She gave him a glance that made him wish he hadn’t asked. ‘I’d rather not say. He was my father’s pride and joy.’
Ingeborg was waiting to see Diamond when he arrived next morning, her eyes bright as sword blades.
‘Something happened?’ he asked.
‘It’s Saturday, guv.’
‘Even I can work that out,’ he said.
‘Farleigh Hungerford Castle. The muster this afternoon. I’m wondering if I can leave early.’
‘Your performance. Right.’ With the focus shifting to the missing racehorse, he had nudged Inge’s frolic to the back of his thoughts. ‘What time?’
‘Well, as soon as possible. They want us on parade at one p.m. – that’s in full uniform, us and our horses.’
‘You’ve had only one rehearsal, haven’t you?’
She gave him a pained look. ‘Drill, guv. We call it drill. Yes, I’m making up the numbers, one of the extras, but I still have to look the part.’
‘Like a bloke, you mean? They didn’t really have women in the cavalry, did they?’
‘Do you mind? I expect they did. Only I’m not trying to pass myself off as a guy.’
‘Before you go, did you find out anything last night?’
‘About Hang-glider?’
‘No, I cleared that up. Anything on Rupert?’
She shook her head, a fraction too fast for Diamond’s liking.
‘You forgot?’ His eyes continued to read her face. ‘There’s something, isn’t there?’
A sigh, blaming him. ‘I tried to tell you this last night. The surprise was the officer in charge, our drill instructor. I must have done a double take when he rode up in his buff coat and feathered hat. It was Dave.’
‘Dave who?’
‘You know. Dave Barton, the man who was with Rupert when they found the femur.’
He paused, taking this in.
‘Inge, are you sure?’
‘Hundred per cent.’
‘He’s a foot soldier, not cavalry,’ Diamond said. ‘He shouldn’t be on a horse.’ Even as he spoke, he recalled Keith Halliwell telling him Dave liked the outdoor life and went out riding.
Ingeborg flushed scarlet. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. Believe me, Dave could teach Butch Cassidy a trick or two. I don’t know what he was doing the day of the re-enactment, but he’s a cavalry officer, and a good one. I’m not kidding, guv.’
‘He’s not the officer type.’
She clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘It’s not the real army. You don’t have to go through Sandhurst to do the job.’
Fair point, he thought. These people were playing at soldiers. He’d been caught making assumptions.
‘He’s just your average guy, except he’s a top horsemen,’ she said to soften her petulance. ‘He makes it all seem simple.’
‘I believe you. I’m surprised, that’s all.’
‘Maybe his horse was injured when they had the muster. He’d still want to take part, wouldn’t he?’
‘ Did he recognise you as CID?’
‘I don’t think so. I saw him the day he came in, but we didn’t speak. He’s okay. No side to him.’
He allowed her to leave directly. Much else was on his mind.
John Wigfull was the next to look in and he, too, appeared uncommonly cheerful. ‘I hear there was a very good response to my press release. I expect you’ve solved your case now, or you’re on the point of doing so.’
‘It’s not the number of calls. It’s the quality of the information.’
‘The story was on the late news on television. You’ll get more take-up this morning, I guarantee.’
‘I’ll let you know, John.’
For the next few precious minutes he was not interrupted.
The previous night’s conversation with Sir Colin Tipping had almost persuaded him that the theft of Hang-glider in 1993 was the key to the case. Up to then he’d been assuming Nadia’s murder was connected to the re- enactment, that she’d been killed during or shortly after the battle and buried hurriedly. The discovery that the race meeting took place four days later and a serious crime was committed opened a new possibility. Could she have witnessed the theft of the horse and been shot simply because she was there? They could have bundled her body into a car or van and driven her a short way up the road and buried her.
Wouldn’t it be marvellous if Wigfull’s publicity had produced an eye-witness who remembered seeing Nadia at the race meeting? He stepped back into the incident room and asked the receiver for the latest batch of notes from callers.
Wigfull had been right about one thing. Enough people had phoned to raise expectations. A glance through the material was less encouraging. He found the usual mix of guesswork, wishful thinking and imprecision. Any foreign woman of almost any age was liable to have been reported. Some callers were under the illusion that Nadia was still alive and working in a shop. There was another sighting from Sunday Mass in August, 1993, but otherwise the result was negative.
He picked up the phone and asked the operator to get a line to the Lambourn trainer of racehorses, Percy McDart. She called back to say McDart wasn’t listed under his own name and could Diamond kindly supply the name of the stables he worked for?
A job for young Paul Gilbert. ‘What’s that paper the punters buy – the
‘Will you need directions, guv?’
‘You will. You’re doing the driving.’
From across the incident room, Septimus called out, ‘Something you should know, boss.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Remember the lager that was buried before the battle?’
‘By Dave Barton?’
‘We finally caught up with the guy who nicked it.’
He shimmied around the desks to hear more. ‘Nice work. Who is he?’
‘A parliamentarian, he calls himself, named Bert Pope. He was exercising his horse on the battlefield an hour before the fighting started and he saw this soldier in royalist red burying a six-pack by the fallen tree. As he tells it, this was one of the enemy, so he thought it was fair game to return there later and help himself and that’s what he did. But seeing as it was a hot day and everyone knows how thirsty you get, whichever army you’re in, he left two of the cans. He said he read about the skeleton being found there later but he didn’t come forward because he couldn’t see that the lager had anything to do with it, and anyway he felt a bit mean for what he’d done.’
‘How did you find him?’
‘He shared the drink with some of his friends in the roundhead army and told them where it came from. At the time, they enjoyed the joke. When one of them saw the stuff in the paper, he told Pope he’d better fess up. And he did, eventually.’
‘Good. It chimes in nicely with Dave Barton’s statement.’
‘It doesn’t mean Barton is in the clear,’ Septimus said at once. His suspicions of the blacksmith had not gone away. ‘He was in no hurry to come forward himself.’
‘So don’t you believe the rest of his story – that the last time he saw Rupert was after they finished the lager and returned to the fighting?’
The only response was a tightening of the lips.
‘What’s your take on it?’ Diamond said.
