Shroud of Evil (25 page)

‘It’s the fourth service of the day and very short, just a hymn, three psalms, a reading and a prayer. Fifteen minutes at the most.’

‘Did you see where she went afterwards?’

‘No. I’m sorry, I didn’t. We go straight into dinner for one-fifteen. I can ask my Brothers if any of them saw or spoke to her.’

‘Please. If she was in the chapel she wouldn’t have had the dogs with her.’

‘She might have tied them up outside. They’re very well behaved and used to coming here. They would have sat quietly until she came out.’

‘Did she ever confide in you or in any of the monks?’

‘She certainly didn’t to me and I wouldn’t ask, but I’m always willing to listen when someone wants to share their troubles or concerns with me.’

Horton thought it was a hint to him. But he wasn’t used to sharing his problems or his thoughts with anyone. His childhood had taught him that was a very dangerous thing to do and a lesson once learned the hard way was one that couldn’t be forgotten and was often impossible to shrug off.

Brother Norman continued, ‘And even if she had confided I wouldn’t betray that confidence, even in death.’

Cantelli nodded. Being a Catholic he’d understand that.

‘Can you tell me anything about her?’ Horton asked with a plea in his voice.

‘I know she was a nurse.’

That was new information at least, and it explained why she had tended Cliff Yately’s sprained wrist. It was probably how she had met her husband.

Horton said, ‘Did she tell you that?’

‘She demonstrated it when one of the Brothers fell ill tending the garden. That was two years ago and she’s helped us ever since. Not on official paid business; she wouldn’t take payment. We used to give her apples from the orchards, vegetables, eggs and pork instead, though she wasn’t fond of the latter after seeing the pigs reared here. If anyone needed medical advice or was poorly then she was only too willing to help. She enjoyed it too. I think she might have liked to return to nursing. It’s such a tragic loss. Are there family?’

Horton searched his face to see if he already knew the answer to that question. Maybe he did and had perfected the art of looking innocent. Surely he knew there was a husband. Thelma must have told him that or spoken about him, and she had worn a wedding ring. And what mother didn’t boast about her children? Many, he thought with regret, recalling the countless criminals he’d met over the years and the mothers who neglected, hurt and abandoned their children. But Thelma Veerman hadn’t been like that. Only he didn’t know that for certain. In fact he realized he knew nothing about her.

‘There’s a husband and son,’ he answered, looking closely for a reaction.

Brother Norman held his gaze and in it Horton thought he saw a hint of something that he couldn’t put his finger on. It wasn’t amusement but it was close to it. It jarred at something in the remote recesses of his mind but he knew he wouldn’t be able to retrieve it. Then the shutters came down and Brother Norman’s face resumed its usual calm, genial, gentle expression.

‘I will pray for them,’ he said.

Horton wasn’t sure that Brett Veerman would want or deserved the Brother’s prayers but maybe he was being uncharitable. The son most certainly would. But how did he know that? Perhaps the son was a chip off his father’s block and both had left Thelma feeling isolated and unloved. A feeling Horton knew only too well and one that caused a tightness in his chest even after all these years. His mind flicked back to Bernard again and the fact that he had been injured in Northern Ireland and alongside that the new knowledge that Thelma Veerman had been a nurse and suddenly something clicked. His heart skipped a beat. Could Bernard have been treated at the Royal Naval Hospital Haslar at Gosport? Bloody hell! Was it possible? But Bernard was Royal Air Force, not navy. Had the hospital treated members of other services? Had Jennifer been on her way to see Bernard on the day she’d disappeared?

‘Is there is anything else I can do for you, Inspector?’ Brother Norman’s voice penetrated Horton’s whirling thoughts. Hastily he pulled himself together.

‘I’d like to email you a photograph of Thelma and I’d be grateful if you would show it around and ask if anyone saw her yesterday.’

‘Of course, but we all knew Thelma so no need for the photograph.’

Horton rose. Cantelli put away his notebook. ‘Beautiful place,’ he said. ‘I’d like to bring my family over to take a look around it.’

‘You’re welcome any time, Sergeant. I wish you well with your investigations.’ He didn’t shake hands.

As they headed towards the car park Horton caught sight of Jay Ottley in the piggery. Knowing how uneasy Ottley was with people Horton said to Cantelli, ‘I’ll meet you in the car.’ He didn’t want to alarm Ottley by questioning him mob handed.

Ottley nodded a greeting and straightened up. ‘Just giving them their supper.’

‘They look as though they’re enjoying it.’

Ottley scratched his beard with his gloved fingers and his dark eyes looked lovingly on the sow and her litter of six.

‘Is the sick pig better now? I saw you and Brother Norman with the vet on Friday.’

‘She’s mending.’

‘Must be hard to part with them,’ Horton said.

But Ottley shrugged. ‘They’re not pets. They’re here for a purpose.’

Horton asked him if he had seen Thelma Veerman yesterday afternoon.

‘I did.’

‘When?’

‘Just after Sexts.’

‘What did she do?’ Horton knew he’d have to ask precise questions. Ottley wasn’t the type to volunteer information. Probably not used to conducting conversation, having spent so much time conducting monologues with his pigs. The thought made him consider Thelma Veerman locked in a marriage where conversation had also died. Perhaps that was what had made her steadily more reclusive, withdrawing into a world of her own, and the world of the abbey.

‘She walked over to the café,’ Ottley said.

‘Why?’

‘Mr Yately let her keep the dogs outside while she went into worship. They were tied up. They had a drink,’ he added almost defensively as though Horton was going to accuse her of cruelty.

‘What did she do next?’

‘Spoke to Mr Yately and then went off over there.’

‘There’ was the direction of the footpath back to her house.

‘Did she talk to Mr Yately long?’

‘A few minutes.’ Ottley looked anxious to return to his pigs.

Horton didn’t think he’d get any more from him. He didn’t think it kind to spoil Ottley’s day by breaking the bad news about Thelma Veerman’s death. Brother Norman could do that. Tomorrow he’d ask Brother Norman for Yately’s contact details and speak to him to find out whether Thelma was anxious about anything or whether she had mentioned she was going somewhere other than home. Horton wondered if maybe Cliff Yately and Thelma Veerman had a bit of a thing going. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.

In the car, he phoned through to Uckfield and told him they had a sighting of Thelma Veerman and a time that she’d left the abbey and headed in the direction of home the day before, at about one-thirty. That had been at least an hour before he’d called there the first time and there had been no answer, so perhaps she had walked further on towards Ryde. But there had been no answer when he had returned, so she’d either still been out, or had returned and left again, or was down on the beach bleeding to death. He asked Uckfield if he needed them to stay over for the results of the autopsy, which wouldn’t be due for some hours yet, but Uckfield said not.

‘Trueman’s checking into her background. Dennings has arrived. He’ll handle the incident suite and investigation this end. I want you and Cantelli in the briefing tomorrow morning, nine-thirty. And we keep this away from the media for as long as possible – not because Veerman says so,’ Uckfield added hastily, ‘but because the ACC does and we don’t want the press hounds connecting this with Kenton’s death.’

‘Or His Lordship,’ muttered Horton, knowing exactly why Dean wanted it kept quiet. There would be no public appeals for last sightings of Thelma Veerman, just as there hadn’t been for Jasper Kenton.

‘We’re dismissed, Barney. Let’s head for home.’

Cantelli looked pleased even though it meant another fairly rough crossing. They boarded the six o’clock sailing. It felt a lot later. Cantelli looked as tired as Horton felt, his fatigue deepened by sadness. The death of Thelma Veerman was somehow unreal. As he and Uckfield had discussed earlier, he had half-expected Brett Veerman’s lover to be killed rather than his wife, because it was too risky for Veerman to allow an accomplice to murder to live. That could still be the case.

In the comfortable silence that fell between them on the journey, Horton let his thoughts roam back to the two things he’d considered earlier about his foster father. That he’d joined the Hampshire Police unusually late, and that after being injured in Northern Ireland in 1978 he could have been treated at the Royal Naval Hospital Haslar. He knew that Bernard and Eileen had been married shortly after Bernard had been injured. He’d checked with the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages. It had been Christmas Eve 1978 and Eileen’s maiden name was Ducale. He hadn’t had time to request her birth certificate but he would. Could Eileen have visited Bernard in the hospital at Gosport? Had Jennifer been on her way to see Eileen or Bernard, or both of them, on the day she’d disappeared? Or had she been returning from there? Had Eileen or Bernard known Jennifer?

He gazed out of the window at the darkening day. If Jennifer had been meeting either of them then they must have known about her disappearance. The Eileen he had come to love would have been concerned about her friend and her son though, and that further convinced Horton of two things, which he’d already considered. That neither Eileen nor Bernard had known Jennifer had a son until four years later when he had been fostered by them. And that neither had known she had disappeared. So if Jennifer had been visiting them at Haslar Hospital then Eileen would have waved her friend off not knowing that harm had come to her until Ballard had shown up and told her of it and the fact she’d had son. Perhaps Jennifer had never mentioned her son in order to protect him. But from whom?

Cantelli dropped him back at the station where he collected his Harley and headed for home, this time with thoughts of Thelma Veerman’s lonely life haunting him. The wind was howling through the masts and shaking and slapping the halyards. It was a sound that would have kept many people awake but Horton had grown so used to it that he no longer noticed. He stood under a hot shower for some minutes, trying to wash away the image of Thelma’s body on the beach, but he knew it wouldn’t leave him for a long time.

He cooked an omelette, thinking with regret of a very different meal and evening he should have been spending with Gaye Clayton. Maybe she was thinking that too. Had she finished the autopsy yet? It was just gone eight o’clock, the time she should have been collecting him in her red Mini. He reached for his phone and called her.

‘I’m still on the island,’ she said, with what Horton hoped was a trace of disappointment in her voice but perhaps he just wanted to hear that.

‘I suspected you might be. What did you discover?’

‘Lividity was present throughout the entire body and flies had laid their eggs in the soft tissue, in fact the eggs were just beginning to hatch.’

Horton’s stomach turned over as he thought of the omelette he’d just eaten.

‘The time of death is between ten and midnight but she was probably shot a few hours earlier, say six thirty or seven p.m. Tuesday night. As I said to Superintendent Uckfield though, these are estimates.’

‘She was seen at the abbey at one thirty and I called at her house twice. The first time at about two forty-five and the second about an hour later and there was no answer and no sound of the dogs.’

‘Perhaps she’d gone out to meet her killer and taken the dogs with her.’

‘And the dogs wouldn’t attack someone they knew.’

‘They could have been drugged.’

God, he hadn’t thought of that. And by the time the dogs had regained consciousness their mistress was already dead. They’d stayed by her side barking to attract attention.

Gaye was saying, ‘There’s no evidence that the victim was drugged but you’ll have to wait for the results from the forensic toxicologist. And there is no evidence that she was restrained or sexually assaulted or that she was rendered unconscious by a blow to the head and then shot.’

‘Was she killed where we found her body?’

‘There are no scratches or marks to indicate that she was moved but it’s possible. I didn’t find anything unusual or significant on her clothes but the forensic examination of them might reveal something. The bolt was fired at almost point-blank range with a great degree of accuracy. Your killer knew exactly where to aim. The victim didn’t turn or run away. Before she realized what was happening she’d been shot. The killer then either waited for her to die or left her knowing she would.’

And whichever way you looked at it they were dealing with a cold-blooded bastard, someone without compassion, feeling or conscience.

Horton said, ‘I’ll call you about that dinner.’

‘When you’re ready,’ she answered.

He rang off. She at least knew the demands of the job, which Catherine had never really understood. Few did, although Cantelli had found himself a gem in Charlotte.

His thoughts again conjured up the solitary figure of Thelma Veerman, her grey-blue eyes, sharp, but also suspicious, the air of superiority about her that now he knew had been developed as a protective shield to disguise her shyness and to stop others from probing and getting too close to her for fear of rejection, as her husband had rejected her.

As he cleared away, listening to the rain drumming on the boat, he wanted Veerman to be guilty of killing Jasper Kenton and Thelma Veerman not only because it was cleaner and simpler, and because he thought Veerman arrogant, superior and cold-hearted, but because it exonerated him in keeping silent about Lomas, the beachcomber. Because if Veerman and his lover hadn’t killed them, who had?