The old lady lifted a black velvet bag from her sewing box, loosened the cord and took out a silver Smith and Wesson revolver. With a smile any other old lady would bestow on a new grandchild, she murmured, �Little beauty.� Then, slick as a gunslinger in the Old West, she twirled the weapon twice around her trigger finger, turned at surprising speed, steadied her grip with her free hand and took aim at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Three explosive bursts came not from the gun, but the corner of her mouth. She held the pose for five more seconds.

�And cut. Well done, Daisy.�

�Is that it?� the old lady enquired.

�That�s it, darling � and a very good �it,� as always.�

�Am I free to go?�

�For you, Daisy, it�s a wrap.�

Daisy Summerfield glanced up at the control room and smiled her thanks. Her contribution to another season of the TV crime series Swift was over. She handed the gun to one of the young people on the crew, who returned it to the bag and stowed it away. They�d done her a huge favour, fitting in her extra scene when the call sheet said she�d be filming again in the morning. The end of each day was supposed to be for re-shooting small mistakes, known as pick-ups. Her scene was a solo one and she had made sure she needed only one take.

She was well pleased. Instead of spending another night in the hotel, she was going home. Richmond, in Surrey, was more than two hours� drive from the Bottle Yard studios in Bristol. Vicky, the ever-reliable production assistant, would order a car and by the time Daisy had cleaned off the makeup and changed into her own clothes her driver would be waiting.

The gun-twirling trick had taken hours of practice with an imitation weapon they�d given her, a perfect replica of the Smith and Wesson. She had professional pride in getting things right. She hadn�t ever handled a firearm before getting the role of Caitlin Swift�s ex-gangster mother. The casting director had looked at her slightly arthritic fingers and asked if she was willing to take it on. �What�s the problem?� she had said. �I�m a professional. I won�t let you down.�

The first part of her career had been stage work. Only in her late forties had she started in television with a small part in Coronation Street in the days when they still filmed on the back lot at the Granada Studios in Manchester. Experience in Corrie was a badge of honour and she�d scarcely rested since. Never a starring role, but enough speaking parts to make her a familiar face and give her a comfortable lifestyle in a nice house in Surrey stuffed with period furniture. She had a collection of jewellery � the real thing � that helped to make the passing years tolerable.

She was seventy-four now and enjoying her best role ever. Viv Swift wasn�t your stock elderly mum. She was larger than life (about 30 pounds larger), hard-drinking, never without a cigarette and with a deplorable past that brought colour to every episode. Arch-criminals walked in and out of her scenes and treated her as their matriarch. Often she was ahead of her delinquent daughter in planning the next heist. And the viewers loved it. She got fan-mail from scores of elderly ladies who believed she really did know how to rob a bank and wished they had the nerve to do the same.

In real life, Daisy was law-abiding and careful of her health. She just hoped she would be fit for the next series. She hadn�t told anyone about her heart murmur. She wouldn�t have known she had one if Dr. Patel hadn�t insisted on using his stethoscope. He had said the condition wasn�t unusual as one grew more senior and let oneself go a bit (such tact: he was much too refined to use the word �obese�) and some people acquired a murmur in early life, the type of murmur that clinicians called �innocent,� and still lived to a great age. She hoped hers was innocent. However, Dr. Patel had asked her to see a consultant in case it wasn�t, and she was on a waiting list. With luck she would get her appointment and be declared innocent before the next season and no one from Bottle Yard would know.

The private car looked the same as usual, a shiny black limousine with chilled bottles of water and packets of salted peanuts stored in the armrest along with a selection of newspapers and glossy magazines, but Daisy didn�t recognise the driver, who looked rather like one of the grim-featured men she acted with, powerfully built, with damaged skin across much of his face, as if someone had thrown acid at him. He picked up her holdall and said, �I�m Gerald, ma�am. Would you like this on the seat beside you or shall I stow it away?�

The mouth moved strangely when he spoke, but the voice was liquid honey.

She looked straight into his eyes, ignoring his poor face. She wasn�t an actor for nothing. �On the seat will do nicely, thank you.� Out of courtesy she started to introduce herself and was stopped.

�I know who you are, ma�am. I�ve watched the show since it started. I�m quite a fan, in fact � honoured to have you as my passenger. Just to confirm, it�s Richmond, isn�t it?�

�Yes. Richmond upon Thames. The one in Yorkshire would be a long drive.�

His mouth twitched in what may have been a smile. Down the left side his skin couldn�t stretch at all. �It�s quiet on the roads now. I should get you home by midnight.�

She squeezed in, plumped herself into the back seat, emitted a sigh of relief and let him find his way through Bristol�s maze of streets. She hardly ever saw much of the city because most of the location scenes were shot in Bath. When they reached the motorway, Gerald spoke again. �I can make it warmer if you wish, ma�am.�

�Thank you, but it�s just right.�

�Would you care for some music?�

�No thank you,� Daisy said. �I enjoy silence. I�m perfectly happy with no sound at all.� She hoped he got the message. His remark about being a fan had sounded a warning bell. She didn�t want two hours of being quizzed about the show.

She need not have worried. The next thing she was aware of was Gerald�s silky voice saying, �Quite busy here for the time of night, ma�am.� She looked out of the window and they were already off the motorway and across the river and heading down Kew Bridge Road. Her concern about him had been unfounded. She must have slept for the best part of two hours.

She straightened up in the seat and drank some water. �Gerald, did they tell you my address?�

�The Vineyard?�

�That�s correct. I must have dozed off.� Now she was so near home, she felt she owed him something in the way of personal chat. After all, he�d said he was a fan. Speaking to the back of his head was easier than looking into the damaged face. �I tell myself I can cope with the hours they work, but I�m glad of a rest by the end of the day.�

�Aren�t we all?� he said.

�It can be as much as ten to twelve hours on set, six days a week, and that doesn�t include going to makeup. I�m up at the crack of dawn. But I wouldn�t change it for the world. And they treat me wonderfully. They have a word for us actors. They call us the talent, as if no one else has any, but they�re all wonderfully gifted people, directors, cameramen, sound engineers, or they wouldn�t last ten minutes in the job. Goodness, this is my street. You�ll see mine on the left three lampposts away.�

She unzipped her bag and felt for her purse. The company was paying the fare, but she always tipped the drivers herself. Five, at least. Ten for really good service. She took out a ten. �You�re as good as your word. It isn�t midnight yet. You can pull into the drive.�

�Beautiful house, if I may be so bold, ma�am.�

�Far too big for me really, but I can�t face the upheaval of moving.�

He drew up outside the porch. �I�ll get your bag.�

After he had helped her out, she handed him the ten.

�That isn�t necessary, ma�am. The company pays me.�

�And I�m recognising exceptional service. Please accept it, Gerald. I insist.�

He thanked her. �If I may be so bold, ma�am, I don�t think Viv Swift would be as generous as this.�

She laughed. �Viv Swift would put a gun against your head and steal your car.� She had her house key ready. �Good night, then.�

�Where would you like the bag?� He had a way of clearing his throat before suggesting anything extra. �I can carry it upstairs if you wish.�

Heavens, no, she thought. No, no, no. He thinks I�m Viv, ever on the lookout for a stud. �How kind, but just inside the door will do. I can manage perfectly well now.�

After he�d gone, Daisy closed and bolted the door top and bottom. Ten to one he was safe to be with, but you can never be sure what thoughts are in their heads. She made herself hot chocolate and added a dash of brandy. Her nightcap. Viv would have knocked back a neat vodka. Or three.

The holdall was still by the door where she�d left it. She�d sort the washing in the morning.

She poured herself a glass of cold water and swallowed the aspirin Dr. Patel had suggested she took each night. She was about to switch off the downstairs lights when a floorboard creaked upstairs.

Her skin prickled.

Be sensible, she told herself. It�s something to do with the central heating, with pipes and loose floorboards. But being sensible wasn�t any help because she�d been sensible enough to turn the heating off while she was away. The creak had come from another cause.

Panicky thoughts bombarded her. What if someone had got in and was ransacking her bedroom, thinking she was away in Bristol? She�d seen no evidence of a break-in, but she knew from the TV series that modern burglars had clever ways of forcing doors and windows.

For the next twenty minutes she sat in the kitchen drumming her fingers on the table, too nervous to go upstairs. How stupid is this? she told herself several times over. I can�t spend the night down here, a prisoner in my own home. It�s almost one in the morning, I�m tired and I need my sleep.

Another ten minutes went by before she thought of a solution. She would think herself into her role as Viv Swift. True, she wouldn�t have the makeup, the heels or the fire-engine-red suit with the strong shoulders, but she would summon up the inner strength she possessed when she was in character. Playing Viv was transformative.

She did have one confidence-giver. In the drawer of the kitchen table was the dummy revolver she�d used to practise the gun-spinning. She opened the drawer, gripped the gun and immediately felt stronger. She stood up and gave it a twirl. When the butt came to rest in her palm she was Vivienne Swift. The adrenalin coursed through her veins.

She turned the light off and crossed the hall. Her actions now were confident and deliberate. If you�re up there, buddy, prepare to be scared shitless. She was up those stairs faster than she would have thought possible. On the landing she paused to listen.

Nothing.

Gripping the gun with both hands and with her shoulder to the wall, she moved towards her bedroom door. It was partially open. She gave it a kick and said in Viv�s ball-breaking voice, �I know you�re there. Face the wall with your hands against it. I�m armed and coming in.�

There was no going back. She stepped inside, gun levelled in the shooter�s stance. There was enough light from the streetlamp outside to give a clear view as she swept her aim through a slow arc.

Nobody.

She crossed to the en suite and made quite sure.

Almost a disappointment, she was so hyped up.

She sighed, switched on the light, threw the gun on the bed and became herself again. Shaking her head at her own idiocy, she pulled the curtains and started thinking about the few things she needed to do before climbing into bed. Her night cream was downstairs in the holdall and so was her toothbrush, but she didn�t intend to go down for them. She�d shower and do her teeth in the morning. A quick splash at the hand basin would do for now.

She had a fresh nightie hanging in the wardrobe. She slid the door back and had the worst shock of her life. She was eye to eye with someone in a hideous grinning Guy Fawkes mask.

She drew in a huge, gasping breath and felt a blast of pain across her chest and into her neck and arms, a sensation she knew was the cardiac arrest she dreaded.

For Daisy it was truly a wrap.

Bath�s most senior detective was not impressed. �What am I supposed to say about this?� Peter Diamond asked.

�Whatever you want,� his partner, Paloma Kean, said, well used to his bluntness. They had eaten supper on trays in front of the TV.

�Swift. That�s the one set in the West Country, isn�t it? I watched one episode and switched over. Policing isn�t like that.�

�There isn�t much policing in it,� Paloma said. �Swift is a glamorous villain who comes out on top every time. Rides a Harley-Davidson, plays the field with men friends, breaks into big houses and never gets caught.�

�Like I say, it�s divorced from reality.�

�That isn�t the point, Pete. What matters isn�t the storyline. It�s what�s going on behind the scenes in real life. Don�t you think there�s something fishy, all these incidents? I know Ellie Pitcairn, who dresses the show, and she says a lot of people are worried.� Paloma�s company was the go-to source of images used by costume designers in the theatre, TV and film.

�Actors are a superstitious lot,� Diamond said. �What�s the Shakespeare they won�t mention by name?�

�The Scottish play?�

He grinned. �There you go.�

�These aren�t superstitions, matey. People have died.�

�Yes, but they�re saying it�s down to a jinx. That�s my point. They�ve had more than average bad luck and that�s all it is.�

A moment of silence followed, before Paloma said, �I agree with you in principle.�

�But?�

�What if some evil-minded person is behind this?�

He picked up the newspaper again. �Old lady discovers burglar in her house and has heart attack. Understandable. Producer dies unexpectedly. Okay, that�s unfortunate, but sudden deaths do happen. What else? A small fire, a stunt that went wrong, the climber stupid enough to be up a mountain in January and a guy who went AWOL. Most of these are outside anyone else�s control. Over how long � five or six years? The paper must be stuck for news.�

�But would you join their show?�

�No thanks. I get all the drama I want at work � and that�s from my team.�

�That�s dealt with that, then,� Paloma said. �I should have known you�d shoot the story to bits. The producer should ask you along to restore everyone�s confidence.�

�Reality check by Peter Diamond. For a fat fee and my name on the credits at the end? You�re on.�

�On second thoughts, no. You should stay well clear. I know what these luvvies are like. They�d give you merry hell.�

Despite his best intentions, Diamond was at it again. Paul Gilbert was such an easy foil. �Did you dive in and rescue her?�

�Me, guv?�

�You�re one of Bath�s finest. We don�t stand by when a life is in danger.� In truth he�d be horrified if Gilbert risked his life in the weir.

�They had a lifeguard there. It�s obligatory.�

�And the lifeguard earned his keep?�

Gilbert nodded.

The conversation got serious again. �The stuntwoman okay?�

�She didn�t look great. They called off the filming.�

�Your chance to question people.�

�I tried, but it was difficult. They were busy packing up and re-scheduling things.�

�How about the riggers? Did you see them as I suggested?�

�They don�t seem over-worried about Jake, as they call him. He hasn�t been long in the job, so they don�t know him well. Most of them have worked together before.�

�He must have some experience.�

�Not with this lot. They don�t even know who reported him missing. They say it wasn�t one of them.�

�Did you get a description?�

�Of sorts. Forty, thin, pale, dark hair going bald, with a moustache.�

�You need to question someone more senior. Is there a foreman?�

�That�s who I spoke to, Fergus Webster, the key grip.� The bit of jargon sprang easily from Gilbert�s lips and amused Diamond.

�Are they back tomorrow?�

�That�s the plan.�

�Same stuntwoman?�

�It�s her job, isn�t it, if she�s recovered?�

�They should ask the woman who plays Swift to do her own stunt.�

�I don�t think it works like that, guv.�

�What�s her name � the star?�

�Sabine San Sebastian.�

Diamond�s eyebrows gave their verdict on the fancy name. �And the stuntwoman?�

�Ann Bugg.�

�Probably the moniker she was born with, poor thing. I suppose if she stands in for Sabine she looks like her?�

�A dead ringer. I�m hoping to speak to her today.�

�She�s that good-looking?�

Gilbert flushed. �I mean as investigating officer.�

Diamond fingered his right ear lobe as if to check that it was still there. �You�re assuming there�s a traitor on the team?�

�Aren�t you, guv? You don�t believe in the jinx, do you? Someone may have bopped Jake Nicol.�

�True, but speaking to the stuntwoman isn�t the best idea you�ve had. More than likely, her fall was her own fault and she won�t welcome questions about it. We�re treading on eggs here. They�ll have read what the papers are saying and we don�t want to ramp up the paranoia. We were asked to investigate the missing rigger. That�s what you do.�

�I was thinking she might have some thoughts on how it happened.�

�This isn�t the time. Your best bet is to find out who made the call to our lot. We need to know who it was who went to the flat and what their connection is to Jake Nicol.�

Gilbert�s mouth formed a perfect O. The boss was right, as usual. �You�re still happy for me to handle this?�

�Full confidence.� Straight speaking from Diamond this time. The young man deserved his respect. He�d been tested many times over and proved his worth.

Everyone was back at the weir for a new day of filming, including the stuntwoman rescued the evening before. Ann Bugg was a true professional, willing to go again and get it right. DC Paul Gilbert also wanted to impress as a pro, back and ready for more, eager to solve the mystery of the missing rigger. He still hadn�t discovered who had called the police in the first place. Steering clear of the crew members he�d met before, he headed towards the fleet of TV trucks and vans parked along the river bank. A bunch of technicians chatted, coffees in hand, opposite the food truck.

�Jake who? Never heard of him,� was the first answer. �Got a picture?�

Gilbert was forced to admit he hadn�t. �I was hoping someone would know him.�

�You�d best speak to the grips.�

�I did and all they could tell me is he�s about forty, thin, dark-haired and with a bit of a moustache.�

�Could be almost anyone.�

�They don�t seem over concerned. I think he�s new to their team.�

�Couldn�t hack it, I daresay.�

�I don�t think he was inexperienced, or he wouldn�t have been hired.�

�The others could have given him the elbow. They�re a surly mob.�

Gilbert didn�t need telling. �I went to his lodgings and he hasn�t been back there.�

�He won�t if he jacked in the job. He�ll have left Bath by now.�

The same possibility was in Gilbert�s mind. His big opportunity as investigating officer could end with a whimper. �We don�t know who reported he was missing.�

�Housemate, I expect,� the techie said.

�He rented his own flat. I�m thinking someone from here.�

�It could be fuck all to do with work.�

�Right, but I have to start somewhere. On the day he disappeared, were you filming here?�

�No, mate. We only started here Monday. We was at the old airfield off the A46.�

�Charmy Down?� Gilbert knew the long-abandoned site of World War Two fighter operations, a bleak, exposed place north of Bath he had cycled to as a boy and hardly ever visited since. He remembered pillboxes and a ruined control tower.

�Charmy it ain�t,� the techie said. �This is heaven compared to up there. Wind, rain, thick mud. Her ladyship didn�t like it one bit.�

�The woman who plays Swift?�

�She had her motorhome up there and refused to come out one day it was blowing a gale. Typical British summer. We all froze to death waiting to see if she changed her mind.�

�And Jake Nicol was there?�

�I told you I don�t know the guy.�

�He only lasted a couple of days.�

�Can�t say I blame him.�

�I�m hoping someone has a photo of him.�

�Try the production office. Like as not, they�ll have his mugshot. We�re all in their rogues� gallery.�

�Where�s that � local?�

�The Colonnades. Second floor.�

He could walk it in five minutes. After the warning about treading on eggs, Gilbert decided he�d better check first with the boss, so he moved to a quiet spot behind the food truck and phoned in.

Diamond told him to stay put. �Between you and me, Paul, I�m looking into the other guy who went missing, the assistant producer.�

�Dave Tudor? Four years ago, guv?�

�Right, but there could be a connection. Thousands of people go missing each year, I know, but if there�s anything fishy in all the misfortunes in this show, the two who disappeared are the ones worth looking at.�

Gilbert made a sound of agreement, as if he�d already reached the same conclusion.

�This is still sensitive stuff,� Diamond said. �Keep your interest low key. We don�t want the luvvies getting alarmed.�

�They�ll have read the paper, same as the rest of us, won�t they?�

�Yes, and some nervous ones will worry, but the majority will laugh it off as a scare story made up to sell papers. However, if we take this to the next level, I want to be well briefed. That�s why I�m looking to you to dig up all you can on Jake Nicol.�

�It�s difficult without knowing what he looked like. I was told the production office have a photo.�

�Yup, it�s a chicken and egg situation. Bear with me and stay right where you are.�

Another egg metaphor. Gilbert was tempted to point out that you can�t make an omelette without breaking eggs, but he didn�t.

Paul Gilbert had spent the whole of his life in Bath without ever visiting the village with the uninviting name of Cold Ashton. He�d driven past the sign halfway up the A46 hundreds of times. What he found when he finally made the turn was a street of ancient stone houses along an exposed ridge, some of them rather grand, but no shop, no school and no pub. After riding through on his moped, he decided he hadn�t missed anything except the gorgeous view along the length of St. Catherine�s Valley.

Diamond had told him to visit Gripmasters. A half-mile up the road was a line-up of dark green trucks with the company name on their sides. Almost hidden behind them was a single-storey tin-roofed building that would have fitted better into a trading estate than a village older than the Domesday Book. He parked the moped and went in. The front office was managed by a large woman wearing a tin badge that said Hard of Hearing Please Speak Up.

Gilbert did so, twice. The second time, he seemed to be understood. He showed his ID.

�And I�m Mabel,� the woman said. �The boys call me Able Mabel.�

Don�t go there, he told himself. �I�d like a few words with the manager.�

�I beg your pardon.�

�The manager.�

�That�s me, darling,� she said. �There isn�t anyone else.� Spacing his words, he explained what he needed to know and she looked at her computer screen. �Jake Nicol is new on our books. The job with Swift is the first we�ve given him. He moved down here from London with good references and the National Rigging Certificate, experience with big companies in film and TV. HGV licence. All we could ask for. When Swift and Proud told us they wanted extra muscle we called him up. No reason to think he wouldn�t be reliable.�

�He hasn�t called in to say he�s ill or anything?�

�I haven�t heard a thing.� She grinned at her own remark and pointed to the phone. �It lights up when a call comes in.�

�He did two days with them,� Gilbert said, �and then went AWOL.�

�Alcohol?� No question she was seriously deaf.

�Absent without leave.�

�They told me. I tried calling him and got a message saying he couldn�t be reached.� She looked at the screen again. �He�s forty-two, unmarried, lodging at Fairfield Park.�

�I know. I�ve been there.�

She was being as helpful as she could. �His truck was returned at the end of the day.�

�He drove a truck?�

�One of ours. With the equipment in, scaffolding, track rails and that. My riggers take more stuff than they ever need when they�re on location.�

�Charmy Down, in this case?�

�I treat them all the same, my dear. Some of them try it on, but they soon find out I�m a married woman who won�t take nonsense from anyone.�

She hadn�t heard properly.

�Charmy Down, the old airfield.�

�Airfield? Are you talking about Charmy Down? Is that what you said? You have to speak up with me. Yes, that�s where they were filming. They�ve moved down to Pulteney Weir now.�

�Did you see him the evening he returned the truck?�

�Have a heart, darling. They finish after dark. The grips are always first to arrive and last to leave.�

�How would he have got home to Fairfield Park from here?�

�Say that again, would you?�

He did so.

�There�s no need to shout. Just don�t mumble. They park their own transport here while they�re working. If you look up the far end, you�ll see some private cars and motorbikes. His blue Vespa isn�t there now.�

He�d learned as much as he was likely to get from Able Mabel. He wrote down a number to call if she got any news of Jake.

On the moped again, not much wiser about the missing rigger, he started back towards Bath on the A46. Charmy Down was only two miles down the road, so it made sense to visit the place where Jake had last been seen alive. As a boy, Gilbert had gone there a few times to fly model aircraft with friends. He�d heard that Beaker people from the Bronze Age had been the first to live here, but the barrows had been levelled in 1940 when the Ministry of War had taken over and constructed a base for the night fighters of 87 Squadron. The old airfield was on a plateau about 600 feet above sea level with a main runway almost a mile long. The RAF had given up the place soon after the war.

He�d visited there only once since his childhood, as a police officer, to help deal with a rave. The enterprising youth of Bath and Bristol had managed to get a generator up there, a sound system, stages and strobe lighting, not to mention a supply of illegal substances. Complaints about the noise in the small hours of Sunday morning had come in from seven miles away.

Silence reigned now. The exposed landscape made the airfield a desolate and windswept scene. Gilbert wished he�d asked where exactly the TV shoot had taken place.

He dismounted and followed the fence along the southwest side until reaching a grey stone block with an inscription like a memorial. He hadn�t heard of much loss of life in action and there were no names on it. The stone turned out to be a recently erected memorial to the airfield and all the units and personnel who had served here. These, he knew, included members of the American Air Force, based here in 1944 before the D-Day invasion. For many years after the war, US veterans would visit to see where they were once stationed.

Until the Americans arrived, this had been a night fighter station. One of the main perils wasn�t the Luftwaffe; it was the feature Gilbert had admired from Cold Ashton. St. Catherine�s Valley was notorious for updraughts that bedevilled the landing approach for the main runway. So many casualties occurred that the pilots called it Death Valley. Up to twenty aircrew were killed in training battling those air currents. In comparison, the number who died in action against the enemy was seven.

An older relic than the memorial was one of the pillboxes he remembered from his visits here as a boy. He climbed on top for a better view. The runways were grassed over now, hunting territory for flocks of birds. To his left was the control tower, a derelict four-square, two-storey structure with a small viewing tower on the roof. He guessed this might have appealed to the TV director as an image, so he wheeled his moped in that direction.

On the turf ahead was a cross-hatch of recent tyre tracks made by heavy vehicles. Spinning wheels had made ruts of mud that convinced him this was where the TV transport had parked, not right up against the control tower, which would have spoiled the shoot, but thirty yards away.

He gave himself a virtual pat on the back. His deductive skills were coming in useful. You don�t get to be the investigating officer without noticing stuff like that.

The tower was in a poor state, with every window smashed and parts of the brickwork gone. Even so, it conjured thoughts of Hawker Hurricanes and Westland Whirlwinds revving up, barrelling along the flare-lit runway and taking off into the night sky to do battle with the Luftwaffe.

His thoughts had a sudden interruption � the sound of barking. What could a dog be doing out here? There wasn�t one in sight.

It could only be from inside the control tower. If there was a dog, there might also be an owner. As investigating officer, Gilbert knew where his duty lay.

A disturbing memory from his childhood surfaced. Caught in a narrow alleyway, he had been attacked and bitten by a spaniel that was probably as terrified as he had been.

From the deep pitch of the barking, this animal was no spaniel. It must have heard him coming.

He couldn�t shirk it.

The entrance was above ground level, up some steps. The door was long gone. The barking had stopped, as if the dog was listening. It could be lying in wait, ready to leap on him.

Gilbert decided it would be a mistake to creep upstairs. Better to announce his presence. He reached the first step and shouted, �Anyone there?�

Another outbreak of barking and quite an echo with it.

�All right, all right,� Gilbert said, feeling anything but all right.

The dog hadn�t yet appeared at the doorway. Gilbert mounted more of the steps, repeating the same words of reassurance. He was hoping his friendly tone would make an impression.

He crossed the threshold.

And heard growling, a low, vibrating note of menace, definitely from inside the building. Surely any dog guarding its territory would have made an attack already.

Could it be tied up? Or trapped?

He was in the main passageway, getting accustomed to near darkness. On each side were open doorways to rooms whose original purpose he could only guess. The one to his right was empty except for some disconnected wires and cables. Probably the communications officer using a teleprinter would have been housed on this level.

He checked the next.

Empty.

The main control room would have been upstairs for better views of the sky, but he didn�t think the sounds had come from above.

The growling had stopped � or had it? He thought he could hear something from a room to his left. He took a step forward, felt his foot strike some piece of rubble. The sound was answered at once by a bark from the room opposite.

No dog would wait so long to check on an intruder. It had to be tethered. Gilbert repeated those hollow words, �It�s all right,� stepped across the passageway and looked inside.

The biggest dog he had ever seen hurled itself at him, teeth bared and snarling.

He went rigid with shock.

By a few inches he escaped having his throat torn open.

The dog had reared up to head height, forced to its hind legs by the length of the rope that held it.

From the darkness behind, a voice said, �Caesar. Sit!� The other end of the rope was gripped by a man with a white beard of biblical size. It was difficult to see much else. He was on the floor wrapped in a grey blanket.

The dog heard the command and flattened itself to the ground, still growling.

Gilbert managed to find words. �What are you doing here?�

�I�m entitled to ask the same question,� an educated voice answered, �allowing that I was here first and didn�t send you an invitation. Quiet, Caesar.�

Caesar heard and cut the growling.

�If you want to be friends with us, show him the back of your hand. The back, not the palm. Not the fingers, absolutely not the fingers. When he�s caught a whiff of you, he�ll calm down.�

Gilbert was doubtful, but it mattered awfully to humour the dog�s owner. He extended his right hand to within a yard of what he judged as the limit of the rope.

Panting mightily, but without more barking or growling, Caesar stood again and strained to reach him. Gilbert withdrew his hand and swayed back.

�Steady,� the man said � and he was speaking to Gilbert, not the dog. �It�s not good to show fear. Once he�s pressed his wet nose to your skin, he�ll be your friend for life. Who are you, anyway?�

�I�m Paul Gilbert.� This wasn�t the moment to reveal he was with the police. �What breed is it?�

�I can�t tell you. There�s some Great Dane for sure and some Rhodesian ridgeback and I suspect a dash of Pyrenean mountain dog gives him the shaggy look. The united nations in a pooch. I acquired him two years ago from some unfortunate whose wife delivered an ultimatum: dog or divorce. He�s interested in you. A few inches closer and we�ll have some peace.�

There was such certainty in the instruction that Gilbert believed it. He plucked up the courage to reach out again.

Another urgent reminder. �Fingers tucked in.�

He made a fist, offered the back of his hand and felt the touch of damp � and not only from the nose. A warm, slobbery lick completed the inspection.

Exactly as promised, the huge dog became docile, returned to its owner and squatted beside him. Crisis over.

�If you�re looking for a place to doss down, I suggest you try the officers� rest room upstairs,� the man said. �Every room is draughty, but that�s got the best views.�

�I�m not here to doss down.�

�Why disturb us, in that case?�

�I heard the barking and came in to see if the dog was in trouble.�

�How civil. I�m sure he appreciates your concern.�

�You live here?� Gilbert asked.

�A temporary guest. I don�t stay anywhere for long. Tomorrow we�ll head down the hill into Aquae Sulis for what�s left of the tourist season.�

�Have you been to Bath before?�

�Every summer for at least ten years. I come here for the history, the architecture, the civilised living and, best of all, the coins that drop into my tin mug.�

�You�re a traveller?�

�On the whole, I prefer gentleman of the road. I�ve been called everything from crusty to scrounger. Governments do their best to demonise us because we�re a comment on their failed policies. Like the polar bear, I�m one of an endangered species.�

Now that his eyes were getting used to the poor light, Gilbert could see the evidence of what he�d heard: a vintage coach-built pram to his left heaped high with objects useful to a tramp, like a folded groundsheet, frying pan and billycan. Yet the man talked as if this was the Athenaeum Club.

Gilbert asked how long he had been living like this.

�I lose track. I�m a Londoner originally. My business went into liquidation soon after the collapse of Lehman Brothers. We were starved of finance. How long ago was that?�

�I�m not sure,� Gilbert said.

�There you are. You�re halfway to throwing off the shackles like me and finding freedom beyond the reach of broadband.�

�No chance.�

�You could become a free spirit. �Over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier, over park, over pale, thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere.� A Midsummer Night�s Dream.�

A tramp quoting Shakespeare. Gilbert was lost for words.

�How are your feet?� the gentleman of the road asked. �You need healthy feet and a sturdy pair of boots. What are you wearing � trainers? They�ll soon get holes.�

�I�m trying to tell you I�m not a traveller,� Gilbert said. �I�m just visiting the airfield.�

�Out for an afternoon walk?�

�Something like that.�

There was a pause for thought.

�Are you about to tell me I�m trespassing on Air Ministry property?�

�I believe the land is privately owned now.�

�That�s all right, then. The owners won�t begrudge me resting up for a few days. They must have taken a fat fee from the television people.�

Gilbert�s interest quickened. He might have found a witness. �Were you here while they were filming?�

�I was very accommodating. I waited for them to finish before I moved in. I�ve stayed here often, you see. I always try for a roof over my head at night, be it an empty house, garden shed or barn. And I leave the place as I found it. Point of honour.�

�Did you watch the TV people at work?�

�Why should I? There are better ways of spending one�s time.�

�Such as?�

�Foraging for nature�s bounty.�

�Mushrooms?�

�Much more. Nuts, berries, edible plants of many varieties. Wounded pheasants I put out of their misery. Eggs, when I can find them.� He winked. �The occasional past-its-sell-by from the bins at the back of Tesco.�

Now that he had someone to listen to him, the man wouldn�t stop talking. Let it flow, Gilbert decided. Humour him and he may come out with the information I want. �What does Caesar live on? He wouldn�t enjoy that stuff.�

�Don�t have any concerns about him. When he�s hungry, he puts on his dog-at-death�s-door performance, lying flat on the ground with his tongue hanging out and ribs showing and people arrive with tins of dog food. There�s a brand called Cesar and they think it�s amusing to bring him his own signature product. I could get jealous. I�m getting a permanent stoop from carrying his supplies.�

Gilbert got the interview back on track. �Did the TV crew leave anything behind?�

�Not even a bottle of water. They cleared up everything and took it away in their vans.�

�Were you watching when they packed up?�

�I observed from a distance. I can�t think why you�re interested.�

Gilbert decided he�d better front up. �I�m DC Gilbert, from Bath Police, investigating a missing person, one of the crew from the TV unit. I didn�t catch your name.�

�I didn�t offer it.�

�Do you mind telling me?�

�It�s no secret. Everyone calls me Will.�

�But you have a surname?�

�Legat. I�m William Legat, which gets corrupted to Will Leggit. Groan if you like. You won�t be the first. A policeman, you said? I like the police. I like the bed and breakfast you offer wandering men like me, but I doubt whether I can help with your investigation.�

Caesar made a whimpering sound and turned to stare at his owner. Maybe the word �breakfast� had done it.

�You watched them leave, then?� Gilbert pressed on, increasingly hopeful he�d found someone who could help. �What time would this have been?�

�Young man, one of the joys of this mode of existence is that I don�t carry a timepiece.�

�Late in the day?�

�You don�t give up, do you? Of course, it was late. They�re on a budget. They cram as much as possible into the day so that they don�t need to come back tomorrow. They work until the light goes and the poor devils left to do the clearing up are there for an hour or two longer.�

�It was dark?�

�Becoming so. I do remember that the last truck had the headlights on when he drove off.�

�About nine, then,� Gilbert said, more to himself than his informant.

The dog started whimpering, pathetic sounds for an animal his size.

�And now we must deal with more pressing matters,� Will Legat said, and lowered the blanket and reached for a pair of mud-encrusted boots. �Caesar is asking to go outside. All this excitement.�

�I�ll come with you.�

�You won�t. We�re very fastidious about such things. How would you like it if I followed you into the bathroom?� He pulled on the boots without troubling to lace them.

Caesar was now at liberty, waiting patiently in the doorway, the rope dangling from his collar and across the floor.

Gilbert had tensed, but the dog had other matters in mind.

Legat got upright more easily than Gilbert had expected and at once it became clear he wasn�t the decrepit old man he�d seemed sitting down. He looked to be in early middle age, broad in back and shoulders, certainly strong enough to manage a large dog.

�How tall are you?� Gilbert asked.

�Six two in my socks, according to my tailor.� A joke. He was in a black shirt frayed at the cuffs and combat trousers fastened with a macho-looking belt with D-rings from which hung two large bunches of rusty keys, a bottle-opener and a jackknife. �Oblige me, if you would, by staying here and guarding my things.�

Would anyone want to steal them? Gilbert mused, and kept the thought to himself. He stood aside, uneasy at having surrendered the initiative, but pleased of a few minutes to work out whether there was anything else a competent investigating officer should ask a witness. He heard the leather boots clump along the corridor and down the steps.

Looking about him, he knew what his boss would do to fill the few minutes. Diamond would inspect the contents of the pram and the rucksack in the far corner, making certain Legat was everything he claimed to be.

Gilbert stepped across and felt the weight of the rucksack. Heavy, for sure. He heard the clank of tins when he moved it. But he lacked the ruthlessness of Peter Diamond. Opening it would be an invasion of privacy he couldn�t justify to himself. Will Legat wasn�t under suspicion. Their exchange of background information was off to a good start. He wanted the man to feel confident with him.

He was about to put the rucksack back when he noticed a black leather pouch on the floor underneath. Several other odd items were scattered in the corner, two six-inch spanners, some lengths of yellow Kevlar tether, a coil of string and a carabiner used by climbers. He opened the pouch. Inside was another mystery, an encased pulley.

The sound of the boots returning was the cue to drop the backpack.

Caesar was first in, sniffing at Gilbert�s trainers, but in no way threatening.

�That�s better,� Legat said. �He�ll get a proper walk on the airfield later. I would offer you tea, but heating the water takes a while to organise.�

�That�s all right.� Gilbert hesitated before saying, �I happened to notice the heap of spanners and things in the corner. Do they belong to you?�

�Not guilty, officer,� came the answer. �All kinds of rubbish gets left in places like this. If you can make use of them, fill your pockets and I�ll look the other way.�

�They look like a workman�s tools.�

�Could be. Could well be.�

�I�m thinking they may have belonged to one of the TV crew.�

�I wouldn�t know about that,� Legat said with a show of innocence. �What�s there?�

�Spanners, a heavy-duty pulley that I think is called a snatch block, a carabiner used by climbers. They�re things a scaffolder would have with him. The missing man is a rigger. He builds scaffolding.�

�Ah, yes, your missing man,� Legat said. �You were starting to lose me. Are you thinking these objects belonged to him?�

�I spoke to some of his workmates and saw what they had hanging from their belts.�

�You�re making more sense now. If he wanted to quit his job, he�d discard the tools of his trade. They�re such a giveaway, aren�t they?�

Gilbert was sure some evasion was in play. �Would you mind showing me the belt you�re wearing?�

�This?� Legat hitched his thumbs inside the belt and rattled the keys. �Why? What�s wrong with it?�

�Nothing�s wrong. It looks like a rigger�s belt.�

�It�s holding up my trousers. What else would I have for keys and things? They weigh a bit. I need something to hang them on.�

�How long have you had it?�

�What do you expect me to produce, a sales receipt?� He sounded like a guilty man.

�Would you unfasten it and let me see?�

�See what, my friend? It�s obvious what it is.�

�I�ve got to insist.�

�Why? What�s this about?�

�It�s about a missing man who may have been a victim of violent crime.�

�No, no, no. That�s out of order. You can�t accuse me of violence. I�m no angel, but I draw the line at injuring anyone.�

�Then you won�t mind handing the belt over for inspection.�

�And if I refuse?�

�I�m entitled by law to use reasonable force to search you.�

�You could try. I can�t answer for Caesar if he dislikes what he�s seeing.�

A telling point. Gilbert said, a little lamely, �I can send for reinforcements.�

�You�ll look silly when it turns out that the belt is mine.�

�I don�t suppose anything you�re wearing is owned by you.�

�So? I recycle things other people discard. That�s to be applauded, is it not?�

�I�m not suggesting you stole it,� Gilbert said, to strike a more conciliatory note. �I�d like to get a closer look in case it belonged to the missing man.�

�How can you tell?�

�Well, the heap of items in the corner needs explaining. I�ll get them tested for DNA. But the whole point is that they could have been attached to the belt.�

�If you take it away for testing, what am I going to use to hold up my trousers?�

�What did you have before?�

�String.� Before the word was uttered, Legat clapped his hand to his mouth. It was obvious he�d recently acquired the belt.

Gilbert made a snap decision. �I�ll do a deal with you. You said you were planning to go down to Bath tomorrow. I�ll phone my boss and fix some transport for you. You can travel in style. In return, I�ll need the belt for forensic testing.�

�Transport for me and my dog?�

�Yes.�

�The pram and all my worldly goods?�

�I�ll ask for a van.�

�All right,� Legat said. �Improve the offer and I�ll accept.�

�Improve it? What with?�

�A night in the cells and a fried breakfast.�

Diamond had never seen anything like it. You couldn�t call it a motorhome. This was a two-storey hotel on wheels, twenty of them at least. It was the size of two furniture vans merged into one. How it had been licensed for use on British roads he had no idea. Pink and silver, with more lights mounted on the front than a Rolling Stones concert stage, it screamed swank.

Currently it was parked on private land at Milroy Court, near Trowbridge, the next Swift location.

Beside it, Ingeborg�s Ka looked like a toy. Diamond struggled out and stood shaking his head at opulence on such a scale. He�d told Ingeborg he was looking forward to meeting Sabine San Sebastian because she was one of the few people who had been part of the production from the beginning. Now he was less sure.

�How do we let her know we�re here?� Ingeborg asked. �I can�t see a doorbell.�

�She�ll have spotted us already. Haven�t you noticed the security cameras at each end?�

No one greeted them. The door was halfway along the side of the vehicle, a metre or more above ground level, and there were no steps. Diamond reached up to rap with his knuckles and got no response. He took off a shoe and banged with the leather heel.

A window on their right opened and a face with Asian features looked out. She was clearly not Sabine. �Yes?�

�DS Diamond and Detective Sergeant Smith of Bath Police needing to speak to Miss San Sebastian.�

�Sabine is in gym.�

�Pity about that. Which gym is that, ma�am?�

�Upstairs.�

�Here?� A motorhome with a gym of its own was something else.

�She must finish workout. Legs, calves, abs.�

�We�ll come in and wait.�

�You wait outside.� The window closed.

�Bloody cheek,� Diamond said to Ingeborg. But they didn�t have much choice. The vehicle was a fortress. �Greg Deans told me about the workouts. The company pays for a personal trainer for her. They must have money to burn.�

�I don�t know if you watch the show, guv,� Ingeborg said. �It�s a very active role. She needs to be in shape.�

�Doesn�t do her own stunts, though.�

�I know.�

�What a let-down for her fans,� he said, his mind already made up about this woman. �I�ve never seen anything in the credits about stunt doubles.�

�It�ll be there in the small print.�

�Very small. She�s the star. She states her own terms.� Sensing that his rant had gone far enough, he turned his thoughts to some strategy for the interview. �Everything I hear about Sabine suggests she�s a hard nut to crack. But I was told she�s superstitious and we can play on the jinx thing. It needs to be taken seriously, right?�

Ingeborg raised her thumb.

They waited another twenty minutes before the door of the motorhome slid open and a set of steps unfolded from a hidden section underneath. The minder looked out. �You are police? You have ID?�

Diamond showed his card.

�Sabine say you wait inside while she shower.�

�We can do that.� He mounted the steps.

�Remove shoes.�

When he saw the hand-painted ceramic floor tiles inside, he understood the reason and unlaced. Each tile formed part of a reproduction of an old master painting, a crowded composition of armed Roman soldiers and struggling women against a background of classical architecture.

Ingeborg had slipped off her shoes as well. They were in a lounge area with chairs and an L-shaped sofa.

�You sit.�

They sat and were left to wait.

�What�s the picture?� he asked Ingeborg.

She turned to look at the wall behind her. �I don�t see one.�

�The floor.�

�That?� she said with distaste. �Looks to me like The Rape of the Sabine Women. As d�cor, would you believe? Like it celebrates her name. Disgusting.�

Now it was Ingeborg who was on a rant, he thought. �Most of them are clothed.�

�You�re missing the point, guv.�

Minutes later, they were joined by Sabine herself. Smelling of expensive floral shower gel, in a black robe and with her hair wrapped in a red towel, she was shorter than the familiar image from TV screens. Even if you never watched the show, you knew the face. It was difficult to get through a day without those intense blue eyes looking out at you from magazine covers and computer pop-ups. The sharp, strong features were photogenic from any angle. She took the chair opposite and flipped the gown aside to display a bronzed leg. �What can I say? I�m so embarrassed, keeping you waiting. I simply wasn�t in a state to speak to anyone when you arrived.�

Disarming or deceiving? Either way, the apology was unexpected.

�That�s all right. It�s not as if we made an appointment,� Diamond said, a past master at trading charm when needed. He knew he was dealing with a role-play professional. He told her who he was and Ingeborg, too. �We hope you can help us clear up some story lines from real life that weren�t ever scripted for the show.�

�I think I know what you�re talking about,� she said after a moment�s hesitation. �As for real life, I�d better warn you I�m nothing like Caitlin Swift. Everyone assumes I�m as cool as she is and of course I�m not. The one-liners are written for me and all the action is staged. I have a stunt double who does the dangerous stuff.�

Unexpected modesty.

A compliment was wanted here. �The success of the show is down to you. You connect with your audience.�

�That�s my job. All I�m saying is don�t expect Swift-like answers from me.� She looked and sounded nervous. �I can�t think how I can help you.�

He said, �May I call you Sabine?�

�Please do. Everyone does.�

�You know more about the show than anyone because you were in it from the start. Several of the other actors have gone. Even the producer has changed. Your experience is going to be helpful, I hope.�

She slid her hands along her forearms and pulled in her shoulders, making herself smaller. �This is what they�re tweeting about the jinx, isn�t it?�

�Are they? I don�t read that stuff.�

�I do.�

�Jinx, bad luck, whatever. We�re here about the things that actually happened rather than what people are saying on social media. We�re interested mainly in two people who went missing, an assistant producer called Dave Tudor. And, more recently, Jake Nicol, a rigger.�

�I heard about Nicol absconding, but I couldn�t tell you who he is. I don�t have anything to do with the grips. They do their job and I do mine. I was told he was only with us a couple of days. But I remember Dave. That�s going back several years.�

�Four, at least.�

�The time of Mary Wroxeter, who created the show.�

The memory evoked a sigh and a sad smile. �She was brilliant, fizzing with ideas. Before she came to us, she�d had a huge success with Robeson and the Welsh. Did you ever see it?�

�It sounds familiar.�

�The one about Paul Robeson, the great African-American bass-baritone, and his love affair for Wales in the 1930s. She cast Aubrey Jones in the role, a black singer with the Welsh Opera she�d known since her student days. His voice was almost as good as Robeson�s, and it was magic. Won all the awards. You should seek it out.�

�I will, now you�ve told me. But I was asking about Dave Tudor.�

�Right. He was Mary�s AP and he needed to be good, because so much was unrehearsed and unscripted. It�s more controlled now and, between ourselves, less exciting. Dave was Mary�s mainstay, telling us actors the last-minute changes. He had to be tactful because there were times when our lines were taken from us and no actor likes that. Almost every scene was re-shot several times over and that�s stressful. Dave managed to stay popular. I don�t know anyone who crossed swords with him.�

�You�re sure of that?�

�I�m speaking from my own experience.�

�Was he also dealing with the crew?�

�Everyone. Mary wanted the extra mile from them as well. She often worked with long lenses and a single camera to get a more filmic look. Every tinpot director in the business does it now, but when she started with the Robeson series, the technique was new in television, tough for everyone from the focus-puller to the cable-basher.�

The terminology went over Diamond�s head, but he didn�t stop to ask. �Were there arguments?�

�More like undercurrents. Nothing was out in the open. Dave kept the peace. He had a really likeable personality. I don�t know where he was from.�

�Wales, I expect, going by the name.�

�I�m not so sure. There was the trace of a foreign accent when he spoke, quite sexy, in fact.�

Diamond didn�t miss an opening like that. �Did he make out with anyone?�

This got an embarrassed laugh. �Now you�re asking. Not me, unfortunately. No, I�m giving you the wrong idea. We actors talk the talk, but we�re no different from anyone else when it comes to personal relationships. He was nice to us all, and I expect that�s as far as it went.�

�He must have felt the pressure of working for Mary.�

�No question, but he didn�t let it show.�

�So was it a shock when he went missing?�

�Not immediately. We all assumed he was ill when he didn�t call in. After a couple of days, Mary sent someone to check at his flat somewhere up at Beechen Cliff.�

�Kipling Avenue.�

�Yes, and he wasn�t there. All the signs were that he�d gone out and not returned. That was when it sank in that he was missing.�

�Were there any theories?�

�The one some people favoured is that he was an illegal immigrant and thought the Home Office were on his trail, but I don�t think it was proved. The company is careful who it takes on. There�s loads of form-filling.�

�Was he reported as a missing person?�

�To the police? I couldn�t tell you. The office may have done something. We were in the middle of filming and far too busy to ask. Things move on quickly in this business. Mary needed a new assistant producer and one of the PAs had to step up and fill in.�

�PAs?�

�Production assistant. It�s a dogsbody role, running errands and making coffee. They�re learning on the job, getting experience.�

�So who got the job � Greg Deans?�

�Not Greg. He�d only just started at Bottle Yard. Candida Jones, who was far more plugged in. Candida joined as a runner after leaving school, before Swift was launched.�

A new name to Diamond. He glanced towards Ingeborg, who showed with a twitch of the shoulders that she hadn�t heard of this person either. �Is she still about?�

�I�ve no idea,� Sabine said. �She didn�t last long as Mary�s assistant. She left a year later to start a family.�

�Leaving the field clear for Greg?�

�He was well up to the job by then. He�s a quick learner.�

�He needed to be, because in � what?�� a couple more years, Mary Wroxeter died and he took over her job as producer.�

�By then, he was the obvious choice. To be fair, he does it well and makes it easier for us than Mary ever did, but she was more exciting to work with. Don�t get me wrong. Greg is a good administrator � that�s his strength and that�s terribly important, because he doesn�t need to be so creative if he brings in the talent and gives it a chance to flourish.� She was making an effort to be fair to Deans, by contrast with the way Deans had characterised her, making no attempt to hide his dislike.

�And how about you?� Diamond asked. �Do you feel secure in the show?�

The question seemed to unsettle her. She tugged at the gown and covered her leg. �What exactly do you mean?�

�This jinx. Is there anything in it?�

�I have people around me I can trust.�

�The young lady who showed us in?�

�Chen? My live-in driver, hairdresser, cook and chiropodist.�

�Doorkeeper, too, as we found out,� Ingeborg said, to lighten the mood.

Sabine summoned up a half-smile. �She�s good at that, too. It�s great to have fans, but I don�t want them calling unexpectedly.�

�Chen � is that her first name?�

�No. She�s staff. I don�t want her getting too familiar.�

�You said �live-in.� I hope she gets out sometimes.�

�Hardly ever. Her choice, not mine. Most of the TV crowd have never seen her.�

�You must have thought about all the bad luck,� Diamond pressed her, not wanting to leave the topic.

�I don�t let it get to me,� she said, and it sounded like a lie. �The paper kept badgering me for a comment and I refused to say a word. They could twist my words, couldn�t they? If you have any sort of success, they�re queuing up to knock you off your perch. A story like mine feeds people�s jealousy. There�s always a section who want you to come to grief. It�s human nature, isn�t it?�

�It gets serious if they do something to make the grief happen,� Diamond said. �Do you think someone is behind these incidents?�

�I don�t see how. Anyway, they�d have to be an insider.�

�With a grudge, perhaps because they felt they were treated unfairly?�

�Even if that were true, why would they want the whole show to suffer? No, I can�t believe that. I mean, the accident to Dan was just that � an accident.�

�Some of the other things could have been malicious. The fire.�

�That was right at the start before Swift was screened. You can�t blame that on success.�

�The elderly actress who played your mother,� Ingeborg put in.

�Daisy? She had a heart attack.�

�Brought on by finding a man in her wardrobe.�

�He was obviously a burglar. As I heard it, she returned home unexpectedly, ahead of schedule. She was supposed to be filming next morning, but they added the scene at the end of the day so she could get away. She was found dead in her bedroom and there was evidence of a break-in. Someone had hidden in the wardrobe and disarranged things. The police found her jewellery box in the garden. Nothing in it, of course.�

�Just a very unfortunate incident, then,� Ingeborg said, �but how did the burglar know Daisy was supposed to be away filming? It suggests he�d seen the call sheet.�

Sabine shuddered. �That�s a horrible thought. It means...� She didn�t finish the statement.

Diamond was ready to move on. �One other thing the paper wrote is that the person originally picked to play the part of Caitlin Swift pulled out unexpectedly.�

Sabine shook her head. �They drag in everything they can. You can�t compare that with the accidents that happened.�

�How did it come about?�

�Do you really need to know?�

�Please.�

Before saying any more, she loosened the towel, shook her damp hair, bunched it again and secured it, as if she needed time to decide how she would tell the story.

�As Mary told it to me, they weren�t looking for a name. They were confident that the punchy storyline with a female lead � a gal with crime in mind � would sell the series. They wanted a young actor with experience, but they weren�t pitching for a star. She had to have the kind of face people find attractive, obviously, and be physically strong. They cast Trixie Playfair, who had done some bit parts on Heartbeat and other things. I don�t suppose you�ve heard of her.�

Diamond would have shaken his head whatever the truth was.

�I was told she signed the contract and the pilot was written and everyone was happy and then in rehearsal she threw in a bombshell saying she wasn�t ready for a major role. Amazing. I thought it was everyone�s ambition to star in a TV series, but she panicked, poor woman.�

�And they found you instead?�

�Very quickly. I was on the original shortlist. I�d already auditioned for the part � the same day as Trixie and some others.�

�You met Trixie, then?�

�If you can call it that: taller than me, athletic, fussed with her hair a lot. I wouldn�t say we got to know each other. A few words while we sat waiting our turn to read the lines. Auditioning is a necessary evil. You�re not going to open up with someone who might beat you to the part.�

�You thought you�d been pipped?�

�Let�s face it. I was. Nobody likes rejection.�

�Then what happened?�

�A phone call. Mary and the casting director took me and my agent to lunch. They didn�t want the public to know I was only the second choice, but someone leaked it to the Mirror. Trixie had reporters badgering her for the inside story, but it didn�t make headlines because the show was only a script at that stage. Any sniff of a story now and it�s everywhere.�

�Have you spoken to Trixie since?�

She frowned as if the thought hadn�t occurred before now. �Do you think I should have done? That�s got me worried. I thought she wanted to put the whole thing behind her.�

�You�re probably right.� He�d got as much from the jinx story as he was likely to, so he switched to the most recent event. �I heard you did some filming at Charmy Down airfield.�

�I did.�

�Where Jake Nicol was last seen.�

Her look changed abruptly. With ice, she said, �You�d better not be suggesting I had anything to do with him disappearing.� For the first time in the interview they got a glimpse of the imperious Sabine.

�Did I say that?� Diamond said, up for the challenge he�d been expecting from the start.

�I was there like all the others to shoot the scenes in the old control tower.�

�You took the motorhome with you?�

�That�s what I use it for, location work.�

�Quite something, driving this monster on our local roads.�

�You�d better ask Chen about that.�

�She parked up there beside the other vehicles?�

�You have to. It�s the designated area. They don�t want the transport getting in shot. After a couple of wet nights we were in a sea of mud. I insisted they put boards down for me to walk over.�

He�d come to the question that interested him most. �When did you leave? At the first opportunity, I should think.�

She hesitated, as if she, too, knew how much her answer mattered. �The first opportunity, as you put it, wasn�t until late. I was in all the scenes, right to the end, when the light was going.�

�Then what? Did you change your costume, clean off the makeup?�

�I do that in here. If I remember right, I asked Chen to fix me a drink and a sandwich.�

�While the others were clearing up outside? Did you watch?�

�I wasn�t interested in what was going on out there. I remember checking my phone and watching some TV.�

�I�m asking because Jake Nicol must have been out there picking up bits of equipment and loading one of the vans. We believe at some point he may have been attacked.�

She blinked several times. �Really?�

�If you witnessed anything, it could be important.�

�I already told you I don�t know Jake Nicol from Adam.�

�It sounds as if you were one of the last to leave.� She gave an angry sigh. The arrogance Greg Deans had talked about was all too evident now. �What are you getting at?�

�Was it dark when you finally drove off?�

�Chen drove off. I was resting. You have no idea how tiring it is to go through a day�s filming.�

�We�d better speak to Chen.�

She shrugged. �Good luck with that. You�ll need it.�

The charm of the earlier exchanges had vanished as soon as Nicol had been mentioned. She called Chen to show them out and Diamond took the opportunity to ask the stone-faced minder whether she had witnessed anything on the last evening at Charmy Down.

He got a one-word answer.

He got the same answer to each of his other questions. Chen was as chatty as a Buckingham Palace sentry.

The only �yes� was when Diamond said, �Perhaps you�ll show us out, then.�

In the Ka, he said to Ingeborg, �Sabine was a sight more pleasant than Greg Deans led me to expect.�

�She�s an actor, guv.�

�You don�t think it was genuine?�

�Chen was more sincere than she was.�

�I must be a soft touch.�

She said nothing.

In his head, he replayed the key moments of the interview. �The charm cooled off after I mentioned Jake Nicol, I admit.�

�She couldn�t get rid of us quickly enough.�

Ingeborg�s judgements on other women were usually reliable. Sabine couldn�t be dismissed as innocent. Two of the classic murder trinity � means and opportunity � weren�t difficult to pin on her. The motive was the elusive one. She�d made sure she was fireproof by insisting she had liked Dave Tudor enough to want to go out with him. As for Jake, she didn�t know the man, scarcely noticed him. But could she be believed?

He�d asked Inge to drive them back to CID headquarters at Concorde House and they were heading west on the A420 across the valley of the River Boyd, a prettier route than the motorway. They passed through a village called Wick. �I came here once with Steph,� he said in a rare moment of nostalgia. �Wick Gorge is quite a beauty spot.�

�I know it,� Ingeborg said. �I covered a story about Jane Austen in my days as a hack. She mentioned the gorge in Northanger Abbey.�

They drove on.

�Speaking of your journalist knowhow,� he said, �I was banking on you to unlock one of the big mysteries in this jinx business.�

�The whistleblower? I haven�t given up,� she told him. �I asked an old friend who subs for the Post and she said they don�t even know themselves who it is. The story was phoned in anonymously. Someone on their switchboard made a few notes and that was all.�

�Wouldn�t they need to know their source before they broke the story?�

�Not really. Most of it was public knowledge, but no one had joined the dots. It was only when they started checking that they realised how much had gone wrong with Swift. Some of the incidents had been reported in their own pages.�

�The jinx idea would appeal to any journalist.�

�You�re right about that, guv.�

�I thought they were protecting someone. The Post don�t need to know who the source was, but we do.�

�I don�t think they can tell us any more than they have. The stuff they know is all in print.�

�There�s something useful they can tell us.�

�What�s that?�

�Was the caller a man or a woman?�

�Is this your doing?�

�Indirectly, ma�am,� Peter Diamond answered in a contrite tone. He was now at an upstairs window of Concorde House, the police building in Emersons Green. At his shoulder was his boss, Georgina Dallymore, the Assistant Chief Constable, along with most of his team. A strange scene was unfolding in the yard below. A tall, disreputable-looking, white-bearded man had emerged from a small police van. He waited for the driver to open the rear doors. Between them, they unloaded various items, an old-fashioned pram, a bedroll and a rucksack. Then a dog the size of a Shetland pony put its head out, took a long look at the yard, and jumped down.

Georgina gasped and said, �Oh my sainted aunt!�

Some of the others used more colourful language.

Georgina was outraged. �Does he think he�s coming in with that enormous animal and all his paraphernalia? He looks like a vagrant. We could get infested with fleas and heaven only knows what else. Peter, I hold you responsible for this.�

�We believe he can assist with an ongoing inquiry, ma�am. I didn�t know he was bringing everything but the kitchen sink.�

But as they watched, the pram and the other things were reloaded in the van. All except the man and the huge dog.

�Whose doing is this?�

Ratting on colleagues wasn�t in Diamond�s character. �The buck stops here, ma�am.�

�Someone must have brought them in.�

On cue, a figure on a moped putt-putted into the yard and stopped beside the van.

�Who�s that on the scooter?�

DCI Halliwell, Diamond�s deputy, said, �I don�t suppose there was room in the van.�

�Send someone down to stop them entering the building. We�re a police office, not a dog pound.�

�I�ll handle this myself,� Diamond said, spotting the chance to escape.

�You won�t.� Georgina turned to Halliwell. �You can do it.� Then, to Diamond, �In my office. Now.�

Diamond was still in anguish next morning over Georgina�s bombshell, but he pumped himself up enough to inform Bath�s detective squad about the new regime. �I�ll be circulating a list of the many interesting courses headquarters are running and you can get your applications in. Go in with the right attitude and you can have a ball. Take it from me, every course attended will look good on your CV.�

They were bemused. This wasn�t the real Diamond talking. Whatever spin he put on it, it was obvious that he wasn�t happy and neither were the team. The mention of CVs was particularly unsettling.

Keith Halliwell had a strong suspicion what was really in play. �Is this Georgina closing us down?�

Diamond didn�t answer. He hadn�t told them the clincher. That was personal and still hurt like hell. �I did the firearms course myself a couple of years ago. I say it myself, I surprised them all.�

Mental picture of a trigger-happy superintendent loosing off shots at random and terrifying his instructors.

The team couldn�t even smile at that.

Halliwell spoke for almost everyone. �If we were Greater Manchester or London, breaking up the team wouldn�t be an option. This is a great place to work, but Bath is so bloody safe. We�re riding for a fall here. When the worst thing to happen is a missing rigger, we�re really up shit creek.�

�If the crime rate was higher, they�d say we were useless anyway,� Ingeborg said.

�Exactly. We can�t win. The way I see it, they can close us down and send us all to places that are undermanned.�

�Dealing with knife crime in Manchester,� Paul Gilbert said, shaking his head and sounding like an old man.

�Which is why I�ll be signing up for the cybercrime course,� John Leaman announced.

�We�ve already got a computer expert,� Halliwell said.

Jean Sharp blushed and said nothing.

Someone needed to lighten the mood and as usual it was Ingeborg. �You want to wise up on some field of crime that makes you indispensable,� she told Leaman.

�Such as?�

�Bee-rustling.�

Nobody else spoke.

�It�s one of the fastest-growing crimes. Bath is full of beekeepers.�

Leaman picked up the list of courses and studied it again. �I don�t see anything on bees.�

�Start it. You�re world-class at mugging up a topic. We�ve all seen how you turn yourself into an expert over a weekend. You can offer this brand new course to headquarters. Call it something catchy like Plan Bee. They�ll jump at it. You bring in a couple of beekeepers as guest lecturers. PowerPoint shows. An entomologist.�

�And some bees,� Halliwell said, starting to see where this was going. Leaman was easy prey for a wind-up.

�Field trips,� Ingeborg added. �A chance for everyone to dress up in the kit and use a smoke-gun.�

�And at the end they all take home a pot of honey,� Gilbert chimed in. �People will sign up for this in droves.�

Diamond hadn�t been listening. He�d been wondering how Paloma would react to having him padding around the house all day in carpet slippers looking for yesterday�s crossword puzzle. When she�d invited him to live with her it was on the understanding that they were both busy people who met in the evenings.

His sixth sense told him the team was on a distraction exercise. He needed to get a grip. He summoned up a grim smile. �Joke over. I�ve been told to hand in your applications before the end of the month and��

A sound as unsocial as a fart interrupted him.

�Whose is it?� Ingeborg said. �Who didn�t switch off?�

Red-faced, Paul Gilbert felt in his pocket for his phone and looked at the display. �It�s the lab. I wasn�t expecting a call-back so soon. Do you mind, guv?�

Diamond shrugged and Gilbert moved to the back of the room with the phone to his ear.

�This bee-rustling,� Leaman said. �Is it on the statute book?�

He was definitely hooked.

�It comes under theft,� Halliwell said, �but you might get a law passed if you get some steam behind this.�

�Smoke,� Ingeborg said.

�Be serious,� Halliwell said. �It could be called Leaman�s law.�

Leaman�s eyes gleamed. He googled bee-rustling on his phone. �Forty thousand bees were stolen in one raid in Anglesey.�

�Didn�t I tell you?�

He was scrolling rapidly. �There are clubs all over this area: Bath, Bristol, Keynsham, Saltford, West Wiltshire.� He had to break off in mid-list.

Gilbert was back, looking as if he�d just met Hamlet�s father.

�Tell us,� Diamond said.

�They asked if we knew the rigger�s belt is heavily encrusted in blood.�

�Hell�s bells!�

�It was stained dark,� Gilbert said, wide-eyed, �and I thought that was dirt from plenty of use. They�re carrying out more tests and this is to let us know that it looks like a serious crime was committed, possibly murder. Someone was almost certainly bleeding profusely.�

�And that wasn�t Will Legat,� Ingeborg said. �He�s got questions to answer.�

�What time is it?� Gilbert said. �He�ll be in Bath by now.�

�Where?�

�North Parade Road. The law courts.�

�He wasn�t charged with anything, was he?�

�No, but they drove him there and released him.�

�We must pull him in again,� Diamond said. �He�s the prime suspect now, not just a witness. Your gentleman of the road may be no gentleman at all.� The head of CID was no longer in the doldrums. He was elated. This could be the saving of his career. ��Heavily encrusted.� That�s a lot of blood. They�re right, we could well be dealing with murder.�

�Shall we still apply for these courses, guv?� Halliwell asked.

�That�s on hold. First, we pick up Legat. You and I can take care of that. We�ll need to send his clothing and everything he owns to forensics to be tested for more blood. Did you say he had a knife hanging from the belt?�

�A jackknife.�

�Large?�

�Three to four inches.�

�Is it confiscated?�

Gilbert swallowed hard and blushed. �He was given it back to butter his toast. At first they gave him a plastic knife, but it broke.�

Diamond squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief. People make stupid mistakes, but the police were supposed to be trained to look out for trickery. �That knife has got to be tested by the lab. What age is he?�

�Forty-two, he told the custody sergeant. He�s got the grey beard, but he�s younger than he appears.�

�State of fitness? Strong enough to take on a rigger in a fight?�

�Probably.�

�Jean.�

DC Jean Sharp, the team�s online researcher, was so alert she spoke the words in Diamond�s mind before he could get them out. �A full check on Legat�s form, court appearances, prison terms, instances of violence.�

�Spot on,� he said. �Especially any links to the rigger. And, Paul?�

Gilbert, shamefaced, expected a roasting for having missed so much that was obvious. �Guv?�

�This belt. He�s supposed to have found it lying about at the airfield, is he?�

�In the mud where everyone parked.�

�It�s a heavy-duty thing, obviously. How does it fasten � a pin buckle?�

�No. A quick-release clip. You press the centre and it opens.�

�Easy to remove.�

�It would be, yes.�

�Might come off in a fight?�

�I see what you�re thinking, guv. Quite possibly.�

�Right. You�re the man who knows the airfield. It�s our probable crime scene. Get a CSI team up to Charmy Down.�

�Do you think the body�s up there?�

�We�ll find out. Let�s see how much Legat is willing to tell us.�

The change in mood was electric. Everyone was fired up again.

�I haven�t been here for years,� Diamond said.

�It�s a godforsaken place.�

It was rainy with an east wind blowing when they drove to the airfield. The few derelict buildings remaining had the look of ancient ruins. The monolith that had once been a hi-tech control tower remained standing, skeletal and sad. Bath council bulldozers had done their damnedest in 1955 to make Charmy Down inhospitable for squatters and the weather had taken care of the rest. Most of the RAF buildings, the thirteen hangars, the field maintenance shops, the ammunition pens and the Nissen huts, had been levelled, but their footings still scarred the ground. The concrete runways and perimeter track remained if you could make them out under a coating of weed and scrub.

A short distance from the control tower a scene-of-crime unit was at work in thick mud, having taped off an area rutted with tyre tracks. Paul Gilbert had been quick to get them up here.

�To you and me, this looks like a dog�s dinner,� Diamond commented to Keith Halliwell as they watched the activity from behind the tape, �but to a SOCO it�s sheer joy, all those tread marks and shoeprints.�

The stooping SOCOs in their overalls looked as joyful as lobsters in the tank at a seafood restaurant.

�What do you expect them to find, guv?�

�A body would be good.�

�I don�t see any sign of one. Do you think he buried it? Did he have a spade?�

�I was joking. These lads are professionals. They would have found a recent grave as soon as they looked.� He turned for a wider view of the landscape. �If it really was murder, he must have disposed of his victim somewhere. What are those mounds the other side of the tower � the old air-raid shelters?�

Two moss-covered concrete domes projected above ground not far off. If, indeed, they were shelters, they would have underground rooms, a simple solution to a murderer�s problem. No digging necessary, which surely would have appealed to Will Legat.

�Let�s explore.�

They wandered over to inspect one and found the entrance barred by a metal grille, secured and padlocked. No way could Legat have got inside.

Diamond wasn�t giving up. �The pillboxes. He told us he spent a night inside one of them.�

The structures along the perimeter fence had been built as a line of defence against German parachutists. They were inward-facing, with slits for machine guns. Partly submerged, they had resisted the creep of nature for eighty years, stark grey excrescences that stuck up from the hillside.

The nearest was some way across the airfield. The two detectives weren�t dressed for a field trek. It had been dry and sunny when they�d left Concorde House. Now the rain was hitting them as if by design. They took the shortest route along the grassed-over main runway and soon their trouser legs were saturated below the knees.

Halliwell kept harping on about the practical difficulties. �How would he have moved the body this far if the murder took place where we think it did?�

�Must have used the pram. You�d be surprised how well those things were built. Well-sprung, too.�

�There�d be a trail of blood.�

�There wouldn�t. A body doesn�t keep bleeding after death.�

�Even if he left other traces of some sort, we�ll never find them in this big area without a fingertip search.�

�I�m not authorising that while Georgina�s breathing down my neck.�

The pillbox they inspected was six-sided and accessible from the rear, with steps down to a shallow underground room. Inside, they found a Y-shaped anti-ricochet wall along the centre and narrow horizontal embrasures where the troops could view the airfield and position their light machine guns.

�But no corpse,� Halliwell said after doing the circuit around the internal wall.

�Don�t let that get you down, Keith. There are plenty more of these.�

Halliwell wasn�t encouraged. �Shall we wait for the weather to improve?�

Diamond stared through the slot at the downpour outside. �Looks like it�s set to carry on all day. I don�t intend to spend the night here... like his nibs. What�s that?�

�What?�

�Keep your voice down. There�s someone out there.�

�Where?�

He�d spotted a figure wearing a dark windcheater with the hood up. When hoods came into fashion, crime investigation suffered a setback it still hadn�t recovered from.

�Over to the right, just out of sight. He must have gone inside the next pillbox.�

They couldn�t tell for sure. The squat buildings were sited so that each was out of the firing line of the next.

�We�ll wait for him to make a move.�

�What if he�s only a local out for a stroll?�

�No one is local here. It�s deserted.�

They waited. If nothing else, they were out of the rain, but their damp clothes clung coldly to their skin.

�I heard something,� Diamond muttered. �He�s on the move again. God, he�s right here.�

The hooded man passed so close to the slit they were looking through that all they could see of him were the lower part of the windcheater and the top half of a pair of waterproof trousers. He was rounding the front of their pillbox, about to come in.

The two detectives stood flat to the wall each side.

They heard the scrape of boots on the steps.

The instant he entered, each grabbed an arm. He went rigid and the hood slipped from his head.

�You?�

Their own man, Paul Gilbert.

Explanations were exchanged. On Gilbert�s side, he said as investigating officer he�d felt he had a duty to come to the site and see how the SOCOs were faring. They�d wanted to get on with their work, so he�d decided to walk the perimeter looking into each pillbox in case the body was hidden there. All he�d found was the skeleton of a sheep along the north side.

�You�ve been right round?�

�There are two or three more to go, guv.�

Diamond was touched by Gilbert�s devotion to the task. Some tact was wanted here. �You�re doing a fine job. And you had the sense to dress for the weather, which is more than we did. We�re not taking over. It�s still your case, but you can�t do everything alone.�

�That�s for sure. Is the tramp in custody?�

�We had to let him go, but we�re keeping tabs on him. He likes the cells at Keynsham and he�ll be back there tonight. We took a DNA sample and sent it to the lab.�

�You don�t think he�ll do a runner?�

�No, he�ll stick around Bath as long as he can. We thought he�d left earlier, but it was a false alarm.�

�Is he playing games with us?�

�You mean is he a killer? I�m not sure. He was in the right place at the right time, but the motive is uncertain. Jean Sharp is looking through his record to see if there�s any history between the two men.�

�She�ll need to go through the rigger�s record as well. All Gripmasters could tell me is that Jake Nicol was new on their books. He came from London with good references and the riggers� certificate, whatever that is.�

Halliwell spoke. �I doubt whether Will Legat roams as far as London. I got the impression he prefers the open countryside.�

�In his former life he worked in the city,� Gilbert said. �He told me he had a business of his own that went bust after the collapse of Lehman Brothers. I don�t think he was joking.�

�Useful,� Diamond said. �It joins some dots. I kept wondering about his background.�

�But if we can�t find a body, we won�t have much of a case. It must be up here somewhere. He didn�t have the means to move it far.�

�The pram,� Halliwell reminded him.

�I meant far away from the airfield,� Gilbert said. �I haven�t explored all of it yet, but I�ve done the obvious places. Can we bring some bobbies up here and carry out a bigger search?�

Diamond thought of Georgina and shook his head. �Sorry. The way forward is to get tougher with Legat, give him a real grilling and find out if there�s any history with Jake Nicol. I don�t believe he�d murder a man just to rob him of his belt.�

�I�m with you there, guv. And even if he did, he�d be an idiot to start wearing it straight after, knowing it was bloodstained. He�d hide it somewhere until the fuss died down. Maybe come back for it next year.�

�It�s up to you as IO,� Diamond told Gilbert. �Do you want another go at him tomorrow morning, or would you rather one of us had a try?�

�With me in attendance? Sounds good. He might act differently with you across the desk.�

�And we�ll get forensics to test the pram for blood residue.�

Next morning they didn�t literally visit Legat in the cell. That would have been impractical while his dog was taking up three-quarters of the floor.

�This isn�t civilised,� the gentleman of the road complained when he was led into the interview room. �We�ve barely finished breakfast. I hope this won�t be long. Caesar doesn�t take kindly to being left alone.�

Diamond was starting to get the measure of the man. If you weren�t careful, he dominated every exchange by force of personality. �We can get through in no time if you speak the truth. A lot of what you told me yesterday was bollocks.�

�Unkind,� Legat said, unfazed, �not to say distasteful. What exactly is the problem?�

�The problem, Will, is that we sent the belt and your combat trousers to be forensically tested and they tell a different story to yours. I told you yesterday the belt was heavily bloodstained and you told me you didn�t notice any staining.�

�Which is the truth.�

�The latest tests found staining on your trousers as well. The same blood, now verified as that of the missing rigger, Jake Nicol.�

�Whose name, I told you, means nothing to me.�

�We�ll come to that. The point is that if some of the blood ended up on your clothes, it was still damp. You must have been present at the scene when Nicol was attacked. You were selective with the truth.�

Legat said after a pause, �How is your memory, officer? Do you need to write things down, or is it stored in a cloud? I was told about clouds by someone more conversant than I am with the technology. Personally, I prefer to rely on my own grey matter.�

Diamond took that as a crude attempt to divert him. �I thought you wanted to keep this brief.�

�Then let me remind you that I found the belt in the dark when I almost tripped over it. I recall your asking me if it was damp to the touch and I didn�t deny it. I explained that everything was damp because I was standing in a quagmire.�

�Quagmire or bloodbath?�

�I�m willing to bet my house � or would if I owned one � on my confidence that your forensic testers found more mud on my clothes than blood. What am I supposed to have done � killed the rigger because I took a fancy to his belt?�

�You were carrying a jackknife.�

�The knife. Now I see where you�re going with this. Did you test it for blood?�

�We believe you washed it clean.�

�Basic hygiene, isn�t it? In my situation, a knife is a much-used tool. I need it to break up cardboard and make bedding, clean mud and other substances off my boots��

�We get that.�

He was unstoppable. ��split firewood and remove the splinters from my fingers, cut string to the required length, put wounded gamebirds out of their misery and skin them for supper. And when I eat, I prefer not to use my fingers. I have a fork and I use the knife with it. If you were me, wouldn�t you insist on a clean blade at mealtimes?�

Far from being shaken by the questioning, Legat was enjoying the verbal sparring, giving as good as he got. He carried a knife that could be a murder weapon, yet he�d justified himself with sheer oratory, this harangue about the life of a tramp.

As if he sensed he�d softened the opposition, he went on the offensive. �Was the man attacked with a knife?�

�We don�t know for certain,� Diamond was forced to admit.

�You don�t know?�

�We haven�t found his body. Where is it, Will?�

The voice shrilled in protest. �How would I know? I haven�t seen it.�

�Did you bury him?�

�This is absurd. It�s a jackknife, not a garden spade.�

�How long were you alone at the airfield before Detective Constable Gilbert found you? Several days? Ample time to dispose of a body.�

�More than absurd. Slanderous. I think I shall insist on legal aid. I know what you policemen are like, pinning crimes on innocent men.�

Diamond ignored the slur. He didn�t want a solicitor getting in on the act so he switched to a less contentious line of questioning. �Jake Nicol was living in Fairfield. Do you know that part of Bath?�

�I�m not a local. I was brought up in suburban London.�

�But you come here each summer.�

�The parts of town I know are the backs of supermarkets where they dump their unsold products. Millions of tons of good food in this country goes into crushers and ends up as landfill, but first it�s dumped in bins and skips behind shops and it can be retrieved if you know how. We travellers call it skipping. The hoboes in America have a more colourful expression: dumpster-diving.�

�We don�t need to know this. I�m simply trying to discover if you visit Fairfield.�

�The short answer is no. Can I go now?�

�You had a business in London, you told DC Gilbert. Jake Nicol worked there before he got the job here.�

��There,� as you put it, is a metropolis of nine million residents and countless visitors.�

�Do you go back at all?�

�Not since I quit the place. I�m travelling all the time, but I never head in the London direction. Never will. West country people are far more tolerant towards wayfarers like me.�

�Was Nicol unpleasant to you? Was there an argument?�

�How many times do I have to tell you I had nothing to do with the man? We didn�t speak.�

Gilbert chipped in. �You told me you watched the riggers packing up. Did you see him leave?�

Will Legat pondered the question, drummed his fingertips on the desk and said, �No comment.�

�What?� Diamond doubted his own hearing. He turned to look at Gilbert, who was equally surprised.

�I said, �No comment.��

�You�re not under caution. You can�t incriminate yourself, if that�s what bothers you.�

He got no reply. The switch to non-cooperation was wholly out of character.

�What�s the problem here?� Diamond asked after several more seconds. �You already admitted you watched them leave before you moved in. Did you witness something you don�t wish to speak about?� He realised as he completed the question that he�d laid himself open again.

�No comment.�

�This is getting serious, Will. If you know something and refuse to speak about it, you could force me to get more formal. I may need to caution you after all.�

�And we both know how the caution goes: �You have the right to remain silent.� Comforting words to a man in this situation.� Legat stifled a yawn. �Can I go back to the cell, then?�

Diamond was tempted to answer with a �no comment� of his own. Instead, he pushed his chair back and stood up. �All right. We�ll end it there. I�ll call the custody sergeant.�

Legat looked suspicious, as if he hadn�t really expected the interview to stop so abruptly.

Outside the building, Gilbert, too, expressed surprise. �What are you up to now, guv?�

�Couldn�t you see it was going nowhere?� Diamond said. �He�s working his ticket. He wants more nights in that cell. We could hold him on a minor charge like being in possession, but that would be playing his game.�

�Do you still think he�s our suspect?�

�He�s all we�ve got. The blood on his clothes is serious. We�ve only got his word that he didn�t know Jake Nicol and didn�t go anywhere near him.�

�The blood could have come off the belt.�

�Almost certainly. Even if he didn�t carry out the killing, he knows how it was done and where the body went.�

�Could more than one person be involved?�

�We won�t rule it out.� Even as the words came out, he remembered who was nominally running the case. �Or, rather, you, as investigating officer, won�t want to rule it out. The choice is yours, Paul, but my inclination is to get all the evidence we can, see if the SOCOs find anything and meanwhile question more of the TV people. You may need help. I�m available and so are some of the others.�

�What should we do about Will?�

�Let him stew in uncertainty. He thought he was going to be held and now he isn�t. He�s your witness, but I suggest you turf him out of the cell and see what his next move is.�

�Let him go?� This clearly wasn�t in Gilbert�s plans.

�He won�t get far with the dog and the pram.�

�Was the knife really clean of blood?�

�No. You can�t clean a jackknife with water alone, not enough to pass a forensic test. Bits of muck get lodged inside where the blade folds.�

�So they found some?�

�Blood residue.� He paused. �Unfortunately...� He left Gilbert to complete the line.

�...it wasn�t human?�

�Left over from one of his meals.�

Before they left Keynsham police station, Gilbert checked his phone and found a text from Ingeborg asking him to tell the boss to call her urgently. When told, Diamond said, �Why didn�t she text me?� Like most of us, he had a large blind spot about his own faults.

Gilbert had the good sense to shake his head as if he had never noticed that Diamond treated his phone as if it was a used tissue he was keeping in his pocket until he passed the next litterbin.

He took the alien object out and stared at it. The urgency from Inge, he guessed with a sinking heart, was because Georgina was on the attack with all guns blazing.

A small amount of battery strength remained. �Is that you, Inge?�

�Guv, where are you � still at Keynsham?�

�What�s the fuss about?�

Her answer wasn�t what he expected. �Remember when we interviewed Sabine and you asked about the actor who was originally cast as Swift?�

�Trixie Playfair?�

�I�ve managed to trace her and she�s not at all keen to talk to us, which makes me think she�s got something to hide. If I pin her down, would you like to be in on the action?�

She made it sound like an assault, but he knew what she meant and he trusted Ingeborg�s judgement. If Trixie was being evasive, all the more reason to see her � and sucks to Georgina. �Where is she, then?�

�Not far from where you are. You did say you�re still at Keynsham?�

�I didn�t, but I am.�

�Trixie is now a drama teacher in a private school for girls called Chimneys in Compton Dando. That�s only two miles south of where you are. I can meet you there in half an hour.�

�Have you made an appointment?�

�I sent a text and she doesn�t want to see us, which is why I suggest we turn up unannounced.�

�Good thinking.�

Leaving Gilbert to eject Will Legat from custody and get him back on the road, he walked off to find his car.

He would have preferred taking the ride back to Concorde House as Ingeborg�s passenger and hearing her thoughts, but that would have left his own car standing on the Chimneys drive. Life was never tidy for Peter Diamond.

Most of the team were at their desks when he arrived, so he presided over a �catch-up session,� as he called it, insisting they came from behind their screens and sat in a circle at the far end of the room like kids in school. So be it. Nothing was more annoying than fingers working phones and keyboards while he wanted attention. �Between us, we�ve covered quite a bit of the so-called jinx story. What�s your verdict? Does it stack up?�

They were slow to respond. He suspected some were distracted by his new look. They�d have to learn to live with it.

�Too soon to say,� John Leaman said eventually. He was uncomfortable with unproved opinions.

�John�s right,� Ingeborg said. �None of us have got the full picture.�

Diamond had been thinking about the full picture more than he was ready to admit. �For me, it comes down to this: it makes a good newspaper story if you believe in bad luck, and even if you don�t, other people�s troubles make interesting reading. Many, if not most, of the incidents seem to have been accidents or acts of God. Stuff happens, as that American statesman famously said about the Iraq war.�

�He was talking about the looting of the museum in Baghdad, not the war,� Leaman said.

�Doesn�t matter, John. The phrase stuck.�

�And papers always print the bad news,� Keith Halliwell said. �Good news stories don�t interest people.�

�Which is why a jinx makes good reading,� Diamond said. �This morning Inge and I met the woman originally chosen for the plum part of Caitlin Swift, the one who took fright and pulled out. I�m satisfied she wasn�t under orders from anyone else. She insists she acted alone. Her quitting was a setback for the show, so it ticks the jinx box, but I don�t think we need to dig deeper. She�s given up TV work now.�

�Is she bitter about it?� Keith Halliwell asked.

�Bitter with herself, but she doesn�t blame anyone on the show. Am I right, Inge?�

Ingeborg said, �That�s how I saw it, guv.�

�She was treated kindly by the producer, Mary Wroxeter, and there was some kind of settlement. They filled the gap with another actor they�d auditioned before who happened to be Sabine San Sebastian. The show became a hit and Trixie Playfair was soon forgotten.�

�No actor wants that,� Halliwell said.

�I just told you she stopped being an actor. She�s a schoolteacher now. It�s a new way of life.� Concern crept up Diamond�s spine as he spoke the words. He�d soon be out of a job himself.

Halliwell didn�t want to leave it. �She must have hated what happened.�

�Of course. It was a personal failure, but she�s put that behind her, as you do. I don�t see her wanting to make trouble for the show.�

�I�m only saying she almost certainly carries the scars. You can never tell how big a hurt it is.� Halliwell carried scars of his own that no one but Diamond knew about.

�True, Keith, but it happened years ago. The Post must have been hard-pressed to dust that off and use it.� Before Halliwell could say more, Diamond continued without pause, �The next thing to go wrong was the fire in the van while they were filming the pilot episode. It could well have been started deliberately. Some expensive sound equipment was lost and one of the engineers got burnt trying to rescue items.�

�Arson?� John Leaman said.

�Arson can�t be ruled out.�

�Fire investigators usually discover how fires start.�

�Yes, and the insurance company produced a report that I�ve seen. The seat of the fire was literally a seat in the van � the passenger seat. There�s a lot of waiting about at a TV shoot and several sound engineers used the cab between takes. They all denied smoking, but a cigarette butt was given as the likeliest cause.�

�Accidental, then,� Leaman said, more for his own satisfaction than anyone else�s.

�What did the insurers say?� Paul Gilbert asked.

�They agreed it wasn�t deliberate.�

�Did they pay up?�

�They found a clause in the policy obliging the company to take reasonable precautions. Allowing people to smoke in the front seats was held to be unreasonable. After months of arguing, some kind of payment was made, but it didn�t cover the legal costs, let alone the costs of the fire. Was this the jinx? You can just about argue that it was.�

�The guy who was burnt,� Gilbert said. �Was he one of the smokers?�

�I�ve no idea.�

�If he thought he caused the fire, he may have risked his life to keep the damage to a minimum.�

�Speculation,� Ingeborg said.

�It�s all speculation until we nail someone.�

Diamond knew the tensions in the team and didn�t want anyone feeling inhibited from speaking, but the fire investigation had been thorough and he couldn�t see any value in probing more. He moved on. �Next up, two stuntmen were injured during the first season. They were in a rooftop chase and they both fell and broke limbs. I haven�t looked into this one, but I suspect it was a genuine accident.�

Paul Gilbert felt his voice needed to be heard. He was still the IO. �Swift is a high-action show and there are going to be accidents to stunt people. This was serious, so I guess it got reported in the media, but I doubt if it was down to sabotage.�

Leaman said, �You can�t say. None of us can say.� He could always be relied on to expose loose reasoning.

�Which is why I�d like you to follow up on it, John,� Diamond said. �It shouldn�t be difficult to trace the two guys. If there was the slightest suggestion of dodgy goings-on, they�ll know.�

Leaman had walked into that.

�So we come to season three, and incident number four in the Post article, a mystery we can�t ignore because it�s still unsolved. The disappearance of Dave Tudor. He was an experienced assistant producer, Mary Wroxeter�s main support. He didn�t show up for work one day and there was no phone call, text, nothing. He�s not been seen since.�

�What do we know about him?� Halliwell asked. �Was he really up to the job?�

�I heard from more than one source that he was a key man doing a tough job and doing it well. Mary often made last-minute changes that Tudor had to sell to the cast and crew. Don�t ask me how, but he managed to stay popular. Even Sabine speaks well of him. The current producer, Greg Deans, said he doubted if Sabine even noticed him, but she remembered quite a lot. In fact, she�s the only one who came up with a theory. She said he had a bit of a foreign accent and her suggestion was that he didn�t have a work permit and someone threatened to blow his cover.�

�With a name like Dave Tudor?� Halliwell said. �Come on.�

�So he upped and left, just like that?� Gilbert said. �What do you think, guv?�

�I think he�s dead.�

No one said anything for a few seconds.

�Is there something you haven�t told us?�

�No. The way I see it, Tudor was obviously a bright guy doing a good job, really valuable to Mary. If there was a problem in his personal life, she�d have gone out of her way to support him. He�d have known this. There was no reason to quit.�

�He may have got a better offer. Maybe he�s using another name and working for a rival company.�

�That�s unlikely. TV is a small world. He�d have been recognised as soon as he set foot in another studio.�

�Where was he living when he disappeared?�

�Kipling Avenue, at Beechen Cliff. His possessions were still there, as if he meant to come back.�

�I don�t get it. Why would anyone want to get rid of him if he was such a useful guy to have around?�

�That�s the big question, Keith.�

�What was his life outside TV?�

�There wasn�t any to speak of. He lived alone, used the local shops for his everyday needs, had the occasional pint in the local pub, but didn�t socialise. He had a healthy bank balance and there were no unusual payments.�

�Who got the job after he left?�

�One of the other assistants, Candida Jones. She was the obvious replacement, with more experience than anyone else.�

Halliwell widened his eyes. �If we�re looking for a suspect...�

�You mean Candida killed him to get the job?� Diamond wasn�t impressed. �She wasn�t wedded to her career. She left after a year to start a family.�

�Because she wasn�t much good?� Halliwell said.

Ingeborg pounced. �Do you mind? You wouldn�t talk like that about a man.�

�Because when a man starts a family, he stays in the job.�

�If you want to argue that working women shouldn�t be allowed maternity leave, you�re a hundred years behind the times.�

�I said no such thing.�

�We all heard you. And now you�re saying the reason she left was she wasn�t much good.�

Diamond raised a calming hand. �Okay, people. I started this hare when I said she wasn�t wedded to the job. I was out of order. I had no grounds for saying so. I�m sorry. Can we get back to Dave Tudor? I got the impression he was a hard act to follow. Does that make more sense?�

�Barely,� Ingeborg said. �It�s another clich�.� She was really nettled by the sexist remarks. �Is Candida still about?�

�The company probably keeps track, but memories seem to have faded. Greg Deans remembered her because he used to work with her. He was the other production assistant.�

�Did he think she was incompetent?�

�He said nothing of the sort. Can we leave it, Inge?�

�Could Deans be in the frame?�

�As Tudor�s killer? I can�t see why. He was new in the job when the guy went missing. They barely knew each other and he was too inexperienced to have designs on Tudor�s job. His turn as producer came later after Candida retired.�

�He had a quick rise to the top,� Ingeborg said. �From rookie production assistant to boss of the entire show in how many years?�

�Three to four. He�s certainly a smart operator, the obvious person to take charge after Mary died. I heard he can�t match her for ideas, so he makes up for that by efficiency. But a murderer? He had a vested interest in success for the show and still does.�

Gilbert said, �He steadied the ship after Candida left, a couple of years as Mary�s assistant without anything going wrong.�

�It was no cakewalk,� Diamond said. �He will have seen the signs she was drinking heavily. I haven�t said this before, but we need to look at Mary�s death and if there was anything iffy about it.�

He�d thrown a fizzing firecracker into the discussion. Startled looks and frowns were exchanged. Nothing like this had been suggested in the newspaper. If true, it had huge implications.

�We were told it was down to the alcohol,� Ingeborg said, trying to stay composed. �She was far too popular and brilliant for anyone to want her dead.�

�It still has to be checked. In particular her final hours, where she was and who was with her.� He turned to Jean Sharp. �Would you take that on?� He knew the right person to ask to get every detail that was known.

�Of course, guv.�

�The coroner�s office will have a file on the inquest.�

�Leave it with me.�

The suspicion that something was wrong about the sudden death of the brilliant woman everyone on the show was supposed to idolise had been germinating in Diamond�s brain for days. They all owed their employment to her. She was one of those gifted people who turn an idea into an opportunity for a mass of others. Nobody had suggested the over-drinking that killed her was anything else but her own fatal flaw. You had to be a massive sceptic to throw doubt on the conclusion.

He was spreading the workload. Paul Gilbert was already covering Jake Nicol�s disappearance; Diamond himself was investigating Dave Tudor; now John Leaman would probe the accident to the stuntmen, and Jean Sharp would look for anything unexplained about Mary Wroxeter�s death. Daisy Summerfield�s cardiac arrest had happened in Richmond and was being dealt with by the Met. He would remember to call them for an update.

�What�s happening with the tramp?� Leaman asked.

�He wasn�t charged with anything. He�s free to wander the streets.�

�Is he in the clear?�

�I wouldn�t say that. He wasn�t entirely open with us and we�re keeping an eye on him. He�ll stay in Bath for some time now he�s here.�

�How can we be sure of that? If the rigger is dead, as we believe he is, Will Legat is the main suspect, isn�t he? Blood on his clothes. Possession of a weapon. He was found wearing the belt. Men have been sent down for life for less than that.�

�Agreed, John, but we�re looking at two possible murders and maybe even a third.�

�Who is to say Legat wasn�t around at the time Dave Tudor disappeared? He seems to visit here each summer.�

�True. But what did he do with the bodies?�

�My office immediately,� Georgina Dallymore said in a voice of doom. She had finally caught up with Diamond, collared him as he came out of the CID office and steered him upstairs.

She closed the door and said, �Look at this.�

�I can see straight away, ma�am.�

But this wasn�t the full frontal attack he�d expected.

That day�s Bristol Post had been pushed in front of him, with the headline shouting the story:

While reading, his mind was in overdrive. He�d fully expected Georgina to hit him with the measures he�d taken in open defiance of her instruction. Somehow, all that was dwarfed by this newspaper story. She was so wound up that she hadn�t even noticed his fashion statement.

�So the horse has bolted,� he said. There was an opportunity here.

Georgina frowned. �Meaning what?�

�Meaning we can�t deny we took an interest in the jinx. The truth is out. Our reputation is on a knife edge.� Ingeborg would have shouted, �Clich�s!� by now, but each one was making an impact on Georgina.

�I don�t know how you have the nerve to talk to me about our reputation. You�ve put a stain on it forever, getting us caught up in this nonsense in the first place. I ordered you in no uncertain terms to have no more to do with it.�

�And how right you were, ma�am.�

For this, he got a sharp, suspicious look. Georgina was too wily to ask what he meant, so he pressed on. �I called a team meeting and told them to book themselves on refresher courses, just as you said. We agreed to turn our backs on Swift and its problems.�

�It says here that you�re heading a police enquiry.�

�Fake news, ma�am. There was only ever a detective constable keeping tabs on it. I�ll call the editor directly and tell him his story is untrue. We�re not interested in the wretched jinx.�

She shook her head with such force that her cheeks carried on quivering after she stopped. �You can�t say that. They�ll accuse us of failing in our duties. They�ll use it to attack us. This is a public relations disaster.�

�In that case, I won�t call the editor.�

Georgina was in two minds. �People reading the paper will expect us to investigate now.�

He nodded. �Got to agree. And it�s all over social media,� he said as if he constantly checked his phone.

�What do you suggest, then?�

�You�ll find a way through, ma�am. You always do.�

This rare declaration of confidence caught Georgina off guard. It was double-edged, a challenge as well as a compliment.

She blinked several times and reddened. A strained silence followed while she faced this mountainous dilemma. Finally she sighed and spread her hands, forced to put survival first. �The only way out is to do what I least wanted, make a U-turn and put all our efforts into finding what�s behind this so-called jinx.�

�Clever,� Diamond said as if the thought hadn�t crossed his mind. �So clever. A full-on investigation?�

�Regrettably.�

�No expense spared?�

�I didn�t say that.�

�But I will need a budget for this.�

She snatched up the newspaper and tossed it at him. �Get on with it, damn you.�

�Candida wasn�t hiding from us, then,� Diamond said. �Well done. I was confident you�d track her down.�

Ingeborg shrugged. �There was nothing clever about it. Some of the Bottle Yard studios crowd meet up at the Shield and Dagger at the end of the day. I joined them last night and got chatting.�

�Jean will be pleased. Have you told her?�

�Not yet. I thought you�d want to know first.�

�I�m thinking of taking her with me. Get her out of the madhouse for a bit.�

�She�ll enjoy that... I think.�

Even Peter Diamond would admit that Mary Wroxeter as a murder victim was a speculative theory. Clearly Jean Sharp wasn�t persuaded. He didn�t mind much. This was work in progress. It might come to nothing, but the possibility had to be explored.

The chilling new scenario was that three people from the show had been murdered. All his experience told him that if this was true, the killings must be linked. In serial murders, the first is the big one. The perpetrator crosses the red line and becomes a killer. When he or she has done the deed once, they feel less constrained about doing it again when new pressures come into play. The motive could be a matter of covering up for the first. Somebody became suspicious or saw something and had to be silenced. Was that how Mary Wroxeter sealed her fate?

In the privacy of his office, he put through a call to one of his pet hates, the sarcastic Bertram Sealy. There was no one else he could ask. All the other forensic pathologists he knew had retired or left the district.

�You?� Sealy said when Diamond announced himself. �I didn�t expect to hear from you. I thought you were one of the ghostbusters now. Do you wear a proton pack?�

Diamond was in no mood to trade insults. �Can we have a serious conversation? I need information.�

�Sorry, old boy. I�m a scientist. I know nothing about the dark arts.�

�Okay, you�ve had your fun. You shouldn�t believe everything they print in the papers.�

�It was on Instagram. The word is that you�re trying to arrest a hoodoo. Is that right? It�s not a good way to go. You�re going to meet some very strange people.�

�You�re not amusing me, Sealy.�

�No, but you crease me up. I never know what you�re going to do next, and it�s always hilarious. What do you want from me � the address of a good shrink?�

He controlled his anger. Graver issues were at stake than his self-respect. �I want some professional advice about death from alcoholism � and before you go off on another tangent, it�s nothing to do with me personally. Laugh if you want and get it out of your system. This is a case I�m investigating. You must have carried out scores of autopsies on drunks.�

�Hundreds. I had one this week. Liquor is present in a high percentage of unnatural deaths, forty per cent at a guess. I know straight away by the smell.� The man was becoming interested, as Diamond knew he would.

�As obvious as that?�

�It is to an old-stager like me. Some of the younger ones smear wintergreen oil or some such inside their masks to eliminate the odours of the dissecting room. They don�t know what they�re missing.�

�Are you saying the smell tells you exactly what they drank? Beer, say, or wine?�

�I didn�t say that at all. All alcohol is ethanol by the time I get to sniff it, with a distinctly sweet smell. Death is the great leveller. Whatever they imbibed, be it homemade hooch or the finest champagne, it ends up in the bloodstream as ethanol, also known as ethyl alcohol.�

�You can�t tell if it was vodka or gin?�

�Are you listening, or do I have to repeat everything? Like anything else we consume, the drink metabolises. The enzyme systems reduce it to its basic form. The liver deals with ninety-five per cent of it, reducing it to water and carbon dioxide. What�s left, the remaining five per cent, is excreted through the kidneys and lungs. If the drinker is still alive and tested with a breathalyser, the level of intoxication can be measured that way. If he ends up on my slab, I�ll send a blood sample to the lab, but my nose has already told me what I�m dealing with.�

Diamond had started getting lost when enzymes were mentioned, but he�d got the gist of Sealy�s explanation and now he made an attempt to sound informed. �BAC levels.�

�What do you know about them?� Sealy said.

�I know five hundred is about the maximum. The woman I�m interested in had a reading above four hundred.�

�She wouldn�t have survived.�

�She didn�t.�

�Anything above three hundred is likely to induce a coma. The figure you�re talking about is curtains. Asphyxiation generally.�

�This was cardiac arrest.�

Sealy made a sound like the hinges of a church door being opened. �Sudden cardiac death. Interesting. Strictly speaking, this isn�t a heart attack, but the outcome is the same. Prolonged alcoholism weakens the heart function and the ticker doesn�t get the oxygen it needs when it pumps. It�s more usual in middle-aged men than women. You said this woman was an alcoholic. What age?�

�Late forties.�

�Plausible enough if she�d been poisoning her system for years.�

�Can this kind of sudden death be induced by a massive extra intake of alcohol?�

�Binge-drinking?�

�You could call it that. Someone else wants to finish her off and makes sure she drinks more in a short time than she ever has before.�

�Homicide?� No response came from Sealy for several seconds. �There�s no way I could tell at autopsy. Alcohol in a very high dose could well precipitate a rhythm disorder. On the face of it, a sudden cardiac arrest is possible, but you�d have small chance of proving premeditation.�

�What if her usual drink, which was vodka, was doctored with alcohol in a higher concentration?�

�I object to that term, �doctored� � a slur on my profession.�

�Happier with �corrupted�?�

�What are you suggesting the supposed murderer added to the drink � pure ethanol?�

�It�s available online for the price of a coffee and biscuits,� Diamond said.

�If it�s that cheap, it wouldn�t be pure.�

�More than ninety-five per cent alcohol as compared with vodka at about forty.�

�You are taking this seriously,� Sealy said. �My only observation is that I�ve never come across such a method of despatching a victim. Theoretically, it could be done. Excessive intake such as this would quickly overrun the body�s coping mechanism. I could tell from the state of the organs that the deceased was an alcoholic and the blood test would tell me she�d consumed a lethal amount.�

�What would be the result of drinking so much at once?�

�Take your pick of coma and asphyxiation or sudden cardiac arrest.�

�And the pathologist can�t tell if it was murder?�

�Of course not. That�s your job � and the best of British luck.�

Diamond put down the phone and returned to the incident room. John Leaman was using a marker on the whiteboard on the wall inside the door. To the left was a long list of more than fifty names.

�What are these � our suspects?� Diamond asked him. �You�re depressing me, John.�

�They�re the cast and crew from the two episodes being shot when Tudor and Nicol went missing,� Leaman said. �Quite a lot will be deleted for various reasons and we�ll get down to a hard core of people who could have been involved in both disappearances.�

�This is if we have one perpetrator?�

�Isn�t that what we�re working on?�

�It�s my assumption.� He exhaled audibly through soft vibrating lips. �I didn�t expect quite so many. You took them from the lists I collected from the production office?�

Leaman nodded.

�We can scrub some straight away. Daisy Summerfield is dead and Dan Burbage had the climbing accident.�

�I didn�t like to remove any of them without your permission, guv.�

Diamond looked for the names that interested him most. Greg Deans was there. Sabine, of course, and her stunt double, Ann Bugg. Candida, near the top of the list. Fergus Webster, the key grip. He borrowed the marker and drew a thick line linking Candida to Fergus. �These two are an item, I found out today.�

Leaman winced visibly as his pristine list was defaced.

�Unfortunately there are names to add,� Diamond told him. �Trixie Playfair, the original choice for the plum part. And Will Legat, the tramp who was stained with Jake Nicol�s blood. Do you want to write them in, or shall I?�

�I�ll do it if you don�t mind.� Leaman�s neat, small lettering was tidier than Diamond�s.

�You can add one more while you�re at it.�

�Who�s that?�

�She�s known as Chen and she�s Sabine�s sidekick, except you�d think twice about kicking her. A young woman capable of just about anything.� After the name was written in, Diamond said, �Do you want to put lines through the ones we just mentioned?�

�I�ll probably print a new list.�

�As you wish. Something else we could do with here is a schedule from the studio telling us where everyone is at any given time. It�s known as a call sheet. This week they�re filming at Milroy Court, out Trowbridge way, and that�s where I�m going next, but I don�t know who I�ll find there.�

Unlike Greg Deans, Diamond didn�t mind discussing work matters at home. His late wife, Stephanie, had always been willing to listen and chip in with thoughts of her own. More than once she had given him an insight that transformed a case and led to a conviction. His current partner, Paloma, too, brought fresh thinking to his problems. Keeping an open mind was the hardest part of his job. It could be painful to question assumptions he�d already made, but if he was willing to take the pain from anyone, she was the woman closest to his heart.

Paloma enjoyed cooking and had made it her mission to educate Diamond�s palette. They didn�t often go out for meals. Tonight he�d persuaded her to try the Hudson Steakhouse on London Street. When he�d first come to Bath, the place had been a pub called the Hat and Feather, known to locals as the Hat. Back in its glory days it had been the social hub of the Walcot community, famous for charabanc trips to the seaside, children�s parties and lavish wedding receptions, but by Diamond�s time it was badly in need of a makeover and he�d shed no tears at the change of use.

Paloma wasn�t much of a meat eater, so coming to a steak house was largely an act of altruism. To Diamond�s relief she gave a squeak of delight when she saw the menu.

�Tortelloni. And stuffed with the goodies I like most.�

�Specially for you,� he said as if he�d fixed it with the chef. He had no idea what tortelloni was, but he was willing to believe it was delicious as long as he didn�t have to eat any. He�d already decided on the twelve-ounce rib eye.

�I expect you know the difference between tortelloni and tortellini,� she said.

He knew he was being teased. �I thought they were opera singers.�

She solemnly explained and he solemnly listened. �I�ll give you one to sample when it arrives.�

�I can�t wait.�

Candida stepped on deck next morning with the idea of calling at the marina office to collect the mail. A fine, clear morning, the sheet of water still as a mirror except for some ducks patterning the surface as they glided closer, making their case for an early feed. She had Bart in her arms. He could walk perfectly well but needed help getting from the narrowboat on to the wooden jetty. Generally it was quiet at this time of day. Not this morning.

On the far side, some men in black were grouped on the plank walkway bordering the perimeter. They were staring down at the water and she recognised one of them, the only one wearing a suit. Overweight and overbearing in the way he stood with arms folded, the detective, Peter Diamond, wasn�t directing the action, but he wanted no one to doubt that he was the senior man.

She now saw that two of the others were in wetsuits and holding masks and snorkels and a moment later there was a disturbance in the water in front of them and a diver surfaced. He held up a traffic cone, emptied the water from it and slung it on to a heap of finds on the walkway. There was some amusement that Candida couldn�t hear.

She wasn�t at all amused. Heart thumping, she set Bart on his feet, held his hand and marched along the jetty past her neighbours� boats towards the end and then around the water�s edge to where the unwelcome visitors had set up. She came straight to the point with Diamond. �You�re wasting your time, you know.�

�Morning, Candida, and morning, Bart,� he said as if he had been expecting them. �You could be right, but it�s one of those jobs that has to be done. The underwater search unit are busy people and I�m lucky to get them when I can. The lady in the office knows what�s going on.�

�What did you tell her?�

�Don�t worry, I was the soul of discretion. Your name wasn�t mentioned and neither was Fergus�s. I told her we�re looking for things of interest that might have been dumped here. A place like this could be irresistible to ne�er-do-wells wanting to get rid of incriminating objects.�

Bart headed for the mud-covered rubbish. Candida dashed after him and scooped him up. �No, you don�t.� He let out yells of protest until distracted by the sight of the man in the water. Peace was restored.

�He must have noticed the little scooter in the heap,� Diamond said. �It might clean up and be usable. None of this stuff is of any interest to me and you�re welcome to help yourself, but I wouldn�t let him touch anything yet. The water�s not the purest.�

The man making the search pulled the mask over his face and submerged again. He was linked by a safety line to one of the others on the walkway.

�They tell me it�s deeper than it looks,� Diamond said. �There could be a crashed aircraft in here for all I know.�

Candida said nothing.

�It�s going to take days. These guys will tell you there�s nil visibility. They�re groping through the muck at the bottom and stirring it up as they go. It�s not a job I�d do myself.�

She didn�t even look at him while he was speaking. She was watching the movement of the yellow line in the water.

�I expected them to start on your side where the boats are moored,� Diamond went on. �All kinds of stuff could be trapped under the jetty or between the boats. But they have their own way of working. They want to check the stretch of open water first.�

Candida shook her head at the folly of it all. Presently she let Bart down and took out her phone. She put it to her ear, turned and walked off, speaking quietly, with Bart close behind.

Diamond had followed them closely along the duck-board walk and when she pocketed the phone she heard him call out, �Tipping off Fergus?�

On the point of denial, she thought better of it and said over her shoulder, �This is our home. He has a right to know.�

�No argument with that. Is he on his way?�

�He�s filming.�

�Of course, he is. The key grip. He�ll come as soon as he can. Does he drive? I suppose he has to, in that job. They all drive the trucks from time to time.�

�He has a motorbike,� she called back.

�Useful.�

Inside himself, Diamond was less laidback than he was showing. A motorcycle was something he hadn�t factored in. �Does he ever have the use of the trucks overnight?�

�They belong to Gripmasters,� Candida said without answering the question.

�I don�t suppose they�d mind if he borrowed one.�

She turned to glare at him.

�Say if he had a removal job to do, like picking up a piece of second-hand furniture. They wouldn�t need to know, would they?�

�We don�t need furniture. The boat was furnished when we moved in. We can hardly move as it is.�

�Bart�s things, I meant,� he said. �High chair, playpen, cot. A baby needs extras you can�t cart home on the back of a motorbike.�

�They were delivered,� she said. �They weren�t secondhand. I don�t want my child using things someone else has thrown out. And he won�t be given that filthy scooter or anything else from the scrap heap.� She�d come as far as the marina office and she went in, leaving Diamond outside to ponder that parting shot. The term �scrap heap� couldn�t have been intended to strike at his insecurity, but it did. It went deep.

He returned to the search party and checked the heap for any new finds. �Is there any way you can speed this up?� he asked the dive supervisor. �You�ve got two others in their wetsuits doing nothing.�

�Are you telling me my job, sir?�

�No, just enquiring. What�s your name?�

The man pointed to a name tag sewn on to his jacket saying Earnshaw.

Diamond grinned sheepishly. �Didn�t spot it.�

�It�s no picnic down there. Each diver does a shift and then needs a break. If you want more men in the water, you�d better speak to my boss.�

�Have you done missing-person searches before?�

For that dumb question he was rewarded with a cold stare. �We do more of them than anything else.�

�Do you really need to bring up all this debris?�

�If you want a proper search, yes,� Earnshaw said. �The body could be covered in clutter.�

�The most recent one won�t be. That was a matter of days ago.�

�We were told there may be one from four years back.�

�You�re right,� he said. �There may be.� He sounded a more cordial note. �Incidentally, when people ask what you�re looking for � as they�re sure to � I�d be glad if you�d avoid mentioning corpses.�

Another look.

�Obviously I don�t need to tell you guys anything. I�ll leave you to get on with your work.�

He�d spotted Candida leaving the office, so he took the opportunity to go inside and speak to the woman on duty. He admitted straight away that he was the senior detective who had authorised the search. �We may be a few days,� he told her. �These things can�t be hurried.�

�What exactly are you hoping to find?�

�If I knew the answer to that, I�d be a happy man. Nothing is exact about this. But it would help me to know whether you�ve had any strangers coming and going in the last couple of weeks.�

�On the water, you mean?�

�Or by land, driving up in cars or trucks.�

�No one, to my knowledge. And we don�t miss much. We�re serious about security. The only people I�ve seen are known to us � the boat owners we meet every day.�

It was already dark when Greg Deans finished work at Milroy Court. As he had foreseen, the bedroom scene had put the entire schedule out. He should have been firm with George and insisted on filming it in a studio set at Bottle Yard. Directors come in with fancy ideas and you have to indulge them a bit, but this had been unwise. By the end of the day, they were running two hours over. All work outside contracted hours counts as overtime and plays havoc with the budget, not to mention the extra work for the producer.

Greg�s car was one of the last on the drive. The de-rig was done and nearly everyone had left. Before starting up, he called his partner, Natalie, hoping her hands would be dry enough to pick up her phone.

He waited for her soft, �Yes?�

�Still at Trowbridge, I�m afraid, but just about to leave. I�ll pick up fish and chips on the way home. I hope your day was better than mine.�

�I got through as much as I wanted,� she told him.

�Nice work, love. You must have enough for a firing.�

�Not until next week. Today�s little fellows have to dry properly. How long will you be?�

�Depends if there�s a queue in the chippie. Fifty minutes max.� The pottery was a converted farmhouse on the slopes west of Bath. �Put the oven on in half an hour, would you? The fish and chips will need warming up.�

If he�d been home earlier, he would have cooked. This was their main meal of the day. He never ate much at lunchtime.

Diamond waited until ten next morning before phoning Earnshaw, the dive supervisor. The exchange was more civil than the morning before even if the basic message hadn�t changed.

�I didn�t come by last evening. Thought you�d be in touch if you found anything useful.�

�Good decision, sir. Don�t want to waste your time. I�ve hired a skip for all the scrap we fished out. We�ll charge that to your budget. That�s the way it works.�

No point in arguing. The reckoning would come later when Georgina found out the cost.

�You haven�t finished?�

�God, no.�

�How much of the marina have you searched?�

�Nearly all the clear water. We�ll start looking between the moored boats before the end of today � that is, if the boat owners don�t object.�

�You don�t need their permission, do you?�

�Their cooperation would be nice.�

�Are they giving you abuse?�

�I wouldn�t call it that. By now they all know what we�re looking for and some of them aren�t comfortable with it. What�s more, they don�t like press photographers crawling over their homes to get good shots. Have you seen the Bristol Post this morning?�

�I can guess,� Diamond said. �I have better things to do.�

�We�re expecting gawpers today.�

�Can�t you keep them at a distance?�

�We�ll put tapes across and then the residents will complain about a loss of freedom. Can�t win. It�s okay. We�re used to this.�

�I was thinking you�re nicely placed to observe what goes on among the people who live on the boats. You know the couple I�m interested in?�

�Deck the Halls? Woman with the young kid? You were talking to her when you were here.�

�Right. The man has the day job. Uses a motorbike.�

�I saw him when we arrived this morning. He visited Daisy Belle before he left for work.�

�Who�s she?� Diamond asked.

There was a tone of disrespect in Earnshaw�s answer. �It�s a boat. The narrowboat moored next to them. I got the impression it was locked and not in use. He had a key and let himself in like he owns it.�

�Perhaps he does. Like a second home, extra storage or something.�

�But the wife doesn�t go in. She�s here all day and she doesn�t set foot on board. It�s only him. Do you think he�s got another woman installed there?�

Diamond laughed. �Too close to home, I reckon.� But he wrote Daisy Belle on the notepad on his desk, with a question mark beside it. �Mustn�t hold you up. I hope you search under the jetty.�

�I�m standing on it now.�

�I�d be happier if you were underneath.�

�I�m directing operations.�

Hope sprang briefly in Diamond�s breast. �So the diver is underneath?�

�Out in the middle. The final strip of open water. What is it with the jetty?�

�It�s the place I would stow a corpse if I had one to dispose of � out of sight in case it rises to the surface.�

�We�ll see if you�re right, but don�t hold your breath. It may not be today.�

Diving for bodies in cold, muddy water doesn�t bring out the best in people, Diamond decided.

After ending the call, he took out his phone and found the Bristol Post website and the headline POLICE DIVERS SEARCH MARINA. Below was a picture of a black-clad figure jumping into the water in full gear with snorkel cylinders strapped to his back.

He closed the page without reading the main text. He knew what it would say and the publicity would do no harm. The public would be reassured that the police were doing something, or seen to be. He might need to convince Georgina of that.

His self-confidence, usually so robust, was being tested by this case. If nothing was recovered from the marina, his suspicion of Fergus and Candida would have to be reassessed. He might even ask himself whether he�d got it hopelessly wrong and there were no bodies anywhere.

He hadn�t slept well. His brain had been struggling to process all the information he and the team had gathered. Worryingly, he couldn�t remember a piece of conversation he�d believed at the time was significant, or might be.

Bad sleep, memory lapses, loss of confidence. Could Georgina be right about wanting to pension him off?

Perish the thought.

He stepped into the incident room and found Ingeborg working her keyboard. �Your memory is better than mine, Inge. Cast your mind back to when we interviewed Sabine. There was a lot to take in and she was more talkative than you or I expected, right?�

�Quite the charmer.�

�I hear the same note in your voice as when you reminded me she�s an actor. Her charm passed you by. Enough of that. I�ve been trying to recall something you said when we were with her.�

�You did most of the talking, guv.�

�Right, but you chipped in when you felt I was in danger of missing a point, as you do.�

�We were on a steep learning curve,� Ingeborg said. �There was a lot to take in.�

�Plenty. Isn�t it annoying when you�re trying to hook things out from the back of your brain and can�t? Your comment on something Sabine said made an impression on me � not enough of one, it seems.�

�Something I said?�

�And I didn�t follow it up at the time. I told myself you and I could discuss it later.�

�Can you give me a rough idea what it was about?�

�I have a feeling it was when we spoke about the jinx incidents with her.�

�Let�s go through them, then,� she said, spreading her hand to count them off on her fingers. �Trixie pulling out?�

�Not that.�

�The fire in the sound engineers� van? The injury to the stuntmen?�

�Keep going.�

�Dave Tudor going missing? Mary Wroxeter�s death?�

�Not that.� Does she think I�m losing it? he asked himself.

�Dan Burbage?�

�No.�

�Daisy Summerfield?�

His hand went up. �Something about the old lady. You took over the questioning when Sabine mentioned her. What was it you said?�

�That the way she died was mostly speculation? The break-in was only discovered after she was found dead.�

�Something else. A remark you made.�

�That it was odd the burglar chose that evening to break in?�

�Yes!� A surge of relief. �I can almost hear your exact words: �How did the burglar know Daisy was supposed to be away filming?��

�I said that?�

�I�m sure of it.�

�Maybe I was reading too much into it,� Ingeborg said, without fully appreciating the significance. �I suggested the burglar had seen the call sheet. But there was this last-minute change he couldn�t have known about. She came home early after they filmed her scene as an add-on at the end of the day.�

He felt like hugging her. �This is what I�ve been struggling to remember and it has to be followed up.� His brain was in overdrive now. �We�ll call the Met and get the latest on their investigation.�

��We,� meaning me?� she said.

�No. I need your brainwork for this, not your research skills. It�s a job for Jean Sharp.�

He crossed the room. Jean saw him coming and turned as pale as the whiteboard behind her.

�Relax,� he said. �I�m not asking you to drive me anywhere. I have an in-house task for you. Daisy Summerfield, the old dear who played Swift�s mother in the show. Cardiac arrest believed to have been triggered by finding a burglar in her bedroom. We haven�t examined the full facts.�

She was frowning. �It�s not our case, guv.�

�Right. I need an update from Richmond CID. The name of the investigating officer would be a start. Case notes, postmortem report, anything the coroner is willing to let us have. Maybe no more can be said about a sad occurrence, but it�s part of our brief and we should have looked at it before now.�

Confident she�d deliver what he�d asked for, he returned to Ingeborg. �It�s too much to hope they already arrested the burglar.�

�The Met clear-up rate for residential burglary is about five per cent, guv, and that�s better than ours.�

Crime statistics were a sore point for Diamond. He was always being reminded by Georgina that Bath lagged behind everyone else. �But they�re investigating and they may even have their suspicions who it was. Burglars have their MO, whether they favour smashing windows or ringing the doorbell and conning their way in.�

�I can�t see how this helps,� she said.

�Trust me, it could.�

�I thought we decided her death couldn�t have been deliberate.�

�And we may have made a mistake. Your point was a telling one. The burglar broke in believing Daisy was away in Bristol. Her return to Richmond was a last-minute decision that turned out to be fatal.�

�It was a heart attack. They did the postmortem. It can�t have been murder, guv.�

�But it could have killed off the show. Daisy was one of the main players, wasn�t she?�

Ingeborg nodded. �Swift�s villainous old mother, tough and unprincipled and hugely popular with the viewers.�

�And in real life she was a normal old lady and the shock of having her home broken into could easily have made her quit. If she didn�t, she�d have the thought of another break-in each time she came here for filming. Do you see? Someone wanting to wreck the show tips off his thieving friend in London when the house will be empty.�

�It�s a nasty thought, but I don�t buy it, guv, the idea that anyone would go to all that trouble to sabotage the show. Anyhow, that hasn�t happened. Swift is on its seventh season.�

�You really are well up on it.�

She smiled. �Comes in useful sometimes, doesn�t it, having a mole on the team?�

A shout from across the room interrupted them, John Leaman calling them to his workstation.

�What�s he on about now?�

Diamond went over.

Leaman rolled his chair back from his screen. �You must see this, just posted.�

It was a news release headed MISSING TV PRODUCER:

�Deans?� Diamond said. �What the hell?� He grabbed the phone and got through to the control room � and to a sergeant he knew.

�Yes, sir, you might think it�s jumping the gun to be issuing a misper appeal so soon, but we were on to this last night. The guy lives with a disabled woman who called 101. He�s her caretaker.�

�You don�t have to tell me about these people,� Diamond said. �I know Greg Deans. His partner is a potter called Natalie.�

�Well, he phoned her about eight twenty from Milroy Court, where he was filming, and told her he was on his way home. He didn�t arrive. She was pretty distressed when she phoned the call centre at ten forty-seven.�

�Did someone go to see her?�

�Not last night. Obviously you know they live out in the sticks, a few miles west of Combe Hay. A family liaison officer did her best over the phone to assess the situation. She calmed the poor lady down and promised we�d get someone out in the morning if he was still missing. Social services are with her as we speak.�

�And no news of Deans?�

�Still missing. He told the lady he was bringing home fish and chips from a shop in Trowbridge. Doesn�t sound like he was planning to disappear.�

�Do you know the route home he would have taken?�

�That�s anyone�s guess, except he would have needed to go through Combe Hay. We�ve put out an all-cars alert and a team is making a search.�

Diamond�s frustration showed. �We should have been informed last night. Didn�t you know we have an enquiry underway about this TV company?�

�I wasn�t on the shift, sir, but no, I didn�t.�

�We have an incident room here at Concorde House. Two other men went missing from this show, one very recently, with evidence of violence.�

�Christ, no. That puts a different spin on it. There�s obviously a communications breakdown. We�ll keep you in the loop in future.�

�Fuck the future. I�m on the case right now. I have a bad feeling about this.�

Diamond replaced the phone and stood for a moment trying to deal with his anger while processing the news of yet another disappearance. �Greg Deans now, the top man. We need the full story from his partner.� He turned to face Ingeborg.

She knew the drill. �Give me three minutes, guv. See you by the car.�

Greg Deans�s Range Rover was found at 4:15 P.M. the same day in a field only two miles from the pottery and under a mile from Combe Hay. Because it was off the road, it hadn�t been sighted in earlier searches. It was unlocked and there was staining on the bodywork that looked worryingly like blood. On the passenger seat was a partly opened pack of cold fish and chips.

Diamond arrived forty minutes later with Ingeborg and Keith Halliwell. They had to park in a field opposite to avoid blocking the lane.

The missing vehicle was inside a gate and facing the lane in an area already cordoned with police tape. A tall hedge meant it had been almost hidden from anyone driving by, so the searchers had done well. The uniformed sergeant who had made the find admitted he�d passed the gate twice before taking a closer look. �When we had enough of us, we divided the lane into sections and got a result.�

�Was it you who put the tape in place?� Diamond asked.

�Yes, sir, and the crime scene guys are on their way.�

�Fingers crossed they can tell us the full story, then. Has anyone phoned his partner at the pottery?�

�No. Should we have done?�

�You did the right thing. I�d rather not break the news until we know more. Obviously, you approached the car to check what was inside.�

�Me and my mate, sir.�

�Opened the door, did you? I�m not knocking you, just noting that the CSI team will need your prints, fingers and shoes, to eliminate them from any others they find. Don�t leave before they get here, got it?�

He was eager to get a closer look, but held himself in check.

A short hiatus before the crime scene experts arrived allowed his jangled emotions to process the fast developing tragedy. His overriding concern was for that poor disabled woman waiting for news. Greg Deans wasn�t a man it was easy to like or respect, but he seemed to have treated Natalie with affection. It must have taken major efforts to manage his TV work and care for her as well, never off duty. And she was remarkably brave to have kept the pottery business going this far into her progressive illness.

The CSI van stopped in the lane outside for someone to get out, already in his protective suit. Short and spry, he marched over as if he meant business from the word go. �Do we have a senior investigating officer?�

�Guilty,� Diamond said and got a sharp look back.

Names were exchanged. The man was Wolfgang, and he spoke his name the English way, with a W. �Good to see the tape in place, but we will need to extend the cordon another three metres in each direction. First we need an officer at the gate to make sure some idiot doesn�t drive into the field and override the tyre marks. Will you arrange that?�

�Consider it done.� Diamond beckoned to one of the uniformed bobbies and issued the instruction.

�I heard there�s blood,� Wolfgang said. �Is there a body?�

�If there is, I need to go to Specsavers.�

No smile. �In that case another vehicle may have removed it from the scene and there should be tracks.� He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted at the back of the gatekeeper, �Careful where you tread, particularly in the muddy area.� And then he raised his voice still more. �Have any of you people brought forensic suits and overshoes? If you have, put them on, please. If not, we have a supply.�

Scene of crime officers were always bossy. Everyone else was a menace in their eyes, liable to corrupt the scene and add to their workload, an opinion probably borne out of experience.

Diamond and his colleagues dragged the polyethylene suits over their clothes and watched the first moves from a safe distance. A photographer in the same approved kit started taking overview pictures of the scene from multiple angles on the safe side of the tape. A discussion was held before the next step, after which Wolfgang strutted over to Diamond�s group.

�You probably want a closer look.�

�It would help.�

�Can we agree on the common approach path, then? I propose making it over there where my team are standing, in a straight line to the offside of the vehicle. I need to conduct a fingertip search of the strip of ground before anyone else uses it.�

�Suits me.� You didn�t argue with Wolfgang.

Two SOCOs shoulder to shoulder and on hands and knees inched into the sealed-off area. Behind them, a note taker stood ready to log any finds.

It was no use getting impatient, Diamond knew from long experience at crime scenes. This one was about as fresh as it got. The problem with the disappearances of Tudor and Nicol had been the delay in getting there. In the case of Tudor it was four years. Nicol�s absence was more recent but hadn�t been treated as serious for four days until his bloodstained belt was found � four days in which the scene was churned up by vehicles. Shocking as it was, this new incident was an opportunity. A fresh crime scene would surely yield valuable information.

�How long before it gets dark?� Halliwell said. �Three hours maximum? At this rate we�ll all be back tomorrow.�

�Speak for yourself,� Ingeborg said. �I�m not on duty tomorrow.�

�They may bring in arc lamps and work through the night.�

�Oh heck, I hadn�t thought of that.�

�Were you planning an evening out, by any chance?�

Diamond got on the phone to Georgina and asked her to authorise a wider search next morning. The SOCOs had staked out their territory. It was up to the police to go over the rest of the field. If there wasn�t a body to be found, there might be other evidence, even a discarded murder weapon.

Georgina had already heard about the find and was eager to know what had happened. Diamond couldn�t tell her much. To be fair, she didn�t need any convincing of the need for more bobbies. She asked if the press had arrived at the scene and was relieved to be told they hadn�t. �Heaven only knows what they�ll make of this, following on from everything else.�

Diamond was summoned to the approach path, now marked and ready for use. Stepping plates had been laid over the turf. After Wolfgang�s elaborate preparation, the walk out to the Range Rover would feel like the first steps on the moon.

�Don�t touch a thing,� he was warned by the pocket-sized CSI supremo. �Don�t even think about touching anything.�

�I wasn�t born yesterday, Wolfgang.�

�You�d be amazed how some senior officers behave.�

�And some, like me, always do as we are told.�

Wolfgang was carrying a holdall that looked like a beach bag. He came to a halt about six feet back from the Range Rover. The driver�s door had been left partly open. Someone had wiped a space on the window and left a smear. �Did your people do this?� He was sounding increasingly like a headmaster.

�They�re not my people. They�re the patrol officers who got here first. I told them you�ll need their prints.�

�Also a statement detailing everything they did. I need to know how much of the scene is compromised.� Wolfgang put his left foot forward as if he was testing the thickness of ice. He produced a ruler from the bag and used it to ease the door fully open without using his latex-gloved hands. Then he handed Diamond a torch and stood back. �You first.� He had his procedures and he was sticking to them. Protocol decrees that the senior investigating officer is the first to examine the scene.

Diamond stepped up.

The cloud cover meant that at this time of day the torch was needed for inspecting the inside of the car. The beam of light showed him the banal but instructive sight of fish and chips on the passenger seat, the packet partially open as if the victim had got hungry and started eating. Deans had kept his word to Natalie.

The seats and safety belts appeared to be unmarked. He backed away and moved the circle of light along the bodywork. There was the dried mud you�d expect from a vehicle splashing through country lanes and there were also marks that overlaid the mud and were darker. They had spattered the side from a different angle.

Blood.

He found a smear that he took to be a bloody handprint that had slid down the slippery surface.

�That�s a hand mark by the look of it,� he told Wolfgang. �Looks to me as if he stepped out and was attacked and fell back against the side. Can you get fingerprints?�

�Hard to say,� Wolfgang told him. �They�re not sharp. The blood itself may be a better identifier. There�s a large patch on the ground to your right. He was bleeding heavily. Do you know who he was?�

�The owner of the car is a man called Greg Deans, a TV executive who was reported missing last night. You should be able to get a DNA sample from his home. He lived under a mile from here. If he was badly wounded, I wonder if he tried to get home.�

�He wouldn�t have got far, going by the blood loss,� Wolfgang said. �It�s more likely he fell right here and didn�t get up. Look at the scuff marks made by his shoes as he slid down. Look at the amount of blood on the turf.�

Diamond moved the torch over the dark patch and didn�t need any more convincing.

�Are there specks of blood on the fish and chips?�

Diamond leaned right in for a better view and his head touched something. Wolfgang won�t thank me for this, he thought. He supposed he�d nudged the rear-view mirror. He hadn�t. When he saw what it was he felt an uprush of excitement. He pulled his head and shoulders out of the car. �Have I gone to heaven, or is that a dashboard camera?�

The stone-faced SOCO changed places with Diamond. �You�re correct,� he said after some time and without a trace of emotion. �It�s not all that modern, but it seems to be hard-wired. We can play it back and see what�s on it if you like.�

�Now?�

�Later. We must test it for residues, like everything else.� He backed out and straightened up. �Don�t build up your hopes. It may not have been activated.�

�Dash cams are powered by the ignition, aren�t they?�

�Usually. Even if it was working � which isn�t certain � it won�t have carried on recording after he switched off. The modern cameras have a motion detector that operates even when the vehicle is parked, but this is very basic. And of course you won�t see anything outside the camera�s range.�

�Let�s not get carried away,� Diamond said, riled by so much downbeat comment.

�What do you mean by that?�

�It could still give us vital evidence.�

Wolfgang remained unmoved. �Have you finished your inspection?�

�I�d like to know if there�s anything on the back seat.�

�Couldn�t you see from the front?�

Diamond leaned in again, careful not to touch anything. �The head restraints are in the way.�

�Don�t touch them.�

�I don�t intend to. Can you see anything through the back window?�

�Not without wiping it clean,� Wolfgang said. �It�s far too dirty.�

�We could open the rear door and have a look.�

The suggestion was met with a sound like the dregs of a drink sucked through a straw. �Nothing must be touched. Photography next and then we�ll go over the exterior.�

No short cuts, then. Wolfgang went by the rules and another twenty minutes passed before he allowed one of the rear doors to be opened.

Diamond approached the car again.

A carrier bag was on the back seat.

�Is it too much to hope we can see what�s inside?� Diamond asked.

Wolfgang eyed him with scorn. �Haven�t you ever done the explosive devices course?�

Diamond reran the sequence repeatedly. Paloma had been sickened by it after one look, so he took over the mouse while she went to the kitchen to make tea. He needed to check each detail. The attack seemed to end after five thrusts. The picture reverted to the view of the field and the hedge caught in an eerie stillness like a freeze frame except that the film was running. After a few seconds more, the footage ended, as if the camera was switched off. The time at the foot of the screen when Deans got out of the car was 9:20 P.M. The assault began fifteen seconds later and ended before the minute was up. The attacker merged with the shadows for much of the action, but was definitely masked, gloved and hooded. The knife was a dagger with a pointed end, purpose-built for stabbing. Hatred lay behind this attack.

The images were still with him when he went to bed. Lying there, not ready for sleep, he tried putting this attack in the context of the wider investigation, the fact that this was a third disappearance linked to the same TV show, but his brain wasn�t ready to go into analytical mode. The dark shape moving in for the kill kept butting into his thoughts.

�Put up your window,� Diamond warned Ingeborg.

The dog was bounding towards the car.

Cool under threat, Ingeborg had reversed a short distance and pulled into a passing place. �We can�t ignore them, guv.�

�I don�t intend to. I want that dog under control first.�

Caesar reached them, made a leap, landed on the bonnet, was unable to get a grip on the shiny surface, slid off, hit the ground, became more enraged and attacked the side. It became a rerun of the experience in Keith Halliwell�s car, the barking and the pawing of the windows, steaming them up and spattering foam and saliva over them.

Inside the car, Diamond said, �This is an arrestable offence.�

�Tell that to the dog,� Ingeborg said.

As if he�d overheard, Will Legat put two fingers to his mouth and produced a whistle so piercing that they heard it inside with all the windows up. Caesar stopped trying to eat the Ka and its occupants, meekly disengaged, trotted back along the lane and allowed himself to have a rope looped through his collar.

�Useful trick,� Ingeborg said.

�Are you okay?� Diamond asked.

�I�m fine.�

�If your bodywork is damaged, we�ll send him the repair bill.�

�Haha. You crease me up, guv.�

�Safe to get out now, I think.�

After a moment more, they emerged and waited for the others to approach, Natalie ahead on her scooter, Legat and the dog at a safe distance behind. The tramp was still in the same shabby clothes he�d worn at the airfield, but he had the air of a man about town.

More barking started and some straining on the leash before Caesar seemed to sense that they were not a serious threat and calmed down.

Diamond�s brain was working like a search engine to make the connection between Natalie and Legat. No result came up.

Natalie halted the scooter. She looked pale, but composed, wearing a thick black shawl over a grey trouser suit. �Do you have some news?� she asked Diamond, eyes wide in expectation.

He wasn�t going to answer that. This wasn�t the time, nor the place, to discuss the violent attack the dashboard camera had picked up. �We were on our way to visit you, ma�am. You remember Ingeborg?�

Natalie didn�t even give Ingeborg a glance. �What is it? You can tell me.�

�You must have heard something already, I think, or you wouldn�t be out.�

�That�s why we�re going to the field. It�s no distance. As soon as I was awake, I phoned the police in Bath and they told me about the car being found. What could have possessed him, driving off the road when he was so close to home? Why hasn�t he called me?�

It was obvious that whoever had spoken to her from Bath Police hadn�t revealed the full facts.

�There isn�t much to see in the field except policemen making a search, ma�am. The car has been taken away for forensic examination. We�re hoping they can give some indications of what happened.�

�I want to see where it was found.�

He understood why. He remembered in vivid detail going to Victoria Park on the worst day of his life all those years ago. Visiting the scene of his own wife�s murder had been heartrending, but in a strange way had helped him process his unimaginable loss.

�Where�s Greg?� she said. �That�s all I want to know.�

�We�re doing all we can to find him.�

�He was definitely on his way here. He phoned me from Trowbridge when he was about to leave.�

�You told me this already. If you remember, I called at the pottery yesterday after we first heard he was missing.�

�So you did,� she said. �The last two days are a blur. I�ve lost track of what I said to people.� She fixed her eyes on him. �There�s something you haven�t told me.�

�Let�s walk to the field together,� he said, realising as he spoke that it was a crass remark to make to someone confined to a wheelchair. Without pause, he went on to say, �Ingeborg will have to move her car. She can meet us there.�

Legat, unusually for him, had stood at a distance and remained silent apart from a few muttered words controlling the dog. He spoke to Ingeborg. �You�ll need to drive up to the pottery to find a turning point.�

She thanked him and returned to the Ka.

Natalie�s scooter was already in motion again. She was on a mission. The two men had to step out sharply to keep her in sight, with Diamond almost at a run to keep up with the big man�s strides.

Diamond said to Legat, �I�m struggling to understand what you�re doing here.�

This gentleman of the road had bluffed his way through more situations than the miles he�d tramped through Britain. �What else would you expect? I couldn�t allow poor Natalie to make this sorry pilgrimage on her own. She needs support at this time. And apart from that, it�s bloody dangerous driving a scooter up a narrow lane. You never know what nuisances are coming the other way, as we discovered.�

Diamond ignored the slur. �How is it that you know her?�

�She�s one of my guardian angels. Has been for years.�

�What does that mean?�

�I�m always assured of bed and a good breakfast at the pottery. I have a barn to myself � Caesar and myself, I should say. A ground sheet, an inflatable bed and we�re in clover. But you know about this. I remember telling you I stay with a kind lady at Combe Hay.�

A faint memory stirred from his first interview. �I thought you were down in Bath.�

�On the streets? I don�t make a practice of sleeping rough. After you inhospitably instructed the Keynsham custody sergeant to give me my marching orders next time I needed a night in the cells, I had to look to other resources.�

�You�ve been here some days, then? You were here the other night when Greg Deans failed to come home.�

�Do you mind? You make it sound positively culpable. I was in the barn all evening. I first heard he was late when I called at the farmhouse for my evening drink and found Natalie beside herself with worry.�

�You know Greg, obviously?�

�Isn�t �knew� the operative word? I can guess why you�re here, superintendent. I saw it in your eyes and I think she did, although she doesn�t want to face the truth. You�ll have to break it to her soon. Have you found the body?�

The gall of the man. Diamond was hard pressed to keep this civil. �I asked if you know Greg.�

�The precious Greg? A bit. I�ve seen him here from time to time, but Natalie owns the farmhouse and all the outbuildings, so she�s my main point of contact. Greg was an adjunct.�

�A what?�

�Something extra she took on one year when I was away on my travels. I�m surprised he lasted as long as he did.�

�You knew her before he moved in?�

�Years before.�

�I gather you don�t get on with him.�

�No reason to. He went his way � into the farmhouse � and I went mine � into the small barn. He was something important in television, but it never washed with me. I judge people as I find them and one shouldn�t speak ill of the dead, but I can�t say I�m sorry he�s gone. He didn�t care for me or Caesar. More importantly, I don�t think he cared much for Natalie.�

�He helped her run the pottery after she got ill. She told me that herself.�

�Yes, turning into chief cook and bottle washer must have come as a shock to a high-flier like Greg. Living here and using the pottery as a hotel suited him nicely when she was in good health.� He hesitated, stroking his beard, trying to appear in command of these exchanges, yet keen for more information. �I asked you a moment ago if you�ve found the body.�

�Not yet,� Diamond said, �but there�s strong evidence he was murdered and forensics ought to confirm it soon. I think she�d prefer to be told in her own home.�

�If I may say so, your record at failing to find corpses is second to none, superintendent. Is this the third, or the fourth?�

Diamond wasn�t taking that without a riposte. �I can tell when a major crime has been committed and you�ll have questions to answer, my friend.�

Natalie had already reached the gateway to the field and was talking to the policeman on duty.

�Oh my hat. If she tries to drive in she could tip over,� Legat told Diamond with genuine alarm. He was acting like a guardian � or a spouse.

Legat legged it. And Caesar went, too.

Diamond followed at a brisk walk while asking himself how serious this relationship was and what it meant to the investigation. Legat had put himself firmly back in the frame. He�d been present at the scene of Jake Nicol�s disappearance and now he�d placed himself suspiciously close to another and with an obvious motive for murder.

In the field, white-clad figures in a long row were progressing slowly towards the other side, a surreal spectacle. Within the cordoned area near the gate, the scene-of-crime team were at work, bent like fruit pickers. A curved spine must be a hazard of the job.

By the time Diamond reached the gateway, Natalie had explained who she was and was being helped over a protective tarpaulin and into the field. She didn�t get far, even with Legat pushing the scooter. She was forced to watch the search from behind some DO NOT ENTER tape. The sight of so much activity could only increase her suspicion that this was being treated as a murder scene.

Diamond had a new concern. Wolfgang would surely be one of the stooped figures in polypropylene gear and would spot him and start sounding off about bloodstain patterns, so he took the initiative and called out, �We�re not here to interrupt you, Wolfgang. This lady is the missing man�s partner.�

One of them straightened, gave a kind of wave, and continued his work.

Natalie turned to face Diamond. �Now will you tell me the truth about Greg?�

�Shall we return to the pottery?�

Ingeborg ignored the police officer trying to wave their car into the field where everyone had parked. She drove on to where the action was � if action is not an exaggeration. The searchers were still spread across the field progressing slowly forward and the CSI team in the taped-off area were scarcely moving at all. Diamond got out and shouted to Wolfgang.

The small figure in his forensic suit was stooping in the cordoned area. He looked round, straightened up and ambled over. Diamond gave him the news of the find in the marina and said, �Hop aboard our car and we�ll take you there.�

�Please � it�s not as simple as that. If the suitcase has been underwater for any appreciable time, I�m not going to be of much use to you.�

�You�re a crime scene investigator. What�s the problem?�

�For one thing, we don�t know for certain if a crime was committed. And for another the marina isn�t necessarily the scene.�

�Oh, come on, Wolfgang. Give me a break. I simply want to see what�s inside and I need someone like you to make it official.�

�You�re better off getting a forensic pathologist. If there is, indeed, a body, they�ll want to see the remains in situ and then move them to wherever they do their autopsies.�

�I�ll feel an idiot if I call out a pathologist and the case is full of old saucepans.�

�And you won�t feel an idiot with me. Is that what you�re saying? You�re going to need other people anyway. A photographer for a start and possibly a locksmith. You won�t want to force it open.�

�For God�s sake. It�s got straps round. I don�t suppose it�s locked.�

�If I was disposing of a body in a suitcase, I�d lock it and I�m sure you would do the same. How can I impress on you that there are no short cuts, superintendent? You must definitely find the right experts to help you. I don�t mind being there. I can supply a forensic tent. You�re going to have an audience otherwise.�

�All this will take hours to set up.�

�A pathologist usually gets to the scene quite soon. I can�t come until later anyway. I�m making casts of tyre treads. What time is it?�

So much had already happened this morning that Diamond was surprised it was only a few minutes after eleven.

�Use the time to get your head around what�s happening,� Wolfgang said. �You don�t want to lose your grip.�

Diamond could have felt patronised, but the advice was good. He was in shock. The find in the marina called for a rethink. He�d been ready to pull in Will Legat as soon as his guilt was confirmed by a DNA match. But Legat had no conceivable connection with the marina. It was almost impossible that he would dispose of bodies there. The focus switched to the people who lived there: Fergus and Candida.

Wolfgang raised a hand in farewell. �Let me know what you arrange.�

Back in the car, Diamond told Ingeborg through gritted teeth, �Change of plan. This is going to take longer.�

He phoned the only pathologist he could think of and that was the sarcastic Bertram Sealy, who had made his life a misery on several previous cases. The earliest Sealy could manage was two o�clock and that, he said, would be as a favour for a regular customer.

�You can�t make it any sooner?�

�And ruin my lunch?� Sealy said. �The suitcase won�t walk away.�

�I hope not.�

�I assume the divers are already looking for more evidence. They may bring up another while I�m having my Big Mac.�

The thought of a second suitcase hadn�t crossed Diamond�s mind. Another one hidden under the jetty was a real possibility. He settled for two o�clock and went back to tell Wolfgang the decision.

Next, he phoned the incident room and updated Keith Halliwell on the morning�s developments. �It�s almost certain Candida has seen the suitcase on the jetty by now and alerted Fergus. He�ll be on another day�s filming. The way he reacts will be worth knowing. Find out where they are and get someone out there ASAP. I suggest Paul. Tell him to take someone with him and observe from a distance.�

�Don�t you want to collar Fergus?�

�Not yet. His movements will tell us a lot. And I need back-up at the marina. Who do you have?�

�Leaman and Sharp.�

�You have some civilian staff in the office, right? They can hold the fort. I�ll meet you three as soon as you can get here. There�s a pub called the Riverside Inn.�

After he�d ended the call, Ingeborg asked, �Where to, guv?�

�Didn�t you hear? We�ll grab a pint and some lunch and be ready for them.�

Humiliation crushed Peter Diamond. The weight of it was overwhelming. At this low point of his career all the experience of a lifetime�s service, the cases he had solved, the killers he had brought to justice over the years, counted for nothing. He�d come here confident of a triumph and was hopelessly, ridiculously wrong.

Dr. Sealy had a grin wider than a body bag. The forensic photographer had turned his back and was shaking with mirth. Diamond, in his undignified position, his bonneted head inside the tent and the rest of him outside, bent over as if inviting someone to kick him, was at a loss.

Sealy said, �Are you going to tell them or shall I?�

He was right. They all had to be told they had been brought here on a fool�s errand � Earnshaw, the divers, Wolfgang, Halliwell, Leaman, Ingeborg and Sharp. There was no ducking who had cocked up.

Still in a state of shock, Diamond removed his head from the tent.

A cloud had covered the sun and a cool breeze blew across the marina, creating ripples he could hear lapping the sides of the moored boats.

�Sorry, people,� he said in his stricken voice. �It�s not what I expected. It�s a dead snake.�

Earnshaw said, �Speak up.�

Wolfgang said, �You can take off the mask now.�

He dragged it below his chin. �A snake.�

�What sort of snake?�

�A python, we think.�

They had to see for themselves. Diamond was practically pushed off the jetty. Only one person hadn�t moved. Keith Halliwell waited on the deck of the Daisy Belle, the boat berthed next to Deck the Halls. �You�d better look in here, guv,� Keith said. �I got a bit ahead of myself and opened up.�

Diamond had prepared himself to think of the second narrowboat as a charnel house, a murderer�s store where bodies were locked away prior to disposal in the water. He crossed the walkway and stepped on deck. The padlock was still in place. Halliwell had forced the hasp away from the wood.

He pushed the door open and went in.

The interior was so dimly lit that he had to wait a second or two for his eyes to adjust. He could hear a faint mechanical humming he took to be a fridge motor.

That much was correct. He could now make out a large cabinet freezer with the fridge beside it and shelving opposite. Above him was a double tube of strip lighting.

�There�s got to be a switch,� he said.

�Found it,� Halliwell said and flicked it on.

The entire length of the boat was revealed, taken up with huge glass tanks two metres high and twice as long, reinforced with steel. Their slatted covers appeared to work on a roller-glide system. Two stood each side of a narrow aisle. Inside each tank was a jungle in miniature, forked logs and branches projecting upwards from a ground cover of stones, ferns and broad-leaved plants.

�I think it�s called a vivarium,� Halliwell said. �He keeps snakes.�

Diamond moved along the row in silence, taking it in. At first he couldn�t see anything alive. There was no movement. In the second tank he noticed a mottled brownish green surface that wasn�t part of the log that lay across the middle.

A coiled unmoving serpent as thick as a man�s thigh.

�Can you tell the difference between a boa constrictor and a python?� Halliwell said. �I can�t, but I reckon he�s got both.�

Diamond said nothing.

�Part of his macho lifestyle, I suppose,� Halliwell went on. �I�ve never wanted to keep exotic reptiles myself. Are you okay, guv?�

Diamond said, �Let�s get out of here.�

Back on deck, he stood facing the open water and not seeing anything. At least his brain was functioning again, seeking to find some understanding of the bizarre things forced on his consciousness.

After some thought, he said, �What do they feed on � chicks and mice, isn�t it?�

�I�ve never asked.�

�He�ll keep them in the fridge.�

�I expect so. I didn�t look inside.�

�In the wild, they can go for weeks without eating and then they want something substantial. Big snakes like those are man-eaters, given a chance.�

�That�s an ugly thought, guv.�

�I�m in an ugly mood.�

Halliwell had his phone out and was googling man-eating snakes. �It�s rare, but not unknown. A fully-grown python will crush you and try to swallow you whole. The jaws are flexible and expand. Swallowing the shoulders is the hard part.�

�If the body was butchered into joints of meat, the python wouldn�t have any difficulty.�

Halliwell screwed up his face in disgust. �Is that what Fergus did?�

�At this stage, Keith, your guess is as good as mine. It would account for the people who disappeared and were never seen again.�

�That�s gross.�

�Keeping large reptiles in captivity is gross. I don�t understand the mentality behind it. I�m going to question Candida again and see how much she knows. I don�t think Fergus will be here any time soon.� With more of an agenda, he might recover from the humbling he�d let himself in for. Peeling off the forensic suit was a start.

The king of the incident room, John Leaman, came straight over as soon as Diamond and Ingeborg returned. He was rubbing his hands, a rare display of emotion. �A batch of test results have come in, guv. The lab beat all records.�

�Thanks to Wolfgang cracking the whip,� Diamond said. �What have we got?�

�The victim was definitely Greg Deans. The bloody handprint on the car was his and so was the blood on the ground, so much, they say, that he couldn�t have lived.�

�We know that. What else?�

�They found no traces of anyone else�s blood or DNA.�

�Really? That surprises me.�

�The perpetrator was wearing gloves.�

�Shoeprints?�

�Nothing conclusive. The ground was too squelchy.�

�Squelchy? Is that the term they used?�

�No, it�s me summing up. Do you want me to read you the exact words?�

�No need. I can read them myself.�

�They did get a tyre print where the ground wasn�t quite so muddy, a good one, and made a cast of it.�

Diamond nodded. �I saw Wolfgang collecting it.�

�It�s a clear tread pattern and the interesting thing is that it�s not from a car.�

�A motorbike?�

�Yes � the tyre was a Michelin Pilot. They give a range of probable serial numbers and there�s enough wear to identify the bike if we can find it.�

�Could be helpful, very helpful. Go on.�

�That�s about it. The fingertip search of the field produced a few items like cigarette butts, but no reason to connect them to the killer.�

�Where were they found? Anywhere near the gate?�

�I didn�t ask. I was thinking some farm worker dropped them. The killer wouldn�t stand around smoking after the stabbing.�

�Before, John, before. He spent some nervous time waiting for the Range Rover to come up the lane. That�s when he would have needed a fag.�

Leaman�s embarrassed features displayed most of the colours of a Turner sunset. �I didn�t think of that.�

�It�s okay. I don�t expect you to cover every angle.�

�I�ll call the lab and find out.�

�Before you do, run the dash cam footage for me one more time on the large screen, would you, just the sequence in the field? There�s a moment when the car is turning and the camera catches a glimpse of something metallic under the hedge.�

�There isn�t much to see. Just a gleam of silver.�

He shouldn�t have been irritated by Leaman�s remark. After all, the man�s pathological attention to detail was often of value. But he was feeling the strain himself. �You�re not telling me anything new, John. I�ve studied it many times over. I want to see it on a bigger scale, understood?�

An injured look settled on Leaman�s features. �Got you.�

Realising he�d caused unintended hurt, Diamond softened the remark by placing some blame elsewhere. �I asked our IT people to check it frame by frame and enhance it if they can, but we�ve heard nothing back yet. I�m thinking it may have been this motorbike.�

Ingeborg tried to assist. �I can guess where you�re going with this, guv. Fergus is a biker. He rides to Combe Hay and parks the bike out of sight in the field, ready to ambush Greg. Candida will have driven there in a van and parked in the field opposite. She was the one who stood in the lane and directed Greg off the road and into the field like a lamb to the slaughter. Am I right?�

�Substantially, yes, but that�s only a scenario. Let�s not get carried away.�

�Like the corpse?� Halliwell said, making his own attempt to lighten the mood.

�What?�

�Carried away in the van.�

�Haha. Are you ready, John?�

Leaman seemed to have got over his angst. �Do you want the blinds down?�

�Good idea. Gather round, people. The more eyes we have on this, the better.�

They watched the sequence from the moment Greg�s headlights picked out the figure in the hi-vis jacket signalling to him to turn off the lane and into the field. The lights were dipped as the car approached the figure and only switched on again to make the turn. The picture gave the illusion of the field moving left as Greg drove in and turned in a tight circle to bring the car to a position facing the lane. It was difficult to see anything clearly because of the bumping over the rutted surface, creating secondary movement up and down as well as sideways.

�Here�s the hedge coming back in view,� Diamond said, �and this is the bit I�m interested in.�

No more than a flash of brightness against the dark band of the hedge, but almost certainly a reflection from a shiny surface � and gone in a fraction of a second. When the car came to a halt, the definition improved, but the object of all the interest was well out of shot.

�Impossible to tell,� Keith Halliwell said.

Leaman stopped the film and ran it a second time. And a third. He froze the frame, and that didn�t help.

Ingeborg said, �I�m thinking the height may be a clue. It�s about the level of a bike. If it was the side of a car, the patch of light would be broader and taller, wouldn�t it?�

�You�re losing me,� Halliwell said.

Diamond told Leaman to run it again in slow motion.

The picture quality was even less clear.

�I give up.�

Halliwell asked Leaman to let the film run on and show the stabbing. They watched the top of Greg�s head close to the dash cam after he�d got out to investigate. They saw the moving shape of his attacker in mid-distance creeping towards the front of the car. Next, Greg�s head in silhouette crossed the screen from right to left when he backed against the bonnet. Then the close-up of the fist gripping the knife.

�Stop it there.�

Diamond�s voice had fresh urgency.

The image froze.

�For crying out loud, why didn�t I see this before? That�s the back of his hand.�

�So...?� Halliwell said.

�The killer is left-handed. It�s obvious, isn�t it? He�s facing Greg, so his left side is closer to us.�

Silence.

He could almost hear their brains ticking over.

Halliwell was the first to speak. �We should all have spotted it when we first saw the film. We were so caught up in the killing that we didn�t give a toss how the knife was held.�

�One thing is certain now,� Diamond said. �The killer can�t be Will Legat. I�ve watched him hold the rope he uses as a lead for the dog. I saw him this morning in the pottery carry his coffee out of the kitchen. He�s right-handed. He�s got to be innocent.�

�How about Fergus?�

�I�m trying to think whether he�s right-handed as well,� Diamond said. �I haven�t seen as much of him as Legat.�

Jean Sharp spoke up for the first time. �Why don�t you call Paul? He�s got Fergus under observation.�

Paul Gilbert wasn�t high in Diamond�s thoughts. His last order to the young DC had been to stick with the man, whatever happened. �Would you get him for me?�

She got through and handed him the phone. He asked Gilbert where he was.

�Erm, it�s a pub, guv. They finished filming and derigging some time ago and some of them ended up here. I�m keeping watch on Fergus, like you asked. He�s in no hurry to leave.�

�And I know why. He�s got some explaining to do when he gets home. Have you had a few drinks yourself?�

�Just the one, a half, as cover.�

�And he�s still in sight? Tell me something. When he picks up his drink, does he hold it with his left hand or his right?�

There was a pause.

�His right. He�s holding it now.�

�You�re sure? He�s right-handed?�

�Is that what you�re asking? Yes, I�ve watched him using the mallet when he�s laying the track. It�s always in his right hand.�

In a voice drained of animation, Diamond said, �In that case, you can drink up and go home. Your work is done for the day.� A pounding had started in his chest and ears, a sure sign of the hypertension the doctors were always warning him about. He handed the phone back to Jean Sharp and sat on the edge of a desk. When he�d got himself together again, he raised his voice for all to listen. �Did you hear that? Fergus is in the clear. Our two prime suspects are innocent.� Out of ideas, hunched and inert, a beaten man, he added, �Where do we go from here? Don�t ask. You�d better start a whip-round for my retirement present.�

It was a good thing Keith Halliwell had his nerves under control. He reported a grade-one emergency command to stop and arrest a blonde female suspect riding a Harley-Davidson in the Wellsway area without a crash helmet, possibly pursued by a male rider, also on a Harley and helmetless, who was a police officer in plain clothes.

Still in shock, Diamond faced two of the film crew who had rushed over for an explanation. �I only know what I saw, the same as you,� he told them, �except I saw it too close for comfort.�

All he would say in answer to other questions was that police patrols had been alerted and he�d share any information he got.

By degrees he pulled himself together enough to act more like the senior professional. His concern about Paul Gilbert may have become less obvious, yet hadn�t lessened in the least.

Filming was abandoned for the day and the star of the show had already retired to her mansion on wheels when a short familiar figure in a forensic suit and carrying a large bag hobbled from the direction of the parked vehicles. �Bit bloody late, Wolfgang,� Diamond said, giving vent to his fractured emotions. �Both motorbikes have gone.�

�Both?� came the surprised response. �You didn�t tell me there were two.�

�Sabine�s and the stunt bike.�

�I understand now.� A heavy sigh confirmed Wolfgang�s annoyance with himself. �But you might have told me.�

�I didn�t know for sure when I phoned. I deal in certainties, my friend, not speculation.� This was untrue. A detective gets nowhere without speculating. But Diamond felt better for reminding Wolfgang of a piece of crime scene dogma.

Then he noticed that the man�s forensic suit was torn at the shoulder and a flap hung loose above the right knee. There was a grass stain down one leg. �What happened to you?�

�In point of fact, I wasn�t a �bit bloody late,�� Wolfgang said. �I was here fifteen minutes before you and your companions. I saw you arrive. You were in too much of a hurry to notice me, even though I waved. If you check your phone, you�ll find a text from me.�

�Saying what?�

�What I�m telling you now. I found a motorcycle parked beside one of the TV vans.�

�That would be the stunt bike.�

�I�ll have to take your word for that. A Harley-Davidson Sportster. I decided the right thing to do was check the tyres and they turned out to be Michelin, of the right size and index numbers. I inked the surface of one and made a paper pressing and I knew at once that it was the machine that left the imprint at the crime scene in the field.�

�You knew from memory?�

�The memory of many hours examining the cast and recording the wear marks. There were some new marks, from more recent use, but the wear pattern was essentially all there, visible to the naked eye.�

�And...?�

�I was so absorbed in my work that I didn�t notice someone creep up behind, grab my throat and throw me to the ground. It was like a commando attack and it was a young woman, if you can believe that.�

�Oh, I believe it, Wolfgang.�

�Before I could do anything about it, she got on the bike, started up and rode off in this direction. I�ve no idea who she was.�

�Ann Bugg, Sabine�s stunt double. She panicked when she saw you with the stunt bike she uses � the same bike she rode to Combe Hay the night she attacked Greg Deans.�

�She was the masked figure in the dash cam footage? She must be extremely strong.�

�Stunt people are, as a rule.� He didn�t add that she was at least as tall as Wolfgang.

�And so violent.�

�She�s desperate. I just hope we can catch her before she does more harm.�

Wolfgang shook his head. �It never occurred to me that the figure on camera was female.�

�She was wearing dark clothing. You said yourself that the camera was pretty basic. I got no sense of scale from it.�

�Fair comment.�

�However,� Diamond said. �I did eventually notice that the hand holding the knife must have been the left. Our masked figure is left-handed.�

Wolfgang closed his eyes, remembering the images. �Damn it, that�s true and I didn�t spot it. So if she hasn�t crashed and killed herself and you arrest her, it will be interesting to find out which is her dominant hand.�

A shout from Halliwell took over. He had his phone to his ear and was striding towards them. �Guv, there�s something coming through. They seem to have found her.�

�Where?�

�Near Radstock on the A367. A patrol car spotted her. She ran out of petrol. The tank must have been almost empty when she started.�

�They were using that bike yesterday.�

�Wait, they�re talking about someone else.�

�Give it to me.� Heart thumping, he grabbed the phone in time to hear through the static that a second person had been found with the female and identified himself as a police officer. �He�s alive, thank God!�

The voice was saying that the officer had caught up with the suspect and made an arrest.

�Is he okay?� Diamond asked.

But the communication was one-way. No one answered his question. The voice at the scene added that they needed transport for the bikes and as soon as it arrived they would bring the two people in.

He returned the phone to Halliwell and asked him to drive them back to Concorde House.

�Won�t they be taking her to Radstock, guv?�

�Yes, and then to Keynsham for questioning.�

�Don�t you want to be there?�

�All in good time. I need to know what Ingeborg and Jean have found out. There�s a bigger fish to fry than Ann Bugg.�

Halliwell wanted to know more, but Diamond asked him to be patient. He�d shown his hand and regretted it too many times before.

Next morning at the debrief of Operation Showstopper, Paul Gilbert had to endure another ordeal.

�You were crazy riding down those steps without a crash helmet,� Diamond said, �but you�re also incredibly brave. You made the arrest and we salute you.�

When everyone started clapping, Gilbert turned crimson and looked ready for a fresh stunt � jumping out of the window.

Ingeborg said, �Show a moped rider a Harley-Davidson and that�s what happens.�

Diamond shifted the spotlight. �And you, Inge, and you, Jean, earn a gold star each for finding the truth about Greg Deans. Not everyone knows yet, so would one of you like to sum up?�

�Oh.�

Put on the spot, the two women looked at each other. Ingeborg said, �I�ll start, then. After Natalie told us Deans was Romanian, somebody not a million miles from here came up with the idea that all three missing men, Tudor, Nicol and Deans, might be Romanian immigrants. Jean did some digging on the internet and Bingo!�

�Get away,� Halliwell said.

�Check if you don�t believe me. So we took up our theory with the embassy, sent them photos from the Swift and Proud personnel files and they confirmed that Tudor and Nicol had both been born there. Then we got into a long to-and-fro with them because the mugshot we sent of Grigore Dinescu, alias Deans, didn�t match the one they had. If he wasn�t the same man, who was he? Quite a search went on at the embassy and back in their own country. Someone there believed his face was familiar for some reason, but they couldn�t place him. Then Jean had the smart idea of suggesting they checked their criminal records and that�s how we learned his true identity.� She looked across at her colleague. �Come out from behind your screen, Jean.�

The shy member of the team surfaced and cleared her throat.

�Can�t hear you,� John Leaman said.

�I didn�t speak,� Jean said.

�We�re waiting.�

�Well,� she said in her soft, apologetic voice that managed to command everyone�s attention, �the Romanians used biometric recognition software and matched our photo to a known offender called Simion Stoica, who was convicted of three murders in Mangalia, on the Black Sea coast, in the year 2007. He�s known as the Knifeman of Mangalia.�

�Greg Deans?� Halliwell piped in disbelief.

Diamond said, �Can we get the picture on the big screen? It�s an amazing resemblance.�

Leaman switched on and Jean transferred the image. The red hair was cropped and the face clean-shaven. Even so, Greg�s strong features and calculating brown eyes were unmistakable.

�No doubt about that,� Gilbert said.

�The Romanians are confident, or they wouldn�t have told us,� Jean said before launching into the back story. �Stoica was a graduate in drama and he got a job with a theatre company by fatally stabbing the only other applicant. At the time it was believed his victim was mugged in the street. One of the company became suspicious and he, too, was knifed to death outside his house by someone wearing a ski mask.�

�This man feels no guilt,� Diamond said. �He thinks nothing of taking a life. Anyone who stands in his way is at risk of getting killed.�

Jean resumed. �His third victim was a new theatre manager who wanted to make changes Stoica didn�t like. This time the police got enough evidence for a conviction. He was given a life sentence, but he escaped from a working party in 2009 and was never recaptured.�

�How did he turn himself into Dinescu?� Halliwell asked.

�Identity theft. The real Grigore Dinescu was a businessman from a town further up the coast who planned to emigrate to England in 2012. He had no family in Romania apart from a brother who lost touch with him after he left. But it seems the man who flew into London as Dinescu was Stoica. They now believe the passport was a fake one showing Stoica�s photo and Dinescu�s name.�

�Do we need to ask what happened to the real Dinescu?� Paul Gilbert said.

�The Romanian police are investigating.�

�Any of us could tell them.�

�Thanks, Jean,� Diamond said. �You two did a fine job.� Turning to address everyone, he said, �Ingeborg called to update me while I was interviewing Ann Bugg and gave me this man�s record. Three killings in a year in Romania. At least two here. Bugg still doesn�t know how lucky she is to be left alive.�

Everyone fell silent, struggling to understand Stoica�s mindset.

�What got him started on his killing spree here?� Gilbert eventually asked.

�To him it�s as straightforward as deleting words on a computer. He got the job with Swift and Proud and learned he would be working with a fellow Romanian, Dave Tudor, who could well have known about the serial killings in Mangalia. It was a risk he couldn�t take, so he killed him within days.�

�We don�t know that for certain,� Leaman, the team�s stickler for facts, said.

�Get real, John,� Ingeborg said. �Tudor went missing shortly after Deans got the job as production assistant. He had to be eliminated.�

�It�s still supposition. The body was never found. All we know for sure is that he failed to turn up for work and when someone eventually went to his lodgings to enquire, it was clear he hadn�t been there for a couple of days. The same goes for Jake Nicol.�

�Not the same at all,� she said. �Nicol�s flat had been emptied as if he�d moved out. And there was blood on the floor.�

�A few drops,� Leaman said.

Paul Gilbert spoke up. �May I?�

�Of course, you may,� Diamond said. �As investigating officer, you know better than anyone about this. You were the one who found the blood.�

Gilbert blushed. �Well, it seemed important at the time because we assumed it was Nicol�s. But there was a lot of difficulty getting a DNA reading and when the lab finally came up with something it turns out the blood was Dean�s. In his hurry to clear Nicol�s things out he must have nicked his hand.�

Leaman was frowning. �No one told me this.�

Ingeborg said, �Because we didn�t know. We only just found out. We didn�t have Deans�s DNA profile until now.�

Diamond interrupted before the spat turned ugly. �Deans had already had a busy night. That�s why he was in the flat so late, after midnight. Let�s go over it. He knifed Nicol to death at the airfield after everyone from the film unit had left. He used the last TV truck to move the body to the pottery.�

Gilbert said, �Will Legat saw the lights of the truck being driven off. That was Deans.�

�Right,� Diamond said. �After unloading the body at Combe Hay, he drove out to Cold Ashton and returned the truck to the Gripmasters depot.�

Gilbert raised a thumb in confirmation. �Yes, the manager told me it was returned there as usual.�

�Nicol had his scooter parked there,� Diamond went on.

�Do we know that?� Leaman said.

Gilbert said, �You�ve got it on file. It�s in the report I gave you of my interview with Able Mabel. He used a blue Vespa and she showed me where it would have been parked.�

Diamond picked up the thread again. �And Deans, well organised as always, had brought Jake�s keys with him and rode the scooter back to the airfield to collect his Range Rover. He then drove home with the Vespa in the back. We already found it in one of the barns at the pottery. After all that, he still needed to make sure there was nothing to connect his victim to Romania, so he drove to Fairfield Park, let himself in with Jake�s door key, stuffed everything into a bag to give the impression Jake had packed his own things, and took off.�

Everything seemed to be explained except the most obvious � and Leaman was quick to seize on it. �So where�s the body?�

�I may have news of that. I�m expecting a call. In fact, I�d better check.� He took out his phone and looked at it.

Ingeborg said, �You�re not switched on.�

Looks were exchanged among the team. Their technophobic boss would never learn.

While the phone powered up, Gilbert said, �We know Jake Nicol was knifed because we found his bloodstained belt.�

�But not the body,� Leaman continued to insist.

Diamond flapped his hand for silence. �It�s a bad line.� He said into the phone, �Can I call you back?... Really? All right, then.� He looked up. �He�s in the building. He�s on his way up.�

�Who is?� Halliwell asked.

�Didn�t I say? Wolfgang, the crime scene investigator.�

Even this bumptious little man might have been surprised to open the door and find the entire murder squad staring at him, ready for his news, but he didn�t let it show. �Have I interrupted something?�

�We�re waiting to hear from you,� Diamond said.

�All of you?�

�Only if you have something for us.�

�I do.� He lifted high the holdall that went everywhere with him. �In here are the remains of at least one individual, presumably the rigger who went missing recently.�

�May we see?�

�There�s not much left of him.� He unzipped the holdall and took out an evidence bag that he displayed to his audience like a market salesman. �To you, it will look like a piece of broken china. To an experienced eye, this is a large chip of human tooth. I also found sixteen other fragments of bone.�

�Where was it?� Diamond asked him.

�At the pottery, where you asked me to go. I had my doubts about this trip after the fiasco at the marina, but this time you got it right. I explained to the lady of the house that I was sent by you and she told me to go right ahead. She said she doesn�t load the kiln herself.

She can�t, being disabled. I gather there�s a man who does the heavy work for her. The kiln is housed in one of the barns. It�s an industrial-sized thing, gas-fired, which means it can heat to very high temperatures. Why a potter needs a kiln as big as a bank safe I have no idea.�

�Natalie creates large ceramic artworks that sell for high prices,� Diamond told him.

�Well, this one is large enough to take a corpse and evidently that�s what has happened at some time recently. I�m glad to say the kiln was cool by the time I examined it.�

�She didn�t mind you poking around?�

�Please, superintendent. I don�t poke. I�m a trained expert.�

�And where did you find the remains?�

�Most weren�t inside the kiln. Some were underneath on the floor and others were lodged inside a machine I first assumed was a pugmill for preparing clay, but turned out to be a pulveriser. You see, the firing process at extremely high temperatures is a good destroyer of organic tissue, but is not all-consuming. Small pieces of bone remain. Your killer�s method was to remove them from the kiln with the ash and put everything through the pulveriser. He was organised, but so am I. I took the machine apart. He didn�t allow for small bits in the mechanism.�

�Or for a dogged crime scene man like you,� Diamond said. �We�re in awe of you, Wolfgang.�

�Have you arrested anyone yet?�

�That�s the final challenge.�

Wolfgang was unimpressed.

Diamond read the headline upside down: BATH TEC FOILS MURDER SCAM. The paper was lying across Georgina�s desk. Her coffee mug was resting on it, hiding his picture.

�Congratulations are due,� she told him.

�No need, ma�am,� he said, �unless you�d like to speak to the whole team. This wasn�t a one-man show.�

�The newspaper seems to think it was.�

�I�ve been around too long to care what they print. One day I�m a disgrace, the next all is forgiven. Thank the Lord I know how I stand with you, ma�am.�

She shifted her gaze higher and avoided eye contact.

�Tomorrow�s papers will have a different slant,� he went on, regardless. �I�m expecting the Met to get the glory.�

�For finding the killer?�

�Yes, once we told them what Deans had done and what he�s capable of, every bobby in London was given his picture and description. CCTV footage at Paddington station told us he was there. I suggested they concentrated the search in the West End, theatreland, because that�s where a man of his background would feel at home, mingling with the luvvies after the show in some Shaftesbury Avenue bar.�

�Is that where he was found?�

�No. I got that wrong. He was caught shoplifting in a Wembley supermarket. He�d run out of cash. He knew he�d be traced if he used his cards. When they searched him, they found the knife in one pocket and the Dinescu passport in another.�

�Simple as that?� She sounded disappointed, as if it was a pity Deans hadn�t gone berserk with the knife and charged up and down the aisles stabbing the terrified customers.

�Arrests of major criminals often are, ma�am. He�s locked up now, and that�s the main thing.�

�We can agree on that. Does he have anything to say for himself?�

�He�s in �no comment� mode. But there�s enough DNA evidence to hold him and when the Met get serious and talk about extraditing him to Romania, he�ll sing. He�s had experience of their prison system.�

�They may ask our government to send him back, to serve the rest of his sentence in their country.�

�I expect they will.�

�You don�t really care, do you? I can�t blame you.�

�First, I want him put on trial for the murders he committed here. He�s the most callous and cold-blooded killer I�ve met. Intelligent, efficient and completely ruthless.�

�He�d better not ask you for a character reference.� Georgina cleared her throat before coming to the real reason why she�d called him to her office. �Peter, the Police and Crime Commissioner has asked to meet you. This headline seems to have pleased him. He�ll be here about three.�

�How nice. I�ll invite him to meet the team.�

�He didn�t mention that.�

�But I will. They deserve a collective pat on the back. Is that all, ma�am?�

�Not quite,� she said. �Early on, I believe I mentioned something about, em, your retirement.�

�You did,� he said. �Knocked me for six. You told me to drop the jinx investigation, think about retirement and send all my people on courses.�

�Is that what I said?�

�Almost verbatim. It sounded as if you wanted to close us down.�

�I didn�t go that far, I�m certain.�

�I seriously wondered if the damned jinx existed and had struck again � at us.�

�Oh no.�

�You changed your mind later when the Post ran the story that we were hot on the trail.�

Georgina seized on that. �So I came to my senses � and what a good outcome you achieved. I must have been at a very low ebb.�

�I can�t speak for you, ma�am, but I was.� By now, he knew exactly where this was going and he was starting to enjoy himself. �Are you telling me your remarks weren�t intended?�

�I couldn�t have been thinking straight.� She paused. �Forget that I ever said such things, would you?�

�Erase them from my memory?�

�Utterly.�

�A clean slate?�

�Totally. And if by some chance the PCC should ask you whether you can always rely on support from the top...�

�I know exactly what to say, ma�am.�

He came out smiling. Free to continue in the job he constantly complained about and truly loved. Quite unexpectedly, he felt tears on his cheek. They were tears of relief.