An Unhallowed Grave (17 page)

As it turned out, it wasn't a man that Gerry Heffernan spoke to but a woman. The new vicar of St. Matthew and St. Luke's near Bromsgrove was the Rev. Sandra Paulet, a friendly woman, only too eager to be helpful. The Rev. Geoffrey Willington, she said, had retired ten years ago and was in a nearby nursing home. Some of her parishioners still visited him. He was crippled by arthritis,

she said; such a sad predicament for one who had lived such a healthy, useful life. Gerry Heffernan made sympathetic noises and took down the details.

Then he made another phone call and went off to find Wesley.

Steve Carstairs decided to take a detour of his own to the village shop to buy himself something for lunch: a pork pie, a can of Coke and some crisps. Stokeworthy Stores had branched out in recent months and the sign outside boasted that it stocked local wine, cheeses, ice creams and fine cured bacon all to tempt the weekenders. But none of these delights tempted Steve. The woman behind the counter served him enthusiastically. The police presence in the village was good for business and discouraged the louts who usually hung around outside her shop.

Steve didn't fancy eating his paltry rations in the incident room. He would go for a walk get some fresh air. As he stepped outside into the daylight, nursing his resentment, a voice to his right made him jump.

"Your lunch-time is it?"

Steve turned to see Leanne Matherley sitting on a low wall, displaying an alarming quantity of leg as she had hitched up her denim miniskirt.

' Where's your friend?"

"School."

"Shouldn't you be there?"

She looked mildly insulted. "I'm on study leave. Haven't got to go in."

"You in the sixth form, then?"

Leanne nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah. "Course I am. Where's your car?"

"Parked round the back of the village hall. Why?"

"I've never been in an XR31. How fast does it go?"

"Fast as you like. Fancy a drive?" Steve looked the girl up and down, noted her attractions and felt reckless.

"Thought you'd never ask."

"Wait here. I'll bring the car round," he said, not wishing to risk being seen by his colleagues. This was strictly pleasure.

Ten minutes later he was shooting down the high-hedged country lanes demonstrating the power of his vehicle. Leanne sat beside him, her bare legs stretched out, the seat belt obscuring the midriff that Steve knew was also exposed. He could hear her catch her breath as they rounded blind corners. The prospect of meeting another car didn't occur to him as the adrenalin pumped and he felt the sexual excitement of the situation. He glanced at his companion to see if she shared his exhilaration. He saw her eyes fixed ahead but failed to notice the gritted teeth and the hands clasping the seat belt, white-knuckled.

"Can we stop somewhere?" she said breathlessly as a slow-moving tractor loomed in front of them.

"Sure." With a squeal of brakes, Steve turned the car down a lane, even narrower than the last. "Do you know where this leads?" She wanted to stop. He was on to a good thing here.

"Down to the creek ... farther towards the river. It's a dead end."

Steve smiled and checked his appearance in the rear-view mirror. It was his lucky day. The road ended, as Leanne had predicted, in a dead end near the water. He got out and walked slowly round the car to open the passenger door, anticipating, aware of the physical effects of his excitement. He helped Leanne out of the car and they walked, hand in hand, down to the creek, wider here than at Stokeworthy.

"Haven't you brought your lunch with you?" she asked tentatively.

"Why? There's better things to do than eat," he said suggestively.

He looked at her. She was eyeing him nervously. They were alone. He stopped and put his arms round her. She stiffened, drawing away slightly. Taking her reluctance for preliminary nerves, he bent and whispered in her ear, "It's all right. There's nobody about," before kissing her on the lips, exploring her mouth with his tongue.

Leanne stood quite still. She hadn't expected this ... not so soon. He kissed her again, his hand creeping up towards her breast. Over his shoulder she could see the creek, the water lapping gently against the muddy sand at its edge. The tide was in.

As Steve's hands explored further, Leanne pushed him away half-heartedly. He whispered to her not to be a tease. She knew she shouldn't have come. She knew she shouldn't be there. As he kissed her again, more fiercely this time, and pressed his body against hers, she focused her eyes on the water that glistened behind him and watched what looked like a pile of clothes caught up in branches, floating near the shore. She put a hand up and shoved Steve away.

"What did you do that for?" he asked, indignant, threatening.

"Look." She pointed to the shape in the water. "It's a body ..." She suddenly felt unsure. Perhaps it was something else, a log or a bundle of old rags.

Steve looked at her, weighing up the situation. Was she having him on? Teasing now when the messages she had been sending out had been crystal clear? He turned. Once he had reassured her that there was no body, everything would be all right.

He strolled down to the water's edge, his eyes fixed on the shape in the water. It was very near the shore, caught up in some branches that were growing out into the creek. He squatted down, shielding his eyes from the sunlight that sparkled on the water. It certainly looked like a body. He picked up a large branch lying nearby and reached out towards the shape, touching it so that it bobbed up and down. He could see that it was dressed in what looked like jeans and a dull orange T-shirt: long hair streamed out as the body moved. Steve stood up slowly and walked back to Leanne, who was watching him anxiously from farther up the bank.

He drew himself up, feeling important under her expectant gaze. "It's a body, all right. I'll have to get back. Look, Leanne, I'll have to report this, but there's no need to mentioner

"No. Is it a man?"

"Can't tell ... I think it's a woman."

As he hurried her into his car, Steve thought he detected relief on Leanne's face.

Ralph de Nestonfor not cleansing his ditch near the highway.

Fined 2d.

Thomas de Monte, the stone carver is amerced for trespassing upon the lord's woodland.

Alice de Neston, nursemaid to my lord's son, spoke for him to the jury saying it was on her request that he did meet her on the lord's land.

From the Court Rolls of Stokeworthy Manor

It was a late lunch but Gerry Heffernan had used his questionable charms to persuade the barmaid at the Ring o' Bells to provide a couple of cheese and pickle sandwiches. The inspector sat back, holding his pint of best bitter, a satisfied smile on his face, while Wesley sipped at his orange juice.

"We'll set off about nine tomorrow. That okay with you?"

Wesley nodded. "It'll take about three hours to get there, depending on the traffic. What did the matron say exactly?"

"That the Rev. Willington's all there ... crippled with arthritis and in a wheelchair but completely compos mentis. He's nearly eighty, she said."

"That means he must have been sixty-five when he gave Pauline her glowing reference ... nearing retirement."

"That's right." Heffernan chuckled in anticipation. "I can't wait to hear what he's got to say ... and there are bound to be other people who knew her up there in Bromsgrove. We're getting somewhere at last, Wcs."

"You don't see her artistic lover in the role of murderer, then?"

"Crime of passion? Doubt it. More likely he wanted to give her the heave-ho if she was getting too keen and hearing wedding bells ... but I'm keeping an open mind."

"What about D'estry? Any more thoughts on him?"

"All mouth. No, Wcs, I'm sure this all has something to do with the lady's mysterious past, whatever it was. I mean, you've moved here from London but you still talk about living there: your family; the Met; people you knew. If you move to a different place you don't blank out your past ... unless there's a very good reason."

"Let's hope the Rev. Willington can shed some light on it."

Wesley was about to take another drink when he heard a voice behind him. "I've tried to ring you twice. Didn't you get my message?" Neil Watson sounded quite indignant that police work should be getting in the way of his concerns.

"Hi, Neil. Come and join us." It was Gerry Heffernan who extended the invitation, cheerfully offering a drink and dispatching his sergeant to the bar to get it.

"What is it?" asked Wesley as he put the pint on the table in front of Neil.

"Just thought you'd want to know that we've found three more of those statues. They're turning up thick and fast. We've got Reheboam, Joram and King David himself complete with harp." Neil could hardly contain his excitement. Wesley knew the feeling: he felt like this when a particularly obtuse murder case was unravelling itself. "We've got a television crew coming this afternoon for an interview," Neil continued. "Although I think they might get more than they bargained for."

"What do you mean?"

"Squirrel and his mates are hoping to get a few words in."

"Don't you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"Your hour of glory being hijacked."

Neil shrugged. He wasn't particularly bothered about glory. "Philip Thewlis is whizzing in in his helicopter too to say a few words ... about how exciting the finds are and all that, and how he'll be delighted to see them in the County Museum even though they were found on his land you know the sort of crap. He's not really got much choice in the matter, but he'll make out it's his decision to grant these great treasures to the nation ... I believe it's called good publicity. Are you coming to have a look, Wcs?"

"Not got time. Sorry."

"We've got a murderer to catch," Gerry Heffernan chipped in. "I don't suppose any of Squirrel's furry friends have come up with anything they saw on Friday night, have they?"

"No. Sorry."

"Great," said Wesley. "There's never an eco-warrior about when you need one. Have you heard anything from Colin Bowman about that skeleton you found'?"

"Yes. He came round this morning." Gerry Heffernan raised his eyebrows. It seemed that Neil and his team were getting better service than the police, who generally had to visit Dr. Bowman rather than the other way round. "It was probably a hanging, either professional or very lucky. The neck was broken cleanly. She was aged about eighteen, hadn't had any children, and we've sent the bones away for radiocarbon dating, which takes ages. I'd say by the teeth she's old ... very old. There's no dental work and I'd say she had a medieval diet nothing refined, nothing sweet. There's no evidence of disease either: she was a healthy specimen."

"Not once she was strung up, she wasn't. What would they have hanged people for in those days?"

"That depends when we're talking about. You could be hanged for most things from the sixteenth century onward, but if she's medieval ..." Neil hesitated. "I'd take a guess, and it's just a guess, that it could be murder ... and her hanging may have been a lynching of some kind as small manor courts rarely gave out death sentences. A murderer would usually have been tried before the magistrates at Neston or Tradmouth ... or at the assizes in Exeter. But don't take my word for it. I could be completely wrong, and it's still possible it was a suicide."

Gerry Heffernan drained his glass and looked at his watch. "This is all very interesting but we've got to get on."

"Don't forget to watch me on telly tonight ... half past five, local news."

"I'll even video it," said Wesley, tongue in cheek.

As they left the pub they heard a helicopter overhead, the deafening chugging of its engines tearing through the quiet air of the village as it descended behind the trees to squat on the grassland in front of the Manor.

"There he goes," said Heffernan with a sigh. "Nothing like a bit of free publicity, is there?"

"Do you think we need a bit of publicity on this case, sir? Perhaps we should put out an appeal for anyone who knew Pauline Brent to come forward."

"All in good time, Wcs. I think our visit to Bromsgrove tomorrow might do the trick."

It was then that Wesley's mobile phone rang.

Steve knew he should have stayed with the body and phoned for assistance. But there was the problem of Leanne. He decided to drive back and report it at the incident room. He could always make up some story about his mobile phone not working if anyone enquired too closely.

He dropped Leanne just outside the village. From the expression on her face he guessed she was annoyed. But it couldn't be helped. If they'd been seen together, it wouldn't have looked good.

The incident room was busy. Most of the officers assigned to the case were at their desks, sorting through piles of paperwork, tapping at computer keyboards or answering phones. Inspector Heffernan wasn't there; neither was Sergeant Peterson. Steve's eyes rested on Rachel, engrossed in some computerised task. She would have to do.

"Rachel." He bent down behind her and whispered in her ear. "I've found a body."

Rachel didn't look up from her computer screen. "Are you sure?"

Steve straightened himself up. Did she really think he didn't know a dead body when he saw one? "Of course. It's in the creek. Do you know where the inspector is?"

"Ring o' Bells, he said ... working lunch. I've just rung him there. He's on his way back. Whose body is it?"

"A woman ... drowned."

"You'd better get a car there right away. I'll tell the inspector when he gets back. Is anything wrong, Steve?" She looked at him, a half-smile playing on her lips.

"No. Why?"

"What were you doing down by the creek?"

"Having a walk ... thinking."

"That makes a change," she said, turning away to summon assistance before Steve could retaliate. It took her only a couple of minutes to organise a couple of uniformed officers to go with him to where he had found the body, and she promised to let the inspector know as soon as he came in. "One thing, Steve," she began as he was about to leave.