A Painted Doom (36 page)

Heffernan nodded. Reluctantly, he had to admit that he couldn’t prove Paul Heygarth’s guilt – but he had still been charged
with moving the body, so that was some small consolation.

‘That leaves Jonny’s newly discovered sister. Angela Simms.’

‘Not forgetting the mysterious James, who may or may not still be alive.’

‘I haven’t forgotten him, Gerry. I’m just wondering how he can be around here without us knowing about it. Surely, if he is,
Angela would know, and possibly Terry Hoxworthy. I suppose they could be covering up for him.’

‘Unless he’s changed over the years. I’ve got a cousin who’s about three years older than me and I used to hang round with
him a lot when we were kids. Then he went to Australia when I was about sixteen and I didn’t see him again until five years
ago. I’d never have known him. His appearance had changed along with his accent and, unless I’d been told who he was, I could
have been speaking to him for hours and I’d never have recognised him.’

‘So James could be living around Derenham now and Terry might not know him. But Angela was his sister.’

‘And I reckon Angela’s bloody terrified.’ Heffernan
grinned triumphantly. ‘I think we’re on to something here, Wes. Let’s go and have another word with Angela.’

Wesley looked uneasy. Angela was recovering well but she was still fragile and he didn’t want to be responsible for a relapse
in her condition. Sometimes he thought Gerry Heffernan had no sensitivity. ‘We’ll take Rachel, shall we?’

‘No need.’

‘I think a woman officer should be present while we’re interviewing her in view of …’

Heffernan looked exasperated. ‘Okay. The more the merrier, I suppose. But I don’t want any of this nambypamby pussyfooting
around. I want to get the bloody truth out of her this time. I want to get to the bottom of all this.’

Wesley didn’t reply. He hurried off to find Rachel, telling her it was important, and soon the three of them were heading
off to have a word with Angela.

As Wesley walked the short distance to the hospital he allowed his mind to wander back to the letters he had read last night.

Lewis had discovered the originals of the letters that had been published in the book Anne had found for Neil. The Merrivale
letters. Once Wesley had begun to read them, he had had difficulty putting them down. Michael had been yelling and his supper
had been congealing on the plate when Pam had finally found him sitting in an armchair, his mind completely absorbed, letters
in one hand and book in the other.

For those few minutes he had been back in the fifteenth century at the time of the Wars of the Roses, with a family of local
gentry who supported the House of Lancaster. He had read how Richard Merrivale had been injured in the Battle of Tewkesbury
when the Lancastrians had been defeated; he had learned of the Merrivales’ domestic problems and smiled at the unfolding tale
of the obedient son and daughter, Edmund and Elizabeth, and their wayward half-brother John, a fifteenth-century young offender
who so exasperated his stepmother that she was desperate to get
him married and off her hands.

Then Neil’s edition had come to an abrupt halt and he had turned his attention to Lewis’s copies. There were two extra letters
that weren’t in Neil’s book: something was wrong, and Marjory was worried about her daughter. Then it had happened: Elizabeth
had been defiled, which could only mean one thing in medieval parlance. And by her own kin. He thought of the words on the
Doom he had deciphered last night. It fitted so perfectly. And the people of fifteenth-century Derenham, staring up at the
Doom, the terrifying depiction of hell dominating the front of their parish church, must have understood. This is what John
Merrivale had coming to him for what he did to his sister, Elizabeth.

But was it a coincidence that history had repeated itself in Derenham? Or perhaps the letters themselves had provided the
idea. The rape had taken place in the old barn near the Doom: the sight of it in a newspaper photograph had stirred up raw
and painful memories for Angela Simms. Lewis Hoxworthy had found the letters there, so wasn’t it likely that Jonny had read
them and the idea had festered in his head?’

Wesley shuddered, and it suddenly occurred to him that if he had a half-brother who had done that to his own sister, he would
feel like killing him. An urge for vengeance was natural. The wayward John had raped his own half-sister all those centuries
ago, bringing disgrace on his family. And Jonny Shellmer had raped the fragile Angela, who had been so besotted with him.
And someone, possibly the mysterious James, had avenged her.

No wonder Jonny had died, shot through the head as though he had been executed. The Jonny Shellmer thought of with affection
by his own ex-wife and the whole pop music establishment was a sham. He was a vicious rapist, an arrogant bully who had enjoyed
his power over someone weaker – and worse: he had attacked his own half-sister. Even the great taboo of incest had meant nothing
to him.

‘You’re very quiet, Wes,’ Heffernan observed.

‘I’m sure those letters Lewis Hoxworthy sold to Hal Lancaster are significant somehow.’

‘Why?’

Wesley shrugged. A hunch is hard to put into words. ‘I’ve read Lewis’s copies of the originals and there are two more letters
than there are in the Victorian edition Neil had from the library. I think the local vicar who had them published left them
out because he didn’t consider them fit for public consumption.’

‘Not much was in them days … nothing juicy anyway,’ was Heffernan’s only comment, earning him a censorious look from Rachel.

Wesley continued. ‘The last, unpublished ones are about a brother who defiled his sister, which can only mean one thing. Lewis
found them up in the hayloft of the old barn, which means Jonny could have had access to them when he was here as a teenager.’

Gerry Heffernan didn’t join in Wesley’s speculations. He too was thinking, considering the implications of Wesley’s words.
The trio reached the hospital and made straight for Angela’s ward, where they found PC Wallace chatting to an attractive nurse.
He stood to attention when he saw Heffernan approaching and relayed the information that Angela had managed to eat something
and the doctors were pleased with her progress.

Angela was lying against a heap of snowy hospital pillows, looking stronger than when Rachel had last seen her. Heffernan
placed his large frame in the chair by her bed and asked her how she was.

Angela managed a weak smile. ‘A bit better.’

‘Look, love, I’ll come straight to the point,’ he began, avoiding Rachel’s gaze. ‘I’m sorry to bring this up, but we’ve heard
that you were, er, attacked when you were young by the man who was found murdered. You appreciate, love, that we have to ask
some questions.’ This was Gerry Heffernan at his most tactful, but Rachel, mindful of
the official procedure for dealing with rape victims, felt she had to step in.

‘It’s all right, Angela, just take your time. If you’d prefer just to speak to women officers we can arrange …’

Wesley saw Gerry Heffernan give her a withering look.

‘We just want to know what dealings you had with Jonny Shellmer before his death. We know you were in touch with him.’

Angel’s answer was quiet and unexpected. ‘He came back. He came to see me …’ She stared into space, a smile playing on her
lips. Whatever memories Jonny Shellmer’s name evoked, they seemed to be pleasant ones.

Wesley looked at Rachel and noted the surprise on her face. This wasn’t what she had expected. He preferred to keep a more
open mind.

‘You were glad to see him?’ asked Rachel with incredulity.

‘He used to make up songs for me when we were kids.’ Tears began to well in her eyes.

‘You were pleased to see him … even after what happened?’ said Rachel bluntly.

‘What?’ Angela sounded puzzled.

‘Jonny. He attacked you when you were fifteen.’

Angela closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she winced with pain at the movement.

‘Well, if we’re wrong, are you going to put us right, love?’ Gerry Heffernan was beginning to lose patience.

‘Why did Jonny leave Derenham suddenly and never come back?’ Wesley tried.

Angela didn’t answer. She turned her head away. Wesley looked at Rachel. He had to ask the next question. ‘So why did you
throw yourself in the river? What happened that day, Angela?’

But Angela was staring at the wall opposite, lost in her own world. ‘Will you go now, please,’ she whispered. ‘I’m tired.’
She closed her eyes.

Rachel sprang from her seat and Wesley reluctantly
followed. Gerry Heffernan remained seated, looking like a man with unfinished business. But even he realised that it was hopeless.
Angela wasn’t going to talk.

‘What do you reckon?’ Wesley asked as they headed back to the station. ‘If Jonny didn’t rape her, who did? Who’s she trying
to protect?’

‘Or who’s she scared of? Poor little cow’s frightened out of her wits,’ Heffernan observed.

‘From the way she was talking, she seemed fond of Jonny,’ said Wesley.

‘Some women can seem devoted to their abusers,’ said Rachel with what sounded like authority. ‘It’s a known fact. It’s all
about control. And Jonny had control over her. Jonny Shellmer had come back into her life and was manipulating her so someone
put him out of the way to stop him doing any more damage.’ Rachel looked satisfied with herself.

‘What about this missing brother, James? According to Terry Hoxworthy, he left Derenham shortly after whatever it was happened
and never came back. Perhaps he could have been involved somehow.’

‘It was Jonny who was accused by Angela’s mother, Jonny who was sent away and presumably never contacted his own father again.
He didn’t talk about the Simms family to Liz when he met her a couple of years later, only mentioning them in an unguarded
moment when he’d had too much to drink. His connection with this area wasn’t even mentioned in his biography – it actually
emphasises the fact that he spent his holidays in Wales. There must be a reason behind all the secrecy. Anyway, the other
brother, James, was older – maybe he was due to leave home anyway and never thought it worth keeping in touch with such a
dysfunctional family. He probably had his own life to lead.’

Wesley wasn’t convinced by Rachel’s conclusions. He was thinking along different lines, but he wasn’t willing to put his thoughts
into words yet.

He began to hum to himself. ‘Angel’ was an infectious tune.

Neil Watson put his mobile phone back in his pocket. Wesley wasn’t there. His news would have to wait.

He strolled out of the wooden shed where the more mundane finds were being processed and stored and looked around the site.
The dig was progressing well. They had just opened another trench near what was, in the house’s heyday, the great hall. They
had another six weeks, but that was no problem, thought Neil with a smile. In spite of the weather they were on schedule:
the remains of Derenham’s old manor house would be excavated and recorded before the foundations of the new village hall were
laid.

He took the copy of Richard Merrivale’s will out of his pocket and began to stroll out of the field towards the church. He
had to look at the Doom. He had to see whether the final pieces of the jigsaw fitted. When he was certain that they did, he
thought to himself, he would try Wesley’s number again.

Wesley sat in the CID office going through witness statements. Jonny Shellmer stayed at the Old Vicarage after telling Paul
Heygarth he wanted to look round on his own. Had he arranged to meet someone there? He had been shot and his yellow sports
car had been left there, only to be driven to Morbay the next day by Heygarth to cover the fact that murder had been committed
in the house. It had been dumped in an anonymous multistorey carpark in Morbay – and left unlocked with the key in, providing
Yossa with irresistible temptation later on.

The gun was of a type easily obtainable by anyone who was criminally inclined. The car had been left outside and the gun had
been left beside the body. If Paul Heygarth hadn’t meddled with the evidence, Jonny’s death might have been taken for suicide
at first glance.

Wesley frowned. The back door had been firmly locked
when Lewis broke in, and Heygarth had said he’d closed the front door behind him. Jonny must have trusted his murderer if
he had admitted him – or her – to a deserted house. But how did the killer get there? Did they drive up undetected by Gloria
Treadly? Or did they live in Derenham, so near to the Old Vicarage that they could walk there and slip into the grounds unseen?

Jonny could have met Angela there to show her the house he intended to buy. Or Terry, who lived near by. Or his long-lost
half-brother … whoever he was.

He began to finger the photograph that lay on his desk, swathed in a plastic evidence bag; the photograph he had found in
the bedroom of Jonny Shellmer’s cottage. He hesitated, then he pulled it from the bag and stared at it again, thinking of
something Gerry Heffernan had said. Thirty-five years playing havoc with facial features; middle-aged spread giving a chunkier
body shape; all added to a change of accent. What resemblance would a seventeen-year-old boy have to a man in his fifties?
What ravages and indignities did time inflict on human flesh?

It was understandable that Terry Hoxworthy might not have known him. But Angela had more reason to have his image burned on
her memory. The tune Pam had been singing around the house echoed in his head. Frère Jacques – Brother James. But where was
brother James?

The telephone rang again and Wesley picked it up. It was Neil, boasting excitedly that he had found something on his visit
to Exeter that had brought him near to cracking the Merrivale puzzle. Wesley smiled. Neil wasn’t the only one. He knew the
truth about Angela and he knew who had killed Jonny Shellmer. He put through a call to London and waited.

Found in archives relating to the Parish of Derenham: