Chapter 42 #2
Wesley and Gerry exchanged a look. Baker had been telling the truth about this at least.
‘Let’s get back to Carlo Lanzani. Can you describe him?’
It was Barnaby who answered. ‘Average height. Longish mousy hair. Very intense. Never saw him smile. Claimed he wanted to write fantasy and he was going to be the best thing since Tolkien. He was fascinated by wild animals; even said he was going to go to Africa to work with wildlife. We all had our dreams back then,’ he added sadly.
‘Did he ever mention that a lanzani was some kind of fearsome beast?’
They shook their heads.
‘He didn’t say anything about his background? His family?’
There were a few moments of hesitation before Barnaby answered.
‘He got quite drunk one time and said his father had married an evil woman and he was going to get his revenge. Like I said, he was very intense. Looking back, there was something a bit . . . unsettling about him, don’t you think, Betsy? ’
‘Barnaby’s right. He made me uncomfortable. Maybe that’s why I avoided him and we stuck to our bit of the house. I admit I was quite glad when Tim asked him to leave.’
‘Did he ever mention the name of this wicked stepmother?’
‘He never went into any details, and he wasn’t the sort of person you could ask.’
‘The man whose body was found sealed up behind the dining room wall. Dr Aleric Donnal—’
‘We said we’d never heard of him, and that’s the truth.’
‘The thing is, he taught in the history department of Morbay University. The university where you think Carlo Lanzani was studying. That’s a connection between one of the residents of St Julian’s and the murder victim.’
The couple looked puzzled – and worried, as if murder had strayed too close to home.
‘We really need to find this Carlo Lanzani,’ Gerry said. ‘Have you any idea where he might be?’
The couple both shook their heads.
‘Please think,’ said Wesley.
A long silence followed. Then suddenly Betsy spoke.
‘A few weeks ago I was driving through Neston after picking up supplies of dog food when I had to stop at the traffic lights by the bridge. A man was crossing the road in front of me and I thought he looked very like Carlo. Could have been his double. He was a lot older, of course. And he had a lot more hair when we knew him.’
‘Can you describe him?’ Wesley asked, hoping this would prove to be the lead they’d been waiting for.
Betsy suddenly looked unsure of herself. ‘It probably wasn’t him. The traffic lights changed and I had to drive off, so I only caught a glimpse.’
‘You never mentioned that,’ Barnaby said with a hint of accusation.
‘I’m sure it was only someone who looked a bit like him. He’s probably on the other side of the world by now.’
‘But your gut instinct told you it was him?’ said Gerry. ‘If we sent someone up here, would you be willing to help us make a photofit image of him?’
Barnaby suddenly looked worried. ‘There’s no evidence he’s done anything wrong. I wouldn’t want to get an innocent man into trouble.’
‘We only want to speak to him, that’s all,’ Wesley said quickly, noting the sceptical look on Barnaby’s face.
Gerry stood up, impatient to get on with the search. ‘We’ll send someone to make that photofit,’ he said as he made for the door. It sounded like a threat.
The dogs looked up as they left the room, the collie giving a little bark of farewell.
Up until now, they’d been working in the dark, but now they knew that Carlo Lanzani had been a student at Morbay University, possibly in Aleric Donnal’s department. Wesley felt they’d found an important connection. And they needed to follow it up.
Thomas de Fontescue, his confession
the 15th day of September 1493
I left the house, careful not to be seen as I passed the kitchen, where I heard the servants chattering.
I had tethered my horse some way off, and I mounted and rode away, wondering whether the terrible deed I had just committed had been a nightmare or an illusion.
Yet I knew that unless I had imagined it all, Garnet would find his wife’s body.
It was then I realised that as a justice of the peace, I would be expected to raise the hue and cry for her killer, so I galloped for home.
I needed to be there before the tragedy was made known.
I must act the innocent. Nobody knew of my lust for Isabella Garnet.
It was a secret I had nursed since before the days of my marriage, known only to my confessor.
And now I had ended her life. I knew I should have been weeping, shuffling on my knees on some arduous pilgrimage, tearing my garments in atonement for my great sin, but at that time I felt nothing but a desire to escape justice.
The hue and cry was raised and word went around that brigands had been responsible.
I ordered them to be found. Then, while I was in my bed that night, pondering my next move, an evil notion came into my mind unbidden.
I felt proud of my cleverness, pride being another deadly sin to add to my tally.
If indeed Garnet had discovered his wife’s strangled body, was it not likely that he was the killer?
He had ever been a thorn in my side, a rival in business and love and a bitter opponent in the struggle of the House of Lancaster against the tyrannical reign of the House of York.
Would it not be a neat solution to the problem if he was to hang for his wife’s murder?
And when Henry Tudor finally triumphed, I could request that Garnet’s estates be confiscated and given to me, his loyal neighbour, who had been such a staunch supporter of Lancaster’s cause.
So it was that all I planned came to pass.
Garnet was tried and convicted of the heinous crime of murder, and despite his pleas of innocence, he was hanged and buried at the crossroads above the town.
When the new king, Henry Tudor, gained the throne, I was given Garnet’s property as a reward for my loyalty.
At that time I rejoiced. Yet now I acknowledge that I am a murderer, not only of the woman who lost her life because she rejected my unwelcome advances, but of Garnet too, who died on the gallows and was denied Christian burial.
My brother Richard – I find it hard to think of him as Brother Anselm – visited me yesterday.
I made my full confession to him at the time I committed the dark deed, and although he was overcome with horror at what I told him, he kept my secret under the seal of the confessional. But now I fear for my immortal soul.
The wife I betrayed by lusting after my neighbour’s wife died in childbed a year after I committed my great sin, and at the time I feared this was a punishment from God, although He did leave me a fine son to carry on the Fontescue name.
When I first confessed to my brother, he instructed me to make penance, so I caused a chapel to be built near the well of St Catherine, and I have ordered that after my death, Garnet’s poor hanged corpse should be unearthed and reburied within its confines, with a priest to say requiems for his innocent soul.
My will also bequeaths money to several churches round about so they may have misericords for the comfort of those who sing during mass, for my brother tells me that the elderly in particular suffer as they stand during the long services.
He also told me that his house longs to create a Book of Beasts for the instruction of the brothers in the wonders of God’s creation and as a warning against evil.
I have also bequeathed the cost for this.
And I requested that figures of such beasts were to be placed around my chapel to remind all of man’s base bestial nature.
I have requested that the chapel and well be renamed and dedicated to St Julian the Hospitaller – the patron saint of murderers – in the hope that that saint will intercede for me in heaven.