Chapter 8
Sue Potter had moved into her small white cottage in the village of Belsham five years ago, uprooting herself from her suburban existence in the north to enjoy the beauty of the undulating Devon landscape.
Over the years, she and her husband, Phil, had come to think of Devon as their second home. But it wasn’t until they retired that Phil suggested they sell their house in Manchester and move permanently to their happy place.
Her cousin Tina had once lived down there, and they often used to meet up with her when they were on holiday in the area.
But Tina had walked out on her husband fifteen years ago to begin a new life abroad, something Sue hadn’t found particularly surprising.
She had been married to an older man with grown-up children, and Sue had sensed that all wasn’t well with her cousin’s new family.
Even so, she’d been hurt when Tina had gone abroad without giving her a forwarding address.
At that time she’d been too busy with work and Phil to pursue the matter.
But since Phil’s death, she found herself wishing that Tina had made an effort to keep in touch.
At first the Belsham cottage had seemed perfect. But when Phil died suddenly of a heart attack six months ago, leaving Sue alone, the inconveniences of an idyllic rural life had turned from a welcome novelty into an irritation. That was when she’d begun to think of Tina again.
The more she pondered the matter, the more she thought it strange that her cousin had broken off all contact.
After all, they’d parted on good terms all those years ago, promising to meet up next time Sue and Phil visited Devon.
Recently she’d visited her cousin’s old home, but the man she’d spoken to there had claimed to know nothing of Tina’s present whereabouts.
And the other person she’d asked had told the same story.
She’d mentioned going to the police to see whether they could help to track Tina down, but looking back, she knew that must have sounded rather melodramatic, even foolish.
Besides, the police were unlikely to be interested, especially as she had absolutely no evidence anything was amiss. Only an uncomfortable feeling.
Sue had always been the type who soldiered on, and after losing Phil, she’d soon found ways to fill her empty days.
She arranged the flowers at the village church, sang in the Sunday choir, and most exciting of all, she’d joined the local medieval re-enactment society, taking responsibility for the costumes.
Her spare bedroom now resembled a theatre wardrobe department, filled with racks of medieval-style clothing and footwear.
She washed and mended when required, and at society events she played the role of Mistress Potter, the village ale wife.
She’d always been partial to a half or two of real ale, so Phil would have joked that the part came naturally to her.
Busying herself with village matters helped to take her mind off her loss, but in the quiet hours, when she was alone, she missed Phil so much it felt as though somebody had thrust a dagger into her heart.
At least if Tina had still been there, she would have had one family member in the area.
And they did say blood was thicker than water.
That afternoon, Sue was preparing to mend a tunic ripped the previous week by an overenthusiastic archer during the Tradmouth History Festival when she heard something come clattering through her letter box.
The postman had already been, delivering nothing more interesting than a bank statement, so curiosity led her into the tiny hallway.
She picked up the brown envelope lying on the doormat. Her name and address were printed in neat capitals, but there was no stamp, so she didn’t need a detective to tell her that it had been delivered by hand. She hesitated for a few seconds before ripping it open.
Inside was a photocopied sheet, a coloured print of what looked like a medieval illustration.
She began to relax, assuming it was something to do with the re-enactment society.
But when she studied it more closely, she was puzzled by what she saw.
It was a medieval illustration all right, probably photocopied from some illuminated manuscript or printed off the internet.
It depicted a strange beast, a cross between a big cat and some sort of jackal or hyena, which was pursuing a lion with a large mane and a terrified, almost comical expression on its face.
Sue couldn’t make any sense of the writing printed beneath the illustration.
The lanzani is a cruel beast who attacks any animal not of its own kind.
Not even the bold lion is safe from its implacable hatred.
She stared at the thing before dropping it to the ground and automatically calling out her late husband’s name. Hatred and cruelty were things Sue Potter had never known before in her life.
*
Wesley and Gerry were on their way back from the mortuary when Wesley’s phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, and when he answered, the male voice on the other end sounded a little nervous, as though it had taken some courage to made the call.
‘Er . . . is that Inspector Peterson?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Er . . . this is Darren Wolsey. We met yesterday. At Sycamore House,’ he added, as though he didn’t expect Wesley to remember.
‘Of course. What can I do for you, Darren?’
‘You know a body was found in the house?’
‘Yes.’ It was something he could hardly forget.
‘Well, I talked to my grandad. Do you remember I mentioned him?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Wesley wished he’d come to the point, but he knew he needed to be patient and let Darren say whatever he had to say in his own time.
‘Well, Grandad used to be a builder before he retired, and when I saw him last night, he told me he’d done some work inside that house years ago.’
‘When was this exactly?’ He had a feeling that what Darren had just told him might be important.
‘Not sure. About ten years ago, I think. Maybe fifteen.’
‘I’d like to speak to him if that’s possible.’
‘Thought you would. You’ll catch him at the Duke’s Arms in Dukesbridge high street. Spends most of his days there, he does. Bit of a fixture.’
‘Did you tell him about the body?’ It suddenly occurred to Wesley that if Darren’s grandfather had the means and opportunity to seal up a wall, he could well be a suspect. Maybe it would be best to tread carefully.
‘No. He’s not as young as he was and I didn’t want to give him a heart attack. You’ll go gently, won’t you?’ Darren suddenly sounded worried.
‘You can rely on us,’ Wesley said, hoping his words were reassuring.
When he ended the call, he saw Gerry watching him impatiently.
‘Don’t keep it to yourself, Wes. What was all that about?’
As soon as Wesley relayed the news, Gerry’s eyes lit up. ‘Pursuing our enquiries on licensed premises. Maybe our luck’s about to change.’