Chapter 11
Wesley and Gerry called at the lodge on their way out of the estate. Mr Fontescue Senior was an elderly man with a military bearing, a good head of snow-white hair and an air of slight amusement at being questioned by the police.
Wesley did the talking and Gerry was on his best behaviour as Fontescue confirmed that he’d given Dr Aleric Donnal permission to root through the family archives in the muniment room at the hall.
This was in the days before he’d passed the running of the place to Miles and retired to the humbler surroundings of the lodge, he explained.
Wesley had the impression that he’d been relieved to rid himself of the burden.
‘Dr Donnal was your typical absent-minded professor type,’ Fontescue said with a smile. ‘In fact, he did say he was based at a university.’
‘Which one?’
‘I’m not sure he ever said. He just told me he was conducting research for a paper; something very esoteric and medieval, as I recall.
He showed a great interest in the Fontescues because we were supporters of the Lancastrian cause during the Wars of the Roses and he’d recently been in France researching Henry Tudor’s exile in Brittany.
The Fontescues were allies of the Courtenay family, later the earls of Devon, who were instrumental in ensuring Henry’s victory over Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth. ’
‘The letter your son showed us mentioned a bestiary.’
‘Yes. Dr Donnal seemed disappointed when I said I’d never heard of anything like that.
I gave him free access to the muniment room and he spent a lot of time in there.
But as far as I know, he didn’t come across a bestiary, more’s the pity.
We could have sold it to a museum and got enough money for the repairs to the house.
’ Fontescue smiled. ‘I must say, he seemed enthusiastic. Turned up whenever he had a spare moment. You know what these historians are like once they get the bit between their teeth.’ He stopped and frowned.
‘Strange, after May that year, he never turned up again. Not a word, and he’d been so keen.
Although he did say he was planning to return to France at the end of term to continue his research there, so I assumed that was where he’d gone.
I would have expected him to say goodbye, maybe thank me for allowing him access to the family archives.
But he did seem rather forgetful, so perhaps it just slipped his mind. ’
Unless he was in no position to remember his manners, Wesley thought. Unless he was dead.
‘I’m afraid we come bearing bad news,’ he began, glancing at Gerry, who’d so far left all the talking to him. He went on to tell Fontescue that a body, believed to be that of Aleric Donnal, had been found behind a wall in the house once lived in by his nephew, Timothy.
The elderly man stared at him for a few moments, lost for words.
‘Can you think of any reason Dr Donnal might have visited Timothy’s house? Did you suggest that he speak to your nephew?’
The answer to both questions was no.
‘I don’t think Timothy’s name was ever mentioned while Dr Donnal was here,’ said Fontescue, sounding puzzled.
‘Did he stop coming here after Timothy bought the house or before?’ It was the first time Gerry had spoken. And it was a question Wesley had been about to ask.
Mr Fontescue looked thoughtful. ‘I think it might have been shortly before. Or was it shortly after? I’m sorry to be so vague, but it was a long time ago and I really can’t remember.
My sister, Evelyn, was making a great fuss about Timothy buying a place in the area and I’m pretty sure it was around that time that Dr Donnal stopped coming.
’ He shook his head. ‘Although I can’t be absolutely certain.
And poor Evelyn is no longer with us, so we can’t ask her.
I must say, I’m shocked by what you’ve told me.
Dr Donnal was hardly the type who would get himself murdered.
It’s terrible. Terrible.’ He was now visibly upset.
‘And before you ask, Timothy might have rejected the conventional life, but I’m certain he was no murderer. ’
‘We’re sorry to have brought such distressing news,’ Wesley said as they stood up to leave.
As Fontescue saw them off the premises, Wesley thanked him for his help.
They’d found a link between the Fontescue family and Aleric Donnal, but Wesley wasn’t altogether sure that it was relevant.
Unless Donnal had discovered some dark family secret in that muniment room.
But he’d been given free access, so it seemed unlikely that the Fontescues had something to hide that would be worth killing for.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Gerry when they reached the car.
‘Miles and his dad seemed genuine to me. I really can’t see either of them killing Donnal. In my opinion, he stopped coming here because he was dead. And it backs up our theory that he died in May 2011, sometime after the sixth, when he borrowed that book from the archives.’
‘So Timothy Fontescue-Burns can’t be ruled out.’
‘That all depends on when he was given the keys to the house.’
‘Neil’s at Sycamore House now. Thought we could call in on our way back to Tradmouth. He thinks that wall and the statues might be medieval, which could explain why Donnal went there. I think it’s worth having a look, don’t you?’
Gerry couldn’t disagree with Wesley’s logic. ‘OK, if we must.’
When they arrived at Sycamore House, Wesley parked in front of the house and rang the doorbell.
It was only good manners to let Helen Jones know they were there.
But today the door was answered by a tall, athletic-looking man in his forties.
He had well-cut silver hair and wore casual chinos and a pink polo shirt.
He had the appearance of a rich man off duty; a familiar look among Tradmouth’s yachting fraternity, although Wesley noticed a discreet tattooed snake peeping from his right sleeve.
‘Mr Jones?’ he said, producing his ID.
The irritation on the man’s face was plain to see.
‘I’m Ralph Jones. If this is about that thing the builder found in the dining room, I know as much about it as Helen, which is absolutely nothing.
’ He looked as though he’d like to shut the door in their faces, but he was probably sensible enough to know that wouldn’t be a wise course of action.
‘This business has cost me my builder. He says he won’t set foot in the place again.
Talking about compensation for the trauma.
You’ve no idea how much trouble this has caused.
I only agreed to buy somewhere in Devon because my wife insisted and I thought it would be a good investment.
I told her I would have preferred Millicombe, but she found this place and bought it without even consulting me. ’
Wesley could hear the anger behind the statement. He’d sensed that Helen Jones was an impulsive, headstrong woman and this seemed to confirm it.
‘Honestly, I thought the countryside would be quiet,’ Jones continued. ‘I hardly expected . . .’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Gerry. ‘We are obliged to investigate any suspicious death, and the dead man didn’t seal himself up inside your wall, did he.’
Jones gave him a curious stare. ‘Look, I’ve hardly been here, so I don’t see how I can help you.’
‘May we speak to your wife?’ said Wesley, at his most polite.
‘She’s invited some archaeologists in to dig up the garden.’ Jones made no effort to hide his exasperation. ‘You’ll find her there.’
‘Thank you, sir. We’ll go and have a word with her.’
‘You do that,’ he said before slamming the door.
‘And a good day to you too,’ Gerry muttered.
Wesley led the way to where Neil and a couple of his fellow archaeologists were hard at work with spades and mattocks, clearing the ground by the wall uncovered by Darren and George.
As soon as Neil spotted the two detectives, he stopped work and leaned on his spade.
It was then that Wesley saw Helen Jones, dressed in old jogging bottoms and a T-shirt with gardening gloves protecting her hands.
She was clearing away loose earth with a shovel and her cheeks were glowing.
She looked as though she was enjoying herself.
Wesley’s eyes were drawn to a trio of carvings propped up against the section of wall that had already emerged from the soil.
‘We’ve only just started,’ Neil called over. ‘But have a look at our beasts. I thought they were gargoyles at first. But now that I’ve cleaned them up, on closer inspection I’ve found they’re grotesques. Carvings on a building to scare away evil spirits. Not many people know the difference.’
‘I do now,’ Helen Jones piped up. ‘Gargoyles are water spouts, grotesques are merely decorative. Neil’s been telling me all about it. He thinks this might have been a chapel.’
‘Really?’
‘Just a feeling,’ said Neil. ‘I’ve asked Annabel to find out what she can in the county archives. If it is a chapel, there’s bound to be some mention of it.’
Wesley squatted down to examine the carvings. A few moments later, he turned to Gerry. ‘Remember that list we found with the body? Bonnacon, griffin and ape. I think we’ve found them.’
‘You sure?’
‘It’s an ape all right. And a griffin. And a bonnacon’s a kind of legendary bull. Do you think these could be the reason Aleric Donnal came here?’
Gerry shrugged. ‘But are they so valuable that someone would kill to hide the fact that they’re here?’ He looked at Neil for an answer.
‘They’re certainly interesting historically. But I wouldn’t say their value was worth killing for.’ Neil turned to Wesley. ‘Annabel’s been asking after you. How’s Pam?’
‘Wondering why you haven’t been round. Michael’s been asking after you too.’
‘Is he OK?’
Wesley nodded.
‘Promise I’ll visit soon.’
‘Come on, Wes.’ Gerry sounded impatient. ‘We’d better get back to the station. Things to do. Killers to catch.’