“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.”
He drove straight to Milroy Court. The schedule told him they were filming interiors there. But on entering the mansion and showing his ID he was asked to wait in the kitchen downstairs because the bedroom where the shoot was underway was a closed set, meaning people not essential to the filming were barred.
He didn’t take it personally. He could understand actors wanting some kind of privacy for sex scenes. Apart from that, he’d seen how many people were needed for the sound and lighting, let alone the camera. With all their equipment inside a bedroom they’d be hard pressed to squeeze in the actors.
The kitchen was busy. Fergus and a few of the riggers were grouped by the window. Diamond had noticed before that they didn’t mingle. Then he spotted Sabine, or thought he did until she turned round, coffee in hand. She had the same hairstyle and was wearing the black Swift costume. Her resemblance to the star performer was remarkable except for the mouth, which was wider, with fuller lips.
He worked his way through the crush to get face-to-face. “I was sure you were Sabine,” he said. “You must be her double. I expect it happens all the time.”
She nodded and made clear with her voice that the mistake was common and annoying. “Sorry to disappoint you.” She’d probably said the same thing dozens of times before. She started to move on.
“You’re Ann, right?”
At the mention of her own name, Ann Bugg gave him a second look.
“Mind if we talk?” he said. “I don’t know anyone else here.”
She reddened and said nothing, so he went on, “My name’s Peter.” Everyone used first names in television, but he still had a duty to make clear why he was here. “I’m with the police, trying to make sense of that jinx thing.”
He got the caught-in-the-headlights stare he was used to getting whenever he admitted he was a cop, but her reaction was more, unmistakably more. She wasn’t merely shocked. She was alarmed. She looked right and left as if hoping someone would come to the rescue. She hadn’t even confirmed her name yet.
“I’m not mistaken, am I? You are Ann Bugg?”
A nod.
This would be like chiselling granite.
He tried showing he wasn’t totally ignorant about what was going on. “I should have guessed Sabine will be in front of the camera upstairs. Or in her motorhome if she’s on a break.” To lighten the mood, he said, “She won’t be drinking her coffee out of a paper cup.”
She didn’t rise to that, so he asked, “Do we help ourselves here?”
“I’m not stopping you,” she said, eyes darting, wanting to be anywhere but here.
He found a cup, spooned in some instant and tried to be affable while the kettle came to the boil. “One thing I’m learning about TV production is how good the catering is.” He reached for a chocolate chip muffin. “These are tempting. Want one?”
She shook her head.
“Shall we move into the other room,” he said when he’d poured his coffee. “I saw people in there as I came past.”
Like a shepherd controlling a wilful sheep, he held both arms out, at risk of spilling his drink, and guided her into a sitting room almost as crowded as the kitchen.
“Are you filming a scene today?” he asked after he’d backed her into a corner.
“Maybe.”
“Dumb question. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. You do the stunts, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is one lined up for later? I’d love to see it.”
“No.”
“Didn’t you just say...”
“Sometimes they want me for long shots.”
“I heard about you losing your footing at the weir the other day and getting swept over the edge. Nasty moment for you.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“No injuries?”
“Some bruising, that’s all.”
“How did it happen, exactly?”
If he’d hoped for the full account, he didn’t get it. “I slipped.”
“Can’t blame the jinx, then?”
She rolled her eyes and didn’t answer. He could have been talking to a stroppy teenager, except that she was at least twenty-five.
Am I really too old for this? he asked himself. His self-confidence had taken one knock at the marina and now it was challenged again. Maybe flattery would loosen her tongue. “You’re a true professional. Back next day to film all over again.”
“That’s my job.”
“You do all the dangerous stuff, jumping from roof to roof and driving fast cars and most of the viewers think it’s Sabine.”
“That’s what they’re supposed to think. She doesn’t take risks and I don’t speak lines and that’s all there is to it.” The most she’d said so far, only it sounded ominously like an exit line. She edged sideways.
Diamond had once played rugby for the Met. He took a sidestep and barred her way. She had the prospect of getting coffee spilled on her Swift costume.
He said, “Do tell me more.” But more didn’t come, so he laid it on thick again. “Let’s be clear. The reason most people watch the show is down to you. The action. They get a thrill from the stunts.”
“It’s all done in the editing,” she said. “I don’t often get in real danger.”
“I’m sure that can’t be true. You’re far too modest. I wouldn’t do your job for love nor money. But I don’t look much like Sabine, so I won’t get the offer.”
She actually gave a tight little smile at that, encouraging him to say, “Has anyone asked you about the jinx?”
“It’s newspaper talk.”
“Doesn’t bother you?”
“I’m not interested.”
“But I am, just in case someone is pulling the strings. Most of it is nonsense, but people going missing have to be taken seriously. Were you in the cast when Dave Tudor went missing?”
She hesitated, as if sensing a trap. “I’ve been part of the show since the first series.”