An Unhallowed Grave (23 page)

"No. She would wait in the waiting room. I had to pass it on the way to my office. I guess she never noticed me."

"You never mentioned this to her?"

"I believe people should have the chance to make a fresh start without their past being brought up again and again. I never mentioned it because it was likely to have been part of her life she'd rather forget."

"Is that Why you never became friendly with her? Why you were a good neighbour but you kept your distance?"

She looked at Wesley, impressed by his perception. "It's not something I'm proud of but... yeah, I must admit I was a little wary. There is something else I've remembered." Wesley nodded and sat forward. "I was in Morbay a few weeks back visiting my osteopath I've had problems with my back and I saw Pauline on the far side of the street; I don't think she saw me. She was going into a house. It was divided into apartments and she'd rung the top bell. A red-haired woman let her in."

The two detectives exchanged looks. Now they were getting somewhere.

"Would you know the address?"

"It's Jubilee Road. My osteopath's at number seventeen and it was directly opposite. The front door was painted lime green ... quite distinctive."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Green," said Gerry Heffernan, standing up. "You've been a great help. Would it surprise you to know that Pauline Brent wasn't the lady's real name?"

She gave a shy smile. "No, Inspector, it wouldn't. Don't get me wrong, I liked Pauline. But there was always ... something. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Wesley hastily assessed the situation. "I'll get back to the incident room, sir, to see if there's any word from the Home Office."

"Right, then. Pick me up here in half an hour and we'll take a little trip to Morbay."

"Shouldn't we have a word with Mr. Stoke-Brown, sir?" Wesley whispered confidentially.

"Okay. We'll call in there before we go." Heffernan turned to Susan Green, who was standing there expectantly. "Did you know Pauline was friendly with an artist who lives at the old mill ... a Charles Stoke-Brown?"

Susan shook her head. "She sure as hell kept that quiet. I'd no idea. Would you like that cup of tea?"

"That'd be great, love," Heffernan answered with a grin. "We've just been over to Plymouth and I'm spitting feathers."

Wesley tried hard to suppress a smile and made a tactful exit.

There was no word from the Home Office. Rachel said she'd get on to them again but Wesley wasn't holding his breath. There was always the Birmingham Probation Office if all else failed, but Wesley had a feeling, purely instinctive, that the address in Morbay might lead them to the truth.

He encountered Steve Carstairs on his way down the village hall steps. Steve nodded curtly. Wesley noticed the two girls, Leanne and Jo, sitting on the wall in front of the village shop with a lost-looking Gaz Sweeting and saw the look that Leanne was directing at Steve. She whispered something to Jo and the two girls giggled. There was a story here, Wesley thought, which would no doubt come out in time, station gossip being what it was.

"Any progress with the Lee Telford inquiry, Steve?" he asked conversationally.

"No, Sarge. There were no prints to speak of on that oar ... but Dr. Bowman rang and said he's had a look at it and matched it to the wound. It was definitely what knocked him out before he went into the water. We're asking everyone who has boats moored in the creek if they saw anything. But no joy yet."

Wesley was pleasantly surprised. This was the most communicative Steve had ever been without some resentful look or comment. Maybe his experience with Leanne Matherley -whatever it was had done him good.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, Wesley saw that the group in front of the village shop had been joined by a familiar face. Gemma Matherley, the nanny at the Manor, looked older than her sister, Leanne. not only in years but in her manner. She had a grown-up polish, probably acquired through exposure to a more sophisticated way of life. Some of her mannerisms, the way she held herself, had been directly copied from Caroline Thewlis. Gemma had made good use of her time among the gentry. Standing a little apart from the teenage group, as if she didn't wish to be associated with them, she had a brief discussion with Leanne, then she turned and headed back towards the Manor. Wesley was struck by a sudden thought. Had Leanne revealed anything about her sister's mysterious love life to Steve in the course of their probable liaison? He would ask when he next got the chance ... tactfully.

He picked the inspector up from Susan Green's cottage and Heffernan took his place in the passenger seat with a contented smile hovering about his lips.

"Good cup of tea, sir?"

"Excellent, thanks, Wcs. Nice woman ... great Beatles fan. When I said I came from near Penny Lane she was most impressed." He grinned. Then he paused, awkward. "Er ... I've asked her for a drink tonight." He suddenly looked worried. "Do you think it's all right ... asking her for a drink, I mean? She wouldn't rather have a meal or something

"I'm sure if she hadn't wanted to go she would have made some excuse." Gerry Heffernan might have been twenty years older than him but Wesley felt like a mature man of the world advising his coy teenage brother. "Where are you going?"

The Ring o' Bells. Is that all right, do you think?"

"I'd say a country pub's just fine. Just go and enjoy yourself."

Wesley looked at his watch. "Do you think artists keep normal working hours?"

"I've no idea. Let's get up there and see, shall we? I don't like it when people lie to us."

"You reckon it was him who was lying and not his wife out of spite?"

"Didn't you believe her?"

"I don't know. If she'd found out about Pauline and her husband ..."

They reached Charles Stoke-Brown's studio and hammered on the door, listening carefully for any telltale sound within. There was nothing. The artist and errant husband was out. They would have to come back another time. Wesley turned the car round and set off for Morbay.

Nothing more was said until they reached their destination. Jubilee Road was near the centre of the town. The once swanky stuccoed houses had been built in late Victorian times with the rich in mind. In those days Morbay, just ten miles from Tradmouth round the coast, had been the epitome of the fashionable seaside resort. The genteel had come there -for their health and had built the white-painted villas and town houses that gave the town its character. Although half the town retained its relative affluence, the other half, the part given over to caravan parks and the trappings of the cheap seaside holiday, had begun to attract the unemployed, the drifters. Many cheap family hotels had been forced to take in DSS claimants. The place had changed.

Jubilee Road was in the no-man's-land between the two worlds. Fairly respectable but with an increasing number of flats and bed-sitters. The lime-green door opposite number seventeen was easy to locate.

There were four plastic doorbells and Wesley rang the top one. They waited on the doorstep, listening for footsteps on the stairs. Wesley rang the bell again and this time their patience was rewarded. Someone was hurrying down the staircase, and they could see a shape approaching through the frosted glass of the door.

The woman who opened the door wasn't old, probably in her early forties, but she had the look of an elderly pixie, crafty and all-knowing. This woman had experienced a lot in her time ... and had seen more. She pushed her dyed red hair back from her face and gave the two officers a look of sheer hatred. "Look, I don't want no trouble. I had two of your lot here last week and I told them I never solicit. You can have a drink in a bar, can't you? It's a free country," she added indignantly. Her accent was London, south of the river. She was a long way from home.

"We're not interested in what you get up to in your spare time, love," said Gerry Heffernan, showing his warrant card. "We're CID from Tradmouth ... we want to ask you a few questions about one of your visitors. Can we come in?"

She shrugged, and led the way upstairs. Her skirt was short, displaying shapely stockinged legs. She introduced herself as Gloria Bilford, a personal services consultant, and the flat she led them to was on the first floor, large and fashionably furnished. Business was good.

She sat down on the cream leather sofa, her legs on full display, looking Wesley up and down. He turned away, embarrassed. Heffernan nudged him.

"A couple of weeks ago a lady was seen to enter this house after ringing the top doorbell," Wesley began. "She was middle-aged, medium height, blonde bobbed hair. She called herself Pauline Brent."

Gloria Bilford smiled and nodded. "I didn't know she'd changed her name. Though I can't say I'm particularly surprised ... considering."

"Considering what, love?" asked Heffernan. "She's been murdered ... and a lad who probably witnessed it's been done in and all. So if you know anything about this woman ..."

"Oh my God ..." Gloria's hands went to her mouth. "I didn't know ... honest. I'd no idea she was dead ... oh, that's awful she gasped.

"So you see why we're so interested in finding out her real identity

"You mean you don't know?" Gloria looked up at Wesley with disbelief.

"No. We've been trying to find out. There was nothing from her past among her possessions. She covered her tracks well."

"Yeah, she would. She said she'd started a new life ... got a nice job ..."

"You knew her from prison?" said Gerry Heffernan, guessing.

"That's right. Open prison up near Birmingham. I was in for the usual and she was near the end of her sentence."

"What was she in for?"

"You mean you really don't know?" They shook their heads. "She was Pauline Quillon ... the child killer."

The jury state there is a certain vagrant going about the village of Stokeworthy. He came to the manor and Alice de Neston, fearing for the safety of my lady's baby, did chase him off but does not know where the man went to and did not see his face.

Elizabeth Webster is indicted for using charms and sorceries contrary to good faith to cause Felicia de Monte's milk to sour and my lady's baby to sicken. Fined 6d.

Christina Tandy states that John Fleecer be newly returned to the village and that he did affright my lord Simon and did take a coin from him.

From the Court Rolls of Stokeworthy Manor

The policemen both looked blank. "Say that again, love," was Gerry Heffernan's only comment.

"Pauline Quillon. She was looking after this baby for some rich family and it died. She was only eighteen when it happened. Got twenty-five years ... served fifteen."

"So this happened thirty years ago?" Gloria nodded. "So how come she was visiting you?"

"I met her in the middle of Morbay a few months ago. She was shopping. She was a bit embarrassed at first but we got talking ... went for a coffee. Then she came to visit me here."

"For any particular reason?"

"Just social. We always got on well inside, you see. She was a nice girl."

Heffernan looked puzzled. "I always thought child killers were given a hard time inside ... bottom of the heap."

Gloria shook her head vigorously. "Not Pauline. You see, she always said she never done it... that she was innocent."

"And you believed her?"

Gloria Bilford looked Heffernan straight in the eye. "Everyone did ... all the girls inside. It wasn't like it is today ... you didn't have all these retrials and telly programmes about miscarriages of justice. Once you were in, you were in. But last time I saw her I asked her if she'd thought about reopening the case ... clearing her name. I told her that if she proved she was innocent she could be in for some compensation ... you never know your luck. She looked at me a bit strange and said she was thinking of doing something but she didn't want to say anything yet in case it didn't work out. I don't know what she meant but..."

"So you think she was innocent?"

"Oh yes. Pauline loved kids ... wouldn't harm a hair on their heads. She was innocent all right."

For once Gerry Heffernan seemed lost for words. They were halfway back to Stokeworthy before he spoke. "What do you make of it, Wcs?"

"Certainly gives us a whole new angle to the case. If she killed a child, the parents or relatives could be out for revenge."

"It explains the hanging in a way. Maybe the killer thought she should have been hanged at the time. But it doesn't explain Lee Telford, does it? The sort of person who'd take justice into their own hands would be focused on that one thing, surely. They wouldn't go committing another murder ..."

"They might have got cold feet at the prospect of what they'd done coming to light and got rid of the witness."

"So much hate, Wcs."

"If someone killed your child it's natural to feel like that, isn't it?"

"I suppose so. But it's not nice, is it? ... reminds me of a lynching. And it's not just hate, there's something else ... something calculating. Why was everyone in that prison so sure she was innocent?"

"Perhaps they wanted to believe it. We've all heard that Pauline was seen as a nice woman. Perhaps they couldn't bring themselves to acknowledge what she'd done. It was easier to believe she was innocent."

"Now we've got a name we can find out the details ... see where the evidence pointed. I think our priority is to find the dead child's family." Heffernan looked at his watch. "We'll see if Charles Stoke-Brown's at home, then we'll call in at the village hall and rustle up as much information as we can about Pauline Quillon. Then we can get off home ... start again in earnest tomorrow."

"Don't forget about your date, sir," said Wesley with a smile as they parked outside the incident room.

"Oh, there's no danger of that."

They found Charles Stoke-Brown in his studio cleaning his paint-brushes. But there was an automatic nature to his movements which suggested that his mind was on other things. A glass of whisky, newly poured from a half-empty bottle, stood awaiting his attention.