'This simply isn't on.'
'It's easier than relocating us,' Diamond pointed out, as if his team already occupied the place. 'You don't want my people shifting barrowloads of rubble through the entrance hall where the public come in. Even if you put down ground-sheets, the dust is hell.'
In tourist attractions, the paying public take precedence over everyone else. Diamond won this round. It was agreed that a temporary staffroom would be found.
'Another thing, sir. How far back do your records go?'
'Which records?'
'Records of building work. At some point in the past twenty years, somebody did some concreting in the vault. I presume they used materials brought in for building projects. Do you follow me?'
'I'm not optimistic.' That scarcely needed saying. The wretched man was looking suicidal after giving away the staffroom. And if he didn't put a gun to his head, the union would tear him to bits.
'When did the last major excavation take place?'
'Before my time. About 1982 to 1983, when they opened up the area under the Pump Room.'
'Obviously there was rebuilding associated with the work.'
'I expect so.'
'And it's possible the vaults were used for storage?'
'I suppose so.'
'And they must have been used on other occasions since? All the contractors and all the dates, then. And I'll need to see the paperwork myself.'
'This is extremely disruptive.'
'Disruptive is my second name, sir.'
With heavy sarcasm, the boss-man said, 'Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do for you?'
It was unwise. The big detective didn't hesitate. 'Now that you mention it, there is. You can fix it for me to use the Pump Room for tea breaks.'
Reddening, the wretched man said, 'I'm afraid that isn't possible. The caterers are independent of the museum.'
'So how does it work?' Diamond breezed past that obstruction. 'Don't tell me you never eat in there.'
'I might occasionally, when it's necessary to look after an important visitor, but it isn't a regular arrangement. I eat outside.'
'That's your choice.'
'Yes.'
'I won't insist that you join me.'
Down in the vault, the Scene of Crime team had already installed arc-lighting and were taking photographs. The SOCO in charge confirmed that the place had been used at some time by builders. He showed Diamond some sacks that had contained cement. Tests would establish whether it matched the cement found surrounding the skeleton hand.
'You'll be digging up the rest of the floor, no doubt, looking under the flagstones,' he said to Diamond.
'Personally, no.'
'You'll keep us fully informed of what you find, won't you, sir?'
'From hour to hour,' Diamond promised. 'You'll get no rest.' He went up to see if the Pump Room was open yet.
To the strains of Kismet from the Pump Room Trio, he had coffee in there with the security man who had dug up the hand, a Pakistani immigrant refreshingly pleased to be assisting the police. The concrete was crumbly, he cheerfully assured Diamond. It would be easy enough to dig out other bits of the corpse.
LATE THAT afternoon, sheer bad luck dictated that Diamond and the new Assistant Chief Constable appeared at opposite ends of a corridor in the Police Station. As they approached each other dismay was written in Miss Dallymore's eyes. Oh my God, here is one of my senior officers, and I can't remember his name. I must brazen my way through it. Let him think I recognise him, that I am actually looking for him.
'Ah, just the man.'
'Ma'am?' Diamond could not avoid this, embarrassing as it was on both sides. Being subordinate to a woman was not the problem; it could have happened with anyone new.
'You're going to tell me you're terribly busy, I dare say.'
'No more than usual.'
'That's good, because I had you in mind for something.'
'Yes?'
'The PCCG.'
Sets of initials were his blind-spot. He wasn't sure if the PCCG was some form of honour, or something to be avoided like the plague. 'Me in particular, ma'am?'
'With all your experience…' The ACC smiled, as if the rest could be left unsaid. Georgina Dallymore had a disarming smile. Diamond would probably have thought her a good-looking woman if he could have ignored her shoulder-flashes. 'With all your experience…' did begin to sound like recognition.
'What I've done is nothing exceptional,' he said modestly.
'You'll do splendidly. They're lucky to get you. It's at the Meeting Room in the Victoria Gallery, seven on Wednesday evening. Tell Helen you'll be representing us, and she'll let you have the paperwork.'
These were hammer blows.
Helen, the ACC's personal assistant, enlightened him. The PCCG was the Police and Community Consultative Group, a talking-shop with representatives of local residents' associations, the Council, the City of Bath College, the Racial Equality Council, Victim Support and similar groups.
'You'll want an agenda and the minutes of the last meeting,' Helen said, opening a drawer in her desk.
'Does it say what time they finish?'
She turned to the back page of the minutes. 'No, it isn't mentioned here.'
'Just my luck.'
'Why don't you ask Chief Inspector Wigfull? He's a regular on this committee.'
'Wigfull? That's all I need.'
John Wigfull was the ultimate infliction. A high price to pay for stepping into a corridor at the wrong moment.
four
A PATCH OF SUNSHINE lingered in one corner of the garden of the Royal Crescent Hotel, where Professor Joe Dougan ordered pre-dinner drinks. He and Donna were with their new friends from Zurich. They had met Marcus and Anne-Lise Hacksteiner in the outdoor heated plunge pool the previous morning. Few situations are more likely to get a conversation going than sitting toe to toe in a small round pool.
The Hacksteiners had been to a matinee at the Theatre Royal. 'It was a whodunnit,' said Anne-Lise, speaking English as if she had lived here for ever. 'And rather well done.'
'Did you guess the murderer?' Joe asked.
'Anne-Lise doesn't guess,' said Marcus. 'She likes to analyse the plot and arrive at the logical solution.'
'And did you, Anne-Lise?'
'Oh, yes.'
'Get away!'
'But my logic was different from the logic of the writer.'
Joe Dougan wasn't sure how seriously to take Anne-Lise. She didn't smile much. 'You mean you picked someone else as the killer?'
'She insists her solution was superior,' said Marcus. 'Probably it was. I don't have that kind of brain. I took a wild guess.'
