Chapter 27
By the time Wesley got back to the station, it was four o’clock. He’d wanted to have a quiet word with Trish about Maritia’s call, but she wasn’t at her desk and somebody said she’d gone home early; something urgent had cropped up.
Before he had a chance to enquire further, he received a call from Neil, who had unearthed human remains and was calling it in.
It was routine to notify the police when bones were found unexpectedly, and Wesley was always Neil’s first port of call.
They’d studied archaeology together, so Neil trusted him to know what he was doing.
Wesley knew that Neil became nervous if he wasn’t available and he had to put up with ‘plods trampling over his archaeological site like a herd of elephants’, as he put it. He said he’d be there as soon as he could. It was near one of his latest crime scenes after all.
An hour later, he was standing next to Neil, staring down at the bones that were emerging from the ground.
‘It looks like a standard Christian burial,’ Neil said. ‘But there’s no sign of any other burials, so we can assume it’s not a cemetery. And it’s just outside the chapel walls, so it probably isn’t the benefactor; they’d be buried in the place of honour by the high altar.’
‘I see you’ve found more grotesques,’ Wesley said, nodding towards the row of strange stone creatures lined up against the far wall of the chapel.
The bonnacon, ape and griffin featured on the list found with Donnal’s body had been joined by four other bizarre animals.
Perhaps, thought Wesley, Donnal had visited the chapel site and started a list of the carvings he’d seen there.
With his passion for medieval bestiaries, the man must have felt a thrill of excitement when he’d discovered them.
But had he been lured to the house by the prospect of seeing them?
Had someone used them as bait to get him there?
If that was the case, the killer must have known their significance to the victim.
‘Found anything to date the bones?’
Neil led Wesley over to the finds tray perched beside the grave trench and picked up a tiny metal disc.
‘We found this coin in the grave. It’s a silver penny.
Edward IV, 1461 to 1483, if you don’t count the short break in 1470.
It found its way into the ribcage, so I think we can date the burial to the late fifteenth century.
Maybe somebody lost it when this man was buried. ’
‘Nothing for the police to worry about then,’ said Wesley, relieved. The last thing he needed was another suspicious death on their hands.
‘You’re right, Wes. Even if he’s a murder victim, there’s no chance of the culprit standing trial now.’
‘Any indication of the cause of death?’
‘Margaret, our bone specialist, has had an initial look. She says she’ll know more when she gets the skeleton back to the lab, but she did notice something odd.
She says some of the bones are out of place, and it looks as though the body might have originally been buried somewhere else, then moved here after several years in the ground.
Whoever reburied him didn’t quite get the bones in the correct position. Bit of a mystery, eh?’
The two men stood in silence for a few moments before Neil said there was something else he wanted Wesley to see. There was a secretive smile on his lips, almost as though he’d been saving the best till last.
‘I can guarantee that you’ll like this,’ he said as he began to walk towards the trees.
Wesley followed, and it wasn’t long before they came to what looked like an ancient stone arch.
‘Annabel found some references to a holy well near to a chapel. There are several dotted around Devon and I think we’ve found another.
The ground is soggy, so it looks as though there’s a natural spring.
’ Neil paused. ‘Wasn’t your man in the wall investigating medieval mythological creatures?
Maybe he heard about the chapel and the grotesques. Maybe that’s why he came here.’
‘I’ve already thought of that.’
A shadow of disappointment passed across Neil’s face as Wesley checked the time.
‘Look, I’d better get back. Gerry’ll be wondering what’s happening. He’ll be relieved when I tell him this latest body’s not our concern.’
‘I’ll let you know what else we find when we get round to excavating the well,’ Neil said as they began to retrace their steps to the chapel. ‘That’s if the Joneses don’t pull the plug on the dig.’
‘Are they likely to?’
He gave another secretive smile. ‘I fear all is not well in paradise. The husband wants to sell the place.’
‘Can’t say I blame him after the shock they must have had.’
‘And now we’ve got another body on the premises.’
Wesley hesitated. ‘At least this one isn’t in the house.’
‘Love to Pam,’ Neil called after him as he walked back in the direction of the car.
As he let himself into the driver’s seat, Wesley turned his head and caught a glimpse of a face at an upstairs window at Sycamore House. It was Helen Jones. And she looked as though she’d just seen a ghost.
Trish sat in the passenger seat with her mother in the back as they drove to Belsham.
Luckily the cottage where Sue Potter had been murdered was on the other side of the village, so there were no police around.
It was starting to drizzle and nobody seemed to be venturing out. The place was as quiet as the grave.
She’d been a police officer for a while, dealing with dangerous situations and even facing ruthless murderers.
However, she’d never felt as nervous as she did that evening.
Her father had already contacted the vicar, who’d promised to be there, watching discreetly from the vicarage window.
He said that having the Reverend Fitzgerald involved somehow made them feel better.
The money had been removed from the safe in the vestry and placed in the church porch as arranged. They’d been instructed to park outside the vicarage, and await further instructions.
Five minutes after they’d parked the car, Mr Walton’s phone rang.
As he fumbled to answer, Trish fought an impulse to snatch it from him.
She heard him say a cautious hello before listening to the instructions he was being given.
She noticed that his hands were shaking as her mother leaned forward to try and hear what was being said.
When the call was over, Mr Walton delivered the verdict. ‘They say we’ve got to wait until they’ve gone off with the money, and we’ll find Bella in the churchyard. If we get out of the car or if there’s any sign of the police, the deal’s off and we won’t see her again.’
Trish heard her mother sob.
‘Don’t worry, Mum. We’ll just do as they say. Be patient.’
‘Promise you haven’t told anyone at work. Promise there’s no police waiting round the corner.’
‘I promise.’ Trish crossed her fingers. She knew that the main risk would come if the vicar or his wife decided that the perpetrators shouldn’t be allowed to get away with their crime and took it upon themselves to do more than merely observe what was happening.
Or, worse still, called the police. But so far she hadn’t seen any sign of obvious interference, which came as a relief.
Trish had plans of her own for ensuring justice was done.
They’d arrived ten minutes before the appointed time, but the wait seemed more like an hour. The area around the church was as silent as the overgrown graves in God’s Acre, as the churchyard used to be called.
Suddenly a dark van appeared, crawling slowly down the lane between the church and the vicarage. It had doused its headlights, and Trish swore under her breath. It wouldn’t be easy to take down the registration number, so her best intentions had been foiled. This called for quick thinking.
‘Is this them?’ Mrs Walton said in an anxious whisper.
‘I think so.’ Trish twisted round and saw her mother’s hand move towards the door handle. ‘No, Mum. Stay where you are. Leave this to me.’
The van came to a halt outside the lychgate, the covered entrance where coffins had once rested on the way into the church. For a minute or so nothing happened and Trish kept her eyes fixed on the vehicle.
‘What’s going on? Where’s Bella?’
‘Quiet, Mum. We’ve just got to wait.’
‘Trish is right, love,’ said Mr Walton. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
Suddenly a shadowy figure leapt from the van’s passenger side and ran through the lychgate, heading for the church porch.
This was it. It was impossible for Trish to get a clear view of the person.
All she could make out was that they were dressed all in black, with a black hood covering their head.
She had the impression that it was a woman, but she couldn’t be certain.
She waited until the figure had disappeared into the depths of the porch before getting out of the car, careful to close the door gently to avoid making any noise.
‘Be careful, maid,’ her father said in a loud whisper, using the familiar Devon address she’d known since childhood.
She crept towards the van, hoping the person in the church porch would stop to count the money.
Once she was close enough to make out the number plate, she took her notebook from the pocket of her waxed jacket and scribbled it down.
The van was a Ford Transit with a dent in the left-hand rear door.
She noted that too. Then her heart skipped a beat as she heard barking from inside the vehicle. Bella was in there.
She saw the figure leaving the porch holding the carrier bag, so she crouched down behind the vicarage wall. The dognapper reached the van, opened the back door and grabbed hold of a piece of string; a makeshift lead for the little dog that leapt out, wagging its tail. Bella.
Trish knew that spaniels had a good sense of smell; the drug squad employed them as sniffer dogs.
She only hoped that Bella wouldn’t use her canine talents to catch her scent and come bounding over, giving the game away.
But luckily, by now she was far enough away to be out of the danger zone.
Besides, Bella seemed quite content trotting alongside the dognapper.
Her tail was still wagging, which was reassuring and meant that it was unlikely she’d been mistreated.
Trish watched as the figure looped the string around a tall gravestone and bent down to pat the dog, whispering something as they reached into a pocket.
The dog sat obediently to receive what looked like a treat and another pat on the head.
Trish heard the word ‘stay’ as the figure backed away before turning and walking calmly back to the van.
Once they were aboard, the van’s lights were switched on and it began to drive away very slowly, as though its occupants wanted to see what would happen next. But Trish had already made a call. All patrols should be on the lookout for the vehicle.
She returned to her parents’ car and gave a thumbs-up sign before rushing to the churchyard. There were joyous barks as she approached. Bella was safe.
An hour and a half later, she received a call from the station. The van had been intercepted on the road to Neston and the occupants detained.