Peter Lovesey - Skeleton Hill

‘Where were the police?’ he asked.

‘Outnumbered and helpless. The destruction went on until dawn and then the mob had sobered up a bit and tramped off down towards the city again.’

‘They got away with it?’

‘Not for long. Some of the showmen came together and decided this was the time to do something about it. They’d seen their stalls and homes smashed beyond repair and they wanted revenge, so they rounded up their horses and armed themselves with lumps of wood and rode after the gang like a scene out of a cowboy film. They surprised the ringleaders and brought back about a dozen of them with their hands tied, including Carroty Kate.’

‘To a warm welcome, no doubt.’

‘They called it showmen’s law. They tied Kate to a wagon wheel while they dealt with the men. All the show people watched as the terrified roughs were forced down the hillside to a deep pond, where they were lashed together and dragged through the water on tent-ropes time and again until they were close to drowning. Then they were brought back to the ruins of the fair and tied to wagon wheels and horsewhipped.’

‘Talk about rough justice.’

‘Kate didn’t escape either. The women dealt with her. It took six of them to force her over a trestle while two more took turns to cane her using the penny canes sold at the fair.’

No doubt the timing was unplanned, but this was the moment Paloma returned the frozen peas to Diamond’s back. His legs kicked up with the shock.

‘You were asking about the police,’ she said. ‘They did round up some more of the mob.’

‘That restores my faith a bit.’

‘Until I tell you there was a fight in which one officer was hit with an iron bar and crippled for life. The man responsible was taken to court and hanged and several of the others were sentenced to be transported.’

‘I don’t have any problem with that. It was the system then.’

‘So that’s the story of Lansdown Fair,’ she said. ‘I leave you to work out the moral.’

‘It’s one my mother told me. Stay away from redheads.’

‘And have you followed the advice?’

‘To the best of my ability. The way you women colour your hair I don’t find out until it’s too late.’

‘It’s never too late.’

‘I can think of a situation when it could be.’

‘But you won’t go into that.’

They both laughed.

‘Is it easing up at all?’ she asked.

‘Definitely. I’m grateful.’

She insisted on one more hot and cold application and he manfully allowed it to happen.

‘You shouldn’t think of driving to Bristol tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Can’t you switch cases and stop in Bath?’

‘I’d be stuck with the skeleton.’

‘And you want to investigate Rupert Hope’s murder?’

‘Ideally, both, but as I was forced to choose, yes. The decision is made. Halliwell doesn’t have the seniority to lead the Bristol team. I have to get there somehow. A murder investigation can’t be put on hold while the SIO gets on his feet again.’

‘What’s your plan?’

‘There are three obvious lines of enquiry: his work at the university and the people there; the battle re-enactment he took part in; and – hardest of all to crack – the possibility that it was a random attack.’

‘A lot of hard graft in prospect.’

‘You’ve said it.’

‘What about the forensic science? Doesn’t that trap most murderers now?’

‘You’ve been watching too much television. It’s not the easy ride they make out. We always hope for traces of DNA, but if you can’t find the weapon and the victim didn’t put up a fight, the possibilities reduce sharply.’

‘Footmarks?’

‘Nice idea, and the crime scene people will do their best to find some. The trouble is that the cemetery is a public place. You get a fair few visitors walking the paths, especially as Beckford’s Tower is there, a tourist attraction.’

‘Which reminds me,’ she said. ‘I must get that book for you.’

‘Book?’

‘William Beckford.’

‘Thanks.’ He’d rather hoped she’d forgotten it. ‘Coming back to the crime scene, it’s a matter of eliminating shoeprints. Not easy.’

‘I thought my job was tough,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling now? Ready to think about food? I was planning to send for a Chinese.’

‘Suits me,’ he said, ‘so long as you don’t insist on chopsticks.’

‘In my house you’re at liberty to use your fingers if you want, but I do supply knives and forks as well. I’ll find the menu.’

She insisted on driving him to Bristol Headquarters in the morning. The treatment had eased the back pain appreciably, but she wanted to be certain he didn’t go into spasm after a few miles in heavy traffic. He agreed it wouldn’t make a good start to ask his new team to carry him inside.

She drove his car confidently through the notoriously confusing one way system to Trinity Road. He was able to get out unaided. His mind had been on what he’d say and he hadn’t thought how Paloma was getting back.

‘The train,’ she said when he finally asked. ‘I know my way to Temple Meads.’

He nodded. ‘This place confuses me.’

‘Don’t let it show.’

He grinned his thanks and went inside.

When Diamond looked in, the day shift had gathered for what was known in the trade as morning prayers, but there was nothing worshipful about it. The duty inspector was reporting on an early morning drugs bust in Bedminster. He stopped in mid-sentence, glared at the visitor, and said, ‘Can I help you?’

‘I expect so,’ Diamond said, and introduced himself.

Some of them straightened up. One actually checked his hair.

The inspector’s manner changed from sniffy to servile. ‘Would you like to address the meeting, sir?’

‘What I’d really like to address is the porcelain, before I meet the top brass,’ Diamond said. ‘Which way is it?’

The lower ranks enjoyed that. He was off to a good start.

Twenty minutes later he sat down with a bigger challenge, his CID team, twelve detectives ranging from a muscleman with a silver earring to a veteran with bifocals. He had to be careful here. For all he knew, the owner of the silver earring might be the inspector. You could never be certain in CID. He told them his own name and suggested they started with name and rank when they spoke.

No one did – yet.

He needed an icebreaker. He picked up a set of crime scene photos from the desk in front of him and commented that someone had made a useful start.

A slim black guy gave the slightest of nods.

‘And you are…?’

‘Septimus Ward, DI, sir.’

‘The senior man?’

Septimus Ward nodded a second time. No hint of a smile. It was up to Diamond to win this lot over. Par for the course, he thought. They feel the same way about me as I feel about coming to this place.

‘You’re the experts here, being local, so I’m in your hands. How much can you tell me about the victim, Rupert Hope?’

Some looks were exchanged. No one seemed willing to say anything.

He added, ‘There was nothing found on him. If he possessed a mobile or a wallet or credit cards, they’d long since been nicked. He was a university lecturer, and that’s about all we know.’

This was so different from the briefings he gave in Bath. There, Ingeborg or John Leaman would have waded in by now and offered something, if only to hear the sounds of their own voices. Instead, he was doing all the talking.

‘Does anyone here know any background?’ he asked.

Septimus, the inspector, relented a little. ‘He was from these parts, born in Kingswood and went to Clifton College.’