A Perfect Death (17 page)

But Gerry continued, undeterred. ‘I shouldn’t have thought the likes of Rowe would have been allowed into the inner sanctum
without you giving him the third degree first.’

‘You have to understand that Sir Martin isn’t like other very rich men. He actually cares about people. I’m here to assist
him not to …’ She cleared her
throat. ‘Guard his gate, as you put it.’

She gave Gerry Heffernan a hostile scowl and he gave her a grin in return.

‘What can you tell us about Ian Rowe?’ Wesley asked, attempting to smooth things over.

‘He was a driver. I’d tell him when he was needed to drive Sir Martin but, apart from that, I had little to do with him. I’m
afraid he didn’t prove to be very reliable. If it had been up to me he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did here but Sir
Martin believes in giving everyone a chance.’

‘So what happened? Why did he leave?’ He wanted to hear her version of events.

‘As I said, he was unreliable. He was supposed to be on call to take Sir Martin wherever he had to go but on two occasions
he couldn’t be found. When I smelled alcohol on his breath that was that. I summoned him here to the office and told him that
his services were no longer required.’

She suddenly looked uncomfortable. There was something she was holding back.

‘How did he react when you told him?’

There was a long silence. And the answer, when it finally came, proved as interesting as Wesley had anticipated.

‘Ian Rowe was a nasty, violent man, Detective Inspector.’

Gerry leaned forward. ‘How do you mean, love?’

‘He … he hit me. And called me … Well, I’d rather not repeat his words if you don’t mind.’

‘Were you badly hurt?’ Wesley asked.

She shook her head. ‘He didn’t hit me hard. I had a bruise on my cheek. The main injury was psychological. The shock, you
understand.’

‘Of course,’ Wesley said sympathetically. ‘It must have been very trying for you, thinking you were about to face him again.’

‘Yes.’

‘I take it Sir Martin was aware of what happened between you and Rowe?’

‘Sir Martin is sometimes too forgiving for his own good,’ she replied.

Wesley caught Gerry’s eye again. ‘You mean that people sometimes take advantage of his good nature? Does it happen often?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ the woman said quickly. Wesley suspected that Sir Martin Crace sometimes wasn’t made aware of all
the requests that came in for his time and money. Eva looked after him well. But somehow Ian Rowe’s message had got through.

‘But you passed on Ian Rowe’s request for an appointment?’

Eva’s mouth formed itself into a thin, disapproving line. ‘There was a letter. Sir Martin came into my office and went through
that day’s post as he usually does. He saw Rowe’s letter and told me to make an appointment. If it had been up to me—’

‘He wouldn’t have stood a chance.’ Gerry finished off her sentence for her.

‘Quite.’

‘What about Nadia Lucas?’

Eva Liversedge looked up. ‘What about her?’

‘Tell us about her.’

‘She worked as my assistant for about a year. She was an intelligent young woman. An academic, although she was having trouble
getting funding for her higher degree. The job here was a stopgap – she made that quite clear and Sir Martin was happy about
it. He likes to help out people who are going through difficult times financially. Nadia needed work and he was more than
happy to give her a position here.’

‘How did she get the job? Did she know Sir Martin or …?’

‘She wrote in. I select suitable applications for Sir Martin’s consideration. Nadia’s was one of them.’

‘And Ian Rowe?’

‘Likewise. He wrote in. He claimed to be an unemployed archaeology graduate and said he was willing to work in any capacity.
If he’d proved reliable in his driving post, no doubt Sir Martin would have found him something more … Sir Martin likes to
help people. Give them a chance. That’s why it was so shocking when Rowe proved to be so perfidious, Detective Inspector.
It was an abuse of trust.’

‘Yes,’ said Wesley. ‘I can see that. Tell me about Rowe’s relationship with Nadia Lucas.’

‘I’m not sure. They used to spend time together, I know that much. Whispering in corners, walking in the grounds.’

‘Were they lovers?’

‘I didn’t get that impression. More like close friends. Confidantes.’

‘Or conspirators?’ Wesley suggested.

‘I had no evidence of that.’

Gerry leaned further forward, as though he was anxious to get his question in. ‘When did you last have any contact with Nadia,
love?’

‘I haven’t seen her since she left Sir Martin’s employment.’

‘We’re rather worried about Nadia. In fact she appears to be missing,’ said Wesley, watching Eva’s face for a reaction.

But the woman’s expression remained neutral apart from a tiny, hardly perceptible, raising of her perfectly plucked eyebrows.
‘I’m sorry to hear that but I know nothing about it. I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

Wesley stood up, confident that they’d learned all they were going to learn from Eva Liversedge. However, Gerry Heffernan
had one more question. ‘Was Nadia pally with anyone else who worked here? Anyone she might have kept in touch with?’

‘Not that I know of, Chief Inspector,’ Eva said with stiff formality. ‘Now if that’s all …’

They knew when they were being dismissed. All Wesley’s instincts told him there was more to learn but as he caught Gerry’s
eye, the older man gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of the head. They had pushed things far enough. For now.

As they drove back down the drive, Wesley noticed Gerry staring out of the window as they passed the run-down cottage nestling
amongst the trees. Why was he suddenly and incongruously reminded of a fairy story he’d read to Michael before his trip to
France – Hansel and Gretel? He smiled to himself. The idea of
all that gingerbread probably meant he was feeling hungry, he thought, as they continued on down the drive towards the gatehouse.

Hansel and Gretel – Ian Rowe and Nadia Lucas being lured into Sir Martin Crace’s glittering, seemingly generous world. A world
of sweets and gingerbread for the lucky chosen few. He was about to say something to Gerry but he stopped himself. He was
getting too imaginative.

Dr Una Gibson had been known as Boudicca in her student days because of her mane of auburn hair and her imposing figure. She
looked every inch the warrior queen – until she opened her mouth. She had a soft, soothing voice with a faint trace of an
Edinburgh accent that Neil Watson could have listened to for hours.

She wore combat trousers and a tight T-shirt that rode up to reveal a glimpse of pale midriff as she walked across the field,
trying not to get in the way of the members of Neil’s team, who were walking in straight lines, carrying bleeping geophysics
machines, their faces earnest as they concentrated on their task. Neil stood and watched Una appreciatively, a sheepish smile
fixed on his face.

‘You made it then?’

‘Obviously.’

Neil felt his cheeks burning. It had been a silly question. And Boudicca had never suffered fools gladly.

She looked at her watch. ‘I haven’t got long, I’m afraid. I’ve got to be at Morbay University at three thirty.’

Una, as an up-and-coming authority on ancient bones, tended to be increasingly in demand in academic circles these days. Neil
tried to look suitably grateful and thanked her for sparing the time to see him.

‘No problem,’ she said. ‘It was on my way and I fancied a quick look round the site. How’s Wesley?’ Whenever he saw her she
always asked about Wesley. He sensed there was some attraction there which had lain dormant over the years. Never spoken of
but always simmering beneath her cool exterior. Or that might be his imagination – she might just be enquiring about an old
friend from university days.

‘Actually he’s the reason why I wanted to talk to you.’

Una frowned. ‘Not bad news? He is OK?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘It’s just that you looked so serious.’

‘Sorry.’ He grinned. ‘I told you he’d met Ian Rowe in France.’

‘Yes. And you said there was something else.’

Neil nodded, wondering how to tackle the subject of death. But then Una, like himself, had only known Rowe slightly so she
probably wouldn’t be too grief-stricken at the news of his death. He decided to come straight to the point. ‘He’s dead. He
died in that fire. It’s been on the news. That cottage near Whitely …’

‘I heard about that. It’s awful.’ She took a deep breath. ‘They said the police were treating the death as suspicious but
they didn’t say who …’

‘They don’t give out the name until the next of kin have been told.’

‘But Wes told you?’

Neil nodded and they stood in silence for a few moments, as if they were paying their respects. Although neither had had much
respect for Ian Rowe in life.

It was Neil who spoke first. ‘Didn’t you tell me you met him a while ago?’

‘That’s right. I bumped into him in Exeter about six months back. He said he was working in France but he’d come back for
his mum’s funeral or something. Not that he seemed particularly grief-stricken. I was doing the sympathy bit but he seemed …’
She searched for the appropriate word. ‘Rather cocky. Pleased with himself. Said that he’d worked for Sir Martin Crace for
a while but now he’d moved on.’

‘So you had the impression he’d fallen on his feet?’

‘Oh, aye. From the way he was talking you’d have thought he’d been Crace’s right-hand man. But he always was a bullshitter
if I remember rightly. I never used to believe half of what he said.’ She thought for a few moments. ‘He spoke very highly
of Crace – said he was good to work for. But that’s what you’d expect, isn’t it?’

‘Suppose so.’ As far as Martin Crace was concerned, everyone seemed to be in absolute agreement. Crace was one of the good
guys. Which automatically made Neil suspicious. ‘Did he say anything else?’

She raised a finger. ‘He asked after a few people we knew at uni. I told him Wes had joined the police – he didn’t seem impressed.
I remember he said something about a girl he knew who was working for some
professor with connections in southern France and he said that he’d found out something that might make him rich, but he was
probably bullshitting.’

‘Probably,’ Neil agreed.

‘And he asked me what I knew about the Cathars. I said sod all. Silly conspiracy theories and buried treasure aren’t exactly
my thing.’

‘And what did he say to that?’

‘Nothing much. Oh, I remember something else he said. He told me his mum had known Crace well … implied that’s how he got the
job. That might have been bullshit too, of course.’

She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got a hot date with some Anglo-Saxon bones. You can give me a quick guided tour then I’d better
be off.’

After a swift tour of the site he walked Una to the gate. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, telling him to take
care. And to call her if any interesting bones turned up on the dig.

She was about to return to her car when Neil remembered something else he wanted to ask her. ‘Have you ever heard of an archaeologist
called Dr Maggie March? She excavated this site in the nineteen eighties.’

Una turned and shrugged. ‘It’s a bit before my time. I’ll ask around the university if you like.’

‘Thanks. It’s just that nobody can find any record of her excavation here.’

‘She’s bound to have left something. It’s just a question of knowing where to look. The reports probably got attached to the
back of something else or put in the
wrong file. I’d get someone to have another look if I were you.’

‘Professor Maplin says they’d gone missing.’

Una rolled her eyes. ‘Maplin’s a bitchy old woman and I doubt if filing’s his strong suit. I shouldn’t worry. Something’s
bound to turn up.’

He watched her battered Land Rover drive off down the lane and took his mobile phone out of his pocket. Glad to see that he’d
got a signal at last, he punched out the number of the archaeological unit. If the records of the 1980s dig still existed,
surely someone would have tracked them down by now. He’d asked them to look in all the most unexpected places, after all.

But the answer was still the same. There was no sign of any records of that particular excavation – not even a mention in
other files. It was as though the dig at Grandal Field had never happened.

The telephone on Wesley’s desk was ringing as he walked into the CID office. He sprinted over, picked up the receiver and
uttered a breathless greeting, thinking to himself that he should really get more exercise.

‘Inspector Peterson? It’s Caroline Tay here.’

Wesley’s mind suddenly went blank. Then, after a few embarrassing moments, he remembered. Caroline Tay was Nadia Lucas’s housemate.
Perhaps she was calling to say that Nadia had returned.

‘What can I do for you, Ms Tay?’ he said as he sat down and made himself comfortable. He glanced across at the next desk where
Rachel Tracey was going
through some witness statements. She gave him a coy smile and looked away.

‘I don’t know if it’s important,’ said Caroline on the other end of the line. ‘I don’t want to waste your time but I’ve had
a visitor. Someone asking for Nadia.’

‘Someone you recognised?’

‘No. That’s just it. It was a man and he just asked if Nadia was in. I told him I didn’t know where she was. I said she’d
gone off without telling anyone.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He seemed a bit annoyed. Asked me if I’d any idea where she could be but I said I hadn’t a clue. When I asked him for his
name and if he wanted to leave a message for Nadia, he said not to bother. Said he’d deal with it. Then he got into his car
and drove off. Like I said, he seemed a bit annoyed.’

‘So you didn’t get a name?’

‘No. But I can describe him. He was white, five ten, aged about fifty. He was a bit overweight and he had greasy dark hair
and a snub nose. He was dressed in a dark suit that had seen better days and his tie was stained. And he wore a wedding ring.
And his breath smelled of garlic.’