‘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.’
‘She’d just escaped from the London vice ring. Bath was a new beginning. This is a lasagne to die for.’
‘I hope not. Has the picture jogged any memories?’
‘Not enough. I’m interested to know if anyone saw her at the re-enactment.’
She looked doubtful. ‘In the cavalry?’
He smiled. ‘These East Europeans are second to none at getting work. No, you’re right. I can’t believe she was taken on by the Sealed Knot within days of arriving here.’
‘It’s unpaid, isn’t it? They dress up and play soldiers for the fun of the thing. What Nadia needed was a paid job.’
He told her about the lab report on the horse rug. She listened keenly and weighed his theory. ‘You think Rupert found a rug belonging to the same horse Nadia came into contact with all those years ago?’
‘Sixteen years. It’s possible.’
‘Theoretically,’ she said in a voice already thinking something else. ‘You said the rug had deteriorated through age, rather than wear and tear?’
‘That’s what they told me.’
‘Isn’t it more likely that it hasn’t been used in many years and was stored in some outbuilding and found by Rupert? He was scavenging for stuff all the time.’
He nodded. ‘That makes sense, too. We can’t dismiss any scenario.’
‘So Ingeborg got out today visiting the horses?’
‘And riding one. She’s at cavalry training as we speak.’ He glanced at some people entering the restaurant, two women in conversation and a bearded man tagging on behind, all of them probably in the forty to fifty age group.
‘Someone special?’ Paloma asked.
‘The dark woman in the blue suit is familiar.’
‘How familiar is that? An old flame?’
‘You did ask. No, I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken to her, but I’ve seen her recently. Can’t think where.’
‘On one of your “wanted” lists?’
He shook his head.
‘She’s attractive… for her age,’ Paloma said. ‘I expect she’s on someone’s wanted list.’
‘The guy with the beard?’
‘No, he looks like extra baggage. He’s there on sufferance. Staff, probably. She’s the boss lady.’
‘They don’t look dressed for a night out.’
‘My guess is that they worked late and she’s invited them for a drink.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘I’ve seen her, too, and I know where. At the races. She was the woman in the peacock-coloured hat we saw getting the prize.’
‘Spot on,’ he said. ‘Davina Tipping, daughter of Sir Colin. He told me she owns her own practice as a vet.’
‘And the others work for her, I expect. The bearded guy looks as if he could tell one budgie from another. I’m not sure I’d trust him with a pregnant cow. Davina, on the other hand, looks well capable. She may be able to advise you on the local horse population. I bet she knows where a lot of them are stabled.’
‘I hadn’t thought of asking a vet,’ he said. He liked the suggestion. ‘They’re heading for the bar.’ He pushed his plate aside. He’d eaten most of it. ‘Let’s join them, shall we?’
Paloma gave a resigned smile and followed him. The ‘pleasure’ part of the outing was over.
Davina and her party had taken their drinks to a table near the open hearth in the centre of the room where a genuine log fire blazed.
‘Pardon me for butting in,’ Diamond said, ‘but you’re just the people who can help me. I’m correct, am I not, in saying you’re Davina Tipping, the top vet in Bath? I’m Peter Diamond of Bath CID, and this is my friend Paloma Kean. We watched your filly winning the trophy a week or two ago.’
‘My Stylist,’ Paloma said trying to soften his none-too-subtle interruption. ‘We backed her. These drinks should have been on us.’
Diamond refrained from mentioning he’d backed another horse and not won anything.
‘That’s generous,’ Davina said. ‘I started a tab. I haven’t paid yet.’
‘Peter will see to it,’ Paloma said.
There was a strict rule in Bath nick that pub expenses had to be authorised in advance by Georgina. This would come out of his own pocket.
‘What sort of help are you wanting?’ Davina said. ‘I hope you haven’t got a sick animal under your jacket.’ She introduced her companions. True to expectation, Sally and Wilfred worked in the practice.
Without going into specifics, Diamond said he was currently involved in a case linked to the re-enactments of the Battle of Lansdown and trying to get information on a horse that could have taken part in the 1993 event and might still be kept somewhere local.
‘It would be getting on a bit,’ Paloma added. ‘We think about twenty.’
‘Is that too old?’ Diamond asked.
‘Horses, like people, live longer these days,’ Davina told them. ‘Twenty isn’t unusual. You can get insurance up to twenty-five and some breeds, like Morgans, live well into their thirties.’
‘I expect they need more treatment as they get older,’ he said. ‘As a vet, you may know of an elderly horse like this.’
‘What colour?’
‘Black or dark brown.’
She smiled. ‘Any other markings?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘We’ve only got a few hairs as evidence. If it’s any help, they were found on a burgundy coloured under-rug made by a firm called Phil Drake.’
‘That’s going back some,’ Davina said. ‘I haven’t heard of Phil Drake equipment for years. Where was this rug found?’
‘In the entrance gate to Beckford’s Tower, being used by a man sleeping rough. Where he found it is a mystery.’
‘Out of a stable, I expect,’ she said. ‘There are more than you might think on Lansdown and I know of two that supply horses for these battle events.’
‘I expect this old warhorse would be retired.’
‘Not necessarily. You wouldn’t want young or highly strung animals taking part, so older ones are preferred because they aren’t troubled by the gunfire and drums. A mock battle isn’t demanding on agility, a few short gallops, that’s all. It doesn’t compare with steeplechasing or showjumping.’ She spoke with the calm authority that comes with giving expert advice.
‘That’s so helpful to know,’ he said, his ideas moving on. ‘Puts a whole new slant on the case. Would you mind giving me the addresses of those stables?’