“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:
Avon & Somerset Police are appealing for information about a television executive, Greg Deans, who failed to return home yesterday from a film location in Trowbridge, 15 miles away. He was driving a Range Rover Evoque. Contact Bath Police on 0117 998 9112.
“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.”
Finding the place was the first challenge. Natalie’s website should have helped, but the map gave only a general idea. The terrain was featureless except for narrow intersecting lanes in patches of woodland that masked the view. GPS turned out to be more of a hindrance than a help. As the passenger, Diamond felt he should take over as navigator. As a result, Ingeborg drove into the wrong farm and when Diamond got out of the car he was treated as the enemy by a territorial goose hissing, honking and flapping its wings. When he turned his back, it chased him and pecked his legs.
“I don’t think that was the pottery, guv,” Ingeborg said as they drove off.
“If it was, I’m sending someone else.”
Finally they got directions from a hiker who seemed to know what he was talking about. An artistically lettered board told them they’d reached the right place, a cluster of buildings around a stone farmhouse with a tiled roof that must have been a recent replacement. Two cars were already in the yard. Neither was a Range Rover Evoque.
Their knock was answered by a woman in a blue healthcare tunic. She put her finger to her lips as soon as Diamond started to explain why they were there. In a death-bed whisper she said, “I hope this isn’t bad news.”
He shook his head and lowered his voice as well, “May we come in?”
“She’s already told everything she knows to the policemen who were here earlier. She’s been given a sedative.”
“Is she asleep, then?”
“No, but she can’t take more of your questioning.”
“We haven’t started, ma’am.”
They were shown into a large kitchen with whitewashed walls and a tiled floor, where a small, dark-haired woman in a wheelchair looked anything but sedated. Large, anxious eyes locked with Diamond’s. “What’s happened? You can tell me.”
He explained that nothing new had happened. The hunt for Greg was underway and she would have to endure more questions.
She gripped the sides of the chair. “Ask away — anything you like.”
The nurse clicked her tongue.
Diamond was treading on eggs here. Anything adding to Natalie’s distress would risk hysterics. He must give no hint of his suspicions about the fate of the other two missing men.
He started with the probable route home Deans had taken. She said she was sure he would have come by the quickest way possible, even if it meant using minor roads. He worked long hours and he didn’t hang about when the day was done.
He promised every yard of the way would be searched and CCTV footage examined if available.
Ingeborg was checking her phone. “The most direct route would take him through Farleigh Hungerford and Wellow.”
“Are there cameras there?” Diamond asked.
The look he got from his sergeant said it was the dumbest question he’d ever asked.
She turned to Natalie. “He was driving the Range Rover registered to him, right? We have the number.”
Diamond said, “I believe he phoned you just before leaving. What time was that?”
“About twenty past eight. He said he would pick up fish and chips from a shop nearby. He expected to be with me in fifty minutes and asked me to warm up the oven. He’s so reliable usually. It was still warming up two and a half hours later when I called the emergency number. I think he must have had an accident.”
“There were none reported in that time span, ma’am. Did he sound under strain?”
“He was tired and a bit down. It had been a long day, he said, and he hoped mine had gone better than his.”
“Yes, they had trouble shooting one scene,” Diamond said. “I was out there on another matter and Greg spoke to me.”
“Really? You were at Milroy Court?” Her eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t seem to know the show was under investigation.
“He’s the boss, isn’t he, the producer? He was treating the extra takes as an annoyance rather than a major setback.”
Ingeborg picked up on Natalie’s reaction. “Doesn’t he discuss his work with you?”