“Some men.”
“The lifeguard-with the red shorts?”
“I think so.”
“Did you remember the other men? What were they like?”
“Pictures on them.”
“Their shirts?”
“No.”
“On their bodies? You mean tattoos?”
“And earrings and no hair.”
“Young men? That’s a help. You have got a good memory. Tell me, Haley, did you drive home after that?”
She nodded again.
“And did Daddy say anything about the lady?”
“He said we don’t know who she is or why she snufted.”
“Snuffed it?”
“What’s snufted?” the child asked.
“It’s just a way of saying someone is dead. Did he say anything else?”
“About e-dot questions.”
“E-dot?” This was beyond Stella’s powers of interpretation.
“They’ll keep us here asking e-dot questions.”
“Idiot questions? Is that what he said?”
“I’spect so.”
Stella thanked the little girl, and Miss Medlicott said she could go out to play again. She sprang up from the chair, then paused and said, “Are you going to talk to my daddy?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll tell him he can be proud of you. You’re a clever girl, and helpful, too.”
After the child was gone, Stella said to Miss Medlicott, “Am I going to talk to her daddy? You bet I am-and fast.”
For much of the journey home from Bramshill, Diamond carried on a mental dialogue, telling himself to cool it, and then finding he was simmering again. It’s a blow to anyone’s self-esteem to be denied the full facts when others have them. This was not just about pride. His freedom to investigate was at stake. He’d been told, in effect, to keep out. The Big White Chief had played the innocent-lives-are-at-stake card, and there was no way to trump it.
So the official line was that the murders of Emma Tysoe and Axel Summers were unrelated. Tell that to the marines, he thought. Emma had been at work on the Summers case when she was murdered. There was a link, and he would find it. He’d root out the truth in his own way and the Big White Chief, to put it politely, could take a running jump.
But he’d heard enough at Bramshill to know he was getting into something uniquely strange. No murderer he’d ever dealt with had used a crossbow, or quoted from eighteenth century poets, or named his victims in advance. If Emma Tysoe’s observations were correct, and this was a killer playing a game, it was a sick way of being playful.
It would be interesting to see if the hot-shot sleuth from Sussex could make any sense of it.
Back in Bath late in the afternoon, he was pleased to find Sergeant Leaman had acted on the order to set up an incident room. The best he’d hoped for was a corner of the main open-plan area, but Leaman, good man, had found a first-floor office being used as a furniture store. He’d “rehoused” the furniture (he didn’t say where) and installed two computers and a phone. Keith Halliwell was already at work at a keyboard getting information from HOLMES.
Diamond asked if he’d come up with anything.
“It’s given me all the unsolved cases of strangling in the past five years. More than I bargained for.”
“A popular pastime is it, strangling-like home decorating?”
“Do you mind, guv? I do a spot of DIY myself.”
“Don’t I know it! We’ve all seen the bits of torn paper in your hair on Monday mornings.”
Halliwell, with half his attention on the screen, wasn’t up to this. “Bits of paper?”
“At one time I thought you were into polygamy.”
“Polygamy?” Halliwell was all at sea now.
“Confetti. While you’re still spending time with HOLMES, see if there’s any record of deaths by crossbow, will you?”
Halliwell swung round as if this was one send-up too many.
“I’m serious.”
He said with suspicion, “Can I ask why?”
“No. Just do it. Is our computer geek about?”
“Clive? He’s downstairs with Dr Tysoe’s disks.”
Diamond found the whizzkid in front of a screen in his usual corner of the main office, fingertips going like shuttles.
“Any progress?”
“On the psychologist lady? Yes. I got in eventually. She had a firewall on her system.”
“Oh, yes?” Diamond said in a tone intended to conceal his total ignorance.
“A lockout device. You get three attempts to guess the password, and then the system locks down for the next hour.”
“So what was the password-‘Sesame?’”
Clive’s fingers stopped. “As a matter of fact-’
Diamond laughed. “All this technology and it comes down to finding a password you can remember.”
“Her choice. Personally I’d have picked something more original.”
“Like the name of your cat.”
“Well…”
“Dog?”
“You’re right about ‘Sesame,’ Mr Diamond. It’s always worth a try.”
“And has it helped us, breaking through the firewall?”
“I’ve done a printout. Thought you’d like to see it on paper rather than use the screen.”
“You know about me and computers, then?”
“It’s common knowledge.”
“So what have you got?”
“See over there?” Clive pointed to a wall to his right stacked high with paper, reams of it. “That’s the contents of her hard disk. She was well organised.”
“All of that?”
“You wouldn’t believe how much can be stored on a modern disk.”
“This could take months.”
“You could cut it by half if you learned to use a mouse.”
He didn’t dignify that with a response. “Did you read any of it?”
Clive shook his head. “Not my kind of reading.”
“If I was looking for something in particular-case notes, for instance-is there any way I could find them quickly?”
“Depends. Is there a key word I can use to make a search?”
“Try Summers.”
The quick fingers rattled the keys, apparently without a satisfactory result. “This could take longer. Give me an hour and I’ll see what comes up.”
“And, by the way, Clive, this is under your hat, right? If you find something interesting I don’t want it all over the world wide web, or the Bath nick, come to that.”
“Stay cool, Mr D. My lips are sealed.”
Diamond returned to his office and called Hen Mallin. Liberally interpreting the need-to-know principle, he told her everything he’d learned at Bramshill. Senior detectives don’t betray much emotion as a rule, but Hen spoke the name of Axel Summers as if he were a personal friend.
“You knew him?” Diamond queried.
“No more than you, sugar, but he’s always on the box, isn’t he? A bit old for me, but definitely dishy, I thought. Where did they say this happened?”
“A house in Sussex.”
“That’s my manor. I haven’t heard a whisper.”
“Shows how seriously they take it. Have you heard of Jimmy Barneston? He’s in charge.”
“That makes sense. He’s top of the heap, young, energetic, and gets results.”
“So I was told,” he said with a slight note of irony.
“Really,” Hen said. “His clear-up rate is awesome.”
“Sounds like a vacuum cleaner. Where’s he based?”
“Horsham, the last time I heard. Should I have a quiet word with him, do you think?”
“I wouldn’t trouble him yet. He’ll be trying to keep the cap on the bottle. Let’s wait until we’ve got something to trade.”
She said, “You’re a wily old soul, aren’t you? Good thinking.” After a pause, she added, “You really believe she was killed by the man who did Summers, don’t you? In spite of what you were told?”
“I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that. But I’m not ruling it out just because Bramshill tells me to. One thing I’ve learned in this job, Hen, is that the people at the top have their own agenda, and it doesn’t have much to do with what you and I are working on.”