A Perfect Death (20 page)

Wesley shook his head. ‘Now we know about Anya it seems more and more likely that the two deaths aren’t connected,’ he said.

‘That’s true. Let’s face it, Wes, it’s just the fire bit that’s making us link them.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Ian Rowe was
using Nadia’s car so they must have met when he arrived here.’

‘Unless he knew where to pick it up.’

Gerry grunted. ‘That’s a possibility, I suppose.’

‘I want to see if Nadia left anything at work. In her desk. Or her locker. I wonder if the uni staff have lockers.’

‘Only one way to find out.’

They made straight for Professor Demancour’s
office and found him in, sitting at his desk studying a book of gargantuan proportions. He stood up when they entered and
greeted Wesley with a handshake.

‘It is good to see you again, Inspector. Are you digging for clues again?’ He gave a little laugh and turned his gaze on Gerry.
‘You have not brought your charming sergeant today.’

‘I’m afraid she’s busy,’ Wesley answered, noting the look of disappointment on the professor’s face. Rachel had clearly made
an impression.

Wesley introduced Gerry Heffernan and the professor shook hands with exaggerated politeness, showing no sign of resentment
about this second intrusion into his time.

‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ he began. ‘I have already told you everything I know. There is nothing more I can …’

It was Wesley who spoke. ‘We were just wondering whether Nadia left any personal possessions here at the university. A diary
or an electronic organiser, perhaps. Something that might help us to find her.’ Wesley tilted his head to one side, awaiting
a reply.

‘If you can think of anything, professor, it’ll be a help,’ Gerry chipped in. ‘We’re getting very worried about her.’

‘We are all worried about Nadia, Chief Inspector. You are, of course welcome to search her things but I do not know of anything
she left here that might tell us where she is now.’

‘When we last spoke you said you’d try to find her mobile phone number for us,’ said Wesley.

Yves Demancour gave a small smile of triumph and raised his hand. ‘Of course. I think it will be in her office. If you’ll
excuse me …’

Gerry was looking puzzled as the professor hurried out of the room. ‘We know her number. We got it from Caroline Tay,’ he
whispered as soon as they were alone.

‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that,’ Wesley answered with a wink as he began to examine the pile of papers on the cluttered desk.
He didn’t know what he hoped to find but there had been several times during his career when casual nosiness had paid off.

‘Hurry up,’ Gerry hissed, standing up to keep a look out.

Wesley examined the wooden letter rack at the back of the desk, stuffed with papers, letters and cards, and picked out a small
card, pink and glossy, that was protruding between a couple of official-looking letters. He passed the card to Gerry who grinned
knowingly.

‘Aye, aye. I’ve seen this sort of thing pinned up in phone boxes.’

As soon as they heard a sound by the door they both sat down, Gerry shoving the card into his pocket and assuming an expression
of cherubic innocence.

‘I have her mobile number here, gentlemen. I have written it down for you,’ Demancour said as he handed them a piece of paper
with a set of neatly printed numbers.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Wesley smoothly. ‘That’s very helpful.’ There was a pause while he gathered his thoughts, pondering
his next question. ‘Professor, is
there any chance Nadia’s disappearance might be connected with the work you’re doing? You see, someone who met Ian Rowe a
while ago said he hinted that he knew something about Cathar treasure.’

‘Really?’ Demancour sounded wary.

‘Could Nadia have been passing on the findings of your research to him for some reason?’

Demancour smiled. ‘My interests do not lie with the trinkets men regard as treasure, gentlemen. As I told you before, Inspector,
the research I have been undertaking with Nadia’s help concerns Raymond de Tresorer and his daughter who came here to Devon.’

‘Yeah,’ Gerry interrupted, ‘But there are stories of treasure connected with these Cathars, aren’t there?’

‘There are indeed many stories of treasure and mystery surrounding the Cathars, Chief Inspector. It has become quite a … how
shall I put it? … an industry. The treasure from Montsegur, for instance, was reputed to be in a casket – or in some accounts
a hessian bag – hidden by two Perfecti in a cave in Sabarthes and some say it is precious stones or gold or even the Holy
Grail itself.’ Suddenly Wesley saw Demancour’s expression become guarded, as though a shutter had descended. ‘But myself,
I think the reality is quite different.’

‘So there’s no truth in the stories?’

Yves Demancour shrugged dramatically. ‘Who knows? But as you see, I have studied the Cathars for many years and I am not a
rich man so I leave you to draw your own conclusions.’

The professor gave another charming smile, but one
that suggested he had said all he was going to say on the subject.

‘You were going to let us have a look for anything she might have left here,’ Wesley said. ‘Would there be anything in her
desk or …?’

‘Her desk is in the next room. You are welcome to look. And there is a locker in the corridor she uses. I do not have the
key but …’

Wesley thanked him and made straight for the desk in the adjoining room, Gerry Heffernan following behind. It was considerably
smaller than the professor’s and a good deal neater. The drawers were unlocked and contained very little of interest apart
from a key and a university ID card with a coloured photograph. Rachel had had no luck obtaining a photograph from Caroline
Tay so this was the first time they’d actually seen Nadia’s likeness. Wesley held it out for his boss to see.

‘At least we’ve got a photo of her at last,’ said Gerry. ‘Pretty girl.’

‘She doesn’t look like a murderer to me,’ said Wesley, staring at Nadia’s large brown eyes and dark curls, her freckled face
with a slightly turned-up nose and her wide, generous mouth.

A faraway look appeared in Gerry’s eyes. ‘I arrested this lovely girl once who’d poisoned her husband and his sister. Gorgeous
she was. Just goes to prove, Wes, you can never judge a pie by the packaging.’

Wesley didn’t answer. He had seized the key and was making for the corridor outside. He had noticed a row of wooden lockers.
If Nadia had left anything interesting,
he would have put money on her leaving it somewhere more secure than her desk.

Gerry lumbered after him and watched while Wesley located locker number twenty-six, the number on the key fob, and turned
the key smoothly in the lock. Both men stood back and looked at the open locker. There wasn’t much inside. A sponge bag, a
towel, a canvas shopping bag and a pad of lined A4 paper, unused. Wesley began his search but found nothing else apart from
a compact umbrella. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then Gerry pointed to a small shelf at the top. ‘Anything up there?’

Wesley realised that he could easily have missed it. He reached up and felt round and he felt a glow of satisfaction when
his fingers came into contact with something. Papers, perhaps. Some sort of package. His hand closed round it and he pulled
it out.

‘Photographs,’ Gerry said eagerly as the brightly coloured packet fell to the floor. ‘It’s her holiday snaps. Let’s have a
shufti.’

Wesley picked the packet up from the floor and opened it. He flicked through the pile of photographs – about twelve in all
– and handed them to the DCI.

‘What are they? Is Ian Rowe on them?’ Gerry asked as he fumbled with the packet.

‘See for yourself. It doesn’t really make much sense.’

Gerry examined them, a puzzled frown on his face. Then he handed them back to Wesley. ‘Hardly beautiful views, are they? And
these ones at the back look old. They’re black and white. Who are the people, do you think?’

Wesley took another look. Most of the pictures featured groups of people posed, smiling for the camera, trowels and mattocks
in hand, wearing shorts and sun hats, standing in front of deep trenches.

‘It’s an archaeological dig. Or rather several different ones by the look of it.’

‘I guessed that much,’ said Gerry. ‘But what does it mean? Why has Nadia kept them in her locker? Does she know those people?
By the age of the photos, I’d imagine quite a lot of them are drawing their pensions by now.’

Wesley continued to examine the images, puzzled. ‘I’d like to show them to Neil,’ he said after a few moments. ‘He might recognise
some of the people and the locations. Or he might be able to point us in the direction of someone who does.’

Wesley put the photographs in his pocket, locked Nadia Lucas’s locker and returned the key to her desk.

Professor Demancour was waiting for them in his room. ‘Well, gentlemen, did you find anything that might help to find Nadia?’

Wesley showed him the photographs but he shook his head. He had never seen them before in his life. His only comment was that
he didn’t think the landscape and buildings looked French. In fact the countryside in the background reminded him very much
of Devon. Wesley was inclined to agree but he said nothing.

After taking their leave, Gerry Heffernan touched Wesley’s arm as they walked to the car. ‘I’m going to ring this number,’
he said in a stage whisper, pulling the pink card out of his pocket.

Wesley raised his eyebrows. ‘As long as it’s in the line of duty.’

Gerry Heffernan stood there in the university car park with his mobile phone pressed to his ear. He turned away from Wesley
as though he didn’t want to be overheard but Wesley could make out every word.

With a lot of umming and erring, Gerry made an appointment with Chantalle de Rose, giver of French lessons. For a split second
Wesley experienced a moment of doubt – what if Chantalle was really a language teacher and Demancour had her business card
because she was a fellow member of the French expat community? But one look at Gerry’s face as he turned round told him his
first instincts had been right.

‘She said to go round at four. Asked me if I wanted to book anything special. Any ideas what she meant by that?’

Wesley tried to suppress a smile. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Want me to come and hold your hand?’

‘I think you better had,’ Gerry said as he began to make for the car.

DC Nick Tarnaby was starting to think that transferring to CID had been a bit of a mistake. He didn’t like Gerry Heffernan
with his putdowns and wisecracks and he wasn’t that keen on Inspector Peterson either – the black man was too posh and Nick
had the impression he was looking down on him. But then he felt that about a lot of people.

He had been trawling through CCTV tapes looking for the car belonging to the man who called on
Caroline Tay asking for Nadia. The fact that he had such a mundane car made the job more difficult, of course, but at least
it didn’t demand too much effort.

He had been at it an hour when he spotted a dark-coloured Vauxhall Vectra drawing up and parking outside the bank on a single
yellow line. And the man who climbed out fitted the description of Caroline Tay’s visitor.

Nick smiled to himself. The registration number was easy to make out and he wrote it down on his note pad before returning
to his desk and accessing the DVLC computer system. Bingo. There it was. Name and address of registered owner.

Mr Forsyte Wiley, whoever he was, had a few questions to answer.

Gerry kept looking at his watch and Wesley thought he seemed a little nervous.

‘So how do you want to play it?’ Wesley asked as they climbed the stairs to the CID office.

‘How do you mean, Wes?’

‘Well, do you want to tell her you’re a policeman right away or do you want her to think you’re a punter first?’ Gerry was
looking so terrified that he was finding it hard to keep a straight face. ‘How far do you want to go?’

When he saw the look of horror on his boss’s face, he couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer. His lips turned upwards in
a grin.

‘Oh, very funny, Wesley. You’re coming in with me. We don’t want her making allegations of the police
wanting something for nothing, do we? And it’s no laughing matter: it happened to someone I knew in Morbay. Sergeant in the
vice squad, he was and …’

Wesley didn’t really have time to listen to the boss’s reminiscences. And besides, he wanted to go over what they had so far.
As they swept into the office, he shouted over to Rachel who had just picked up her phone to make a call.

‘Anything come in while we’ve been out?’

Rachel stood up. ‘I was just about to ring the lab to see if they’ve got a match on that hair I took from Nadia Lucas’s place.
Mind you, it looks as if Anya could be our victim, don’t you think?’

Wesley said nothing. He was keeping an open mind. He gave Rachel an encouraging smile before following Gerry into his office.

‘Right, Wes, shut the door. What have we got so far?’

Wesley did as he was told and sat himself down. It was two thirty. Only an hour and a half to go before Gerry’s encounter
with Morbay’s wild side. But if Wesley was any judge of traffic conditions in the holiday season, they’d have to set off soon
if they were to be on time for the appointment.

‘The unidentified woman in Grandal Field was deliberately set on fire, so our killer must be a sadistic bastard. And then
Ian Rowe was murdered and set on fire in Jack Plesance’s holiday cottage. Is there a connection?’

‘We can’t establish one until we’ve got a positive ID on the first victim,’ Gerry said with a sigh.

‘There is one common denominator though. The
Pure Sons of the West. We need to talk to Chas Ventisard and Jem Burrows again – and any more of their cronies we can round
up.’

‘What about Nadia Lucas? Any chance she could be the woman in the field?’

Gerry Heffernan picked up a pen and twirled it round in his fingers. ‘The timings fit, I suppose, but my money’s still on
Anya.’

Wesley took the photographs they’d found in Nadia’s locker out of his pocket and placed them on the table in front of him.
‘I’m going to show these to Neil. He might recognise some of the faces and places.’