An Unhallowed Grave (12 page)

"Thank you, Miss Matherley. You've been most helpful," said Wesley as the nanny pulled her charges roughly to their feet.

As she disappeared towards the house, dragging the whinging pair behind her, Wesley turned to the inspector. "I reckon she was lying about seeing Pauline on Friday night."

"Seemed pretty straight to me. But you never can tell."

"No, you can't," said Wesley thoughtfully.

"A Mrs. Telford's been in," said Rachel as soon as they returned to the incident room. "Her son, Lee, didn't come home last night. He doesn't make a habit of that sort of thing apparently. She looked pretty worried."

"How old is he?" asked Heffernan. This was all they needed. As if they didn't have enough to do with a murder investigation on their hands.

"Seventeen, sir. He went out with his friend last night. The friend went into the Ring o' Bells for some cans of lager to take out Lee was supposed to wait for him outside. When he came out Lee was gone. No sign of him. He'd disappeared."

Heffernan looked at Rachel, suddenly concerned. This didn't sound like the usual story of a disaffected teenager leaving home for a few days after a row. "Where was this Lee on the night of Pauline's death? Did you ask?"

"Of course." Heffernan knew that Rachel could always be relied on. He really would have to think about recommending her for promotion. "He was out with this friend, Gaz, wandering round the village apparently. Gaz was a bit cagey when I spoke to him. I asked him if he and Lee ever took drugs and he clammed up. He's certainly hiding something."

"And you suspect it's bit of cannabis round the back of the village shop, do you?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. I asked him if he'd seen Pauline at any point during the evening but he said he couldn't remember. He'd had a lot to drink, he said."

"Ah, the follies of youth." Heffernan sighed. "Circulate Lee's description, will you. And interview his other mates. He's probably crashed out on someone's floor." He looked round. "Wesley?"

Peterson, who was at the filing cabinet looking up Dot Matherley's address, turned. "I thought we might have a word with Pauline's cleaner, Mrs. Matherley. If she confided to Pauline about her granddaughter's supposed affair with Philip Thewlis, she must have known her pretty well."

"Good thinking, Wcs. We'll go and pay her a visit, but first I'd like a quick word with Pauline's neighbour, Mrs. Green. That okay?"

Wesley sighed, his fancy turning to thoughts of food. It was nearly midday and he was going to miss the pasta Pam usually prepared in lieu of Sunday lunch: she claimed that she never had time to make a roast dinner. He walked with Gerry Heffernan to Worthy Lane and stood surveying the row of three cottages, each with its small front garden.

Susan Green's was at one end, then Pauline's, then, at the other end of the terrace, the young family's, the Platts: theirs was the untidiest front garden, with a tricycle and a toy car cluttering the garden path. Mr. and Mrs. Platt had been interviewed twice and had been keen to stress that Pauline was a good neighbour but that they didn't know anything of her personal life. Being familiar with the strains of family life, Wesley had no difficulty in believing them. Those with young children are usually too preoccupied to pry into their neighbours' business.

"This Mrs. Green might be able to throw some light on Pauline's phantom lover... and Pauline might have mentioned the Gemma Matherley affair. You never know your luck."

Before Wesley could reply, his boss was rapping loudly on Susan Green's front door. It was answered swiftly. Susan saw Wesley and gave a tentative smile, holding the door open with a mumbled "Come in'.

Wesley introduced his boss and Susan invited them to sit down, asking them whether they preferred tea or coffee. He noticed Heffernan's eyes following her as she walked to the kitchen.

"Nice woman," Heffernan whispered to his sergeant as he ran his fingers through his unruly hair in an attempt to tidy himself up.

"It's nothing to worry about, Mrs. Green," Wesley assured her as she gave him his coffee. "We'd just like to ask you a few more questions about Miss Brent."

"Sure. Anything I can do to help."

"Er... did she have any close friends that you knew of?" Gerry Heffernan asked softly, self-consciously. "Any, er ... gentleman friends, for instance?"

"Not that I know of, Inspector. We were good neighbours but she never confided in me about her emotional life."

"So no close friends in the village ... or any friends anywhere else she talked about?"

"She seemed to be on friendly terms with everyone ... but no one in particular, I guess."

"Did you see anyone call at her house regularly?"

"Really, Inspector, I don't spend my time spying on my neighbours."

"Of course not," the inspector said, uncharacteristically. Wesley looked at him, slightly puzzled.

"You've been here five years," Wesley began. "Do you know anything about Miss Brent's life before she came to the village?"

She appeared not to hear the question. "It wasn't easy for me when I first came here. It was the second big disruption in my life. I moved here from the States when I met my late husband, then, when he died, I made a new start here in the countryside. Pauline was very good to me; introduced me to folk around here. Would you like a cookie, Sergeant... Inspector? They're home-made."

Gerry Heffernan patted his stomach, then sat up straight, trying to hold it in. "Go on, then, you've tempted me. Not often we get home-made biccies, is it, Sergeant?"

When she left the room Wesley noticed that his boss was sitting there with a bemused smile playing on his lips. Was it only Wesley who had noticed that she had evaded his last question with the skill of a senior politician? She returned with the biscuits, crisp and mouth-watering, and Gerry Heffernan set about praising her culinary skill with more enthusiasm than Wesley thought appropriate.

"Could you tell me," Wesley said, 'if you've heard of a Gemma Matherley? She's a nanny up at the Manor."

"I know the name Matherley, of course. They're an old village family. But I can't say I know a Gemma. Why?"

"Did Pauline know anyone up at the Manor ... Philip Thewlis, for example?"

"Not that I'm aware."

"She didn't mention to you that she planned to go up there and ask Mr. Thewlis about an affair he was allegedly having with Gemma Matherley?"

Susan Green looked slightly shocked. "No ... no, she never mentioned anything like that."

"Would something like that make her angry? A man in a position of power taking advantage of a young employee? Has she ever tackled anyone about anything like that in the past... some supposed injustice?"

Susan thought for a moment. "She was certainly a woman who believed in justice ... someone who thought about others. She tackled that man D'estry because he'd put one of the Platt children in danger." She fluttered a smile at Gerry Heffernan, who was gazing at her with an apparent lack of professional suspicion.

Wesley finished his coffee and biscuit and gave his boss a nudge. "I think that's all for now, Mrs. Green. Thank you very much for the coffee ... and the biscuits. They were very good."

"I'm glad you liked them, Sergeant." She looked directly at Gerry Heffernan. "Please call again. It's nice to have one's cooking appreciated when one lives on one's own."

"I know the feeling," Heffernan said with some sincerity.

"You're not from Liverpool by any chance, are you, Inspector?"

"Yeah." Gerry Heffernan nodded eagerly. "How did you guess?"

"I recognised the accent. I don't suppose you knew the Beatles?"

"I went to the same school as Paul and George ... but they were a few years ahead of me."

Mrs. Green looked impressed "You must tell me about it some time. I'm a big fan of theirs."

"I noticed." He nodded at the album covers and photograph above the fireplace.

"I saw them in Shea Stadium when they toured the States ... guess I've loved them ever since." She smiled.

Wesley looked at his watch. "Thank you, Mrs. Green," he said,

breaking up the cosy scene. "Sorry to have bothered you."

That's quite okay." Her eyes and Heffernan's met, and Wesley stood by bemused. Then he stepped outside, the inspector following. Surely it had been his imagination ... Gerry Heffernan just wasn't the type.

"She didn't answer that question about knowing what Pauline did before she came here. Did you notice?"

"Oh, no, Wcs, she just didn't hear you. You'll have to speak up, you know. You speak too quietly sometimes. Nice woman, isn't she?"

Wesley sighed wearily. "Yes, sir. Very nice."

Matt and Jane approached Neil's trench, the focus of all the excitement. Without a word they dropped to their knees and began to work with their trowels and brushes, uncovering, bringing the thing into the light of the sunny late-twentieth-century day.

They dug in silence, hardly daring to breathe as it was revealed. A stone figure of a sad-faced, bearded man; about three foot tall. A scroll at the figure's base declared its name: Asa. The delicate carving was remarkably sharp and lifelike. From the figure's back protruded a peg, something to fix it to a frame.

"Medieval?" asked Matt.

Neil nodded solemnly. "Looks like it." He turned to the assembled crowd of students, who were watching open-mouthed. "This explains the geophysics anomaly in this trench. Large pieces of stone give off a signal like that. I think there are more of them ... it looks like they were buried in some sort of deep pit. There's the framework of a medieval Jesse tree in the parish church over the road, so I can only suppose that what we've got here is one of the carvings that belonged to it. This is a very important find ... possibly of national importance." A mumble of approval went round the students.

Then a shy voice, scarcely audible, said, "Excuse me, we've found something in this trench over here." Neil looked up at the speaker who was daring to deflect him from his moment of professional glory; a mousey girl with a ponytail and freckles who had been working in a smaller trench a few yards away.

"What is it?" he asked, mildly peeved at the distraction.

"It seems to be a grave-cut, and I think we've found a skull," she said.

Neil climbed out of the large trench and followed her to where she had been working. He could see a bleached white orb protruding out of the dark soil in the bottom of the trench. Jane had got there before him. She examined the object and looked up. "Looks human, Neil."

Neil sighed. "That's all we need," he said. But he bowed to the inevitable, pulling out his mobile and dialling Wesley's number.

6 yards of fine wool cloth and 4 yards of blue ribbon for the son born to my lady upon the Feast of the Annunciation.............5.6

For hiring Felicia de Monte as wetnursefor the child......3.0

From the household accounts of Stokeworthy Manor

The food in the Ring o' Bells was remarkably good and, after roast beef and all the trimmings followed by home-made apple pie and custard, Wesley had to admit to himself that he had eaten better than he would have done at home ... although he would never have admitted this to Pam.

He had asked discreetly at the bar whether Pauline Brent was a regular customer but the landlord had shaken his head. He had never heard of her.

Plates cleared and glasses drained, the two policemen stood up to go. Then Wesley's mobile phone rang, causing the regulars to turn and stare. Wesley sat down again and tried to answer the call as inconspicuously as he could. It was the incident room. A Neil Watson had left a message for him to get in touch as soon as possible. Wesley thanked the constable on the other end and put his phone back in his pocket. Neil would have to wait.

"Right, Wcs, let's pay Mrs. Matherley a visit. But I want to look in at the incident room first. WPC Walton makes a wicked cup of tea."

"I think that could be construed as sexist, sir. Don't let Rachel hear you saying that."

"Saying what, Wcs? I was merely stating a fact."

"Then be careful who you state it to." Wesley grinned.

There were two reports waiting for them back in the village hall. The first one concerned material found on the church path during the SO COs routine search. Cannabis sativa. Dried marijuana leaves. Scattered liberally up the path to the church door. When Leanne and Jo had talked about scattering seeds on the ground in their pathetic little ritual they had never been specific about what sort of plant matter they used. It had been obvious the girls were hiding something now their secret was out.

The second report stated simply that there were signs of disturbance near the yew tree where Pauline's body was found, consistent with a struggle. There were matching traces of soil on Pauline's sandals. Gerry Heffernan looked at the report then threw it down in disgust. "Oh, Wcs, it's this Pauline Brent. She seems too good to be true. Nobody disliked her ... but on the other hand nobody seemed to know her very well. She was friends with everyone, even stood up for people if she thought they were being taken advantage of, but she had no close friends. There were no personal letters or even addresses in her cottage. What do you make of it?"

Wesley shook his head. He was as puzzled about Pauline Brent as the inspector was. "I wonder where she lived before she came to Stokeworthy. If she was here fifteen years that means she must have come when she was in her mid-thirties. What was she doing before then?"

"You think her past's caught up with her, do you? That the murderer isn't from the village at all?"

"He's got local knowledge... knew when the village was likely to be quiet."

"A weekender?"

"Possibly."

"What made Pauline Brent tick? Why didn't she have close friends? And what about this supposed boyfriend? Perhaps Dot Matherley'll throw some light on the matter. If there's one person who knows your secrets it's your cleaning lady ... so I've heard. I've never had the luxury of one myself."