Skeleton Hill

15

His sore back was no worse at the end of the day. Lowering himself into the car seat was uncomfortable, but once behind the wheel he felt okay. If he could cope with the nightmare of Bristol’s one-way system, he’d be out of here and heading home. It still irked him that the murder enquiry couldn’t be managed from Bath.

The main evening rush was over and he was able to switch lanes a few times without mishap and presently found himself on the Keynsham bypass with a chance to think. A sunny evening. He’d call Paloma later and suggest they met for a drink.

Approaching Saltford, an overtaking motorcyclist appeared alongside him wearing the Day-Glo jacket that signified a traffic cop. The bike’s blue lights were flashing. Still on duty, you poor sod, Diamond thought.

The sympathy drained away when he noticed a gloved hand waving him down. The lights were flashing for him. He was being pulled over.

He came to a stop in a lay-by and lowered the window. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Switch off the engine, sir, and step out of the car.’

‘What’s up? I wasn’t speeding, was I?’

‘Would you do as I ask, sir?’

He turned the key and summoned up a smile. ‘Switching off is the easy part. The getting out could be difficult. I’ve got a stiff back.’

This didn’t get the reaction he hoped for. ‘Should you be in charge of a car in that case?’

‘It only flared up today. Look, I’m in the Old Bill myself.’ He remembered as he spoke that his warrant card was in his back pocket and impossible to reach in his present condition. ‘Peter Diamond, Detective Superintendent.’

In a situation such as this, rank is supposed to count for nothing. If he’d committed an offence there ought to be no favours. In reality, most traffic cops are lenient when they find they’ve stopped one of their own.

This one was an awkward cuss. ‘If you were the Chief Constable I’d still ask you to step out. The law’s the same whoever you are.’ Troubling words. Everyone had heard of top police officers brought to court by young cops impervious to persuasion. They even did it to royalty.

He still didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

He opened the door, put out a leg and felt a strong twinge in his back. ‘Bloody hell, is this necessary?’

The cop folded his arms and said nothing.

‘Would you mind giving me a hand?’

Apparently not.

Diamond gripped the roof and heaved himself out, an agonising move. He emitted a yelp of pain.

‘The reason I stopped you is that your nearside brake light isn’t working.’

A faulty light, for crying out loud.

‘I wasn’t aware of that. Thanks, officer. I’ll get a new bulb.’ Biting back his fury he added, ‘You’re right to bring it to my attention. Now, if you’d like to see my warrant card…’

‘I’d rather see your driving licence.’

He snapped, ‘Oh come on, it’s a brake light, not drunk driving.’

‘Your tyres look worn to me.’

‘Are they?’

‘And your tax disc is out of date.’

‘Is it?’ He turned to see for himself. ‘By Christ, you’re right.’ He’d been sent a reminder weeks ago and it was at home among a pile of junk mail and unpaid bills. ‘I overlooked it. I’ll renew it on the internet the minute I get home.’

The cop said nothing.

Out of the depths of his humiliation Diamond said, ‘Are you based at Bristol? I’ve been seconded there, which is why I’m on the road. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Operation Cavalier. A murder case. I’m in charge. It’s no excuse, but my thoughts haven’t been fully on the car.’

‘The licence, please.’

He produced it from his pocket and the cop used his radio to check with the Police National Computer. Then: ‘I’m reporting you, sir, for driving an untaxed vehicle. Whether any action is taken is out of my hands. Where were you driving to?’

He didn’t like the ‘were’. ‘Home. I live in Weston.’

There was another stressful delay while the cop considered the options. ‘All right,’ he said finally, ‘you can finish your journey, but don’t be so unwise as to use the car again until you get the new disc. And the brake light.’

‘You can borrow mine,’ Paloma said in the Crown that evening. She’d driven out to Weston to meet him.

‘I won’t do that,’ he said. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I’m not depriving you of your car just because I cocked up.’

‘How will you get to Bristol in the morning?’

‘I’ll go into Bath and hop aboard a patrol car.’

‘I doubt if you’ll hop anywhere in your present state. Let me take you.’

‘No. I meant what I said.’

‘You’re like a limpet sometimes.’

‘Actually I’ve thought of a way I can use this to my advantage.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’ll tell you if it works.’

She took a sip of her white wine. ‘All told, this hasn’t been much of a day for you.’

‘Too true. They didn’t roll out the red carpet at Bristol, either, but we ended the day on better terms… I think.’

‘Are you any nearer to finding who killed this man?’

‘That’s the sort of question I get from Georgina, the boss.’

‘Oops. Sorry I asked.’

‘We concentrated on the victim today, building up a profile. He’s something of a mystery himself. No family in this country. Lived in Bristol all his life, so he must have made hundreds of contacts.’

‘For contacts, read suspects?’

‘Potential suspects anyway. The problem is that here was a harmless guy who put a lot into his job and didn’t make enemies of people. Mind, he wasn’t all that popular in the staffroom. They speak well of him – as you do of a dead colleague – but it comes through that he had no close friends.’

‘Did the students like him?’

‘Apparently. He made big efforts to bring the history to life for them.’

‘And in the process showing up the other lecturers? Was that what made him unpopular?’

‘With some, I suppose.’

‘Enough to justify murder?’

He grinned. ‘That would be stretching it.’

‘The way you talk about some of the people you work with…’ ‘The bullshit artists and brown-nosers?’

‘You’ve made my point. Resentment can run deep among colleagues.’

‘I wouldn’t murder them.’

‘Look at it another way, then. Your victim may have been a harmless guy, but he had a knack of annoying people. He seems to have caused an upset at the car boot sale.’

‘Nicking stuff because he was hungry.’

‘You don’t know what else he got up to in those days he was living rough.’

‘I know one thing. He was at the races the evening we were there. Remember the guy who wandered across the course when the runners were going to the start?’

‘That was Rupert?’ She put her hand to her mouth.

‘Has to be. He gave his name as Noddy. I took him to be a drunk.’

‘And he said something about wanting food. Poor soul. That’s awful, Peter. I thought the same as you. How wrong we were.’

He nodded. ‘We saw something and we made an assumption, like the people who saw him trying the doors of parked cars. I’ve been assuming professional jealousy played a part in his death, or some incident in his personal life. It could be much more basic.’

‘Someone who caught him misbehaving up at Lansdown and saw red?’

‘Exactly. I must find out more about those days when he was behaving erratically. We’re short of witnesses. I hoped to get help from the Lansdown Society. They’re the resident snoops.’

‘They can’t be everywhere. You’re more likely to hear from someone who happened to be passing by.’

‘Walking the dog?’ He laughed. ‘You’re so right. You can bring in helicopters and thermal imaging, you can have a thousand coppers doing a fingertip search, but nothing beats a dog’s nose.’

‘You wouldn’t have found that skeleton without the dog’s help, that’s for sure.’

He sighed and shook his head. ‘The skeleton isn’t my case any more.’

She smiled faintly. ‘It still rankles, doesn’t it?’

‘Slightly.’

‘Who was it who found Rupert Hope?’

‘The guy who keeps the cemetery tidy.’

‘Without a dog?’

‘I doubt if he had one with him. Dogs don’t treat gravestones with the respect that we do.’

They finished their drinks and Diamond said he’d better get home. He’d promised the team an action plan for the morning.

Paloma said, ‘That sounds like a dedicated man talking. I suppose it’s no use offering you a back massage?’

‘I know you mean well, and I’m sure it would do me good, but I couldn’t take it.’

Her face creased in sympathy. ‘Are you feeling worse, then?’

‘Quite a bit better, thanks to you, but you’ve no idea what a randy old goat I am. Your touch would inflame me.’

‘Get away,’ she said, laughing. ‘It didn’t get you going last night.’

‘Frozen peas and hot flannels?’

‘Really, Peter, what you’re saying hadn’t crossed my mind.’

‘It crossed mine, and I’m in no state to make a move, more’s the pity. It would end in frustration and I’m not nice to know when I get frustrated.’

‘Hurry up and get better, then.’

Appreciably more mobile next morning, he took the bus into Bath and arrived early at the police station confident of winning the next round against Georgina. Not much was happening. The desk sergeant was chatting to a MOP – a member of the public – who looked as if he’d lost his wallet. ‘Ah,’ he said, spotting Diamond, ‘here’s somebody from CID.’

‘Unless it’s extremely urgent, I can’t help,’ Diamond said. ‘I’m in a bit of trouble myself.’

‘You don’t look too good,’ the sergeant said.

‘Is the boss in?’

‘ACC Dallymore?’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Before her usual time. Give her ten minutes. If you can spare five to talk to this gentleman – what’s your name, sir?’

‘Dave.’ The MOP turned his gaze hopefully on Diamond. He had the look of a man with a story to tell. Five minutes wouldn’t do it.

‘To talk to Dave,’ the sergeant continued, ‘I’m sure he’d appreciate it.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘That skeleton they found on Lansdown,’ Dave said.

‘Sorry,’ Diamond said raising a hand. ‘That’s Inspector Halliwell’s case. I’m on another enquiry. You’ll need to see one of Keith Halliwell’s team.’ He let himself through the door behind the desk and started the painful climb up the stairs to Georgina’s lair on the top floor. He paused on each landing and when he reached the top he heard her coming up behind him. She must have been fit because she wasn’t breathing heavily.

‘Peter,’ she said, ‘why aren’t you in Bristol?’

‘That’s what I came to tell you about. There’s a technical hitch.’ She swung open her office door. ‘Don’t tell me they’ve walked out on you already.’

‘No. We’re getting on with each other.’

‘Are you?’ A disappointed note came through. ‘That’s a relief. Have a seat. You’re not ill, are you? You don’t seem to be moving freely.’

‘That’s another story. This is something else, something embarrassing.’

‘A personal problem?’ A rare touch of pink came to her cheeks. She moved behind her desk as if she would feel safer there.

‘You’re sure to hear of it,’ he said, ‘so I thought I’d tell you first. I was booked by a traffic cop on the way home last night. One of my brake lights had gone.’

She flapped her hand dismissively. ‘That can happen to anyone.’

‘He happened to notice my tax disc was out of date.’

‘Oh.’

‘Carelessness on my part.’

‘Have you applied for a new one?’

‘I did when I got home. It takes a couple of days to come through, as you know.’

‘Stick a note on your windscreen.’

‘My tyres need renewing as well. I’m off the road until I can get it all sorted. What I’m saying is that I won’t be going into Bristol today.’ Chew on that, Georgina, he thought.

‘Ah.’ She placed her hands palm down on her desk and slapped them several times on the surface. ‘Have a word with George Pallant. He’ll fix up a ride for you.’

George Pallant was the inspector in charge of transport. Diamond had covered this.

‘They’re doing a vehicle check on the London Road today. You know what that does to manpower. It’s all right. I’ll phone Bristol and tell them to manage without me. There’s plenty they can get on with.’

Georgina took an audible breath. She was being outsmarted and she didn’t like it. ‘We can’t have that. Where is your car?’

‘At home. I came in by bus. I don’t intend to spend the day twiddling my thumbs. I can make myself useful to Keith Halliwell.’

‘He doesn’t need you interfering.’ A sound of exasperation came from deep in her throat. She plunged her hand into her pocket. ‘Here. Take mine.’ She tossed a car key across the desk.

This was a development he hadn’t prepared for. ‘Your Mercedes? You’re lending it to me?’

‘I am,’ she said with an air of righteousness. ‘I have a meeting here tonight of the Crime Prevention Panel and I won’t be needing the car until late. Let’s have no more shilly-shallying. Get to your duties, Peter.’

He couldn’t believe she’d entrusted him with her gleaming silver Merc, a measure of how much she wanted him out of Bath and out of her hair. More than that, she’d outfoxed him. He’d be going to Bristol after all.

His mood was down and he gritted his teeth and swore a few times. Yet he drove carefully, not only because it was Georgina’s car, but because he always did. Speed on the roads wasn’t in his repertoire. Even though this one was capable of rapid acceleration he wouldn’t put his foot down. And somewhere at the back of his mind was a superstition that bad luck comes in threes. First he’d hurt his back and then he’d been booked. If a third mishap was coming it had better not involve the Mercedes.

He tried to be more constructive. An action plan for the day was needed. The information-gathering on Rupert Hope couldn’t last much longer. The enquiry needed a sense of direction. Paloma may well have been right when she said that the last days at Lansdown could be the key to the mystery, a spur-of-the-moment killing by someone Hope had upset. Running the investigation from Bristol meant that a different agenda was being set, with heavy emphasis on former contacts and earlier events. Was that all a waste of time?

Somewhere between Saltford and Keynsham his thoughts were interrupted by a loud rumbling from the car. The drive had been blissfully smooth up to now. His first reaction was that his handling of the controls was at fault. He wasn’t used to an automatic and he knew they could engage a lower gear by some small movement of the gear shift. Once or twice his hand had gone there out of habit and his left foot had pressed on an invisible clutch-pedal. Had he put the thing in third?

No.

Something else was wrong. The car was slowing perceptibly. He glanced in the mirror and signalled that he was moving over and stopping. Even the steering seemed to be playing up. He braked and put on the hazard lights. This wasn’t the ideal place to stop – on a busy dual carriageway with minimal space at the side.

He waited for his chance to get out. He guessed what was wrong: a flat tyre. When he eventually – and painfully – hauled himself out he found he was right. The nearside rear wheel was right down. A perfectly good tyre with plenty of tread had run over a nail. He could see it embedded in the rubber.

I could have done without this, he thought.

What now? He didn’t fancy changing the tyre while his back was still giving twinges. Other drivers were zooming past at a rate suggesting he shouldn’t count on a good Samaritan. Better phone for assistance.

Fortunately he had his under-used mobile with him. Unfortunately it needed charging. He sighed, flung the phone on the back seat and went to look for the spare tyre and the jack. Lifting the tyre wasn’t easy. He managed to stand it upright and rotate it out of the boot and onto the roadside. Georgina’s instruction book was in the glove compartment. He had a look and tried assembling the jack. At the sixth attempt he fathomed how to open it and slot it into the jacking point. There was a handle to turn: no problem if your back was functioning normally. But by degrees he succeeded in getting the punctured tyre clear of the ground and faced the next ordeal of using the wrench to loosen the wheel bolts.

No one looked like stopping. He couldn’t blame them. It would be dangerous to park anywhere near.

Could have been raining, he told himself to raise morale while freeing the first of those bolts. The raised morale didn’t last long. The swearing got stronger as he applied himself to the task, regardless of what further damage it would do to his back. He removed them all and with a supreme effort lifted off the damaged wheel and hoisted up the spare and shoved it into place.

Nice work, Diamond, he said to himself. All it needs now is to tighten the five bolts and lower the jack. For a technophobe this isn’t a bad effort.

There was one more hitch. The bolts didn’t behave. They wouldn’t tighten properly. He kept turning the wrench and feeling resistance but they wouldn’t go all the way in.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’

A voice behind him said, ‘In trouble, are we?’ It sounded familiar.

He turned and found himself eye to eye with the same traffic cop who’d stopped him the evening before. The sense of surprise was mutual.

‘You?’ the cop said. ‘I booked you last night. What’s this – your second car?’

‘It belongs to the Assistant Chief Constable.’

‘Oh, yes?’

He recalled that the cop hadn’t inspected his ID last night. Probably thought he was a fantasist.

‘Is it taxed?’

‘Of course. Thanks to you, I had to borrow this one and it got a puncture.’

‘On a dangerous stretch of road,’ the cop said.

‘I couldn’t help that, could I? If you’ll lend me a hand tightening these bolts I’ll be on the road again.’

‘The back’s giving trouble again, is it?’ the cop said with sarcasm.

‘That’s immaterial. The bloody bolts won’t tighten.’

The cop tried and didn’t succeed and Diamond felt justified.

‘Is that the owner’s manual on the ground?’

‘Well, it’s not the works of Shakespeare.’

‘Let’s have a look.’ The cop thumbed through the pages covering advice on changing a tyre. ‘You know what? You’re using the wrong set of bolts.’

‘No I’m not. They’re the ones I took off.’

‘These are alloy wheels.’

‘And what’s that got to do with it?’

‘What it says here. “Be sure to use the correct wheel bolt type. Light alloy wheels require different wheel bolts”. You’re trying to put on the spare with the wrong bolts. I wouldn’t mind betting there’s a different set for use with the spare. Have you looked in the box where the jack is kept?’ He went to the boot and came back in triumph with a set of bolts in an unopened bag. ‘These are at least an inch shorter. You know what you’ve been doing? Driving the bolts into the hub. Wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve done some serious damage. Did you say this car belongs to your boss?’

It took another hour, but eventually a breakdown lorry came out from Georgina’s Mercedes dealer in Bath and took the stricken car away. Diamond rode with the driver. ‘Any idea what this will cost me?’

‘The call-out? About a hundred and ninety.’

‘The damage to the hub.’

‘Not my job, mate, but I guess you’ll need a new sub-frame and with it the flange, angular contact and rim lock. After they’ve added the tax you won’t get much change out of a grand.’

‘Jesus!’

‘That’s not counting the new tyre. You’ll want a new tyre by the looks of the old one.’

He didn’t ask the price.