“We’re looking at it, of course. The problem is that we have this black hole-the last ten days of her life when we don’t know what she was doing, who she was meeting, where she was based, even. Her body turns up on a beach in Sussex. That’s it. How can we conduct a murder enquiry without knowing any of these things?”
Cameron didn’t move a muscle.
“You might as well tell me,” Diamond persisted. “You’ve obviously been looking at my personal file, so you’ll know I’m a stubborn cuss.”
“Anyone can see that.”
“Well, then?”
Cameron shook his head and sighed.
Sensing a small advantage, Diamond weighed in with another attempt. “If I don’t get answers from you today, I’ll start rooting for them.”
No response.
“It’s my job.”
And no response to that, either.
“How else can I find the truth? I’ll beetle away until I get there. It could be far more damaging than finding out from you today.”
He seemed to have made some impact at last, because Cameron said, “Sit there, will you? I have to speak to someone.” He got up and left the room.
Trying not to be over-encouraged, Diamond amused himself swaying back in the chair, looking for the gleam of a camera lens in the panelled walls. He was sure this interview would be kept for training purposes. How to deal with dickheads from the sticks.
Five minutes at least passed before Cameron returned and invited Diamond to go with him. He was out of that chair like a game-show volunteer. They entered the south-east wing, the business end of the house, by way of a magnificent drawing room with a marble chimneypiece and tapestries of classical scenes, and so into the library, a place of quite different proportions, which in the heyday of the house must have been the Long Gallery where the inmates and their guests promenaded. He was taken through a recessed, almost hidden door into a low-ceilinged office where a small man with a shock of white hair stood looking at a computer screen. Whatever was on the screen was more gripping than his visitors, because he didn’t give them a glance.
Cameron stated Diamond’s rank and name without any attempt at a two-way introduction. The need to know principle in action again. Obviously this was someone pretty high in the Bramshill pecking order. Diamond privately dubbed him the Big White Chief.
Closing the door after him, Cameron left the room, which was a relief.
Still without turning from the screen, the Big White Chief said, as if he were continuing the conversation in Cameron’s office, “This black hole of which you spoke, these missing days in Dr Tysoe’s life.”
This came across as a definition of what was to be discussed, not a question, so Diamond said nothing.
It was the right thing to do. “If I fill in some detail for you, you’ll have to treat it as top secret.”
Progress at last. “Understood.”
“You’re not known for your discretion, Mr Diamond.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“No, it’s a matter of record. What makes you think you can keep your mouth shut this time?”
“If you don’t tell me what it’s about, how can I answer that?”
The Big White Chief turned, unable any longer to resist a look at this visitor, and Diamond was glad to see he possessed two eyes and there was a spark of humanity, if not a twinkle, in each of them. He had a pencil-thin moustache of the sort military men, and few others, cultivate. “There you go again, shooting off at the mouth. All right, you have a point. You may be a loose cannon, Diamond, but you hit the target more often than most. I’ll take you on your own terms, and I may regret it. Let’s hope not. The matter Emma Tysoe was engaged in is highly sensitive. If I tell you about it, you become one of a very small group who are privy to this knowledge.”
“I’m OK with that.”
“You may be OK with it, but is it safe with you?”
Diamond didn’t dignify the question with a response.
“All right. Sit down.” The little man turned back to his computer, switched to a screensaver and swung his chair right round to face Diamond. He assessed him with a penetrating look, as if still reluctant to go on. “You won’t have heard about this. On June the fourteenth, a man was murdered in the grounds of his house-a rather fine house-in Sussex. Nothing was taken. There was a wallet in his pocket containing just over three hundred pounds and his credit cards. The house was open. It was hung with valuable paintings by Michael Ayrton, John Piper and others, and there are cabinets of fine china and pottery. Everything was left intact.”
“Except the owner.”
“Yes. He was shot through the head.”
“What with?”
“A bolt from a crossbow.”
“From a what?”
“Crossbow.”
Diamond took this in slowly. “Different.”
“But effective.”
“It’s a medieval weapon.”
“With modern refinements. They fit them with telescopic sights these days. Still used in sport for shooting at targets. And killing wild animals. Great power in the string, which isn’t string at all, in fact. It’s steel. But you don’t have to be strong in the arm.”
“There can’t be many around.”
“Actually, more than we ever imagined.”
“You’d still need to be an expert.”
“It’s a surprisingly simple weapon to use.”
“Strange choice, though,” Diamond said. “What kind of person uses a crossbow as a murder weapon?”
“This is where the profiler comes in.”
“Emma Tysoe?”
“Yes. She was consulted as soon as it was clear that an early arrest was unlikely. She was the obvious choice. Her reputation here was second to none.”
“And was she helpful?”
“We thought she could be. She seemed confident. But it all takes time. They don’t like to be rushed.”
Diamond didn’t need telling. The so-called scientists in the crime field seem to take a professional pride in delaying their results. Only the beleaguered policemen have any sense of urgency.
“So did she give you any opinion at all?”
“A few thoughts at the scene, though she stressed she didn’t like giving off-the-cuff opinions. What she said was pretty obvious, really. The killer was methodical, unemotional and self-confident to the point of arrogance. He, or she-because a woman could use a crossbow just as well as a man-had an agenda, and expected to carry it out.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“There’s more. I’ll tell you presently.”
Tiresome, but the promise was there, so Diamond didn’t press him. “You said the victim was in the grounds of his house. Was he alone?”
“Obviously not.”
“I mean was anyone there apart from the victim and the killer?”
“We know of no one else. It was a fine evening. He was sitting on a wooden seat watching the sunset. That’s the presumption, anyway. He liked to do this.”
“Literally a sitting target.”
“Yes. Plenty of bushes within range as well.”
“When was he found?”
“The next morning, about eight. He had a manservant who lived out.”
“Who came under suspicion, no doubt?”
“Briefly. But he’s in the clear. A good alibi. He was on a pub quiz team that night. They met early to drive to another village and spent the whole evening there.”
“His special subject didn’t happen to be archery?”
The Big White Chief wasn’t amused. “If you’ll allow me to continue, I’ll give you the salient facts. The police arrived at eight twenty the next morning, and everything was done correctly. Jimmy Barneston, a young Sussex detective who has handled several big investigations, took charge. He was unable to find any obvious motive. The victim was a film and TV director, a highly successful one with a number of big successes to his name. Well, I’ll stop talking about him in the abstract. It’s Axel Summers.”
Diamond was no film buff, but he knew the name and he could picture the face. Summers had been at the top of his profession for over twenty years. He was well known for appearances on radio and television, a witty, confident speaker with a fund of stories about the film world. He was much in demand for chat shows.