Chapter 44
Charles Lanson didn’t look like a murderer.
But then in Wesley’s experience, few murderers did.
Most, he’d found, turned out to be rather pathetic creatures once they reached the interview room.
But that couldn’t be said of Lanson either.
All in all, Wesley’s impression of him was that he was an ordinary middle-aged man, average height, average build, with a slightly receding hairline.
He was dressed in a denim shirt and chinos and he looked perplexed.
‘I don’t really know how I can help you,’ he said with an anxious frown. ‘The officers who picked me up told me it was something to do with a murder inquiry.’
‘That’s right,’ said Wesley, who’d taken the seat opposite. ‘This is just a chat really. Ever called yourself Carlo Lanzani?’
‘No. Of course not. Why?’
‘Is the name Carlo Lanzani familiar?’
The man shook his head. ‘No. Why should it be? Look, I’m a history teacher, married with two kids and a mortgage. And as far as I know, I haven’t broken any laws – unless you count the parking ticket I got last year.’
Wesley looked at Gerry. They’d already checked out Lanson’s background and it seemed he was telling the truth – about that, at least. But the coincidence of the name needed more investigation.
‘We came across your name on a list of students who studied history at Morbay University when Dr Aleric Donnal was working there.’
‘That’s right.’ Lanson looked as though something had suddenly dawned on him. ‘I heard about Dr Donnal’s body being found. It came as a terrible shock. You never expect anything like that to happen to someone you’ve known, do you? Is that what this is about?’
‘We’re investigating his death, certainly.’
‘Honestly, I haven’t seen him since my student days. He was a nice old boy – the absent-minded professor type, totally dedicated to his research. I liked him. I had no reason to harm him. I was in his tutorial group in my first year, but that’s all.’
‘What can you tell us about him?’
‘He’d been carrying out research in France before coming to Morbay and I think he was working on a paper about medieval bestiaries with a view to writing a book on the subject.
I remember him saying that he still liked to give a few lectures and tutorials; pass on his passion was how he put it.
I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt him.
’ Lanson looked from one policeman to the other with pleading eyes, and his words sounded so sincere that Wesley was inclined to believe him.
‘Do you know someone called Sue Potter?’
The man’s eyes widened. ‘Isn’t that the woman who was murdered recently? It was in the news.’
‘You haven’t answered the question.’
‘No, I’d never heard of her until . . .’
‘Did you ever live in a house near Neston called St Julian’s?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t live in that house as a student?’
‘No. I was in hall for my first year, then after that I shared a house with a couple of mates in Morbay. I can give you their details if you like. We’re still in touch. Meet for a drink once a month.’
‘Thank you. That would be helpful,’ said Wesley, who was becoming increasingly convinced that they were barking up the wrong tree. He watched as Lanson scribbled down his friends’ details. ‘So the name Jim Baker means nothing to you?’
‘No.’
‘Dale Gadson?’
Lanson shook his head.
‘What about Betsy and Barnaby Chalmers – aka Aphrodite and Apollo?’
‘Again, no.’
‘Ethelred Bingley? A woman named Fiorenza? Or Tim Fontescue-Burns?’
A flicker of recognition appeared in Lanson’s eyes. ‘I know the name Fontescue. They’re a local family. There was a medieval festival at Fontescue Hall last weekend. I wanted to go, but my wife was on a course – creative writing – so I had to look after the kids.’
This was getting them nowhere. Lanson’s story would have to be checked out, but with each passing moment, Wesley was more and more convinced that he wasn’t their man.
‘Mr Lanson, was there anybody on the course with you who was interested in medieval imagery? You mentioned that Dr Donnal was conducting research into depictions of animals in the Middle Ages.’
Lanson closed his eyes as though he was trying to recall some elusive fact.
After a few moments, he opened them. ‘Now you mention it, there was one student who shared his interest. He was a bit strange. Obsessive, if you know what I mean. He used to hang round after lectures to speak to Doc Donnal when the rest of us had sloped off to the pub. I think his name was John. I don’t think I ever knew his surname.
I really didn’t have much to do with him. ’
Wesley had an idea. He opened the folder in front of him and scanned the new list Trish had given him. Ever since they’d seen Charles Lanson’s name on the initial list, they’d been sure they were on the right track. But now he spotted a name that set his heart racing.
He slid the sheet of paper across the table. ‘What can you tell me about him?’ He tapped it with his finger. ‘Jon Gadson. Dropped out after his first year.’
‘Jon. Yes. That could be him.’ Lanson frowned and shook his head. There was a short silence, then his eyes lit up. ‘I’ve just remembered something. I’m sure someone said his dad had something to do with animals.’
‘Ever heard of Gadson’s Zoo?’
‘The name seems vaguely familiar.’ He paused.
‘I think my wife suggested going there once, but then she heard that the animals were in cages and small enclosures, so she didn’t fancy it.
She’s very into animal welfare,’ he added fondly.
‘Did this Jon Gadson’s dad run that zoo?
Was it something to do with his family?’
Wesley didn’t answer the question. ‘Do you know what became of him?’
‘Only that he didn’t come back for the second year. I heard he’d dropped out and gone abroad – maybe to Africa to work with wildlife.’
‘You don’t happen to know where we can find him now, do you?’ said Gerry hopefully.
‘Sorry. No.’
It was the answer Wesley had been expecting.
It was beginning to look as though the zoo was the epicentre of everything that had happened, and efforts to locate Jon Gadson had begun in earnest. Charles Lanson had mentioned Gadson’s ambition to travel to Africa, matching what Aphrodite and Apollo had told them about Carlo Lanzani.
Wesley was now convinced that Lanzani and Jon were one and the same person. The residents of St Julian’s and Casa Mirabilis seemed to have been in the habit of changing their names to make themselves sound more interesting and exotic. It was likely that Jon had done the same.
Now that they were satisfied that Charles Lanson had nothing to do with the murders, he had been thanked for his time and sent home. Next Jim Baker was brought back to the interview room. Wesley had doubts about his guilt, but they needed to ask him some more questions before he was released.
‘Mr Baker, we’ve just been talking to someone who used to study with Carlo Lanzani.’
Baker didn’t react.
‘You were a friend of Dale Gadson. Were you aware that the Carlo Lanzani you knew all those years ago was a relative of his? His real name was Jon Gadson.’
Baker looked puzzled. ‘No. Carlo said his dad had something to do with animals, and I assumed he was a farmer or something like that. I didn’t meet Dale till years later, when I moved into nan’s bungalow, so I didn’t put two and two together. Why would I?’
‘Can you remember anything else Carlo said?’
‘He said he had an older half-brother who was away in the States.’
‘And you had no idea that was Dale?’
‘No way. How could I? Like I said, I only met Dale a few months ago.’
‘Anything else you remember? Anything Carlo said while you were living at St Julian’s?’
‘He said once that he hated his stepmother.’
‘Is that all?’
‘He said she was a cruel bitch.’
‘Cruel? Was that the word he used?’
‘Yeah. He said she’d turned someone against him. But I don’t know what he meant by that.’
‘And you definitely had no idea his real name was Jon Gadson?’
Baker shook his head vigorously. ‘As far as I was concerned, he was Carlo Lanzani. I had no reason to question that.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell us about him?’
‘He was interested in medieval beasts; said his tutor at uni had got him into it. There were some weird carvings in the garden where we lived. Powerful things.’ A distant look came into his eyes. ‘He was obsessed with them.’
‘His tutor? Was that Aleric Donnal?’
Baker’s eyes widened. ‘Hey, isn’t that who was found . . . ?’
Wesley didn’t answer. ‘When we spoke before, you said Dale mentioned a younger brother. Did he say where he was?’
‘I told you, he thought he was abroad. I think he said something about him working in Africa on a wildlife reserve, but he hadn’t seen him for years. Said he could be dead for all he knew. Look, I can’t believe he was Carlo. Are you sure you’ve got this right?’
It was a good question. Was the Carlo Lanzani Jim knew really Jon Gadson? The jigsaw seemed to be fitting together. They just needed a few final pieces.
‘Did Carlo ever mention having a sister?’ said Wesley softly.
‘Not to me.’
Wesley said nothing. In his experience, suspects found it hard to resist the urge to fill a silence. The tactic worked.
‘There is something I remember. He had a dragon tattooed on his back. He had a thing about dragons. Said they were dispensers of justice. Don’t know about that, but I do know the Chinese think they’re lucky.’
‘Do you think Carlo’s still in Africa?’
Baker thought for a moment. ‘Dunno. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he was dead. He always struck me as the type who’d die young.’ He began to rise from his seat.
‘Just one more thing,’ said Wesley. ‘You told us no work was carried out in the dining room at St Julian’s while you were there. Were you lying?’
Once more the colour drained from Baker’s face. ‘I don’t remember. I was doing a lot of drugs back then, so things are pretty hazy. Can I go now?’
They’d already held him for a while, and if they wanted to keep him any longer, it would involve applying for an extension. Wesley looked at Gerry. It would be his call.
‘OK. But don’t go far. We’ll need to speak to you again.’
Baker rushed out as though some ferocious beast was pursuing him.
As soon as he’d gone, Gerry stood up, his chair legs scraping on the hard floor.
‘I want Jon Gadson – or Carlo, or whatever he’s calling himself – found.’