come out of his own pocket.
‘What sort of help are you wanting?’ Davina said. ‘I hope you haven’t got a sick animal under your jacket.’ She introduced her companions. True to expectation, Sally and Wilfred worked in the practice.
Without going into specifics, Diamond said he was currently involved in a case linked to the re-enactments of the Battle of Lansdown and trying to get information on a horse that could have taken part in the 1993 event and might still be kept somewhere local.
‘It would be getting on a bit,’ Paloma added. ‘We think about twenty.’
‘Is that too old?’ Diamond asked.
‘Horses, like people, live longer these days,’ Davina told them. ‘Twenty isn’t unusual. You can get insurance up to twenty-five and some breeds, like Morgans, live well into their thirties.’
‘I expect they need more treatment as they get older,’ he said. ‘As a vet, you may know of an elderly horse like this.’
‘What colour?’
‘Black or dark brown.’
She smiled. ‘Any other markings?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘We’ve only got a few hairs as evidence. If it’s any help, they were found on a burgundy coloured under-rug made by a firm called Phil Drake.’
‘That’s going back some,’ Davina said. ‘I haven’t heard of Phil Drake equipment for years. Where was this rug found?’
‘In the entrance gate to Beckford’s Tower, being used by a man sleeping rough. Where he found it is a mystery.’
‘Out of a stable, I expect,’ she said. ‘There are more than you might think on Lansdown and I know of two that supply horses for these battle events.’
‘I expect this old warhorse would be retired.’
‘Not necessarily. You wouldn’t want young or highly strung animals taking part, so older ones are preferred because they aren’t troubled by the gunfire and drums. A mock battle isn’t demanding on agility, a few short gallops, that’s all. It doesn’t compare with steeplechasing or showjumping.’ She spoke with the calm authority that comes with giving expert advice.
‘That’s so helpful to know,’ he said, his ideas moving on. ‘Puts a whole new slant on the case. Would you mind giving me the addresses of those stables?’
‘Not a problem. I’ll write them down if we can find a pen and paper. You should speak to the Sealed Knot people. They know more than I do.’
‘One of my team is with them tonight.’ He took a pen and notebook from his pocket and handed them to Davina. ‘While you’re doing that I’ll get more drinks. Same again, everyone?’
It was a cheap round. Sally and Wilfred said they were leaving for home shortly and Davina had promised to meet her father at the golf club.
Whilst waiting to settle his bill, Diamond found himself thinking about Sir Colin Tipping and things he had said that morning at the golf club when they rode in the cart ahead of Major Swithin. Some part of the conversation was niggling at his brain and he couldn’t grasp the relevance.
‘Are you a vet, sir?’ the barman asked.
‘God, no.’ He was still struggling to remember.
‘My mistake. Saw you with the others.’
‘No problem. I’m sure you get all sorts up here: golfers, race-goers, ramblers.’
‘The world and his wife, sir.’
Then the connection was made. He realised what he’d missed when scrolling through Ingeborg’s calendar of events. Now it was vital that he spoke to Davina’s father.
He was about to impose even more on Davina’s good nature – and Paloma’s. The opportunity had to be seized. The chance of an off-the-record chat with Sir Colin was too good to miss.
‘I don’t know if you’ll get any sense out of him,’ Davina said when he told her what he wanted. ‘He’ll have sunk a few whiskies by now. My job on a Friday night is to get him home.’
All the better if the whisky is talking, Diamond thought.
‘Not the evening you expected, was it?’ he said to Paloma as they walked to their cars.
‘I had my suspicions, if you remember,’ she said.
‘And you were right.’
She smiled. ‘I’m going to leave you with your horsey friends. You’ll do better on your own at this stage – unless you want me to call reinforcements.’
‘Send for the cavalry?’ He grinned. ‘I don’t think.’
They embraced and he promised to make it up to her.
In the car, he picked up his disregarded mobile phone and gazed at it in his palm. What was the hour now? If he knew which buttons to press, the thing could tell him. No doubt it could supply the latest cricket scores and the state of the pound against the dollar. All he used it for was to make the occasional phone call. Ingeborg was about to rue the day she had set up the menu for him and put her own number in the directory. Wherever she was, he reasoned, she should be capable of answering. Her evening training session would be well over.
‘Inge? It’s me – Diamond.’
‘I know, guv. You’re on my display.’
He had no desire to be on anyone’s display.
‘I can always tell who’s calling,’ she said.
‘Right, and it’s late.’
‘Must be important, I guess.’
He could hear a background buzz of voices and canned music. ‘Are you in company?’
‘Sure. Guess who I met at the drill.’
He didn’t have time for guessing games. ‘I was looking at that list of events on Lansdown, the one you compiled for Keith.’
‘Not only for him,’ she said. ‘It’s for everyone to use.’
‘Do you happen to remember working on July to August, 1993, the time we know for certain Nadia was in Bath?’
‘Now you’re asking. I just plodded through the years. At the time I didn’t know 1993 or any other year was important. I simply went through the
‘Mainly headlines?’
‘They were only meant to be a quick reference.’
‘Fine – like the re-enactment, which is on the list, both days, among lots of other stuff.’
‘Don’t ask me, guv. It’s a blur now.’ Her tone of voice told him she was having a good time and wanted to be shot of this call.
‘But I am asking. On one of the days, not long after the battle, you made a note that went “Hang-glider stolen”.’
‘Did I?’
She wasn’t usually this vague. He could picture her shrugging and smiling at her friends in the bar. ‘Are you listening, Inge? What I need to know – and it’s important – is if you meant a hang-glider as such, or the racehorse with the same name? At some point – and it could have been 1993 – a young stallion called Hang-glider belonging to Sir Colin Tipping was driven away and never seen again – like Shergar.’
‘Like what?’
‘Never mind.’ The kidnapping of Shergar must have happened before she was born. ‘A hang-glider or a horse?’
‘You’ve got me there,’ she said. ‘The horse that went missing made big news for some days, but offhand I
