Chapter 6
The letter found with the dead man had given them an address for Aleric Donnal, and as luck would have it, it happened to be in Tradmouth, a short walk from the police station.
Wesley had been about to delegate the job of visiting the address to one of the team, but just at that moment, Gerry emerged from his office, a keen look in his eyes.
Wesley recognised that look of old: the boss felt restless and was longing to escape the confines of the station.
He would have liked to go to Fontescue Hall to find out whether Timothy Fontescue-Burns had any connection with the family there. But that would have to wait.
A few minutes later, he was heading away from the river with Gerry huffing and puffing by his side as they climbed one of the town’s steep, narrow streets.
Once the main road into Tradmouth in the days when goods to and from the port were transported by creatures with four legs rather than four wheels, Harbour Steps was now inaccessible to vehicles, and the series of wide, shallow steps in place of a roadway made the climb less daunting.
The door was opened by a dark-haired young woman in T-shirt and jeans carrying a toddler on her hip. When they produced their ID, she looked a little alarmed. Perhaps even guilty. In Wesley’s experience, people often reacted like that when the police came calling.
Gerry gave him a nudge. Wesley was used to the boss leaving the talking to him.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, madam, but we’re making enquiries about an Aleric Donnal. I believe he lived at this address?’ He made the statement sound like a question.
The woman shook her head. ‘There’s nobody of that name here.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Only a year. We’re renting the place. I can give you the letting agency’s number if you like.’
Wesley smiled encouragingly. ‘Thank you. That would be a great help.’
The woman disappeared into the shadows of the house and returned a couple of minutes later with a number scribbled on a page torn out of a notebook. She was also carrying something else. A letter.
‘When you mentioned that name, it took me a while to remember why it seemed familiar. When me and my husband moved in, we found this in a cupboard. Judging by the postmark, it’s been there for years.
We meant to hand it in to the letting agency, but with .
. .’ she gestured towards the child, a little girl, who was trying to wriggle out of her mother’s arms, ‘we completely forgot. I thought it was for a previous tenant and they might have a forwarding address. Can you pass it on?’
Wesley wrote the details of the agency in his notebook but omitted to tell her that Dr Donnal no longer needed a forwarding address. She seemed the cheerful sort, and somehow it felt inappropriate to raise the subject of suspicious death.
‘We’ll take care of the letter for you, love,’ said Gerry, almost snatching it from her hand in his eagerness. ‘Thanks for your help. I can see you’ve got your hands full, so we’ll leave you to it.’
Wesley called the station to ask someone to contact the agency, and as they walked back, Gerry studied the envelope: long, white and official-looking with a typed address.
Sent second class in February 2015. Around the time Timothy Fontescue-Burns was enjoying his alternative lifestyle in Sycamore House.
Wesley knew the DCI would find it difficult to contain his curiosity until they reached the station, so he took charge of it, dropping it into an evidence bag to put it out of temptation’s reach.
The first thing they did on their return was head straight for Gerry’s office, where they donned crime-scene gloves and slit the envelope open neatly with a letter knife, a rarely used part of the DCI’s office equipment.
Gerry turned the envelope upside down, and out fluttered a typewritten letter. It appeared to be from the county archives, the address being an office in Exeter Cathedral Close. He passed it to Wesley, who read it with a puzzled frown.
Dear Dr Donnal,
I have recently taken up my position here, and after an audit of our records, it has been brought to my notice that you have failed to return a volume you borrowed on 6 May 2011, Beasts of the Middle Ages.
It was due back on 27 May 2011, but we have no record of it being returned.
As far as I am aware, this is the first time any volume borrowed by yourself has not been returned promptly, so perhaps it is merely an oversight on your part.
I understand this is a facsimile of a medieval book currently kept at Oxford University, but even so, we would like it returned as soon as possible. Please contact me if there is any problem.
Yours sincerely,
R. J. Hands, Senior Archivist
Wesley stared at the letter for a while, taking it in, as Gerry looked over his shoulder.
‘Looks like the naughty boy hasn’t been returning his library books,’ said the DCI.
‘He’d borrowed a facsimile of a medieval book and failed to return it.
Maybe that was because he was dead. If that’s the case, it gives us a rough window for the date of his death: between the sixth of May and the twenty-seventh, when it was due to be returned.
’ Wesley thought for a moment. ‘This R. J. Hands. I wonder if Neil’s fiancée, Annabel, knows him. ’
Gerry shook his head. ‘I still can’t get my head round the idea of your mate having a fiancée, let alone that posh Annabel. Didn’t she hobnob with the royals at one time?’ He snorted. ‘She’s certainly come down in the world if she’s got engaged to Neil.’
‘They’ve known each other a long time. Pam’s hopeful it’ll work out,’ Wesley said, feeling he ought to defend his old friend.
‘Has anyone managed to find out which university gave Donnal his doctorate, and what he was doing in Devon?’
‘They’re still working on it.’ The team’s trawl through missing persons reports had yielded nothing either.
They’d also had no luck with the letting agency because the firm that dealt with the house on Harbour Steps had been taken over some years ago and all out-of-date records had been destroyed.
When asked what they would have done with any property left on the premises by a previous occupant, the answer had been vague.
The place was let furnished, but any personal items would have been disposed of if not claimed.
It looked as though it wasn’t destined to be their lucky day.
There was a knock, and DC Ellie Taylor poked her head round Gerry’s office door.
‘There’s been a report of another dognapping, sir. The ransom was paid and the dog returned safe and sound.’
‘So it’s too late for us to do anything about it again.’
‘That’s right, sir. Same as before. Strict instructions.
No police. The owners are an elderly couple and they said they didn’t want to risk reporting it until they knew their dog was safe.
’ She stepped a little further into the office, her eyes on the DCI as though she was edging up to a savage beast. ‘Two thousand in cash again, left in the porch of Whiteley church this time.’
‘They seem to choose a different local church each time,’ Wesley observed.
‘Which suggests they’re familiar with the area.
We’ve already put out warnings about a spate of dog thefts and told people to keep an eye on their pets.
Do you think we should ask the press office to tell people not to pay up? ’
‘Maybe, Wes, but would it make any difference? If an owner thought their beloved pooch’s life was in danger, would they really take that risk?
’ Gerry sighed. ‘Better send uniform over to take a statement from the owners, but I suspect it’s another case of locking the stable door after the horse has bolted. ’
‘It’s a nasty crime,’ said Wesley. ‘Taking advantage of people’s love for their animals.’
‘Not as nasty as murder. And we’ve got one of those to clear up.’ Gerry stood up stiffly, his hand in the small of his back. ‘Have you heard that Paul’s put in for a transfer? There’s a sergeant’s post coming vacant in Morbay.’
‘Good. He deserves promotion. And I expect he and Trish could do with the extra money.’
DC Paul Johnson and his colleague DC Trish Walton had recently married after what had seemed like a very long engagement.
Wesley had left unsaid his opinion that it wasn’t necessarily a good thing for a married couple to work together day in, day out.
But Paul was a reliable, if rather unimaginative, detective and they’d be sorry to lose him from the team.
Wesley also wondered how he would feel about moving away from CID back into uniform.
However, that was Paul’s business, his and Trish’s.
‘Let’s get home and make a fresh start in the morning.’ As Gerry moved over to the coat stand and reached for the aged anorak he described as an old friend, he winced.
‘You’re in pain, Gerry. I thought you were having a bit of trouble keeping up when we walked to Harbour Steps earlier. You should really see someone about that back.’
‘Don’t you start,’ Gerry snapped. He normally saved sharp words for villains down in the interview room, so Wesley was taken aback.
‘No time, Wes,’ he went on, softening his tone.
‘It’ll be better after a night’s rest. Don’t you worry about me.
Get off home. Tomorrow morning we need to get chapter and verse on this Timothy Fontescue-Burns and his merry band.
Because it’s possible that one or more of them committed a very nasty murder. ’