‘Are we definitely treating this death as suspicious, then?’ Keith Halliwell asked after Diamond had finished updating the team on the role of the mysterious Mrs. Hill in Beau Nash’s last years.
‘I’m not suggesting she murdered him,’ Diamond said.
‘No? Someone prevented the lawful and decent disposal of a body, and that’s an offence under common law.’
‘You’re thinking Mrs. Hill?’
‘She’s the obvious one.’
‘Why would she do it?’
‘I’ll give you one good reason right away,’ Halliwell said. ‘She did murder him and she didn’t want the body examined in a postmortem.’
‘For crying out loud, Keith,’ Ingeborg said at once, flushing with outrage. ‘We’ve heard nothing but malice about this woman, and all based on what? One man’s assessment of her character two hundred and fifty years ago. She stayed with Nash twenty years — and he was old and disgusting by then — so she can’t be totally bad. Casting her as his killer is a bit bloody rich. What was her motive?’
Halliwell came back at once. ‘She couldn’t wait to cash in the bond and get her £250. The money was leeching from his household. He’d sold almost everything of value. She couldn’t allow it to go on or she’d find herself homeless and with no funds at all when he died.’
The reasoning was persuasive, forcing Ingeborg to shift the attack. ‘How is she supposed to have killed him?’
‘Poison, I expect.’
‘Spare us that.’
‘They knew about arsenic in the 1760s.’
Paul Gilbert said, ‘In that case, we can find out. Arsenic leaves traces.’
Halliwell said without even a glance at the young man, ‘After all this time? We’re dealing with a skeleton, not a fresh corpse.’
Fired up by his recent pep-talk from the boss, Gilbert insisted, ‘It can be detected in hair and probably in bones.’
‘Well, let’s hope so,’ Ingeborg said, ‘if only to get a negative result and prove there’s nothing in this crackpot theory. You can bank on it: whenever poisoning is mentioned, the next tired old cliché the sexists come up with is that it’s a woman’s weapon. She’s the carer and the cook, so she’s best placed to add the deadly powder to the old man’s nightcap.’
‘The fact that she’s a woman doesn’t come into it,’ Halliwell said. ‘Mrs. Hill is the one with motive and opportunity and there isn’t anyone else we know about.’
Ingeborg gave a sigh of impatience. ‘Get real, Keith. Beau Nash died of old age. He was eighty-six, for heaven’s sake. That’s about a hundred and ten these days. When is the postmortem taking place?’
‘It isn’t, as yet,’ Diamond said. ‘We’re waiting to hear from Dr. Waghorn.’
‘Why the delay?’
‘He deals with bones. He would say, “What’s the hurry?” Time pressures are unknown to him.’
‘Can’t we call him and say it’s urgent?’
‘Having met the old tosser, I don’t think that’s the way to go.’
‘What if it came from the coroner?’
‘That might work, but in a long career I’ve found that coroners don’t appreciate being pressured either.’
‘Georgina?’
Diamond pondered the suggestion for a moment. After all, it was the ACC who had called for a full investigation, and no one was better at cracking the whip. ‘I’ll speak to her shortly.’
Ingeborg rolled her eyes and said nothing.
Georgina was staring out of her window at the M4 motorway across the office park. ‘I miss the view I had in Manvers Street.’
‘It wasn’t that special, was it?’ Diamond said. ‘You overlooked the car park.’
‘No, but I could see all the comings and goings. You can learn a lot about your staff if you watch their movements. Time of arrival, body language, the company they keep. Here, I look out of the window and all I can think about is escaping over the Severn Crossing and into Wales.’
A rare insight into Georgina’s secret yearnings.
‘You’re not Welsh, are you, ma’am?’
‘Me? Not in the least. I go there for the music. It’s everywhere, even in the accent.’
He’d forgotten his boss was a mainstay of the choral society.
‘What’s your view?’ Georgina asked.
‘They produce some wonderful rugby players, I’ll say that.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘The Welsh.’
‘I meant the view from your window.’
‘Ah.’ He grinned. ‘Couldn’t tell you. With all the work that comes in, I don’t get time to look out of windows.’
She turned to face him. ‘You never miss a trick, do you? What are you here for?’
‘It’s the media — the press, TV, radio.’
‘Where?’
‘All around, circling like vultures.’
‘Here?’
‘They will be soon, swooping in.’
‘I thought they’d gone away after getting that embarrassing picture of you.’
‘Temporary reprieve,’ he said. ‘They haven’t yet caught up with our theory that the skeleton might be Beau Nash. When they do, I don’t want to be anywhere near a fan, if you understand me.’
‘Because it’s such a big story?’
‘It will go viral, global and galactic.’
‘Good gracious.’ Georgina put a hand to her tinted blue curls. ‘How long have we got?’
‘The news could break any time.’
‘From one of our own?’
He was quick to scotch that suggestion. ‘My team are discreet. No, the name is already out there. We’ve had people calling in to ask if the skeleton could be Nash. Actually I’m surprised the press aren’t on to it yet.’
‘We must be ready for them however they approach us. On the telephone, on the internet, in the streets,’ she said in Churchillian mode.
‘A united front,’ he said.
‘United is the word. They’re going to push for a press release, and we need to be clear what we say.’
Diamond waited for her train of thought to shunt past and return again.
Georgina was frowning. ‘But we can’t be clear without the facts. Why haven’t we heard from the pathologist? Hasn’t the autopsy been carried out? Without his findings we can’t tell them anything of use.’
He explained about Dr. Waghorn being a bones man and in no hurry.
‘Then he must be told,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t he understand the urgency? Has anyone told him what we may be dealing with? Do you have his number? Get him on the line and I’ll put a rocket under this man.’
In the CID room, Diamond was able to announce that the postmortem would be at eight the next morning.
‘I’ll set my alarm,’ Keith Halliwell said automatically. Because of Diamond’s aversion to blood and gore, every autopsy in the past ten years had been assigned to his deputy.
‘Did I say I wanted you there?’ the big man said.
There was a general raising of eyebrows.
Halliwell had turned as pale as any of the corpses he’d met on the slab. ‘You’re sending someone else?’
‘I’m going myself. What’s up with you lot?’ Diamond said. ‘I’ve never had a problem getting up early.’
After a moment to grasp the fact that Diamond could stomach an autopsy on a skeleton, Halliwell produced a wide, relieved grin. ‘I’ll have a lie-in, then.’
John Leaman left his chair and asked the boss if he could have a quiet word.
They went into Diamond’s office.
‘Something personal?’
‘No, but you’ll want to hear it in private.’
‘Now you’ve got me interested.’
‘It’s about Beau Nash.’
‘Okay.’
‘And how he’s supposed to have ended up in Twerton. I disbelieved it from the start.’