‘Another culture vulture in your life – is that what you’re thinking?’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget I took you to the theatre once.’
She smiled. ‘On two complimentary tickets. And it was
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing. I enjoyed it.’ Another smile. ‘Next time let’s see something unconnected with the police.’
She told him more about the eccentric Beckford, how he created a mile-long landscaped walk across country to his tower and would set off each day from his home in Lansdown Crescent accompanied by a dwarf servant and four dogs. ‘I’ll lend you a book. You’ll enjoy him – witty, wilful and scandalous, too.’
‘Thanks.’ He doubted if he’d do more than dip into the book. His preference in reading was true crime of the trench coat and trilby days.
The food arrived. Paloma’s was a crab and prawn salad. For a while eating had priority over conversation. Only when they’d each confirmed that the food was up to Hop Pole standards did Paloma ask, ‘What have you got lined up for tomorrow? Another day watching the dig?’
He shook his head. ‘Some chance.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘But it’s a murder case, isn’t it? You said you’ve got a headless body.’
‘A skeleton without a skull.’
‘That’s murder, surely?’
‘War injury. My best guess is that the head was blown off by a cannonball in the Civil War. A case for
‘Don’t you have to investigate, even if it’s history?’
‘The forensics lot are doing that. They may dig up some bits of armour when they go deeper. Fun for them, but no help to us. I’m outta there.’
‘Doesn’t the coroner get involved?’
‘Too true, he does. And when they report to him they’re stuck with all the paperwork. I’m not daft. Anyway, I’ve got other fish to fry.’
‘Keeping the streets of Bath safe?’
‘Exactly.’
On cue, a patrol car’s siren sounded from somewhere in the city. ‘Here’s a thought, then,’ Paloma said. ‘All this talk of Lansdown reminds me that one of my well-heeled clients offered me a free day at the races any time I want. How would you like a flutter on the horses?’
‘He was chatting you up.’
‘
‘Oops.’
‘A lady owner, in a long term relationship with a very rich rock star, who shall be nameless. She really means it. She has a double annual badge for the Premier Enclosure.’
‘You think you can pass me off as the rock star?’
She laughed. ‘That
‘Why not?’ he said, thinking this was a long term suggestion. ‘Do you know, I’ve lived in Bath all this time and never gone racing.’
She took out her mobile and fingered the keys. ‘We can remedy that.’
It turned out that there was an evening of racing at Lansdown the next day. Cynic that he was, he suspected she’d planned this all along.
Police work has a knack of springing surprises. In the morning Diamond took a call from Dr Peake, the forensic anthropologist who had been given the femur to examine.
‘You said it was found up at Lansdown?’ Peake said in that way academics have of double-checking everything before committing themselves.
Diamond had nothing to hide. ‘Correct – and now we’ve found the rest of him, bar the skull. It’s a good bet he was a Civil War victim who failed to duck when a cannonball came his way.’
‘Have you any evidence for that?’
‘Heads don’t get parted from bodies that easily.’
‘I meant the Civil War connection,’ Peake said. ‘Are there relics as well as bones?’
‘Give us time. We’re still digging.’ He made it sound as if he wielded a spade himself.
‘Now that you’ve found more bones, I’d better visit the site and see for myself.’
‘Be my guest.’
‘Mr Diamond, are you certain that the femur I was sent belonged to the skeleton you’re talking about?’
‘Put it this way, doc. It came from the same hole in the ground and the headless soldier is missing a thigh bone. Why?’
‘Because the first indications are that this bone is comparatively modern.’
Diamond said nothing for several seconds. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
‘Not from the Civil War era. More recent. Say within the last twenty-five years.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘“Sure” isn’t a word much favoured in my profession. We prefer “probably” or “maybe”. There are too many variables. Going by the state of the bone I wouldn’t say it’s been buried more than a quarter of a century.’
‘Did you carbon date it?’
‘I hate to disillusion you, but radiocarbon dating isn’t of the slightest use for the short periods in forensic medicine. There was no indication that this bone is ancient.’
‘We’re not talking
‘Anything over fifty years is classed as ancient in my work.’
‘Ouch. You don’t have to get personal.’
Peake didn’t get the joke. To be fair he hadn’t met Diamond to know he was over fifty. ‘These are the terms we use.’
‘What are your reasons?’
‘For saying the bone is modern? For one thing, the appearance. A modern bone has a smooth, soapy texture. And for another, the density. Bones a hundred years old or more are lighter in weight and tend to crumble.’
‘That’s observation. Have you done lab tests?’
‘On the femur? Indeed we have. The nitrogen content is a good indicator. It reduces with time. Typically, a bone three hundred and fifty years old contains a percentage of 2.5. Your femur came in at 4.3.’
‘Too much for a dead cavalier?’
‘Way too much. We also ran a fluorescence test. A modern bone will fluoresce under ultraviolet light, but an ancient one fades away to nothing. The femur gave a positive result, not the strongest, but fitting into the time frame I’m suggesting.’
‘Twenty-five years or less?’
‘Approximately.’
‘I don’t know whether to thank you or not. You’ve made me look a bloody fool, but on the other hand you’ve given me a mystery to work on. Shall we meet up at Lansdown this afternoon?’
Later the same morning he went looking for John Wigfull and found him in a small office studying a computer screen. ‘Is this urgent?’ Wigfull said, his face with the big moustache rising above the screen like a surfacing walrus. ‘I’m at work on a press release.’
‘I didn’t think you were playing online poker,’ Diamond said. ‘Is it about the missing cavalier, by any chance.’
‘No, that went out yesterday.’
‘Any response?’
‘It’s early days. Peter, if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of something. My time is precious.’
‘Mine is as precious as yours, old chum. I’m not here on a social call. How long is it since the re-enactment man dis -appeared?’
‘Rupert Hope? Over two weeks now.’ He frowned. ‘Why – have you heard something?’
‘It’s just a coincidence. I’m dealing with a buried skeleton found up at Lansdown. I thought he was a Civil War soldier – a real one – but I’m told the bones are modern.’
