He looked where he thought the sound had come from, straining to detect a shape or movement.
Then he heard what sounded like short gasps for air.
‘Who’s that?’ he said.
No answer. Only an animal, he tried telling himself. The breathing was too heavy to be a fox. Were there deer on Lansdown? He’d never seen one.
He had nothing to defend himself with. Should have thought of that.
In his heightened state, he started to see shadowy shapes closing in. He looked over his shoulder and they were all around him. Bushes stirred by the breeze, or attackers closing for the kill?
‘I can hear you,’ he said aloud. ‘I know you’re there.’
A beam of light shone directly into his face, dazzling him. ‘Stay still, absolutely still.’ The voice was male, high- pitched, yet authoritative.
Gilbert obeyed.
‘What’s going on?’ the voice asked. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘My job.’ Gilbert managed to add, ‘I’m a police officer.’
‘You’re not dressed like one.’
‘I’m CID. Plain clothes. I can show you my ID. Who are you?’
The man with the torch had the advantage and intended to keep it. ‘What’s a police officer skulking around in the dark for?’
He was cautious. ‘I can’t say. I’m on duty.’ He fished his warrant card from his back pocket. ‘See?’
The beam shifted down and Gilbert took his opportunity, grabbed the arm holding the torch, hauled the man towards him, at the same time thrusting out a leg and toppling him over. It wasn’t the sweetest of judo moves, but it worked. They both hit the ground heavily. The torch flew out of range. The advantage had swung to Gilbert. Bearing down with all his strength, he clung to that arm and twisted it behind the man’s back.
‘You’re breaking my arm.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Gilbert demanded.
‘A man of God.’
‘What?’
‘Charles Smart. I live in the vicarage across the road.’
If this was a try-on, it was a clever one. If not, Gilbert was wrestling with a vicar. Now that the name was sinking in, he remembered seeing Charlie Smart’s name listed on the display board in the incident room. ‘What are you doing here, then?’
‘I saw the light earlier.’ This, from a vicar, would have been laughable in other circumstances. ‘I came over to see what was going on.’
‘You were taking a chance.’
‘If God be for us, who can be against us? Do you mind? The pain in my arm is unspeakable.’
Gilbert let go, made a grab for the torch and shone it on his adversary. The man had wide blue eyes and a shock of blond hair. True to his claim, he was wearing a strip of white across his throat, a clerical collar. He propped himself up with difficulty and massaged the top of his arm, saying, ‘That really wasn’t necessary.’ ‘Creeping up on me and shoving a torch in my face wasn’t necessary,’ Gilbert said.
‘I’m in the Lansdown Society. I made a solemn promise to keep an eye on things up here.’
‘And if you’re about to ask me if I witnessed the murder, save your breath,’ Charlie Smart continued. ‘Your superintendent already covered the matter and I couldn’t help at all.’
‘Did you see the victim roaming around here?’
‘We covered that, too. No. The first suspicious behaviour I’ve seen was yours tonight. Lights in the field. A car parked up the road. Very dubious, after all that’s been going on. As a responsible citizen, I dialled 999 straight away. They should be here any minute.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Gilbert said.
In the incident room, Diamond checked with his team on the results of the house arrests. The suspects were in custody and the evidence had been gathered, labelled and sealed. ‘Nice work, people,’ he said. ‘That was the easy part. The real job starts now and I’m not expecting any favours from the suspects. We’ll take them one at a time, using the interview room with one-way glass, so the rest of you can see how we do. Cavalry Officer Smith, I need you with me for the first one.’
Excitement was written large on Inge’s face and no one seemed to mind that she was the first choice, particularly as the suspect was female.
The custody sergeant brought Davina Temple-Smith to the interview room. White-faced and with a sullen stare, she was a different incarnation from the radiant winning owner at the races. She had the consolation of appearing in her own clothes – jeans and a red sweater – rather than a zipper suit. A personal search hadn’t been deemed necessary. Her DNA sample and fingerprints had been insisted on as routine procedure following an arrest.
She had her own solicitor seated beside her, a woman new to Manvers Street interviews.
After Ingeborg had gone through the preliminaries of place, time and who was present, Diamond took over.
‘We found Hang-glider this afternoon, what’s left of him, the neat hole in his skull where he was despatched with a vet’s equipment, the penetrating captive bolt gun. Expertly done, right on the spot, humanely, I don’t doubt.’
Shocking her with the discovery was worth a try. He might not have said a word for all the reaction he got.
He reached for an evidence bag containing a bolt gun and dropped it on the table. ‘There’s no telling if this was the one, but we picked it up from your surgery in case. The big question I asked myself many times was why anyone needed to destroy a marvellous horse worth over a million to your father. The deal with Sheikh Abdul was drawn up and ready to sign.’
Davina continued to stare ahead.
This wasn’t meant to be a monologue. Diamond gave her the chance to say something that wouldn’t incriminate her. ‘Your father bought Hang-glider in the yearling sales at Newmarket in October, 1990. Remember how much he paid?’ He knew, of course. It was on public record.
‘Two hundred thousand,’ she said in an expressionless tone.
‘Pounds?’
Her lip curled in contempt. ‘Guineas.’
‘He must have had great faith in the colt.’
‘Great judgement,’ she said. ‘It was a half-brother to a Prix Lupin winner who lost the Irish Derby in a photo.’ Diamond was outside the racing fraternity and she wanted him to know it.
‘Still a risk, wasn’t it?’
She shrugged. ‘The whole of the sport is risky. Some expensive yearlings never do anything.’
‘I mean he could have lost his investment through the choice he made.’
‘If you want to invest, put your money in National Savings. He was buying a horse.’
‘You speak as a successful owner yourself,’ he said.
‘In a different league.’
‘What made your father spend so much?’
‘He’d talked about owning a thoroughbred for years. It was his life’s ambition. He’d raced horses before, but they never had the breeding. Let’s give him credit. He picked a champion.’
‘At a cost,’ Diamond said.
‘Tell me about it.’ The bitterness cut through. Was this a factor in her behaviour – father blueing her inheritance on a horse?
‘Two hundred thou was just the beginning,’ she added. ‘A top trainer like McDart doesn’t come cheap, and then there were all the extras. Stabling, race fees, transportation, jockeys.’
‘Vets.’
She gave a cautious nod.
‘He could save on vet fees by using you.’
‘He didn’t,’ she said, spotting the trap. ‘McDart uses his own Lambourn vet.’
