“That’s still a lot of ground. Can you conjure up another box of bobbies?”
“Me, sir?” The sergeant smiled.
No prizes for guessing what the answer would be if he asked the chief inspector for reinforcements. Police resources were so stretched that the only way a full-scale search could happen was by going public and asking for civilian help. He wasn’t ready for that. “You’ve just condemned your mates to raking all the leaves on Combe Down.”
He phoned Ingeborg and asked how the doorstepping was going. She told him no one so far had seen or heard anything.
“That’s Summer Lane?”
“A good stretch of it.”
“When you finish, start at the bottom end of Beechwood Road.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No.”
He called Paloma and apologised for the way the morning had turned out.
“That’s all right,” she said. “Hartley got his walk, but he was threatening to take over by the end, so we beat a retreat.”
“You missed the drone.”
“It didn’t miss me. I was well and truly under its beady eye. It’s going to be a useful aid, I’m sure.”
“That’s a matter of debate. My money would be on Hartley or one of his four-footed friends.”
“Preferably a silent one.”
“That would help, yes.”
“Did you find anything else?” she asked.
“Nothing of Belinda’s, but the morning wasn’t wasted.” He told her about the ventilation shaft. “Someone must have mapped all the shafts on Combe Down. I’m going to check them personally — the likely ones, anyway.”
“How will you know if there’s a body down there?”
“The cover will have been disturbed. It should be obvious. The one I found is rusted in. Hasn’t been opened in years.”
“You’re confident you’ll find her?”
“I can’t give up.”
“Wouldn’t it be simpler to question Mr. Pinto and find out what happened?”
“Maybe after we identify his DNA on the shirt. It’s all about doing things in the right sequence. The case could go belly up if I flout the rules.”
“And have you told Georgina what’s going on?”
“She’ll know by now. She has her finger on the pulse, as she likes to say, even though I keep my wrists covered.”
Paloma laughed. “You have pulse points in other places, you know.”
“Like my groin? No, thanks.”
As it turned out, Georgina had already found a pulse and it felt like the jugular. She phoned him about 2 p.m. and said, “You’d better have a good explanation, Superintendent. I hear you’ve got twenty officers and a dog searching the fields. Why wasn’t I informed before I left?”
He was expecting this. “Couldn’t interrupt your business with the drone people, ma’am. I could see it had reached the delicate stage.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Haggling over fees.”
“I don’t haggle.”
“Pardon me.”
“We were having a civilised discussion.”
“Way above my head.”
“Don’t soft-soap me. I’m totally aware of what went on behind my back.”
In that case, he thought, give me an ear-bashing and leave me to get on with my job.
“You found a T-shirt belonging to this woman Belinda Pye.”
“The dog did.” He was tempted to add that this counted as a result, but Georgina wouldn’t appreciate having it pointed out. “Belinda was last seen alive in the company of Tony Pinto, a violent character recently released—”
“I know all about Pinto,” she butted in. “You had him put away twelve years ago for cutting a student’s face and now he’s out you think he’s turned to murder.”
“He’s missed his regular meeting with his probation officer. I phoned them this morning. He’ll have gone into hiding somewhere.”
“But you haven’t found a body yet.”
“It’s a big area. I believe Belinda left the half marathon before they entered the Combe Down tunnel. The crime scene may not be in the same field where her T-shirt was found.”
“You want to search the entire down? That’s going to take an army, not twenty bobbies and a dog.”
One of Diamond’s best talents was his ability to get inspiration when he most needed it. “There is a better way, ma’am.”
“Oh?”
“Using a drone.”
There was a satisfying silence from Georgina’s end. He pictured her face going through a series of expressions from denial to self-doubt to curiosity to compliance, each with a deeper flush of her cheeks, like a speeded-up sunset. She said, “Oh,” once again, this time with relish.
“Not the drone they demonstrated this morning,” Diamond said. “The fixed-wing job with more battery power, capable of staying in the air much longer. More efficient than people tramping the fields and far more economical.”
Georgina said, “Mm,” as if she’d just bitten into a chocolate.
“Naomi and Noah will be back like a shot for a real challenge,” Diamond pressed on. “They’ll welcome the chance to show it off, and if they make a find, you can bet your life your initiative will be held up as an example to every police force in the land.” He was tempted to add that she’d be a shoo-in for the vacant position of Deputy Chief Constable, but there was no need. Georgina was ahead of him.
“You may be right about this,” she said. “You’re still in my bad books, but it’s an opportunity and we’ll embrace it. Yes. I’ll call The Sky’s No Limit and tell them we have a major challenge for them.”
He phoned Ingeborg next.
“You can take a break from knocking on doors. Find me someone on Combe Down with expert knowledge of the old stone mine workings. I’m interested in shafts where a killer might dispose of a body.”
“I thought it was all infilled with concrete,” she said.
“That’s the main area where the housing is. The outlying parts are still riddled with tunnels. I found a shaft this morning, but the cover hadn’t been moved in years. There are sure to be more.”
“I’ll make enquiries, guv.”
“Don’t tell anyone why,” he said. “I’m out on a limb with this.”
18
The terraced cottage was one of the eleven stone dwellings in De Montalt Place built in 1729 for the foreman and staff who had started serious quarrying in Combe Down. Originally they were the only dwellings. The entire village had grown up around them.
The man at the door couldn’t be as old as the cottage, but he was running it close. He must have cultivated the white beard since his youth.
He sounded confused. “You’re not the young lady I spoke to on the telephone a few minutes ago.”
Not a good start.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Diamond said. “That will have been Ingeborg, one of my team. I’m Peter Diamond.” Automatically he held out his hand and quickly drew it back. The old man needed both the walking sticks he was leaning on.
“Seymour Ramsay. Forgive me. She sounded so charming on the phone.”
“She is, most of the time.”
“You don’t mind dogs, I hope?”
On cue, there was a yap from inside.
“I’m used to them.”
“Come in, then, Mr. Diehard. We’ll talk in my living room.”
Seymour pushed open a door with one stick and revealed a room more like a museum than a living room. Where most people had ornaments, there were stonemasons’ tools and lamps. They were ranged along the mantelpiece and suspended from the beams. The walls were hung with geological maps and photos of groups of quarrymen. Picks, saws and crowbars filled the spaces above and below. Even the fire irons beside the slow-burning stove looked as if they would be more useful below ground.
Another yap — not enough to be called a bark — drew Diamond’s attention to a chair in the corner where a wire-haired fox terrier reclined on a plump cushion. Diamond went over and allowed the moist nose to inspect the back of his hand.