The Blood Pit (32 page)

‘I reckon Marrick and Petronella must be nearly the same age.’

‘Even so. Look, Charlie was a devious, vicious bastard and a bully – and those were his good points. But I never imagined
he’d do anything like that.’ He looked Wesley in the eye. ‘There won’t be many tears at Charlie’s funeral, I reckon.’

‘As far as we know, the other victims didn’t share Charlie’s tastes. Simon Tench was happily married and well liked. And the
victim up in Chester, Christopher Grisham, seemed an ordinary sort of man – no vices that we know of. The only thing they appeared
to have in common was Belsinger School. They were all in the same house, in fact.’

Collins shrugged. ‘Then if I were you, I’d take a closer look at the place.’

Gerry Heffernan stood up. He didn’t like being told his job but his instinct told him that Darren Collins was probably right.

‘You’ll give us the details of the people you were with in Chester?’

Darren Collins obliged without a word of protest. Meek as a lamb.

Neil Watson stood beside trench three and watched as Norman and Muriel scraped away. From time to time Muriel would straighten
herself up and place her hand in the small of her back. Digging was hard physical work – most beginners didn’t realise that.

He looked down at the mobile phone in his hand. He’d just received a call from Annabel that puzzled him a little. She had
just found some more material about Veland Abbey’s seyney house in the cathedral archives – accounts for building alterations
and various mentions of the place in contemporary records. But one promising book – a journal the last abbot had written before
the abbey’s closure – was missing. It was catalogued all right but it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Either it had been
put elsewhere – which was possible but unlikely – or someone had taken it. Neil, sensing Annabel’s frustration, had made sympathetic
noises and told her to keep up the good work. But he couldn’t get the journal out of his mind. He wanted to see it; to know
what the abbot had written all those centuries ago … and whether he’d mentioned Brother William.

He stood there watching as Diane scraped away in trench one, a faraway look in her eyes. They had arrived at the site early
that morning to remove any evidence of the strange ritual they had witnessed the previous night. But they’d been too late. There
was no trace of any candles apart from a few splashes of wax. Lenny – they were still assuming it was Lenny – must have returned
after they’d gone and taken the stuff away himself.

Lenny seemed subdued today, digging silently in trench four where they were uncovering a midden containing animal bones, broken
pottery and oyster shells. The monks had eaten and drank well here at the Seyney House and they’d left the evidence behind.

The sound of Wesley’s voice made Neil look round. His friend was striding towards him and Gerry Heffernan followed behind,
watching the diggers with a bemused look on his face.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve had any more letters?’ Wesley asked quietly once greetings had been exchanged.

Neil shook his head and when Wesley asked where they could find Norman Hedge, he pointed to trench three, rather surprised
as the retired history teacher wasn’t his idea of a man who could help the police with their enquiries. He said as much to
Wesley who gave him a meaningful wink before whispering that it was always the quiet ones and approaching Norman Hedge, warrant
card to the ready.

Neil was right. Norman Hedge hardly looked like public enemy number one – more like a retired schoolmaster who’d never had
dealings with the police before … and certainly not on the wrong side of the law. He looked nervous and it fell to Wesley
to put him at his ease and assure him that they needed his help, not his wrists in handcuffs.

Wesley suggested they visit a pub they’d passed on the main road for a coffee and a chat. This seemed to reassure Norman,
as had Wesley’s casual mention that he’d studied archaeology at university and that he was a friend of Dr Watson, the director
of the dig. By the time Wesley had brought the car to a halt in the pub’s car park, they were getting on like a house on fire
and Gerry Heffernan was feeling a little left out.

As it was coming up to lunchtime they decided to have a sandwich and Norman joined them. While Heffernan was at the bar ordering
their food and drinks, Wesley began the
questioning – gently so that Norman had no idea that he was being interrogated.

‘I expect you’ve heard about the recent murders of Charles Marrick and Simon Tench. And a man called Christopher Grisham was
found dead up in Chester a few weeks ago.’

The man’s mouth fell open for a second. ‘I … I hadn’t heard about Christopher. That’s awful. I can’t believe anyone would want
to …’

‘You knew all the victims?’

‘Yes. I taught them all. They were at Belsinger School. All in Tavistock House. You don’t think … ?’

‘Think what?’ It was Heffernan who spoke, impatient with Wesley’s kid glove approach.

‘That their deaths are connected with the school in some way. But I don’t see how they could be. I mean …’

‘We’re keeping an open mind at the moment. However, Belsinger School appears to be the only thing the victims had in common. As
far as we know they didn’t remain friends after they’d left school. In fact they lived very different lives.’

Norman sighed. ‘That’s hardly surprising. They certainly had nothing in common at school. Simon Tench was a nice lad. Highly
intelligent. Chris Grisham might not have been as bright as Simon but he was a pleasant, quiet boy – very good at art if I
remember rightly. No trouble to anyone.’

‘What about Charles Marrick?’

There was a long silence. Then Hedge looked Wesley in the eye.

‘In my opinion, Inspector, Charles Marrick was evil. I suppose these psychiatrists would have a fancy name for it but I’m
old fashioned. I taught a lot of boys during my time at Belsinger but I’ve only come across one who could be described as
truly wicked and that was Marrick. He had no empathy for the feelings of others, you see. It wasn’t that he didn’t realise
he was hurting people, he just didn’t care if it gave him pleasure or advantage. He was completely amoral
– his only creed was if I want it, it’s mine and damn the consequences. And he was manipulative. He used people, Inspector.
And somehow he always ended up getting away with it. He could be very charming when he wanted something. But I saw through
him even if others didn’t.’

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. This time it looked as if they were getting somewhere.

‘You’re the second person to describe Marrick as evil, Mr Hedge,’ Wesley said. ‘We’ve spoken to the boys’ housemaster, Mr Dean.
He runs a bookshop in Morbay now.’

‘Indeed.’ His expression gave nothing away.

Wesley decided it was time to tackle the subject that was foremost in his mind. He took a deep breath. ‘Mr Dean told us that
you and the late headmaster of Belsinger, Mr Hadderson, were close friends.’ He watched the man intently. His face was impassive
but he sensed that he was hiding deep emotions – putting on a familiar mask to conceal his feelings. Just as he had done for
so many years at Belsinger. He was used to the charade.

‘Did he?’ Hedge took a sip of coffee.

‘I can assure you, Mr Hedge, that whatever you tell us will be treated in confidence. If we’re to catch whoever killed your
former pupils, we need to know everything.’

Hedge took another sip from his cup, something to do with his hands while he thought. Then suddenly he seemed to come to a
decision. ‘If you must know, Stanley and I were lovers,’ he said suddenly, looking at the two policemen to see if their faces
had registered shock. When he saw that they were both looking at him with polite interest he carried on. ‘We came from a generation
that treated our kind of relationship as a crime, Inspector. In fact you could go to prison for it. We had to be very discreet.
We knew that if our relationship came to the ears of the pupils’ parents …’

‘They might not be as tolerant and understanding as …’

‘Quite, quite. As you can imagine we went to great pains to hide our …’

‘But Marrick found out?’ It was a pure guess on Wesley’s part. But it was worth a try to see if the question hit its target.

Hedge’s face turned red. ‘How did you know?’

‘Did he blackmail you?’

‘He was far more subtle than that. He goaded Stanley. He knew that he was in a position to ruin him. Nothing was ever said
openly, of course. Just hints, insinuations. And he implied that he’d think nothing of making false allegations concerning
our dealings with the boys in our care. It would have been complete rubbish of course but filth sticks, Inspector, as I’m sure
you’ll know. It would have finished Stanley’s career and mine. Ruined the school. And the school was Stanley’s life so he
adopted a policy of appeasement which, in my opinion, is always a mistake. Poor Stanley thought it was his only option. I
told him to call Marrick’s bluff but …’

‘You and Stanley must have been very relieved when Marrick left the school.’

Hedge nodded.

‘I understand that Mr Hadderson took his own life,’ Wesley said gently.

A shadow of pain passed across Hedge’s face. ‘Yes. But that had nothing to do with Marrick. He discovered he was ill. A brain
tumour. He was a proud man. He couldn’t face the indignity of a slow death … of losing his faculties and being dependent on
…’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Wesley and Gerry Heffernan muttered something that sounded sympathetic a split second after like an echo.

‘Did you, er …’ Wesley searched for the right words. ‘Did you ever suspect that his death might not have been suicide?’

Hedge looked shocked. ‘No, not at all. But …’

‘But what?’ Heffernan leaped on the moment of doubt too eagerly in Wesley’s opinion.

‘No. Of course he killed himself.’

‘He didn’t leave a note?’

Hedge shook his head, still shocked.

Wesley decided to change the subject. The man obviously believed there’d been nothing suspicious about the death of his partner
in life. But Mortimer Dean had spoken of a cut throat. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Or perhaps it was worth investigating
further.

‘Can you tell us anything else about Charles Marrick? Anything at all.’

Hedge frowned. ‘There was something shortly before he left. But Stanley never told me what it was, which was unusual. We didn’t
usually have secrets from each other.’

‘You’ve no idea what it could have been?’

Hedge shook his head. ‘Whatever it was was kept very hush hush. I suppose Marrick’s housemaster might have known – Mortimer
Dean.’

‘When exactly was this?’

‘I think it must have been towards the end of term – after the exams when things were a bit more relaxed than usual. I can’t
be sure, of course, but that was the week Marrick disappeared. Nothing was said, of course, but I sensed it. Things weren’t
right.’

‘So Marrick disappeared before the end of the term?’

‘Most of the teachers were glad to see the back of him if the truth were known. There was a strange atmosphere in the school
during those couple of weeks till the summer term ended. I asked Stanley if something was wrong but he said he couldn’t tell
me. It was a confidential matter.’

‘And he never mentioned it again?’

‘Never. I had the impression it was something he’d rather forget.’

‘And the other victims – Simon Tench and Christopher Grisham?’

‘It was after they’d taken their GCSEs, Inspector. The boys
were demob happy, filling in time. Then Simon transferred to a sixth form elsewhere and Chris didn’t take history A level
so I had little to do with either of them from then on.’

Gerry Heffernan had had enough. He was growing impatient. Being a naturally inquisitive person himself, he found it hard to
believe that in the cloistered world of Belsinger School, the entire staff wouldn’t have known if something serious had happened.
He said as much to Hedge, rather too brutally in Wesley’s opinion.

Hedge looked hurt. ‘I can assure you, Chief Inspector, that I’m telling the truth. Whatever it was was hushed up – suppressed
very effectively. Only a handful of people knew and they weren’t telling. But I did overhear Stanley speaking on the telephone
once. He mentioned a girl. No name. He just referred to “the girl in question”. Please believe me, I’ve told you all I know.’

When they took Hedge back to the dig Wesley didn’t stick around to say hello to Neil. It was high time they had another word
with Mortimer Dean.

Helen Spilling’s part-time job at Morbooks was perfect. Interesting and relatively undemanding, it fitted in perfectly with
the school run. Mr Dean – somehow she’d never felt it appropriate to call him by his first name – was a bit of an old woman
but that wasn’t a problem. She’d had far worse bosses in her time.

When she arrived at the shop for her usual Friday afternoon shift, Helen was surprised to find the door locked. Mr Dean must
have shut up at lunchtime to visit the warehouse, she thought, taking the keys from her handbag. But he was bound to be back
soon and in the meantime she’d make herself a cup of tea in the kitchen at the back of the shop.

As she let herself in she noticed that the open sign was lying on the mat, which was unusual: Mr Dean was so pedantic about
that sort of thing and he always turned the
sign to closed if he had to shut the shop for any reason, even if he slipped out for a few moments to buy a paper or a sandwich.
Helen felt a little uneasy but she told herself she was being stupid. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes – even Mr Dean –
and the sign had probably fallen off as he shut the door behind him.

When Helen slipped behind the counter, she noticed that the till was open and empty – just as Mr Dean left it when he shut
up the shop last thing at night. But the shop would surely have been open that morning, she thought. If he was shutting for
any reason, he would surely have let her know.

She stared at the till for a while. Mr Dean took the float upstairs every night – just to be on the safe side because there
was so much crime about these days. If she was to open up the shop, she needed some change and the cash box was kept in the
top right-hand drawer in the dresser. She was sure that Mr Dean wouldn’t mind if she went up to the flat to get it. Besides,
he might be ill and in need of help.