the painting in her hands.
“My, that’s a picture!” Stella said. “Such colours. What a bright blue sea. That
A nod.
“And this yellow part must be the sand. Is this you on the sand?”
Haley shook her head.
“Are you in the picture?”
She placed her finger on one of the figures.
“Of course, it has to be you. Is that a ball in your hand, or an extra large orange?”
“Frisbee.”
She hadn’t clammed up completely. This had to be encouraging.
“So it is. Silly me. It’s too big for a ball. Did you play with the Frisbee on the beach?”
A nod. This was chipping at stone, but it had to be done.
“Who did you play with?”
“Don’t know.”
“Some other children?”
Another nod.
“And while you were playing, where were Mummy and Daddy?”
The tiny forefinger pointed to two stick figures on the band of yellow, with circles for heads, a scribbled representation of hair and rake-like extensions on the arms for hands.
“So they are. But they seem to be lying down. Didn’t they stand up to look for you when you were lost?”
“Don’t know,” Haley said, with logic. If she was lost, she wouldn’t have known what her parents were doing.
“I expect they got worried because they couldn’t see you.”
The child felt for one of her bunches and sucked the end of it.
“So where were you?”
She was silent.
“Haley, no one is angry with you. I’m sure you can help me if you really try to remember what happened.”
Haley took her hand away from her mouth and pointed once more to the picture, to the figure of herself with the Frisbee.
Stella said, “That’s you, of course. And these are children, too. You were playing with them, were you? That must have been a lot of fun.”
The comment disarmed the child and triggered the best response yet. “A girl I was with got hit in the face by the Frisbee and she was bleeding and crying and stuff, so we all went up to the hut where they’ve got bandages and things. Then the other girls went back to their mummy and I was lost, and the man found me and I went back to Mummy, and Daddy wasn’t there.”
Stella did her best to recap. “Who was the man who found you?”
“Him with a whistle and red shorts.”
“The lifeguard?”
“Mm.”
“Silly me. I understand now.”
Haley pointed again, to a horizontal figure immediately above the parents, half over the blue band representing the sea. “That’s the dead lady.”
“How did you know she was dead?”
“Daddy said so.”
“So Daddy came back?”
“I seed the lady lying on the beach and she wasn’t moving and the sea was coming in and I thought she was asleep and Daddy went to look and said she was dead and got some men and carried her off the beach. It’s not in the picture.” She’d answered almost in a single breath.
“So before this, Daddy must have been somewhere along the beach looking for you?”
“I’spect so.”
“Did Daddy know this lady?”
“Don’t know.”
“I believe you told Miss Medlicott he was with her.”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean by that?”
“He was with her. I told you.”
“Do you mean when he went to see what was the matter with her?”
She nodded.
“Daddy looked at the lady, did he? And got some help? Did you notice who helped?”
“Some men.”
“The lifeguard-with the red shorts?”
“I think so.”
“Did you remember the other men? What were they like?”
“Pictures on them.”
“Their shirts?”
“No.”
“On their bodies? You mean tattoos?”
“And earrings and no hair.”
“Young men? That’s a help. You have got a good memory. Tell me, Haley, did you drive home after that?”
She nodded again.
“And did Daddy say anything about the lady?”
“He said we don’t know who she is or why she snufted.”
“Snuffed it?”
“What’s snufted?” the child asked.
“It’s just a way of saying someone is dead. Did he say anything else?”
“About e-dot questions.”
“
“They’ll keep us here asking e-dot questions.”
“
“I’spect so.”
Stella thanked the little girl, and Miss Medlicott said she could go out to play again. She sprang up from the chair, then paused and said, “Are you going to talk to my daddy?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll tell him he can be proud of you. You’re a clever girl, and helpful, too.”
After the child was gone, Stella said to Miss Medlicott, “Am I going to talk to her daddy? You bet I am-and fast.”
For much of the journey home from Bramshill, Diamond carried on a mental dialogue, telling himself to cool it, and then finding he was simmering again. It’s a blow to anyone’s self-esteem to be denied the full facts when others have them. This was not just about pride. His freedom to investigate was at stake. He’d been told, in effect, to keep out. The Big White Chief had played the innocent-lives-are-at-stake card, and there was no way to trump it.
So the official line was that the murders of Emma Tysoe and Axel Summers were unrelated. Tell that to the marines, he thought. Emma had been at work on the Summers case when she was murdered. There was a link, and he would find it. He’d root out the truth in his own way and the Big White Chief, to put it politely, could take a running jump.
But he’d heard enough at Bramshill to know he was getting into something uniquely strange. No murderer he’d
