Peter Lovesey - Skeleton Hill

‘I doubt if you’ll find the skull. The point of the killer removing it is to hinder identification. You know what I’d do if I was wanting to get rid of my victim’s head? I’d chuck it into a reservoir. A skull isn’t going to float like the rest of the body. Drop it in deep water and it’s gone like a stone.’

Halliwell was frowning. ‘I don’t have the manpower to go dredging reservoirs.’

‘I know. I’m telling you why you won’t find that skull.’

‘I was looking for encouragement.’

‘Okay. Has anything resulted from the press coverage? There are always members of the public who call in.’

‘Some have. I’m not optimistic.’

‘Have you done a computer search of our own files from the nineties?’

‘Unfortunately the time we’re interested in is before we went over to computers in a big way. A lot of case notes are still on paper.’

‘But retained?’

Halliwell nodded unhappily. Both men knew about the piles of dusty files boxed away in a store room downstairs.

‘Still has to be done,’ Diamond said. ‘And you’ll need to go through the local papers of twenty years ago. Crucial witnesses may have moved away, died, or whatever, but a disappearance could still have been reported. Look for mentions of Lansdown in particular. It’s hard graft. Let’s hope the effort brings a result.’ Privately he was relieved it was now someone else’s job. ‘And there’s one other thing.’

‘What’s that?’ Halliwell asked. The encouragement was coming at the rate of a drip-feed.

‘The zip fly we found with the body. Is it still in an evidence bag?’

‘Must be.’

‘Covered in rust and dirt?’

‘Yep.’

‘Have it cleaned up in the lab. They might find something on it. We assumed she was wearing jeans. What sort – cheap or designer? You sometimes get a manufacturer’s mark on the tab.’

‘Can we do that? Doesn’t it have to be shown to the court as we found it?’

‘It’s been photographed, hasn’t it? And the chain of evidence isn’t in doubt. No one can argue that this isn’t the zip found at the site. We have a right to make a forensic examination.’

‘And will it help, knowing which brand of jeans she wore?’

‘We don’t know yet, do we?’

Before setting out his stall in Bristol, Diamond had one more interview in mind, one he could do himself. He still believed there was mileage in the Lansdown Society. People like that, self-appointed busybodies dedicated to keeping the place respectable, were the kinds of allies he needed.

Mrs Augusta White, the magistrate, was easy to contact, less easy to approach. ‘Yes, of course I know you,’ she told him over the phone. ‘You’re not easily forgotten.’

‘Oh?’

‘The way you give evidence.’ Before he had time to reflect on that, she said, ‘But if you think I’m going to sit here and wait for you, you’ve got another think coming. My dear Mr Diamond, I’ve spent the whole afternoon in court dealing with pathetic young people destroying their lives with drugs and I promised myself some refreshment.’

‘Good thinking,’ he said. ‘I could do with some myself. May I join you?’

‘I suspect you have the wrong idea,’ she said. ‘Refreshment for me isn’t a couple of beers. It’s exercise.’

‘A brisk walk? I can walk for miles.’

‘Not walking.’

‘Jogging?’

‘Not my style, Mr Diamond.’

That was a relief. ‘Whatever. I need to speak to you today, if you don’t mind.’

‘If this is really necessary you can meet me in the Y.’

‘The what?’

‘The YMCA fitness centre. Shall we say in three-quarters of an hour? From what I remember of your physique some step’n’sweat would do you good. Wear something light. A T-shirt and shorts will do.’

He hadn’t worn shorts since his rugby-playing days. ‘I wasn’t aiming to work out.’

‘You’d better make a show of it. They don’t like men standing about eyeing the women and I’m certainly not making an exhibition of myself for your delectation. It’s a gym, Mr Diamond. Get there as soon as you can. I’m leaving presently.’

The Y was in Broad Street Place, no great distance from the police station. On the way he called at a sports shop and picked up a white T-shirt, cheap trainers and a pair of shorts that covered the butternut squashes that passed as his knees. He kept the receipt but doubted if he could claim it as a legitimate expense. At the front desk of the Y he asked the price of one session and was shocked, even after the peppy young woman told him it included one-to-one induction with a personal trainer and a lifestyle consultation to devise a training plan and fitness goals.

The anxieties of some days ago resurfaced. Were these people in league with the police doctor who’d said he was overweight and unfit? Augusta White was in touch with Georgina through the Lansdown Society. Surely they couldn’t have set him up?

‘I don’t need any of that,’ he said. ‘I was just enquiring.’

She looked at him and asked if he was a concession.

‘A what?’

‘Are you on benefits, dear?’

Annoyed, he leaned closer and showed her his warrant. ‘Actually, I’m a police officer… dear.’

She said, ‘You can get a corporate membership for twenty-six pounds.’

He was tempted to sign up the whole of Manvers Street just to see their reactions, but Georgina would never honour the cheque. ‘It’s part of an investigation.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Surveillance. You don’t mind if I go through?’

Now it was the receptionist’s turn to look worried. ‘Is this a sting?’

He thought of saying her prices were, but settled for a shake of the head. ‘No one’s going to get arrested.’

She sent him downstairs to the gym.

He spotted Augusta White’s tightly permed silver hair at once. She was one of several using the cardiovascular equipment, a row of machines facing picture windows with sensational views of the hills around Bath, including Lansdown. In a navy blue tracksuit, she was pedalling steadily on an exercise bike as if confident it would move off and take her Mary-Poppins style over the rooftops. He wasn’t the best at estimating women’s ages, but he reckoned Mrs White qualified as a concession and was about half his weight. Behind the bench she always looked a formidable figure. Here, she was just a scrap. Good for you, old girl, he thought.

‘Why don’t you step on the treadmill next to me?’ she said when he emerged, kitted and ready to go, from the changing room. ‘Be sure to put it on a low setting that you can handle.’

One of the staff showed him how to operate the machine by using the screen mounted at the front of the machine. He started at an ambling gait he was confident he could tolerate for ten minutes or so, by which time Mrs White would surely be exhausted. He was no stranger to fitness apparatus even though it had gone high-tech in the past twenty-five years.

‘I can’t discuss anything that’s sub judice ,’ Mrs White said, contin-u ing to work her legs at the rate of a seasoned user.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘This is about your other life.’

‘What?’

‘Outside the courts.’

‘This is my other life – and you’ve invaded it.’

‘You invited me.’

‘So I did,’ she said in a more forgiving tone. ‘But be warned, Mr Diamond, my personal life is off limits as well.’

‘It’s not personal. It’s the Lansdown Society.’

‘That’s a private club.’

‘I’ve already spoken to Major Swithin and Sir Colin Tipping.’

‘Not so private as it should be. Those two.’ She clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘Yes, Sir Colin told me you’d interrupted their round of golf. I can’t think what you’re hoping to get from me that you haven’t heard from them. They’re about as discreet as a chorus line.’