‘On what grounds?’
Septimus, quick as one of those hounds in the pictures, said, ‘Wilfully obstructing a police officer in the execution of his duty under section eighty-nine of the Police Act, 1996.’
The major gave a nervous twitch. ‘You’re not planning to arrest Agnes?’
‘I was referring to you, sir.’
‘Yes, but if you need to see her alone…’ He did an about-turn, literally and figuratively. ‘Damn it, I’ll fetch her.’
Diamond exchanged a high five with Septimus.
Agnes Swithin came in, frowning. She had a towel round her head and was wearing a pink dressing-gown. ‘I was washing my hair,’ she said in an accusing way as if they’d deliberately picked this inconvenient time.
Diamond turned to Septimus and asked him to speak the words of the official caution to Mrs Swithin.
‘What on earth…?’ she said, and was silenced by the officialese.
Diamond took over again. ‘We’ve spoken before about your part in the recent re-enactment of the Battle of Lansdown-’
‘I did nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘You were an angel of mercy, you told me. Was that right?’
She opened her mouth to confirm it, stopped herself and sighed. ‘Strictly speaking, the term may not be historically accurate. The regiment prefer “camp follower”, but that has vulgar connotations I don’t care for.’
‘Whatever you call yourself, you go out on the field of battle and pretend to be dressing their wounds and looking after them?’
‘That’s what women have done for centuries in warfare, picking up the pieces, ministering to the wounded and dying. We also search for our menfolk among the slain.’ Agnes Swithin was over the first shock of policemen invading her home, and starting to give back as good as she was getting.
‘Right, and to carry out all these duties you need supplies.’
‘Of course.’
‘Which you carry in a shoulder bag?’
‘A knapsack, or a snapsack, to use the authentic term.’
‘And it doesn’t get inspected by the officers, so you can carry some modern items as well as rolls of bandage?’
‘I suppose that’s true.’
‘Did you have a mobile phone with you?’
She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t everyone these days?’
‘So the answer is yes. Did you also have your binoculars?’
An impatient sigh. ‘To save us time, I also carried my purse, make-up, comb, glasses, deodorant, camera and certain pills I take for a medical condition. Is there anything else you want to know?’ ‘Did you confirm the binoculars?’
‘The re-enactment is a spectacle. One likes to enjoy it.’
‘That’s a yes?’
‘It is.’
‘We’ve come to the nub of this,’ Diamond said. ‘After the fighting moved up the field, did you see two of the cavaliers going the other way, down the slope?’
‘There was a lot going on. I don’t recall everything.’
‘Men on your own side acting like deserters? They must have caught your attention.’
‘At the time, possibly.’
‘Anyway, they stopped by the fallen oak tree, an important landmark to the Lansdown Society because of its rare lichen.’
‘I’m not a member of the society.’
‘But your husband is. And you keep the major informed of everything you see through those strong binoculars of yours. I’m suggesting you watched the two men acting oddly, burrowing in the earth, and you decided the Lansdown Society should be informed immediately. Your phone company keeps a record of the calls, you know.’
She caught her breath. ‘You’ve been checking my phone calls? That’s outrageous. Anyway, we could have been talking about anything.’
‘If you don’t want your actions to be misinterpreted, Mrs Swithin, I suggest you stop this stonewalling and give me the truth. One of those men was beaten over the head and later murdered.’
She’d gone as white as the towel on her head. ‘I didn’t witness that. What are you trying to pin on me?’
‘Tell me exactly what did happen.’
‘I didn’t see any violence. Just as you said, I saw what was going on by the fallen tree and phoned Reggie.’
‘Where was he at the time?’
‘The golf club.’
‘With Sir Colin Tipping?’
‘You’ll have to ask him.’
Diamond nodded to Septimus, who stepped to the door and jerked it open. Predictably, the major was there, eavesdropping. ‘Step inside, major,’ Diamond said, ‘and let’s hear it from you.’
The moon was the only source of light and there wasn’t much of that. Paul Gilbert, still on duty in the field below the cemetery, was having doubts. Doubt One: would Duckett, the forensics man, bother to come out on a Saturday night to look at a dead horse? From all he’d heard, Duckett was an awkward type who’d clashed with Diamond and might well ignore the call, or leave it to the next day.
Doubt Two: would Diamond remember his promise to send a car? The boss had more urgent matters on his mind, like arresting suspects and bringing the whole investigation to a climax. Would he give another thought to the most junior member of the team, stuck on this godforsaken hill?
This could be a long night.
Get a grip, he told himself. Give it an hour at most and then phone the nick and ask them to send a replacement. If someone has to stand guard all night, it’s a job for uniform, not CID.
He felt better for that – until he checked his back pocket and remembered he’d left his phone in the car.
Idiot.
Somewhere on the hill came the hoarse triple bark of a dog fox, answered by a vixen’s scream, a hair-raising sound.
A short way off, vehicles were going by intermittently, each set of headlight beams offering the faint hope that Duckett was immi-n ent. Faint indeed. What was the point of Duckett coming out here after dark? Once he took over the scene he and his people would be responsible. There were rules about continuity of evidence. Someone had to be on watch all night because of the remote chance that an intruder or one of the suspects would visit the place and corrupt the evidence.
Let an intruder come, Gilbert thought. Let
Preferably not the killer.
His thoughts turned to the victim, who’d lived up here for a couple of weeks, concussed, off his chump, not knowing he had a car and a home. What threat had poor old Rupert Hope presented in his pathetic state? Finishing him off in the graveyard had been a heartless act. This killer had no mercy.
The cool of early evening had turned in a matter of minutes to shivery cold. What else could you expect on an exposed hill seven hundred feet above sea level? The luckless Rupert had at least found himself a rug and a place to lie down. There was nowhere in this field except the grotto itself, and Gilbert didn’t fancy that, but he was starting to understand what had driven Rupert to rob the tomb.
A twig snapped nearby. His self-pitying stopped.
