes first?’

‘Reggie’s turn today.’

‘I don’t care for this at all,’ the major said.

‘Get on with it, for heaven’s sake, Reggie,’ Tipping said. ‘You just told him you came here to play golf. Some might not describe it as that, but that’s why we’re here.’

‘He’s got a damned nerve.’

‘The neck of a giraffe, old man, and so have we, calling ourselves golfers. Let’s make a start, or we’ll never get round.’

Muttering, the major placed a ball on the tee and selected a club. Before taking his stance he took some practice swings. Then he wetted a finger and held it up.

‘Checking the wind,’ Tipping said to Diamond. ‘He does everything right. It’s the damned ball that gets it wrong.’

The major’s ball travelled not very far and still managed to miss the fairway. He turned angrily on his colleague. ‘You ruined that by speaking as I made my backswing.’

‘Take it again, dear boy,’ Tipping said. ‘It isn’t far off.’

‘I might as well give up now,’ the major said. ‘No one can play under these conditions.’

‘Watch me,’ Tipping said. He positioned his ball, swung and struck it – not far, but at least twice the distance the major had. ‘That puts me in charge of the buggy, I think. Why don’t you hop aboard, Superintendent? Reggie doesn’t have far to walk.’

The golf cart was a two-seater, as most are, with space at the back for the bags. Diamond hadn’t foreseen the pair arriving on one. He’d been wondering in the last few minutes if there was a way he could perch on the back, holding on to the metal strut supporting the canopy. But there was no need if the major was on foot.

Tipping started up and they whirred up the fairway. ‘Don’t get the wrong impression of Reggie,’ he said to Diamond. ‘He’s a good man. Our society couldn’t function without him.’

‘What does it do, exactly?’

‘What was that you said about our famous reputation? I thought you knew all about us.’

‘Only loosely.’

‘Loose is what we are.’ Another guffaw. ‘We try to make sure that this historic hill is respected. We don’t have any official status like park keepers, but we keep an eye on the multifarious activities people engage in up here – and I know what you’re thinking. Who was the lady who said she didn’t mind where people made love as long as they didn’t do it in the street and frighten the horses? We take much the same view. But if someone tries holding a barbecue, or a motorbike rally, or anything that damages the turf, we tell them politely to find another place. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?’

‘So do you patrol the down looking for offenders?’

‘Impossible. We’re a small group. We act on tip-offs, just as you fellows do. We’re in touch with pretty well all the legitimate organisations that use the place. They know we’re interested and they keep us informed.’ He stopped the cart. ‘I’ll take my second, if you don’t mind. Keep a look out for the major’s ball. He has been known to connect. He can be lethal from the rear.’

Diamond watched him take a huge swing and miss the ball completely.

‘Only taking aim,’ he said, and laughed.

His second attempt failed to lift the ball, but sent it some way along the well-mown surface.

As the cart moved on again, Diamond said above the hum of the motor, ‘Did you hear about the skeleton we found?’

‘What a charming line in conversation you have. I was beginning to think “dem dry bones” might be behind your interest in us,’ Tipping said. ‘Yes, we knew early on that you people were up to something. This may sound uncaring considering some poor soul died, but your digging could have been a concern. It wasn’t, because it took place under the roots of that fallen oak tree. Do you know who the victim was?’

‘A young girl, some years back.’

‘Why would anyone bury her up here?’

‘Possibly because she was killed up here.’

‘On Lansdown?’

The cart stopped again.

Diamond glanced behind. The major was in sight, still a long way off. ‘Should we wait for him?’

Tipping shook his head. ‘We meet on the green. We’d never get round if we waited for each other at every shot. He’ll take one or two more than he puts on the card, and so will I, so it’s better if we aren’t too close to each other.’ He chose a club and shifted the ball another ten yards or so. ‘You didn’t see that.’ He strode the short distance to the ball and struck it again, with more success. ‘Par for this hole is four,’ he said. ‘I take about nine usually if my putting is tidy and Reggie is out of sight.’

When they moved off, Diamond asked, ‘How long has your society been in existence?’

‘We formed in the year they staged the mock battle, the three hundred and fiftieth anniversary.’

‘1993.’

‘Yes. Some of us of like minds were concerned that real damage might be done to the land, with all the paraphernalia of cannon and horses and so on. We formed this group to meet the re-enactment people and lay down certain procedures – which I have to say they observed to the letter. Afterwards we decided to formalise the society and monitor some of the other activities.’

‘Like the horse racing?’

‘Are you a racing man?’

‘No, but I saw you present the prize to the winning owner last week.’

‘My daughter Davina. Wasn’t that charming? She has three horses in training and I’m proud to tell you it’s not my money that pays for them. She’s a lady of independent means, with her own business. Works damned hard.’

‘And you’re still involved in racing?’

‘I sponsor a few flat races during the year. It’s nice to meet old friends, but I haven’t owned a horse for some time.’

‘Hang-glider?’

‘That was a great horse. You
are
a racing man.’

‘No, I just heard someone mention it in connection with you.’

‘Sad story. Do you know it? He ran his first races here and showed such promise that I sent him to be trained at Lambourn. Won a few more and then a big one in Ireland. Everyone was certain he was set for greater things and then he popped a tendon in his near foreleg. Devastating.’

The force of the last word led Diamond to only one conclusion. ‘Was he put down?’

‘Lord, no. Don’t confuse injured tendons with broken legs. He was fit to put to stud. Poor old fellow, he’d earned some sport with the ladies and I would have been a very rich man as a result. I had a certain Arabian sheikh lined up as the next owner. Then the worst of all things happened. I was asked to parade my horse in front of the crowd one last time at an evening meeting. He was a great local favourite, you see. A lovely tribute. You should have seen his ears prick up when they cheered him all along the straight. Sadly, it was the last I saw of him. My trainer returned him to his box and some evil-minded bastard broke in and stole him.’

‘What for – a ransom?’

‘No. We never heard a word. My theory is that they put him to stud secretly and his progeny are winning races at long odds.’ ‘Your deal with the sheikh fell through?’

‘All I got was some paltry insurance money.’

‘You lost a lot?’

‘Getting on for a million. That horse was a thoroughbred, an investment. He didn’t come cheap. But in racing you have to treat those two impostors just the same.’

‘Who are they?’

Tipping gave Diamond a disbelieving look and then laughed. ‘Triumph and Disaster, of course. Don’t you know your Kipling?’ ‘Poetry isn’t my strong suit.’

‘I thought it was compulsory in the modern police. All the television detectives know their poetry.’

‘I’m in the real world, sir. Did the experience put you off owning horses, then?’

‘I couldn’t afford another thoroughbred. I’m content to sponsor a few races.’

‘What do you get for being a sponsor – a box in the main stand?’

He shrugged. ‘Unlike most of them, I don’t want anything out of it. I’m a chartered surveyor. You don’t get new clients by sponsoring horse racing. It’s not as if I’ve got a product to peddle, like beer or cigarettes. I do it because I like the sport. Always fancy I can spot a winner.’ He stopped the cart beside his ball. ‘How far off is the green, would you say?’

‘Seventy yards. Maybe seventy-five.’

‘One good hit, then. Why don’t you go ahead and remove the flag?’

‘If you want.’

‘Joke. What’s that white object near the pin?’

Diamond stared. Was this more of the humour? ‘I don’t see anything.’

‘We need Reggie’s wife with her field glasses. She’s marvellous. Look to the right of the flag.’

There was something. ‘I see it now. A plastic bag?’

‘Could be. Just my luck if the ball hits it.’

‘Do you want me to go ahead and clear it off ?’ Diamond asked.

‘Not yet awhile.’ He took his shot and struck the ball about halfway to the green.

It would have been simpler to walk, but they couldn’t leave the buggy on the fairway. Getting on and off took up a lot of time.

‘How many members are there?’ Diamond asked when they were in motion again.

‘Of the golf club?’

‘The Lansdown Society.’

‘Five now.’

‘As few as that?’

‘We started with eight, but people moved to other parts of the country, or fell off the perch. In the original group there were seven men and one woman, the formidable Augusta White, magis-t rate. I dubbed her Snow White, naturally, and we were the seven you-know-whats. No prizes for guessing which of us was Grumpy. Is the major catching up?’

‘A magistrate must be a useful member.’

‘Goes without saying – particularly when we have to deal with gypsies, as we do from time to time. What do they call themselves now? Travellers. Not many of them are true Romanies any more.

Let them set up camp as they did at the old RAF station at Charmy Down and you have a real problem on your hands. Scrap metal, vehicles they can’t move, dogs, faeces.’ He halted and hauled himself out of the buggy. ‘They’ve always been trouble. Lansdown had a famous annual fair, you know, and they came from miles around for that, so they think they can set up camp whenever they want.’