'Right,' came the response, so low key that it sounded to Halliwell like a putdown. 'Now we need to know if they keep records on their students. Well, of course they must. Try the chemistry department. See if there's anything in Sturr's file about vacation work.'
Unfortunately there was not.
'Let's think a bit,' said Diamond. 'There's another way to find out if he worked on the Roman Baths. There must be.'
'We've been through this before, sir,' Halliwell reminded him. 'We tried the Trust, the building firms. No joy at all.'
Diamond stared ahead.
Halliwell waited, consoled only by the knowledge that in this sort of impasse, his obstinate, boorish boss was capable of brilliance.
'Okay,' the big man said after some time. 'Get on to the chemistry department again. Ask about references.'
'I already did,' said Halliwell, disappointed. 'The professor did write a couple for him when he applied for jobs, but there's no mention of holiday work.'
'That isn't the point, Keith. Who were the references for?'
Halliwell frowned.
'If we find out who he worked for,' Diamond went on, 'they may have his job application on file. A student applying for his first job had damn all to put down except exam results. Work experience would help pad out the form.'
Halliwell grinned, liking it. 'I'll try them again.'
And Diamond's persistence paid off. In August, 1984, the chemistry department had supplied a reference on John Sturr for a stone-cleaning firm called Transform. The records showed that he had got the job and stayed with them for three years. Better still, Transform were still in business. They had kept Sturr's records, and his original application listed various vacation jobs, among them construction work at the Roman Baths in July and August, 1982.
'Got him!' said Halliwell, flinging up his arms like a golfer at the eighteenth.
Diamond shook his head. 'Not yet, Keith.'
thirty-six
PROMPTLY AT FIVE TO seven John Sturr arrived at Manvers Street spry and smiling for the recruitment interviews. He was welcomed by the Assistant Chief Constable and introduced to Julie Hargreaves. 'This should be straightforward, shouldn't it?' he said. 'How many are there?'
Julie said she thought there were eight candidates. It was agreed that about ten minutes would be sufficient for each interview. Before going in, Sturr asked Georgina if what he had heard was true: that a man had just been brought in for questioning about recent serious crimes.
'I'm happy to confirm it,' Georgina said, 'and we've charged him.'
'So soon?'
'He confessed.'
'To everything?'
'To assaulting DCI Wigfull. It's enough for us to hold him. There's a lot more to come out.'
'Did you discover why…?'
'He's an art forger. It all stems from that.'
'Forgery,' said Sturr, flushing at the word and then recovering his composure with several nods of the head, as if to confirm a melancholy truth. 'Now I understand. I was able to provide some crucial evidence from my own collection.'
'We appreciate your help, John.'
'Little enough. Be sure to pass on my congratulations to your man Diamond.'
'Diamond? I don't know where he is at this minute,' said Georgina. 'Probably down in the cells with the suspect.'
But he was not. Unknown to Georgina or anyone else except Keith Halliwell, who was with him, Peter Diamond was on his way to Sturr's house in Lansdown Road.
THE CANDIDATES were assembled in a waiting area at the end of a corridor, five men and three women, among them Ingeborg Smith. A uniformed sergeant was with the group, doing his best to allay last-minute jitters. This was just a preliminary interview, he explained. The selection would be based on a series of assessments including practical exercises overseen by serving constables. No single element in the process was a 'pass' or 'fail'. This evening's interview was meant to be a two-way process, a chance for them to have their questions about the police answered. They should feel relaxed about it.
Nobody believed him.
'Who are they-the interviewers?' one twitchy young man asked.
'A detective inspector-female-DI Hargeaves, from Headquarters, and a lay person, Mr Sturr, who serves on the Police Authority.'
Nothing else was said about Sturr, but as soon as the sergeant had gone, Ingeborg hurried away to the ladies' room.
DIAMOND TRIED the side gate and found it bolted. 'Over you go, Keith.'
Halliwell was halfway over when Diamond added, 'Watch out for the Rottweiler.'
Halliwell froze.
'Joke. Just jump down, open up and let me in.'
Sturr's garden was large, with mature fruit trees and a well-tended lawn, too well-tended to be of any interest to Diamond. 'The vegetable patch at the end looks promising,' he said, striding across the lawn.
'Promising what, sir?'
'Evidence, Keith. Everything up to now is circumstantial.' He started up a paved path between rows of runner beans and onions, heading for the garden shed at the end. 'Right. Spades and a sieve.'
'Has he buried it?'
'If he has, it will take more than you and me to find it. No, I picture this as more of a cremation than a burial. We're looking for ashes.'
They found a heap reduced to whitish powder under a wire mesh incinerator behind the rhubarb in a corner of the vegetable garden. Halliwell stooped and felt the texture of some of the ash between finger and thumb. 'This won't tell us much.'
'Get some on your spade and put it through the sieve.'
He obeyed.
Diamond gently shook the sieve and picked at the few fragments remaining. They disintegrated in his hand and fine ash wafted up and settled on his suit.
Halliwell was resigned to a wasted trip. 'Do you want me to go on?'
'That's why we're here.'
'Isn't this a job for forensic?'
'In the first place, I can't ask forensic to climb over Councillor Sturr's gate. In the second, there isn't time. I want a result now.'
'I meant we don't have the facilities.'
'You don't need facilities to find bits of metal in a heap of ash.'
There was no response from Halliwell. The mental leap was more than he could make.
'The lock, the hinges.'
'Ah. Wouldn't he have destroyed them?'
'Like as not, but he must have missed something. Maybe as small as a screw. Try another spadeful, Keith.'
THE ORDER was alphabetical and Ingeborg was the last candidate to go in. The wait had been stressful. She
