Peter Lovesey - Skeleton Hill

‘Not the biggest heist ever, then?’

‘I don’t suppose it was reported to Bath CID,’ Chaz said.

‘Mercifully, no.’

More information came in from some of the current history students. Rupert Hope’s inventive brain had been put to more constructive use when he returned to Bristol as a lecturer. He was always looking for ways to bring history to life for his students. He’d taken them to St Mary Redcliffe Church to see the monument to Sir William Penn, the admiral who had captured Jamaica for the British in 1655, and this had led to a project on Penn’s son, William. The second year history group had linked up with Penn State University to examine the documentation for Penn’s voyage of 1682 when Charles II granted him a lease of land in the New World and he took possession of Pennsylvania.

‘This is all good stuff,’ Diamond said to Chaz, ‘but I’d like to find someone he treated badly.’

‘We don’t have anything on his love life yet.’

‘Did he have one?’

‘The emails might tell us.’

‘If it was love on email it couldn’t have been much.’

The computer tower arrived soon after and one of the civilian staff was given the task of extracting everything of possible use. The dossier on the dead man was growing appreciably without yet providing much for a murder investigation.

‘You saw the body at the scene, did you, guv?’ Chaz asked.

‘I did.’

‘Did they find the murder weapon?’

‘Not when I was there, and not since. I’d have been told. They’ve had time to search the entire cemetery by now.’

‘Do you know what it was?’

‘Something heavy and blunt, more like a cosh than an axe. I doubt if we’ll find it now. There’s too much on TV these days about DNA and forensics. Any killer with a glimmer of intelligence is going to get rid of the weapon somewhere else.’

Septimus phoned in again. They’d found some photos of Rupert and his students studying the mosaics at Fishbourne Roman Palace.

‘Nice work,’ Diamond said down the phone. ‘You’re still in the history department, are you?’

‘We are.’

‘And able to talk freely?’

‘Sure.’

‘So you must have met some of the other lecturers. What do they say about him?’

‘They’re shocked at what happened, that’s for sure,’ Septimus said, ‘and there’s a lot of sympathy for him, but no one is saying much. I get the impression he didn’t have any particular friends among them. He wasn’t disliked. They respect what he was doing with his students. He wasn’t looking for close friends among the staff, so far as I can tell.’

‘A loner?’

‘Not really. I’d say reserved.’

‘That could mean secretive.’

‘If you want to see it that way.’

Diamond told him to bring in the photos at the end of the afternoon. He and Chaz leafed through the address book brought in with the computer tower. The lettering was in small, neat capitals, more than two hundred names in all. Where someone had moved house, Hope hadn’t put a line through the address and added the new one on another page, as most people did. He’d gone to all the trouble of covering the entry with a strip of adhesive paper and writing over it. This was a methodical man, if not a perfectionist, and probably a pain to work with.

There was no way of telling who were the close friends. A long trawl was in prospect, comparing these entries with the email address book. It was a pity Hope’s mobile phone had not turned up. Presumably that had been removed at an early stage, after the first attack.

Yet Diamond told the team when they assembled late in the afternoon that Operation Cavalier had brought a good result. ‘Thanks to your efforts we know a whole lot more about this guy and his background and contacts. Chaz has drawn up a profile and each of you gets a copy. No obvious leads have emerged, unfortunately, so it’s my job to study everything overnight and decide on a strategy for tomorrow.’

While they were leaving he overheard someone say, ‘Reading between the lines, he’s up shit creek without a paddle.’

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.’