Peter Lovesey - Skeleton Hill

As if on cue, a call came in, but it was only Ingeborg. ‘I’ve spent the entire afternoon checking on horses, guv.’

‘I was told. Any joy?’

‘Joy? I saw some adorable animals, but none that were old enough. And now it’s got so late I’d better get straight to my evening session with the cavalry, so I won’t come back, if that’s all right.’

‘It’s okay. You don’t want to be late on parade.’

‘God, no.’

‘One thing, Inge.’

‘Guv?’

‘Don’t lose sight of what you’re really there for.’

In the short time Diamond had been speaking to her, the first call had come in about Nadia. Paul Gilbert was taking it. After a few seconds he started shaking his head. He thanked the caller and rang off. ‘Wrong year. They said the Olympics were on in Barcelona. That was 1992.’

‘Good thinking,’ Diamond said. ‘Did you watch it on TV?’

‘I was only two at the time.’

‘There’s a sobering thought. I was working here. Same job, same rank. Barcelona . I used to drive up Wellsway singing along with Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé. And you were just a toddler at the time. Unbelievable.’

More calls started coming in. One was a definite sighting, but only at Mass at St John’s and the caller couldn’t recall which Sunday it was. Nadia had covered her head with a dark scarf, but otherwise she was wearing the T-shirt and jeans.

‘Must have borrowed the scarf from Mrs Jarvie,’ Diamond said.

After six, when the local news was screened on HTV, a flurry of calls came in, but none proved to be of obvious help. It seemed everyone had memories of young foreign girls asking directions in Bath or enrolling for English as a Foreign Language at the Tech. The problem was that enrolment didn’t start until September. By then Nadia was almost certainly dead.

‘I’m starting to lose confidence,’ Diamond said. ‘I wish I’d joined John Wigfull for some positive thinking.’

He helped man the phones for another two hours. The results were disappointing. Three would be worth following up, but they appeared to offer little new information. Someone had spoken to a Ukrainian girl at the station on the day she arrived. Two had seen someone who looked like Nadia walking into town from Lower Swainswick.

The evening shift could be left to take any more calls. He thanked the team. ‘You never know,’ he said. ‘Someone may call us tomorrow.’

Before leaving, he made a call of his own, to Paloma, inviting her for a drink and a bite to eat. She said she’d eaten already, but she’d be pleased to join him. He suggested meeting at the Blathwayt. The pub-restaurant was right at the top of the hill, a long-established watering-hole for racegoers, golfers, car-booters and travellers on the South Downs Way.

‘On Lansdown?’ she said. ‘Can’t you leave your work behind?’

‘I’ve heard they have a good chef.’

‘Be honest, Peter,’ she said. ‘You’re not going there for the food.’

‘All right, I’m combining business with pleasure, but the pleasure will be paramount.’

‘Smoothie. I don’t believe a word.’

He’d suggested 9 p.m., and made sure he arrived early enough to walk through the Blathwayt’s several dining areas checking who was there. A chat in this relaxed setting with one of his vigilante friends from the Lansdown Society wouldn’t have come amiss. The bar was doing a brisk trade, but he recognised nobody there or in the restaurant. Outside, under the patio heaters, was a candlelit section he hadn’t seen before – a development pubs everywhere were favouring since the smoking ban came in. Seeing some people leave, he moved smoothly into a seat at the table. He’d ordered his lasagne and the drinks before Paloma drove up.

‘I seem to be losing my aura of mystery,’ she said after they’d kissed. ‘You even know what I want to drink.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘I’ve got a drink and it’s the right one, so I’m not going to complain. This is nice, being outside.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve been inside lately,’ he said. ‘It’s had a makeover since I was last here. I remember it as dark and seedy.’ ‘In keeping with its past,’ she said.

He smiled. If there was background on any Bath location, Paloma knew it.

‘Back in the eighteenth century, it was a highwaymen’s pub called the Star. The road to Bath was perfect for hold-ups. They’d rob people at gunpoint and then spend some of the money here before moving on.’

‘There’s no end to the villainy on this bloody hill. Only this afternoon I was hearing about a firm of bent auctioneers.’

‘English and Son. Absolute crooks. How did they come up?’

He told her what he’d learned from Charlie Smart.

‘He’s right,’ she said. ‘It’s all in the book I lent you. The pair of them disappeared owing a fortune in debts and were never traced and neither were some of William Beckford’s treasures. He had one of the finest private art collections in the country, paintings by Raphael and Bellini, Claude and Canaletto. And there were other treasures of gold and silver.’

‘A secret hoard?’ Diamond thought about it as the possible mainspring for two murders. ‘Now you’re confusing me. I was coming round to sex as the motive for Nadia’s death.’

‘It sounds likely,’ Paloma said. ‘She had nothing worth stealing.’ ‘But if she happened to have found a stash of valuables, that could have made her a target.’

‘Beckford’s lost treasures? Don’t you think all the likely places have been checked long ago?’

‘Right. I’m way off beam.’

She thought about it, turning her glass. ‘There have been other finds up here. Have you heard of the Lansdown Sun Disc?’

Amused once again by her fund of local lore, he shook his head. ‘Tell me.’

‘A gilded bronze model of the sun over three thousand years old, excavated in one of the Bronze Age barrows. It’s now in the British Museum. Quite a treasure.’

‘I can cap that,’ he said. ‘What do you say to three tons of gold bullion in ingots so pure you could mould them in your hands?’

‘I say yes, please, if it’s legal.’

‘It isn’t. The trail for the biggest robbery in history went cold on Lansdown.’

‘Get away!’

‘You’ve heard of the Brink’s-Mat heist in 1983? Twenty-six million in gold bullion from a warehouse at Heathrow?’

‘Of course.’

‘There was a local guy, a millionaire, who came under suspicion. He lived in style at the Coach House at Battlefields, the hamlet beside the Civil War site. A snatch squad raided the place and found a smelter, ingot moulds and two gold ingots still warm to the touch. Also shotguns and a rifle.’

‘I do remember reading something now.’

‘The people doing the smelting were minor players. The owner was in Tenerife. Eventually he was deported and put on trial and acquitted on all charges.’

‘Acquitted? How was that?’

‘He claimed the smelting was part of his legitimate business. Among other companies, he owned a Bath jeweller’s. He went on to create the largest timeshare company in Europe, worth many millions. Eventually it was exposed as a scam and he got an eight-year sentence.’

‘What about the gold?’

‘No one knows. About a thousand kilos are still unaccounted for. Our people dug up the floorboards at the Coach House. They went at the area around the pool with a digger and drills. Nothing else was found.’

‘Lansdown’s a big area.’

‘And full of secrets.’

His food arrived. He unwrapped the knife and fork. ‘Care for a taste?’

‘No, thanks.’ She took a long sip of her spritzer. ‘I saw the picture of Nadia on Points West. She looked happy enough when it was taken.’