I answer just as casually that it might be sensible to get some caffeine into my system before I get on the road. So I find myself next in his gorgeous stone-built house beside the River Arun. Slate floors and expensive rugs. Real coffee, Belgian chocs and Mozart’s flute and harp concerto, and I just know I won’t be driving back to Bath that night. He takes me onto the terrace to see the view of the river and that’s where we kiss.
Jimmy is a natural. Knows without asking what gets me going and goes for it with such a sense of sharing the excitement that I came very quickly still standing outside under the stars and before taking off any clothes. Talk about hitting the spot! It was obvious we both wanted more, so we moved inside to his bedroom and undressed each other and I set about enjoying him with a sense of freedom I never had with Ken or any other bloke. After several Himalayan-class peaks, we drift off to sleep some time after midnight, and that isn’t the last of it. I wake up around four feeling the urge again and climb on him and ride him like a showjumper. A clear round. No faults.
Was it a one-night stand, or can it develop into something more permanent? The morning is when you find out, usually. Each of us played it cautiously over breakfast (toast and very black coffee), not wanting to seem possessive, and no commitment was made. But this man really is special, and I honestly think he finds me more adventurous (exciting?) than the average girl, so I’m hopeful of another invitation. It won’t be easy keeping a relationship fresh when we live a couple of hours from each other, but we do have a good excuse to stop over. This case requires close and frequent consultation!
Here, the file ended. Just as well, because Diamond was at the point of spontaneous combustion. Jimmy Barneston and Emma Tysoe! Barneston hadn’t even hinted at this when they’d talked about the case. He knew the dead woman’s private life was fundamental to the investigation and he’d said bugger all. It wasn’t as if he needed to feel guilty. He wasn’t having a fling with a suspect, or a witness, or even one of his team. She was a profiler, an extra. But once Emma had been murdered, everything about her, and not least her love life, had to be out in the open. Barneston had a duty to declare it.
“Ride him like a showjumper,” he muttered to himself. “He’s a dark horse, for sure.”
13
In the incident room he found Keith Halliwell and Ingeborg Smith looking at a website for the British Crossbow Society. Clearly it was no use any longer trying to keep the murder of Axel Summers to himself. Clive had talked. Those two had put him through the third degree. They were professional detectives and it was their job to root out information.
“Vicious weapon, isn’t it?” he said, deadpan. “I’d better bring you up to speed on the file I’ve just been reading-unless you’ve got your own copies already.”
Ingeborg reddened and Keith grinned sheepishly.
He gave them all the facts he knew about the murder of Summers, ending with a belated warning that Bramshill wanted to keep the lid on it. “Emma Tysoe was involved in this case at the time of her death, so we have more than a passing interest in it, much as they’d like to insist we don’t. But we still have a duty to keep it from the public-and that means anyone outside the team, right?” He made eye contact with each of them.
And each nodded.
“I know,” he said. “You’re about to tell me I should put a gag on Clive, and I thought I had. I’ll speak to him again.” He took a glance at his watch. “I haven’t finished reading the files, and I’ll give you a fuller rundown when I’m through, later in the day, if my head can stand it. Meanwhile there are two things you can do. Ingeborg.”
“Guv?”
“We got a false impression of Dr Emma Tysoe from her colleagues up at the university. She wasn’t the shrinking violet they made her out to be. She had an above-average appetite for sex and a lover she dumped called Ken.”
“That’s all we know about him?”
“It’s pretty obvious he lives locally. Do some ferreting, will you?”
“Outside the university?”
“Outside the Psychology Department for sure. She kept her private life well hidden from that lot.”
“Wise.”
“Yes, if they’d known she was such a goer I’m sure someone would have wired her up and set up a research project. Anyway, Ken-whoever he is-has to be regarded as a suspect.”
“Because she dumped him?”
“Right. He took her for a meal at Popjoy’s the evening after she was given this profiling job. There was some little spat over the way he ordered the wine, but I think the writing was already on the wall.”
“You mean she was dating another bloke?”
Diamond wasn’t ready to go into that, not knowing how much tittle-tattle Clive had passed on. “They fell out before she slept with anyone else. Ken had passed his sell-by date, it’s clear from the file. I’m about to find out what happened next.”
Halliwell asked, “Will anyone else get to read this steamy stuff?”
He couldn’t suppress a touch of sarcasm. “One way or another, I’m sure you will, Keith. Now, the other matter I want you to follow up is the whereabouts of her dark green sports car. She mentions in the file that she didn’t put it in the garage one evening when she got back home.”
“In Great Pulteney Street?” Halliwell said. “It doesn’t have garages.”
“Right.”
“She rented one nearby?”
“That’s my assumption. And I want to know if the car is still in there.”
“How can it be?” Ingeborg said. “She’d have needed it to drive to Wightview Sands. She arrived there alone according to Michael Smith.”
“So where is it? They didn’t find anything belonging to her in the beach car park. They accounted for every car left there at the end of that day. What make is it?”
Halliwell glanced towards Ingeborg, saw the startled look in her eyes, and attempted to cover up. “As you recall, guv, Bognor were doing the index check.”
“And none of you thought to ask?” Diamond said. “I give up! Even I know how to do a vehicle check. Get on that bloody PNC yourselves.”
Ingeborg recovered enough to say, “I daresay one of her neighbours would know if she rented a garage nearby. Are there mews at the back of Great Pulteney Street? They’re very big houses.”
“Both sides,” said Halliwell. “You’ve got Pulteney Mews facing the Rec, and Henrietta Mews to the north.”
“Maybe a garage came with the flat. We can ask the landlord.”
“Do that,” Diamond said. “If anyone wants me, I’ll be in the basement, catching up on the next instalment.”
I’m keener than ever to make an accurate profile of the Mariner [Emma’s second file began]. Let’s confess an unprofessional thought to you, Computer: I’d love to amaze Jimmy with my findings. The problem is there’s so little data to go on. I keep reminding myself this isn’t a serial crime like others I’ve worked on. Not yet. As of today it’s a single crime with the threat of more to come. Fortunately, the little we know is so exceptional that I’m beginning to firm up on certain assumptions:
(a) The killer is above average in intelligence, educated to a pretty high level. [The Coleridge quote]
(b) He’s methodical and cool under stress. [The absence of any traces at the scene]
(c) He must have had some practice with the crossbow and knowledge of its firepower. [One bolt had to be enough]
(d) It’s quite likely he has experience of stalking and killing animals-i.e., treats the killing of people as a logical extension of the rough shoot or the cull. [The effective use of cover]
(e) He has an exalted opinion of himself and his ability to outwit the police. [The naming of future victims]