The location would have given breathtaking views down the escarpment to Wellow Brook if there hadn’t been so many tall trees coming into leaf. This side of the village was more wooded than he’d appreciated. In one way, this was encouraging: there was a chance of finding overgrown shafts. But a proper search was likely to take days rather than hours.
“How did this lot find us?” Ingeborg asked.
About a dozen of the local youth of both sexes had appeared on foot along the lane and were clearly heading towards the police vans. Half of them were using their phones. The others were giggling or guffawing, except one who saw Diamond and gave a nod.
“That’s Stanley and his friends. I invited him along and he said he’d bring some support. It’s only thanks to him that I’m here at all. I won’t introduce him. He’s antisocial.”
“Really? He doesn’t seem to be short of friends,” Ingeborg said.
“Could be me who’s antisocial, then.”
She looked the other way.
Sticks, spades and cutting equipment were unloaded.
Everyone was asked to gather round the back of the search and rescue van, for it now contained Diamond, sitting in state between the open doors. “Not too close,” he said. “Keep away from my foot.” He thanked everyone for coming and set the parameters for the search, a northeasterly trek towards the top with everyone spaced at intervals of about five metres on the open land and two metres in the wooded sections. “It’s not a fingertip search, so we can move at a moderate walking pace. You’re looking for a hidden shaft, about the size of a door. It will be covered with a grille or a lid of metal or wood probably coated with leaf mould and hidden by brambles and bracken, so you’ll have to force a way through. I suggest you thump the ground ahead of you with your stick and listen for the sound it makes. Anything suspicious, tell the head honcho, DCI Halliwell. I’ll be here waiting for a call.”
They spread across the field, about thirty searchers altogether, including Stanley’s volunteers and most of the team from CID, apart from John Leaman, who had stayed behind to man the office. The mood was cheerful. For the police it was a change from routine duties, and for the youths “a bit of a giggle” being on the side of law and order.
Satisfied that everything possible was being done, Diamond heaved himself fully into the van and got his legs into a level position. He wasn’t in severe pain, but the foot was reminding him that he should, perhaps, have spent a few more hours in professional care.
The first call from the search team came after forty-two minutes. “It’s impossible to hold the line, guv,” Halliwell told him. “We can do it crossing fields, but the woods make all kinds of difficulties.”
“Fair enough. You can’t walk through trees.”
“It’s the other stuff. Bits are impassable, really overgrown, so we have to scythe it down or go at it from another angle.”
“If it’s all that overgrown, you can leave it. The shaft we’re looking for must have been disturbed not long ago for the body to have got down there.”
“He’ll have covered his traces if he’s got any sense.”
“Do the best you can,” he said. “Are the teenagers still interested?”
“Can’t fault them so far. Stanley doesn’t say much, but he’s well in charge. They listen to him.”
“Like I should have done. All kinds of difficulties, you said. What else is there?”
“You talked about forcing our way through bracken and brambles but we’re dealing with big patches of stinging nettles.”
“They grow fast this time of year.”
“Some of us have sore hands to show for it.”
“In a good cause, Keith. How far have you got?”
“Five hundred metres, no more.” Halliwell’s voice changed. “Hold on. Someone’s found something. I’ll get back to you shortly.”
Diamond could hear faint shouting over the phone. The frustration of not being close to the action was hard to endure. He pressed the phone closer to his ear. Then it clicked off.
Almost five minutes passed before the line was active again.
Halliwell said in a disappointed voice, “Badger sett. One of our guys found quite a large hole and Stanley took one look and said badgers. We found more burrows, so he’s right. We’re moving on.”
Diamond sighed and opened an Ordnance Survey map to get a sense of where the search had reached. It was large-scale, showing footpaths, bridleways and trails, and it gave a good idea of the area including the Combe Down railway tunnel way underneath where he was now, but it didn’t show any of the quarry locations. He’d need the sort of hand-drawn map old Seymour Ramsay had hanging on the wall of his cottage. He could remember the two named quarries south of Summer Lane, where he was now. To the west of Jackdaw was Vinegar Down, one of the oldest. They’d reach that if they went much farther.
His phone chirped again. “We may have found something,” Halliwell told him. “It’s definitely man-made. Stone, rectangular, about the size you said, on the edge of the same wood where the badgers were. We’re removing earth and dead leaves right now. Ingeborg is sending you a picture.”
“Have you given it a thump to see if it sounds hollow?”
“Too much muck for that. Check the photo. She’s sending it now.”
Technology had its advantages, he had to admit.
This was promising. Enough earth had been cleared to show the stone sides of what appeared to be a shaft a good two metres in length. The width was less than the opening he’d used with Stanley, under a metre, but it might well have been the difference between shafts meant for light and ventilation.
“I like the look of this and it’s in the right area,” he told Halliwell over the phone. “Get the opening clear and we’ll send someone down.”
“There seems to be an obstruction, guv.”
“Don’t force anything, then. There could be traces left by the killer. Is it boarded over?”
“It’s stone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Down about the length of my forearm. I’m not sure now if it is a shaft we found. Stanley is coming over. He’ll know.”
There was a pause for the verdict. Stanley was unlikely to say much, but his opinion was worth having.
“He says it’s not a shaft, guv.”
“What the fuck is it, then?”
“A coffin.”
“A what? You just told me it’s stone.”
“A Roman coffin, but without the lid. Apparently, it’s not unusual here. Ten or more have been found over the years. There was a Roman settlement up here. A villa was excavated in the eighteen-hundreds. The locals often turn up coins and bits of pottery. The south-facing slope we’re on would be ideal for a vineyard.”
“Did Stanley tell you all this?”
“No, his friends. He took one look at it and said ‘coffin.’”
To the point, as usual.
“Pity. Keep going, then. Things can only get better.”
He didn’t hear what Halliwell said to that. The phone went dead.
When the next call came, his hopes weren’t high. He guessed the search team would be needing a break. The sun was up and getting warm for April.
“What is it this time, Keith? An alien spaceship?”
“What?” The voice wasn’t Keith’s. He hadn’t checked to see who the caller was. “This is John Leaman, from Concorde House.” Solemn John Leaman, the most literal man in the team.
“Got my wires crossed. Sorry, John. What’s the latest from the hub?”
“You’re not going to like this, guv.”
“Georgina on the warpath?”
“No.”