‘Not good enough. We can do this the regular way, letting them know who we are and taking statements. You’ll still be involved, I promise you.’
She shook her head. ‘My way is best. Catch them off guard.’
That was true, but he didn’t want her to take the risk.
She said, ‘Guv, if I was a man, you wouldn’t hesitate. What happened to equality?’
It was a telling point. Sometimes he treated her as the daughter he’d never had. He’d never fully accepted that she should face the same risks as everyone else. He was happy to make use of her insights into the female psyche, her intelligence and her journalistic experience, but he still didn’t want her in the front line.
‘I know you mean well,’ she said, ‘but if I’m going to have a career in CID I have to do it all.’
He said, ‘Actually, Inge, this is more than I’d ask anyone to do.’
She was tight-lipped.
‘But since you volunteered,’ he went on, ‘I won’t stop you. Just as long as you realise the danger.’
Through the one-way glass of Interview Room 1, he watched Septimus and one of his Bristol DCs pitching in to Dave Barton. The Bradford on Avon blacksmith seemed to be holding up well at this stage. He’d asked to bring a friend with him and she turned out to be a razor-sharp solicitor, Miss Tower, well known to Manvers Street. She was quick to intervene.
‘My client answered these questions before, when he was interviewed by Mr Halliwell. You have the signed statement.’
‘And I’ve studied it,’ Septimus said. ‘But you must understand that DI Halliwell is enquiring into the death of an unknown woman twenty years ago. My investigation is different, the recent killing of Rupert Hope. I need to explore areas not covered in the previous interview.’
‘You just asked about Mr Barton’s job, which you know already, and which has no conceivable relevance to either enquiry.’
On the other side of the glass, Diamond said, ‘Except we’re looking for the murder weapon and a blacksmith’s tool kit has to be of interest.’
‘All right, Dave. Let’s concentrate on the hobby, the Civil War thing,’ Septimus said. ‘How long have you been doing it?’
Miss Tower was quick to say, ‘Not relevant.’
Septimus said, ‘I want to find out if he’d met Rupert at any of the meetings.’
‘Then ask him.’
Dave, a strong, smiling man with a beer gut, said, ‘The answer is no. He was a Bristol guy. They have their own branch.’
‘He told you he came from Bristol?’
‘I found out since. From the university, wasn’t he?’
‘That’s right. Didn’t he mention it at the time?’
‘Said he was a historian. The Sealed Knot asked him to give a talk at the lecture day and he thought he’d like to join a muster and find out what we do. He went on a lot about the real battle. He seemed to know his stuff.’
‘Are you well up on history, Dave?’
‘Me? No, I don’t do it for that. I like the action, the fighting.’
‘Careful,’ Miss Tower advised him.
‘I meant the dressing up and all that,’ Dave added.
‘You’re a pikeman?’ Septimus said.
‘Not always.’
‘For this battle you were. And so was Rupert?’
‘Foot soldiers really. The lowest form of life.’
‘The pikes are long, aren’t they? About five metres? What did you do with your pikes when you went for the lager?’
‘Left them on the ground where we was supposed to have died. We picked them up later.’
‘And you moved down the hill to where you’d hidden the beer? Did anyone see you going?’
‘Could have.’
‘Other pikemen?’
‘Not the living ones. The action had moved on by then. There were some dead and wounded lying about. When you’re on the ground it’s hard to see much. And there was a few women looking after roundheads, giving them water. Camp followers, they’re called.’
Diamond grinned. Whatever happened to angels of mercy? A pity Ingeborg wasn’t here.
‘Could they have seen you?’ Septimus asked.
‘I suppose.’
‘Were they close enough to have a view of you and Rupert digging out the beer?’
‘They’d need twenty-twenty vision. I’d say they were more than fifty yards off.’
‘So they wouldn’t have spotted you actually finding the bone? That was a strange find, wasn’t it?’
Miss Tower said to Dave, ‘You don’t need to answer that. You’re not here to give an opinion.’
But Dave seemed to decide he was on safe ground. ‘I was shocked. First I thought it was from some animal. I put it down fast when I guessed it could be human. Nasty. We buried it again.’
‘At whose suggestion?’
‘I don’t remember. We agreed it was the right thing to do, anyway.’
‘No argument?’
‘No.’
‘And you went back to the battle?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you see Rupert again?’
He shook his head.
‘And after the battle was over?’
‘No. I’ve never seen him since.’
‘We’ll leave now,’ Miss Tower said.
‘I haven’t finished,’ Septimus told her. ‘You like a drink or two, Dave?’
‘Irrelevant. Don’t answer that,’ Miss Tower said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Septimus said, ‘but I have every right to ask. Dave is an important witness and we need to establish if his evidence would hold up under cross-examination.’
‘Good for you,’ Diamond said on his side of the glass.
Miss Tower said, ‘He’s not in court. He’s co-operating and you appear to be about to cast a slur on his behaviour.’
Septimus said, ‘He testified to me that he hid a six-pack of lager in the ground before the battle. He also testified to DI Halliwell that he hadn’t heard Rupert Hope was missing and this was because he gets out in the evenings, usually to the pub. Now, Dave, let’s address this. Did you drink at all prior to joining in the battle?’
‘A couple at lunch. I was stone cold sober, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Can you be more specific? One pint, two, three…?’
‘How would I remember?’ Dave said.
‘Gotcha!’ Diamond said.
Septimus said, ‘You seem to remember your meeting with Rupert in some detail, but you can’t remember how many you had at lunch.’
‘I can handle my drink.’
‘Are you quite sure you buried six cans of lager before the battle?’
‘I told you. You know what a six-pack is?’
‘And at that stage were you aware of anyone watching?’
‘Definitely. One of the other army came past. Waller’s lot, roundhead, thieving bastard.’
‘You think he had the other four cans?’
‘I’m certain of it. I’ve been over it in my mind lots of times. Who else would have known?’
‘Do you remember what he was like?’
‘Cavalry.’
‘Are you certain of that?’
‘Come on. He was on a big white stallion, wasn’t he?’
‘A pale horse,’ Septimus said, more to himself than the witness. ‘And he passed really close.’
‘Would you recognise him again?’
‘I would if I saw him on the horse.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘No. He raised his whip, but friendly like. Some friend.’
‘And were you in uniform at the time?’
‘My red coat and woollen breeches. Not the armour. It was too early for that and too bloody hot.’
‘So would he have known you were in the rival army?’
‘No problem, and I reckon he had a good laugh, nicking the enemy’s beer.’
‘He had the decency to leave some.’
‘That’s what my mate Rupert said, and I told him if that was decent, forget it.’
‘When you and Rupert parted, were you still friendly?’
‘Of course we were. I’d shared my beer with him, hadn’t I?’
‘Would it have angered you if he’d returned later to the fallen tree and dug out the bone?’
Dave frowned. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘He may have thought it was of historical interest.’