Skeleton Hill

‘Dead scruffy, in muddy old jeans and one of them hoodie things, and he smelt.’

‘Don’t you think you might be mistaken?’

Her face reddened. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

He was tempted to answer ‘yes – and a time-waster, too.’ He’d met plenty like her and they’d go on for ever if you let them. ‘Frankly, madam, we know who the missing man is and he isn’t the sort to behave the way you describe.’

‘Is that so? Well, that’s me and the fucking police finished!’ she said in an explosion of outrage. ‘You’re all the same, on the side of the villains, looking for excuses for them. I came here out of the goodness of my heart, giving you important information, and you treat me like I’m a bloody liar. If that’s the way you want to run the city, you can stuff it where the monkey puts his nuts.’ She marched out, leaving Wigfull untroubled by the tirade. He’d been told on a PR course he’d attended that the majority of so-called witnesses are attention-seekers. The woman was a prime example. His spirits improved when Mrs Swithin came in: one of those well-bred old ladies you know will keep their emotions in check. Dressed in a tweed jacket and pleated tartan skirt, she radiated good sense. ‘Is the photo in the paper reliable?’ she asked first. ‘I’m talking about the face, not the way they dressed him up. Is that really the missing man?’

‘Rupert Hope, yes.’

‘And he’s an academic?’

‘Bristol University.’

‘I have to tell you, then, that he’s been behaving out of character, trying to open people’s car doors. This was up at the racecourse, in the car park. Reggie, my husband – the major – was convinced he was up to no good, so we phoned the police. I happen to possess a powerful pair of binoculars and I stayed on watch while Reggie went to meet the police car. I had the man in focus for quite ten minutes and saw his face clearly. He was definitely the gentleman in the paper.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘A hooded garment and blue denim trousers.’

The same man, apparently. Wigfull’s promising morning took a roller-coaster plunge. ‘Did the police come?’

‘Yes, but unfortunately the man had left by then, in the direction of the main enclosure.’

‘Was this on a race day?’

‘Not at all. I’m sorry if I gave that impression. It was Wednesday of last week and very quiet at the time. People use the car park every day of the week. We’re often up there keeping an eye on things. That’s how I noticed his suspicious behaviour.’

‘Did he actually break into any of the cars?’

‘No, I think they were all locked.’

‘And did the police catch up with him?’

‘As it turned out, no. They returned later and took statements. We had to wait almost an hour. Reggie’s a responsible citizen, but he gets testy if he’s kept waiting. Anyway, we saw the item in the Chronicle and both agreed it was our duty to get in touch with you. The man wasn’t behaving as one expects a university lecturer to conduct himself, but these days one never knows. They employ some strange types in so- called higher education.’

‘You did the right thing.’ Wigfull was thinking as he spoke that he’d done the wrong thing in letting the pie woman go.

‘What will happen now?’

‘I’ll find out which of our officers answered your call and speak to them. We heard of another sighting as well. It begins to look as if our man is behaving erratically.’

‘Either that, or he’s a Trot.’

‘A what?’

‘A Trotskyist. The universities are full of left-wing people trying to change the world.’

The world had moved on a bit, since Trotsky, but Wigfull had a rough idea what was meant and shared the sentiment. He still thought Mrs Swithin a dependable witness.

Just to be certain, he returned a couple of the overnight phone calls about the cavalier. More sightings. Rupert Hope must have been wandering about Lansdown for days drawing attention to himself through minor misdemeanours. Probably not as a left wing protest, but drunk, drugged, or unwell.

Why, then, hadn’t the officers on patrol picked him up?

Smoothly, he transferred his own failing onto others. Picked up the phone and asked to have the occurrence file checked. Someone ought to face the music. It turned out that the same two officers had responded to both calls.

Peter Diamond drove back from the golf club thinking dark thoughts about the Lansdown Society. If, as they claimed, they monitored everything that happened on the hill they may well have heard or seen something suspicious connected with the burial of the body. And as guardians of the terrain – vigilantes, whatever they said to the contrary – they might conceivably be suspects. The whole point about vigilantes was that they took the law into their own hands. What if they’d found some undesirable flouting their rules and killed her, maybe by accident? They’d have been well placed to find a burial site.

The substantial fly in the ointment was Georgina.

Diamond had never shirked a confrontation. Noting that the ACC’s Mercedes was parked in her reserved space outside, putting her on the premises, he went upstairs to her eyrie. The traffic light entrance system was showing green.

‘Troubles, Peter?’ she said when she saw him.

‘Not really, ma’am. I just want your advice.’

‘That must be a first.’

‘About the Lansdown Society.’

Her voice took on a defensive note. ‘What about it?’

‘I was told you’re a member.’

‘That’s right. I do have a life outside the police.’

‘They seem to think it’s because you’re in the police that you’re one of them.’

‘Who have you been talking to?’

‘Sir Colin Tipping and Major Swithin. They said Jamie Fleming was the police member before you.’

‘That is true, but I want to make it clear, Peter, that I didn’t join in my official capacity. I happen to support the conservation of the countryside. I don’t want to see any more building on Lansdown. It’s a protected site, which in reality means nothing unless people like me with some influence guarantee its integrity. I know why you’ve raised this. It’s the skeleton, isn’t it?’

‘Right, ma’am. The society keeps abreast of what’s happening on the down. I was hoping they might know something.’

‘And do they?’

‘Not the two gents I saw this morning.’

‘They’re the most likely to know. They’ve been members from the beginning. When was your victim buried?’

‘Some time after 1987, when the tree was blown down.’

‘Ah well.’ She spread her hands. ‘The society wasn’t formed until 1993.’

‘Yes, but we don’t know which year she was buried. We have a ten-year time frame.’

‘If Colin and Reggie say they can’t help, it’s no good coming to me. I didn’t join until three years ago.’

Colin and Reggie. He had to be careful here. A conflict of loyalties was looming. ‘The other founder member is Mrs White, the magistrate.’

Georgina was losing patience. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Peter.’

‘I was about to say I might have a word with her as well – unless you would like to approach her yourself.’

She folded her arms and gave a defiant tilt to the most eloquent bosom in Bath. ‘Is this your only line of enquiry? I can’t see it being very productive.’

‘It looked more promising when I started.’ He got bolder. ‘Forgive me for saying this, but you seem a close-knit society.’