Chapter 46
Gerry sat in the passenger seat looking stunned, shaking his head as though he could hardly believe what was happening. ‘You’re not killing ’em yourself, are you, Wes ? New job creation scheme for CID?’
In spite of the grim prospect ahead of them, Wesley had to laugh.
‘Not guilty, your honour. And before you ask, I don’t think Neil’s taken up a new career as a serial killer either.
Medieval skeletons are one thing, but half-rotted corpses in bin bags are another.
The CSIs should already be there. And I called Colin as soon as I heard the news. ’
Gerry gave an approving grunt. ‘All sorted, then. Wonder if this has anything to do with Aleric Donnal.’
‘It’s hard to believe that two bodies on the same premises aren’t connected in some way. There’s one person involved in the case we haven’t found yet. Tina Gadson.’
‘Trish hasn’t found any trace of her. But if she went abroad . . .’
‘That’s what everyone believed. But what if it wasn’t true? If only we knew where to find Jon Gadson, we might get some answers.’
‘Africa?’
‘That was fifteen years ago. There’s no trace of him on any official records here, so either he’s still abroad . . .’
‘Or he’s come back using a new identity.’
Both men fell silent as Wesley steered between the crumbling stone gateposts of the house once known as St Julian’s. He turned off before they got anywhere near the house and parked beside the CSI van.
They were greeted by Neil. Wesley knew he was bound to be annoyed at this new hold-up to his dig, and he saw that the other archaeologists had been sent over to the chapel to continue the excavation there.
They were scraping away at the ground, but their efforts looked half-hearted and they kept glancing over as though they were more interested in the new development than in the remnants of the fifteenth-century building.
‘I’ve offered my services to your team,’ Neil announced. ‘I’d better get the correct overalls on.’ He sounded positively enthusiastic.
Wesley and Gerry were handed their crime-scene suits, and a few minutes later, the three white-clad men were being waved through by the crime-scene manager and admitted to the inner cordon.
At last Wesley could see what they were dealing with.
Sure enough, the bony hand that had flopped out of the dirt-coated black bin bag was adorned with two gold rings: a wedding ring and a diamond solitaire.
A dainty gold watch dangled from the skeletal wrist.
Neil gently removed the watch and dropped it into an evidence bag, which he passed to Wesley. ‘Looks like something’s engraved on the back.’
Wesley held the bag up so that Gerry could see and manoeuvred the watch until the back was visible. The inscription was still clear even after several years in the earth. To Tina. Happy 21st. Love Mum & Dad.
‘Well, we know her name at least,’ said Neil, sounding pleased with himself. He saw Wesley glance at Gerry. ‘Aren’t you going to call the station and get them to check missing persons?’
It was Gerry who answered. ‘There’s no need. We’ve been looking for a Tina, and now we’ve found her. A woman called Tina Gadson walked out on her husband around the same time Aleric Donnal disappeared in 2011, and was never seen again.’
‘And nobody reported either of them missing,’ said Wesley. ‘Aleric Donnal’s colleagues assumed he’d gone back to France to continue his research, and Tina Gadson was said to have travelled abroad.’
‘But they both ended up here,’ said Neil, as though he could hardly believe it. ‘I presume they were killed by the same person. Any idea who?’
Wesley nodded slowly. ‘We have a suspect, but he’s disappeared too. No record of him.’
At that moment, Colin Bowman arrived with a cheerful greeting and a handshake for everyone as usual before he donned his crime-scene gloves.
By now the CSIs had managed to uncover most of the body and peel back what remained of the disintegrating bin bag.
The dead woman’s face had mostly rotted away, but some desiccated flesh and hair remained, and it had become clear that there was something round her neck – the remnants of a scarf.
It was most likely some man-made fibre, as it was well preserved even after so long in the ground.
After a while, Colin gave his preliminary verdict.
‘That scarf around the neck looks rather stretched, as though it’s been pulled tight, so it must have bitten into the flesh.
I won’t know for sure until the post-mortem, but if I was a betting man, I’d put money on strangulation being the cause of death.
That’s just my first impression, so I could be wrong,’ he added.
‘Just like Sue Potter,’ Wesley said softly as he turned away. It would take a while for the body to be lifted from the ground, and they had things to do.
‘There’s one place we haven’t been yet,’ he said to Gerry as they walked back to the car.
‘Where’s that?’
‘The Gadson family home. That rather run-down house behind the zoo where Dale lived.’
‘It was searched thoroughly when he died and nothing relevant was found, just a load of empty bottles and some tatty furniture. He’d really let the place go.’
‘What about documents? Family papers?’
‘Nothing of particular interest. Nothing much in his office either.’
Wesley stopped suddenly. He needed to think. ‘I want to have another word with Jim Baker.’
‘Why? I believed him when he said he had nothing to do with Gadson’s death.’
‘Me too. But he must have been living here at St Julian’s when Tina disappeared.’
‘Aphrodite and Apollo were here too.’
‘Maybe in body, but . . . We’ll speak to them as well.’
Wesley rang the station. They needed Baker brought in for interview again as soon as possible.
As they climbed into the car, he looked back.
The scene was busy with CSIs and archaeologists, but there was no sign of Helen Jones, and Wesley wondered if she’d returned to the house.
A house she probably thought by now must be cursed.
Surprisingly, they didn’t have to contact Jim Baker.
As soon as they reached the station, they found him waiting in the reception area, and the only word Wesley could think of to describe his manner was ‘sheepish’.
Gone was the swagger, the arrogance of a man convinced he was right and everyone in authority was wrong.
Wesley thought that whatever had brought about this change must have been some kind of cataclysmic Damascene conversion.
And he was impatient to find out what it was.
‘There’s something you should know,’ Baker began.
Gerry looked sceptical. ‘I thought you didn’t like talking to the police.’
Baker took a step towards the door, and for a moment Wesley was afraid the DCI’s attitude had made him change his mind. Sometimes Gerry’s bluntness could seem crass to those who didn’t know him. Wesley gave his arm a nudge.
‘Please, Mr Baker. We’d like to hear what you’ve got to say.’
When Baker appeared to hesitate, Wesley immediately took action. ‘Come this way. Fancy a cup of tea?’
Baker nodded meekly, and Wesley ushered him through to the most comfortable interview room, equipped with kettle, tea bags and matching mugs. If they were going to get anything out of the man, he knew they needed to play nice.
Gerry’s mobile phone rang. It was the chief super, summoning him to her office for an update on the grim new discovery at Sycamore House. Relieved, Wesley called Rachel to ask her to join them. Her calm presence might help to move things along.
Once the three of them were settled, he began to question the unusually subdued artist.
‘You wanted to tell us something. Mind if we record this?’ Asking permission seemed a good thing to do. Make Baker feel he was in control. When he nodded, Rachel leaned over to the table by the sofa and started the machine.
Baker was clutching a plastic bag bearing the name of a national supermarket chain. He reached into it, took out a large padded book with Diary embossed on the front in gold letters and placed it on the coffee table in front of Wesley.
‘Dale told me he’d gone up into his attic one day to have a root around.
I reckon he was looking for anything valuable he could flog.
Anyway, he found this a couple of days before he died and gave it to me ’cause he wanted to know what I made of it.
With him being found dead, it slipped my mind, to be honest. Then after I’d spoken to you, I thought I’d have a look.
When I read it . . . Well, you’d better see for yourselves. ’
Wesley looked at the book lying between them on the table. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Dale’s dad’s diary from around the time Carla died. He had big problems.’
‘What sort of problems?’
‘I always thought Carlo – or should I call him Jon? – was weird, but not that weird.’
Wesley was intrigued, but before he could ask any more questions, Baker stood up. ‘I’ll leave it with you. Don’t know if it has anything to do with Dale’s death, but . . . I just thought you should see it, that’s all.’
He picked up his jacket, then hesitated, as though something was on his mind.
‘What’s happened to the animals? Dale was fond of them in his own way.’ He looked at Rachel, a worried frown on his face. ‘They are OK, aren’t they? They haven’t been put down or anything?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Wesley chipped in. ‘We notified the RSPCA and they’ve made arrangements for them to be taken to a couple of zoos in the area. They’ll be well looked after.’ He didn’t add that their care would probably be a lot better than they’d received from the Gadson family.
‘I’d better get going,’ Baker said. ‘Work to do.’ He turned towards the door.
‘Thanks for coming in,’ said Wesley, knowing it couldn’t have been easy for him to abandon his long-held principles and co-operate with the police. He guessed that something he’d read in that diary had disturbed him. And he was impatient to read it for himself.