Chapter 28
Wesley and Pam were about to grab an hour of relaxation before making their way upstairs to bed when Wesley’s phone rang.
It was Trish, who poured out the whole story of Bella’s abduction, ending with the good news.
Bella was home safe and well and the dognappers had been apprehended by a patrol car and were now enjoying the custody sergeant’s hospitality at Tradmouth police station.
She apologised for keeping Wesley and the rest of her colleagues in the dark, saying her parents had insisted on secrecy. He told her he understood, wondering what he would have done in the same situation. Sometimes it wasn’t easy to do the right thing when your heart told you otherwise.
He told her he’d catch up with the details of what had happened the following morning, when, hopefully, they’d be able to charge the suspects, and went to bed relieved that at least one case, albeit not one that officially involved him, had ended happily.
He felt strongly about the cruel exploitation of people’s love of their pets to make money and he hoped the law would come down heavily on the perpetrators.
As soon as he arrived at work the next day, he told Gerry about Trish’s call. The DCI’s face turned red when he heard the news. Wesley feared for his blood pressure.
‘Why the hell wasn’t I told about this?’
‘The instructions were no police, and Trish’s parents didn’t want to put the dog’s life at risk, which is quite understandable. At least we’ve got the culprits now. They’re down in the cells, so all’s well that ends well.’
Gerry was slowly calming down and he sank into his chair with a loud sigh. ‘I still would have liked to know what was going on.’ He looked Wesley in the eye. ‘It makes me feel like Trish didn’t trust me not to go in like a bull on the rampage.’
‘She didn’t confide in me either, so I don’t think it was personal, Gerry. Honestly. The Waltons just thought it was best to comply with the dognappers’ demands.’
Wesley decided to change the subject to Neil’s discovery of the human remains in the grounds of Sycamore House the previous day.
Gerry put his head in his hands. ‘This is all we need.’
‘No need to worry. Neil’s certain the bones are centuries old. None of our business.’
‘That’s a relief.’ The DCI glanced at his watch.
It was time for him to deliver what he referred to as his morning sermon.
But when he addressed the team, Wesley noticed that he made no mention of Bella’s return or Neil’s grisly find.
Neither incident had anything to do with the murders of Aleric Donnal and Sue Potter, so as far as he was concerned, they weren’t relevant.
As soon as Wesley returned to his desk, his phone rang.
‘Hello, Inspector Peterson. This is Darren. I was doing some work on the leylandii at Sycamore House, remember?’
‘Of course. What can I do for you, Darren?’
‘My grandad spoke to you. I dropped off that briefcase he found.’
‘That’s right, thanks,’ Wesley said, wishing the man would come to the point.
‘He asked me to call you. He doesn’t like using the smartphone I gave him, you see. Says he keeps pressing the wrong buttons and weird things pop up. Grandad’s a bit old-school.’
Wesley smiled to himself. There were times when he could sympathise with Pete Wolsley. ‘I understand. What did he want to speak to me about?’
‘He’s remembered something about when he was working at Sycamore House. While he was there, that hippy bloke said something.’
Wesley took a deep breath. He knew Darren would get there eventually, but in the meantime he had to be patient or he might miss something vital. ‘What exactly did he say?’
‘It was something about a cowboy.’
The image of a man on horseback wearing a ten-gallon hat flashed into Wesley’s mind. ‘Cowboy?’ Then the word suddenly made sense. ‘You mean a cowboy builder?’
‘That’s right. The hippy in charge said some work had been done in one of the downstairs rooms; this was before my grandad started on the cloakroom. He said that one of the walls looked a mess, so whoever did it must have been a cowboy.’
‘What sort of work? Which room?’
‘No idea. It was just something he said in passing. He didn’t show Grandad what the problem was or anything like that.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Grandad asked him if he wanted a quote to put it right, but the chief hippy said to leave it because they only used that room to store things. It was cool, he said.’
‘By the chief hippy, did he mean Timothy Fontescue-Burns?’
‘That’s him. The one who died of drugs. Grandad read about it in the paper.’
‘Let me get this straight. This cowboy work was done while Fontescue-Burns and his friends were there?’
‘Grandad got the impression it was done before they bought the place.’ Darren suddenly sounded uncertain. ‘Mind you, he sometimes gets hold of the wrong end of the stick.’
‘If he remembers anything else, will you let me know?’
‘Sure thing. And there’s something else – don’t know if it’s important.
He said he recently saw one of the hippies in Neston, on a stall at the Tuesday market.
She used to call herself Juniper and it turned out she remembered him.
She’d been quite friendly when he was working there, he said – unlike some of the others. He ended up having a good chat to her.’
‘What was she selling on the stall?’ Wesley asked, hoping she wouldn’t be hard to trace.
‘She wasn’t selling nothing. She was handing out leaflets about some healing place near Tradington. It had goats.’
That caught Wesley’s attention. ‘Goats. Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. Thought it was a bit odd, but each to his own.’
Della had spoken about a June who’d gone into partnership with her at her goat retreat. Wesley felt the thrill of excitement he always experienced when new possibilities opened up in a case. He wanted to speak to his mother-in-law’s business partner sooner rather than later.
Once the call was ended, he sat there for a while staring at the flickering screen of his computer.
It was possible that the body in the wall had nothing to do with Timothy Fontescue-Burns and his little commune; that the work of sealing up the alcove and plastering the wall had been done before they moved in.
There might have been a window of a couple of weeks in May 2011 between Donnal borrowing the bestiary from the archives and Fontescue-Burns moving into the property he renamed Casa Mirabilis.
And surely if Fontescue-Burns or one of his friends was responsible for Donnal’s murder, he wouldn’t have drawn attention to it by mentioning the plastering to Darren’s grandfather.
He made his way to Gerry’s office to share this new information, and the DCI greeted it cheerfully. ‘Good. I’ve a feeling in my water that you’re on to something here,’ he said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
‘If Timothy was referring to the alcove where the body was hidden, it was most likely a DIY job,’ said Wesley.
‘The perpetrator would hardly have called in a builder to help cover his tracks. We’d better pull out all the stops to try to find out who was living there either just before or just after Timothy moved in.
It’s possible the work was done without his knowledge. ’
He went on to tell the DCI what Darren had said about Juniper and the goat healing, and Gerry’s eyes lit up. ‘So she might be on our own doorstep.’ He grinned. ‘If she’s a mate of your mother-in-law’s, I’ll leave this one to you, Wes.’
‘I’ll call the retreat and see if she’s available to talk.’ Wesley suddenly wanted to change the subject. ‘Any more thoughts about Sue Potter?’
Gerry shook his head. ‘We haven’t found anyone who has a bad word to say about the woman, apart from Jim Baker.’
‘And that note about the lanzani suggests it was personal.’
‘Baker bore a grudge against her, and his alibi’s shaky to say the least, so I think he’s our best suspect so far. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’ Baker did seem to be the obvious candidate. But given the possible link with Aleric Donnal’s death, Wesley couldn’t help thinking that there was still a lot they had yet to find out.
‘I vote we get Baker in and question him properly under caution. And send someone round to have another word with Gadson; see if they can pin him down about the events of Friday night.’
Wesley returned to his desk. There were so many leads to follow, and they seemed to be no nearer finding out who had killed Sue Potter than they had been when her body was first discovered.
He was about to call Della to ask whether June was there when Rob came rushing over to his desk. He was puffing and blowing.
‘Been running, Rob?’
Rob paused, catching his breath. ‘It’s those stairs.
I wanted to let you know as soon as possible.
Me and Ellie have just been interviewing those dognappers who were brought in last night.
I reckon we’ve got enough to charge them.
’ He hesitated, as though he was about to impart some momentous news.
‘They say they did it to get money for this animal place they run.’
Rob’s eyes travelled across the room and focused on Trish, who was busy typing on her computer. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but they seem quite genuine.’
‘They’ve been demanding thousands from innocent people for the return of their beloved pets, Rob. That’s illegal.’
Rob shuffled his feet. ‘They say it’s not that straightforward. They’ve been interviewed under caution and made formal statements, but they said they want to speak to the person in charge. I told them you and the boss were busy, but . . .’
Wesley stood up and walked over to Gerry’s office. The DCI was sitting at his cluttered desk, staring at a tall heap of paperwork with what looked like despair. In Wesley’s opinion, he was in need of a distraction.
Ten minutes later, they were both down in the interview room, face to face with the people who’d caused Trish’s family and others so much worry. The couple, Betsy and Barnaby Chalmers, had already been interviewed separately, but now, unusually, Gerry had decided to speak to them together.
‘Is that wise,’ Wesley had asked as they made their way downstairs.
‘Probably not, Wes. But the formalities are over. They’ve already been charged and I’d like to hear what they have to say for themselves.’
At first glance, the couple didn’t appear to be the usual criminal type.
The man was in his early forties with a bald head and a neat ginger beard.
The woman had dark curly hair and looked as though she’d be at home serving behind a stall in a farmers’ market.
A down-to-earth, salt-of-the-earth sort of couple in matching gilets.
‘Look,’ Betsy began. ‘We’re terribly sorry, but we only did it because we were desperate.
I can promise you that the dogs we, er .
. . borrowed were spoiled rotten. They had a lovely time with us, I swear.
It was like a little holiday for them.’ She looked from Wesley to Gerry with pleading, honest eyes.
‘The families you took them from didn’t know their dogs were being well treated,’ said Gerry firmly. ‘They were imagining all sorts. They were worried sick.’
‘I understand that,’ said Barnaby. ‘And I can only say we’re sorry. I’d like to explain why we did it.’
‘We’re listening,’ Gerry growled. He sat back in his seat, arms folded.
There was a long silence before Betsy began to speak.
‘We run a sanctuary – kennels where we care for homeless dogs – and the property’s about to be repossessed.
We thought that if we kidnapped pedigree dogs, ones that are worth a lot of money, the owners could afford to pay to get them back and our little sanctuary would be saved. We weren’t too greedy.’
‘You asked the Waltons for two thousand quid. That’s a lot of money,’ said Gerry.
The pair bowed their heads. They looked genuinely ashamed of themselves.
‘I know, but when you think of how much people pay breeders for pedigree dogs . . .’ said Barnaby.
‘Look, we’re really struggling. We’ve tried all sorts, but jumble sales and selling home-made cakes at farmers’ markets hasn’t raised anywhere near the amount we need.
Just think of the animals we look after.
What are they going to do if we have to close down?
’ He paused. ‘Or if we’re sent to prison.
’ He clutched his wife’s hand and Wesley could see she was close to tears.
‘You should have thought of that before you embarked on a life of crime,’ said Gerry.
‘Desperate problems require desperate remedies, Chief Inspector. We felt we had no choice,’ said Betsy, sitting up straight and staring ahead nobly like a martyr about to be sent to the stake. ‘What’ll happen to us?’
‘It’ll be up to the Crown Prosecution Service to decide on the charges,’ said Wesley.
He saw tears running down Betsy’s cheeks as she clung to Barnaby’s arm. ‘Please. We’re sorry. We promise we’ll never do it again. Surely you’ve got more important things to deal with? Please can we go home? We need to see to our dogs.’ The plea sounded desperate.
‘There’ll be serious charges. Pet abduction.
Extortion. However, at the moment, we’ve no objection to bail,’ said Gerry as he stood up.
‘You’ll have to sort it out with your solicitor and the custody sergeant.
And if I were you, I’d start making arrangements for someone to take over at the sanctuary.
Or we can contact the RSPCA if you like. ’
The couple clung to each other, Betsy sobbing while Barnaby tried to comfort her.
Their foray into crime had backfired badly.
The people whose dogs they had taken had no way of knowing they were safe, and the couple had caused worry and heartache.
The fact that it had been for a good cause would make no difference to the charges they would face.
Even so, if what they claimed was true, Wesley couldn’t help feeling a sliver of pity for them.
Pam would say he was getting soft in his old age.