The substantial fly in the ointment was Georgina.
Diamond had never shirked a confrontation. Noting that the ACC’s Mercedes was parked in her reserved space outside, putting her on the premises, he went upstairs to her eyrie. The traffic light entrance system was showing green.
‘Troubles, Peter?’ she said when she saw him.
‘Not really, ma’am. I just want your advice.’
‘That must be a first.’
‘About the Lansdown Society.’
Her voice took on a defensive note. ‘What about it?’
‘I was told you’re a member.’
‘That’s right. I do have a life outside the police.’
‘They seem to think it’s because you’re in the police that you’re one of them.’
‘Who have you been talking to?’
‘Sir Colin Tipping and Major Swithin. They said Jamie Fleming was the police member before you.’
‘That is true, but I want to make it clear, Peter, that I didn’t join in my official capacity. I happen to support the conservation of the countryside. I don’t want to see any more building on Lansdown. It’s a protected site, which in reality means nothing unless people like me with some influence guarantee its integrity. I know why you’ve raised this. It’s the skeleton, isn’t it?’
‘Right, ma’am. The society keeps abreast of what’s happening on the down. I was hoping they might know something.’
‘And do they?’
‘Not the two gents I saw this morning.’
‘They’re the most likely to know. They’ve been members from the beginning. When was your victim buried?’
‘Some time after 1987, when the tree was blown down.’
‘Ah well.’ She spread her hands. ‘The society wasn’t formed until 1993.’
‘Yes, but we don’t know which year she was buried. We have a ten-year time frame.’
‘If Colin and Reggie say they can’t help, it’s no good coming to me. I didn’t join until three years ago.’
Colin and Reggie. He had to be careful here. A conflict of loyalties was looming. ‘The other founder member is Mrs White, the magistrate.’
Georgina was losing patience. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Peter.’
‘I was about to say I might have a word with her as well – unless you would like to approach her yourself.’
She folded her arms and gave a defiant tilt to the most eloquent bosom in Bath. ‘Is this your only line of enquiry? I can’t see it being very productive.’
‘It looked more promising when I started.’ He got bolder. ‘Forgive me for saying this, but you seem a close-knit society.’
‘Perhaps we don’t have anything to tell you.’
‘It’s no easy matter when your victim is dry bones and no one remembers anything.’
‘So this is your only line of enquiry.’
‘I’m speaking to the press this afternoon. We’ll see if memor -ies are jogged when the papers get onto the story.’
‘That’s more like it.’ She lowered her chest by at least two inches. ‘Are you taking advice from John Wigfull, our new media relations manager? He could probably get some headlines for you.’
‘I’ve discussed it with him.’
‘He was extremely impressive at interview. He’s well up on all the latest techniques.’
‘I’m sure. About Mrs White…’
‘Well?’ The low slung chest became just a memory.
‘There’s no need for you to do anything, ma’am. I’ll speak to her myself.’
He left while he had the opportunity.
To his credit, John Wigfull had marshalled most of the local press and some of the nationals as well. Poster-size photos of the site and the skeleton in its grave formed a backdrop for Diamond’s statement. Press-kits stuffed with pictures were handed to everyone.
After outlining the facts and responding to questions, Diamond did more interviews for local TV and radio, stressing repeatedly that the team were waiting to be contacted by anyone with a memory of anything suspicious going on near the fallen tree ten to twenty years ago.
Much of the questioning was about the missing skull. Did he expect to find it?
He admitted that he didn’t. The crime scene team had sifted all the loose earth for more evidence and found nothing apart from the metal zip. It was clear that the skull was elsewhere.
One TV reporter pressed him to speculate on whether the killer had removed the head to prevent identification.
He knew better than to go down that road. ‘We don’t know yet how she died. Murder is a possibility, but we can’t discount a fatal accident on the road not far up the slope. Whoever buried her didn’t want the body discovered. That much is clear.’
‘Are you saying someone ran her over and tried to dispose of the body?’
‘That’s one interpretation.’
‘And decapitated her? In the accident, or after?’
He was trying so hard to stay cool. ‘All we’ve got is a headless skeleton. How could I possibly know?’
‘Do you think the head is buried somewhere else?’
‘I’m keeping an open mind.’ Long experience had taught him how to steer an interview to a close. ‘I’ve told you all I know at this juncture. With your help, we’ll carry the investigation a stage further.’
Wigfull was fishing for compliments afterwards. ‘I thought it went rather well. These events work so much better with good visuals like the posters.’
‘Let’s see what results we get,’ Diamond said. ‘I’ve done press statements with dartboards as a background and still made the front page of the News of the World. Thanks, anyway. You did your job.’
Ingeborg rushed in, bursting to tell them something.
‘Someone phoned in already?’ Diamond said. ‘That is a result.’
Self-congratulation started spreading over Wigfull’s features.
‘No, guv,’ Ingeborg said. ‘This has nothing to do with the press conference. A body has been found. The thing is, it’s Lansdown again.’
The Victorian cemetery in the shadow of Beckford’s Tower would have made an ideal location for a Gothic horror movie. Weathered obelisks, tablets and carved figures showed above a waist-high crop of grass, ferns, brambles, nettles and cow parsley. Any smaller, more humble headstones were lost to view, but the grander monuments on plinths still vouched for the eminence of the interred, even if the lettering was unreadable. The Preservation Trust maintained the site and justified the abundant growth as a wildlife sanctuary. Only the main pathways had been kept mown and a cluster of policemen and crime scene investigators could be seen standing along one of them beside a trampled section marked with police tape hung from stone angels and granite crosses. The main point of interest, a clothed body, lay face down in the narrow space between two graves.
Diamond, with Keith Halliwell in support, found a familiar character directing operations.
Duckett, the crime scene man, looked up and said, ‘You again?’ making his disfavour clear.
‘I was about to say the same thing but the cadaver interests me more,’ Diamond said. ‘Head wound, then.’
‘Nothing gets past you, does it?’
It was rather obvious. A gash at the back of the victim’s head revealed a strip of dented skull between encrustments of blood – as ugly a wound as Diamond had seen in some time. ‘Has the pathologist been by?’