Chapter 17 #2
Gerry approached one of the falconers and asked for directions to the hog roast. The falconer, a thin young man who certainly looked the part with his long, straggly locks, directed them to the far end of the field, where a large man wearing a stained apron over his medieval clothing was carving the meat and serving it in rolls.
The money he was taking looked decidedly modern.
He even had a card-payment machine, which rather spoiled the effect.
The DCI was about to barge to the front of the queue, but Wesley persuaded him that they ought to wait until the rush had died down. The last thing they needed was to start an argument with a crowd of irate and hungry customers.
They didn’t have to wait long. Tom Bellow and his assistant worked with practised efficiency. And as the two detectives approached the stall, a beaming Bellow greeted them with a hearty ‘What can I tempt you with, good masters?’
When they introduced themselves, the man’s expression changed. ‘What’s the matter? Am I breaking some sort of law?’
His reaction was similar to that of the woman in the ale tent; an assumption that they were there because of some petty infringement of food hygiene or licensing laws. On discovering the truth, however, his shock appeared to be absolutely genuine.
‘I only saw Sue last night,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Everyone was worried when she didn’t turn up, so I promised to call in on my way home to see what the problem was.
Someone tried her number a few times when she didn’t appear this morning, but there was no reply and no one’s heard anything.
We thought she might have been taken ill, but murdered .
. . I just can’t believe it. I mean, who’d want to hurt Sue? ’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Gerry. ‘Tell us about when you saw her last night.’
‘She dropped the costumes off at mine. My wife, Cathy, had offered to transport them all here ’cause Sue’s car is too small, what with everything else she had to bring. Cathy’ll be back in a sec – just gone to answer a call of nature. Ah, here she is.’
A woman appeared behind the stall. She was stick-thin and wore a similar outfit to Sue Potter’s: a russet gown and an apron, with a snow-white cap covering her unruly brown hair. She looked as though she’d had a shock.
‘These gentlemen are from the police, my love. Sue’s dead.’
‘I’ve just heard from Sally in the ale tent. It’s awful. We only saw her last night. I can’t believe it.’ She shook her head, near to tears.
‘Sue was well liked?’
‘Oh yes. She was a lovely woman. Was she killed by a burglar?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know yet, Mrs Bellow. Did she mention whether anything unusual had happened recently? Did she seem worried about anything?’
Cathy Bellow looked at her husband. ‘She did say something when she dropped the costumes off yesterday evening. She’d had a strange note – an old picture, medieval, with weird writing.
Something about a beast attacking anything that wasn’t of its own kind.
I can’t remember the name, but it began with an L; something I’d never heard of before.
I told her it must be some kind of joke, maybe by one of the society.
A lot of them love anything medieval, you see. ’
‘Even so, I can’t think of anyone here who’d do that to Sue,’ said Tom. ‘Everyone liked her.’
‘Tom’s right. She was popular. And from what she said, the message didn’t sound very funny, so I don’t think it can have been someone’s idea of a joke.’
Tom and Cathy’s verdict on Sue Potter seemed to be the same as Mark’s. She had been well liked, a woman with no enemies. And yet somebody had killed her.
‘We need to find out whether the search of the house has turned up the note the Bellows mentioned,’ said Wesley as they were walking away.
‘Think it could be important?’
‘If we’re looking for anything out of the ordinary that happened to her recently, it might be a good place to start.
’ Wesley could see Miles Fontescue in the distance talking to someone at the archery stall – six arrows for a fiver.
He wondered whether to speak to him, but Gerry was already marching towards the car, saying he needed to sit down.
When they reached the vehicle, the DCI climbed awkwardly into the passenger seat with obvious relief and made a call to the station asking for a team to be sent to Fontescue Hall at 4.
30 to take statements from Sue Potter’s fellow re-enactment society members.
In the meantime, they needed to ask Greater Manchester Police to break the news to Judith Peachy, the dead woman’s half-sister.
There was also the possibility that Judith might know something about Sue’s private life; something her neighbours and society colleagues weren’t aware of.
Every time she went out into the hall, Linda Walton’s eyes travelled to her phone.
Whoever had taken Bella had issued strict instructions.
No police. She regretted confiding in her daughter, and she wished the dognappers would get in touch again, if only to reassure her that Bella was safe.
But if they demanded money again, she wasn’t quite sure what they’d do.
They’d seen the vicar enter the porch the previous night and emerge some time later holding the carrier bag, which meant the cash had gone.
And she knew it was going to be difficult to get their hands on more.
Her husband had suggested they approach the vicar and say the bag had been left there by mistake.
But if they did that, questions were bound to be asked.
And they felt they couldn’t take another risk.
She hoped Trish hadn’t told anybody at the police station, because she couldn’t bear to think of the consequences if the dognappers discovered that they had disobeyed their orders.
Her phone rang and her heart skipped a beat. An unknown number. She answered with a nervous, ‘Yes.’
‘Tonight,’ said a rough voice. ‘Ten o’clock. Belsham church porch.’
‘But we left it last night. We can’t get any more before—’
The caller spoke over her. ‘Make sure it’s there, or you won’t see Bella again.’