‘That was a great horse. You are a racing man.’
‘No, I just heard someone mention it in connection with you.’
‘Sad story. Do you know it? He ran his first races here and showed such promise that I sent him to be trained at Lambourn. Won a few more and then a big one in Ireland. Everyone was certain he was set for greater things and then he popped a tendon in his near foreleg. Devastating.’
The force of the last word led Diamond to only one conclusion. ‘Was he put down?’
‘Lord, no. Don’t confuse injured tendons with broken legs. He was fit to put to stud. Poor old fellow, he’d earned some sport with the ladies and I would have been a very rich man as a result. I had a certain Arabian sheikh lined up as the next owner. Then the worst of all things happened. I was asked to parade my horse in front of the crowd one last time at an evening meeting. He was a great local favourite, you see. A lovely tribute. You should have seen his ears prick up when they cheered him all along the straight. Sadly, it was the last I saw of him. My trainer returned him to his box and some evil-minded bastard broke in and stole him.’
‘What for – a ransom?’
‘No. We never heard a word. My theory is that they put him to stud secretly and his progeny are winning races at long odds.’ ‘Your deal with the sheikh fell through?’
‘All I got was some paltry insurance money.’
‘You lost a lot?’
‘Getting on for a million. That horse was a thoroughbred, an investment. He didn’t come cheap. But in racing you have to treat those two impostors just the same.’
‘Who are they?’
Tipping gave Diamond a disbelieving look and then laughed. ‘Triumph and Disaster, of course. Don’t you know your Kipling?’ ‘Poetry isn’t my strong suit.’
‘I thought it was compulsory in the modern police. All the television detectives know their poetry.’
‘I’m in the real world, sir. Did the experience put you off owning horses, then?’
‘I couldn’t afford another thoroughbred. I’m content to sponsor a few races.’
‘What do you get for being a sponsor – a box in the main stand?’
He shrugged. ‘Unlike most of them, I don’t want anything out of it. I’m a chartered surveyor. You don’t get new clients by sponsoring horse racing. It’s not as if I’ve got a product to peddle, like beer or cigarettes. I do it because I like the sport. Always fancy I can spot a winner.’ He stopped the cart beside his ball. ‘How far off is the green, would you say?’
‘Seventy yards. Maybe seventy-five.’
‘One good hit, then. Why don’t you go ahead and remove the flag?’
‘If you want.’
‘Joke. What’s that white object near the pin?’
Diamond stared. Was this more of the humour? ‘I don’t see anything.’
‘We need Reggie’s wife with her field glasses. She’s marvellous. Look to the right of the flag.’
There was something. ‘I see it now. A plastic bag?’
‘Could be. Just my luck if the ball hits it.’
‘Do you want me to go ahead and clear it off?’ Diamond asked.
‘Not yet awhile.’ He took his shot and struck the ball about halfway to the green.
It would have been simpler to walk, but they couldn’t leave the buggy on the fairway. Getting on and off took up a lot of time.
‘How many members are there?’ Diamond asked when they were in motion again.
‘Of the golf club?’
‘The Lansdown Society.’
‘Five now.’
‘As few as that?’
‘We started with eight, but people moved to other parts of the country, or fell off the perch. In the original group there were seven men and one woman, the formidable Augusta White, magis-t rate. I dubbed her Snow White, naturally, and we were the seven you-know-whats. No prizes for guessing which of us was Grumpy. Is the major catching up?’
‘A magistrate must be a useful member.’
‘Goes without saying – particularly when we have to deal with gypsies, as we do from time to time. What do they call themselves now? Travellers. Not many of them are true Romanies any more.
Let them set up camp as they did at the old RAF station at Charmy Down and you have a real problem on your hands. Scrap metal, vehicles they can’t move, dogs, faeces.’ He halted and hauled himself out of the buggy. ‘They’ve always been trouble. Lansdown had a famous annual fair, you know, and they came from miles around for that, so they think they can set up camp whenever they want.’
‘You mentioned Mrs White. Is she still in the society?’
‘You mentioned Mrs White. Is ‘Oh, yes. Have you met her?’
‘In court from time to time.’
‘Splendid woman. And, as you say, useful to have the law on our side. What is that wretched object on the green?’
Diamond could see it better now. Not a plastic bag, he was sure. Chalky white and unmoving, it lay close to the pin. Was his mind predisposed to death, or did it have the rounded shape of a cranium?
‘I’m going to take a look.’
He’d not expected ever to find the missing skull. The whole point of decapitating the victim was surely to prevent identification. The killer would have disposed of it miles from here.
What could it be doing in plain view on a golf course?
He quickened his pace.
And was disappointed.
The round, white object was a partially deflated balloon. He picked it up. A label was attached. The wording was Number 297. Bath Rugby Club Balloon Race. This balloon hadn’t travelled far. He wouldn’t be ringing the number on the reverse. Unlucky for number 297 and unlucky for him, too.
‘What is it?’ Tipping shouted.
‘Only a balloon.’
‘Keep hold of it. We don’t want litter on the course. At one time, we made a collection of all the rubbish collected off the down in a single week. You wouldn’t believe the disgusting things we recovered. Are you sure it’s a balloon?’
‘Positive.’
‘Take out the pin, then. I’m going to try a long putt.’
Diamond did so. The ball rolled past and off the green again. ‘You could have stuck your foot in the way,’ Tipping said as he approached. ‘Reggie isn’t far behind now.’
‘I’m a little disappointed in you and your Lansdown Society, Sir Colin,’ Diamond said, trying a different approach. ‘I thought you missed nothing of what goes on up here, yet someone is killed and buried and you don’t seem to have any knowledge of it.’
‘I’m concerned, naturally, but it’s a mystery to me.’
‘You were one of the original members?’
‘I was, along with Reggie and Mrs White, who are still very much with us. Do you want to wait for Reggie?’
‘Aren’t you going to take another putt?’
He winked. ‘I’m taking it as holed.’ He picked up his ball and pocketed it. ‘That goes down as a seven for the first hole.’
There was a shout of ‘Fore!’ from behind them.
‘That’s Reggie,’ Tipping said. ‘I can’t see him, can you?’
Another shout from the major: ‘Move the bloody buggy. It’s blocking my line.’
‘As if he ever hits straight,’ Tipping said. He returned to the golf cart and moved it off the fairway.
Diamond could see the major hunched over his ball now, not all that far from the green. By luck or skill the shot came off and the ball stopped inches from the hole.
‘Not bad. Was that your seventh?’ Tipping asked his opponent.
‘Fifth.’ The major held up five fingers.
‘He’s lying,’ Tipping muttered to Diamond. ‘Tap it in, then. That hole is halved.’
‘You took six?’ the major said. ‘You’ve never done that before. Is that true?’ He strode up to the green and asked Diamond, ‘Did he really take only six?’
‘I lost count,’ Diamond said, not wishing to get involved. ‘I was distracting him, anyway. Questions about the buried skeleton. Do you remember anything suspicious going on around the fallen oak tree some years back?’