The Vault

Instead of going home, he collected Halliwell and they walked through the still-sunny streets to the Roman Baths, situated in the centre, near the Abbey. Ironically, none of the exterior of the famous complex is Roman, however hard the Victorians tried to make it appear so. Even the statues of Roman emperors glimpsed from the street are late Victorian pieces. The genuine stuff is six metres below street level.

The staff inside were ushering the last visitors from the building. The security guard Diamond most needed to see had finished his shift and left.

'We'll go down and take a look.' Just to escape from the clammy heat outside would be a bonus.

'We close in five minutes,' said the man in charge.

'Go ahead. I'm not stopping you.'

'We can't leave if you're still on the premises.'

'That's up to you, squire. Is there any lighting down there?'

A torch was produced. The access was off the main entrance hall, down a curving flight of steps and through a couple of rooms used by the staff.

Someone had pinned a notice on the door stating 'POLICE DO NOT ENTER.'

Diamond turned to Halliwell. 'Abandon hope, then.'

The hinges gave a sound that set the teeth on edge. He picked out the structure with the torch. Solid stone steps down. Six massive stone pillars along the centre supporting arches across the top. This was emphatically a vault. You couldn't demean it by calling it a cellar. Dungeon-solid walls without even a skylight. A flagstone floor.

Musty, too.

Halliwell said, 'Just the place for a Rocky Horror party.'

The two detectives followed the circle of light down the steps. In truth, Diamond felt uneasy. Whether it was the chill down here after the warmth, or the dark, or just the knowledge that there might be other dismembered parts of a body buried in concrete, ice-cold drops of sweat trickled down his ribs.

He flicked the torch beam across the floor, giving nothing away about his reaction to the place. 'Can you see the hole, Keith?'

They spotted it on the far side, a space between flagstones, close to a wall festooned with cobwebs thick as fishing nets. A few chips of cement lay around the edge. A pickaxe was propped against the nearest pillar.

'Don't go any closer,' Diamond warned. Halliwell had been on the point of stepping forward.

Halliwell turned in surprise. 'It's been here twenty years, sir.'

'Yes, and some daft bugger put his foot in it. We don't need another.'

Upstairs, it was actually a relief to be enveloped by the afternoon heat again.

'Ever done any concreting?' Diamond asked on the walk back along Pierrepont Street.

'Not my thing.'

'Nor mine. I'm told it's satisfying work. You shouldn't skimp the preparation. You want to make sure your hardcore really is hard. Shame when it gives way.'

As HE was an hour late getting home, he suggested a pub meal. Stephanie said it was a lovely idea and he knew right away from the look on her face that she was going to broach a difficult topic with him. He hoped to God it was not a visit from his strange brother-in-law, Reggie.

In the pub, he had to explain why he preferred plaice and chips to a pizza. Steph heard the story of the hand in the pizza

She asked, 'So will I see you on TV tomorrow appealing for information?' (

He shook his head. 'I'm in no hurry. It's not as if there s a killer on the run. Well, if there is, he'd be out of breath by now, wouldn't he?'

'You sound as if you mean to make it last.'

'There are worse places to be than the Roman Baths. Everything's laid on there. Phones, refreshments, loos.'

'Careful. You'll make me envious.'

They were strolling home across Victoria Park in the evening sun, mellow from the drink, when Stephanie finally judged the moment right.

'Something rather intriguing came in the post today. An invitation.'

'We get nothing else but invitations,' he said. 'Furniture sales, wine-tasting, Reader's Digest.'

'This is personal. Hand-written. 'At Home', it says. Next Thursday at eight.'

'At Home? What sort of party is that? Doesn't sound like the kind of bash I enjoy. Who's behind this rave- up?'

'Assistant Chief Constable Georgina Dallymore.'

'God help us.'

'I didn't know you had a woman boss.'

'She's new. She's got to be new to send out a thing like that.'

'Give her some credit. She's off to a good start if she's throwing a party for the staff,' Stephanie pointed out.

'I'm not sure if you're right about the staff. Nobody nientioned it today.' An uncomfortable thought was dawning. 'Suppose it's only us.'

'There are sure to be other people. Perhaps it's only senior ranks.'

'That's worse.'

She let him chew on that for a while, and then returned to it. 'I know you dread these social occasions, but they always turn out better than we expect. Who knows, we may get champagne.'

He rolled his eyes. 'At a police do?'

'Nice food. Music. Party games.' Now she was pushing it to absurd lengths, softening him up, and they both knew it.

With a reluctant smile, he said, 'Hide and seek. They won't see me for dust.'

'Hunt the Chief Constable.'

'Wouldn't know him if we found him.'

'Musical Chairs.'

'The top brass are good at that.'

They continued on this tack, giggling like a couple of teenagers, until Steph quietly said she would send off an acceptance in the morning. He didn't protest.

They watched the sun setting over the Mendips. 'This is how I want to spend my evenings,' he confided in a rare outpouring of candour. 'With you.'

Steph smiled to herself. This new Assistant Chief Constable had started well, putting the wind up Peter Diamond by inviting him to a party.

There were other ways of taming the beast. She put her hand up to his neck and found a strand of his sparse hair and curled it around her finger. 'Do you know what I'd like right now?'

His eyebrows lifted.

Steph looked into the distance. 'A ride on one of those swings '

'They're for kids.'

'Can you see any kids using them?'

He laughed. 'You want me to look the other way?'

'No, come over and give me a push.'

PROBLEMS NEXT morning. The man in charge at the Roman Baths was the sort of blinkered official who brought out the worst in Diamond. Probably he was low in the hierarchy. It was just bad luck that today he was the most senior in the building. 'You can't go through the staffroom. My people won't care for that one bit.'

'No, the idea isn't to go through the staffroom.'

'What do you mean?'

'We need a place to tip the rubble.'

'The staffroom?' The boss-man practically choked. 'That's out of the question. It's fully in use by the guides and the sales staff.'

'So you'll relocate them.'