seriously considered not going in at all, in spite of reassurances from the others, who came out saying it had been a doddle. She was no coward, but she felt certain John Sturr had got himself onto the panel to give her a hard time. The sadistic bastard had put himself up for this at the last minute as an act of revenge for the things she had said on Sunday night.
Hers was no pushover.
The two interviewers were in chairs over by the window, clipboards in hand. Julie Hargreaves had the kindness to smile- and she represented the police, Ingeborg reminded herself as she sat down.
It was Sturr who began, staring at her as if she were a stranger. 'Miss, em, Smith.' He made her name sound like a cheap joke. 'You're a freelance journalist according to your application, successful, earning a good living. What on earth are you doing here, sitting in front of us?'
She resisted a sharp answer. She was not going to let him goad her into a verbal fencing match that she would win, but at the cost of appearing too bolshie for the job. 'I think I'm suited to police work,' she answered evenly. 'I've seen it at close hand as a reporter, and it's a worthy occupation and a challenging one, more worthy and more of a challenge than my present job.'
'In other words you're fed up to the back teeth with journalism:? '
'I'm looking for something closer to the action, if that's what you mean, rather than reporting it.'
Julie Hargreaves said, 'That's good, but I have to say that there's a lot of report-writing in police work and some of it is extremely dull.'
'I understand,' said Ingeborg. 'I can handle that.'
Below them, in the car park at the back of the police station, some large vehicle was manoeuvring, sending a heavy throbbing noise through the open windows.
Sturr said something that was drowned by the sound.
'I'm sorry,' said Ingeborg. 'I didn't catch the question.'
He spoke it again, practically shouting. 'How do you feel about taking orders?'
A joke about waitressing popped into her head, and she popped it out again. 'There's discipline involved in every job, certainly in freelance journalism. I'm very willing to learn.'
Julie jotted something on her pad, something positive, Ingeborg hoped. Sturr, obviously unimpressed, was increasingly distracted by the engine sound from below. He leaned back in his chair and tried to look out.
Raising her voice, Julie suggested, 'Why don't we shut the windows?'
Sturr didn't reply. He continued to stare out.
Julie gave Ingeborg a sympathetic look. 'Sorry about this.'
In a move so sudden that it startled both women, Sturr stood up and said stridently, 'What's going on? God, that's my Mercedes they're moving. There's a towaway truck being hitched to my car.' He pulled the window open wide and shouted, 'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? That's my car.'
Julie Hargreaves got up to look out.
Ingeborg remained seated, conducting herself as well as she could in the strangest interview she had experienced.
'I'm going to sort this out,' Sturr said. White-faced, he turned with such force that he knocked over his chair and sent it sliding across the floor.
Ingeborg was aware of another movement on the far side of the room. She had not heard the door open and Peter Diamond come in.
The head of the murder squad said, 'My orders, Councillor. I want the car examined.'
Sturr's voice climbed at least an octave. 'You what?'
'For traces of blood, hair, DNA, whatever.'
Ripples of tension ran over Sturr's cheeks. Then he blustered. 'You… you have no right.'
'Probably not,' Diamond agreed.
'You can't just take possession of someone's car.'
'I couldn't agree more, but I'm sure we can rely on you to cooperate and let us have the keys. I don't think you'll be using the car for some time, sir. You've got questions to answer.'
'What about?'
'The deaths of two people-Jock Tarrant, in September, 1982, and Peg Redbird, on Thursday of last week.'
'This is totally out of order.'
'Yes,' said Diamond. 'I'm sorry to interrupt the interview, but I'm sure DI Hargreaves can make the right decision on her own.'
Sturr said loftily, 'I shall bring this to the attention of the Assistant Chief Constable.'
'I've just spoken to her,' Diamond said, 'and got her backing. I showed her these.' He held up a transparent bag. 'A couple of tiny screws that we found among the ashes in your garden.'
'You've been in my garden?'
'Just left it. I'm no antiques expert, but these screws are not modern, I'm sure of that. They're all that is left of Mary Shelley's writing box. You got rid of all the other metal fitments. Destroyed all traces, except for these.'
Sturr shook his head. 'Why should I-?'
'It was the box that linked you to the killing of the young man Tarrant in the vaults of the Roman Baths.'
Sturr switched from taking offence to refuting the charges. 'Two rusty screws from a garden don't prove anything.'
'You're right,' said Diamond. 'That's why I want your car examined for evidence that you moved Peg Redbird's body from the place where you killed her.'
'I didn't-' He stopped.
'You didn't use the car to move the body,' said Diamond. 'Right?'
Sturr was silent.
'Either you had some other means of moving it or you attacked her close enough to the river to drag her there and throw her in.'
'You're talking through your fat arse,' Sturr snapped back at him. 'You know I wasn't with the woman the night she was killed. I was at the same party as you, man. You saw what time I left.'
'Around a quarter to eleven.'
'And she'-he flapped his hand towards Ingeborg-'was with me. We drove back to my house, and she was with me all that night.'
Diamond exchanged a brief look with Ingeborg, still seated impassively in the candidates' chair. 'Yes, Miss Smith and I have spoken about this alibi of yours. You get in, and there's a message on the answerphone requiring you to call New York for the next forty minutes, while your guest is left listening to pop music and drinking champagne. Your house on Lansdown Road can't be more than five minutes from Noble and Nude. Forty minutes is more than enough for you to meet your victim, hit her over the head and dump her in the Avon.'
Sturr said tautly, 'She told you this?'
Diamond nodded, 'And I'm not surprised you couldn't get your end up after that.'
'Bitch!' Sturr took a stride towards Ingeborg, grabbed her shoulder and swung his fist at her face. The blow would have split her mouth and knocked out some of her teeth had not Diamond reacted fast. He grabbed the raised arm and twisted it sharply behind Sturr's back.
The councillor cried out with pain. Diamond steered him back to his chair, thrust him into it and stood over him.
When his breathing allowed, Sturr said, 'That lying bitch wants to frame me.'
'You made no calls to New York that evening,' Diamond said. 'I had your line checked. The only call was a short one at six ten to Peg Redbird. No prize for guessing what that was about.'
'Oh?'
'You were setting up the meeting that was to be her execution. The reason Peg had to die is that she was the only person who could link you to the killing of Jock Tarrant all those years before. She remembered who sold her the writing box.'
At the mention of Tarrant, Sturr went silent, his eyes lowered. He was not the sort to roll over and tell all. He would protest his innocence all the way through the legal process, admitting nothing, insisting on having a solicitor beside him when they questioned him formally, but the fight had gone out of him. He knew he would go
