The Flesh Tailor (16 page)

Then he looked up. ‘No comment,’ he said. And from then on he exercised his right to silence.

*

About fifteen minutes after Wesley left Tailors Court, he had a call from Neil to say that when he’d lifted the child’s bones,
he’d found a 1939 penny lying just beneath the ribs. This information confirmed Wesley’s worst fears: the child met his or
her death after that penny was minted. And there was one person in particular he wanted to see.

Tony and Jill Persimmon had provided a forwarding address for Mrs Jannings, the last owner of Tailors Court. Wesley had intended
to contact her when the first skeletons were found but, as Neil was certain that they were old, it hadn’t been high on his
list of priorities, especially with James Dalcott’s murder to worry about. But now everything had changed.

Mrs Esther Jannings who, according to the Persimmons, had been widowed during the War and had inherited Tailors Court from
her late husband’s mother, now lived in a residential home on the outskirts of the large seaside resort of Morbay. But when
Wesley telephoned, he was told that she was among a group of residents who’d gone out for the day to do some early Christmas
shopping with some of the care assistants and she wouldn’t be back till that evening.

Wesley could have delegated the visit to a junior officer but he wanted to see Mrs Jannings for himself. He wanted to ask
her what she knew about the strange room in the attic of her old house. And he wanted to see her reaction when he told her
about the child’s skeleton buried near the paddock.

Gerry groaned loudly and put his head in his hands when Wesley broke the bad news. Even though the prospects of getting a
conviction were slim after all this
time, the child’s bones were definitely their problem now – along with James Dalcott’s shooting.

But Wesley found it hard to concentrate on the case as his imminent TV appearance was nagging at the back of his mind, uncomfortable
as a toothache. Because of this he wouldn’t get to see Mrs Jannings that day but he’d visit her first thing tomorrow, he assured
himself as he drove back to the incident room with Gerry slumped in the passenger seat.

Wesley almost made the mistake of turning the car towards Tradmouth but then he remembered they were stationed at Neston for
the time being. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was already half past five. He was due at the press
conference at six in time for the local evening news and the prospect made him feel a little nauseous. But that wasn’t something
he wanted to share with Gerry. At that moment he was in no mood for the DCI’s words of wisdom.

When they arrived at the incident room, Rachel greeted them.

‘He’s keeping shtum,’ she said. ‘Even when I told him Roz’s car was seen driving towards Tradington at the relevant time he
didn’t say a word.’

Wesley gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I take it we’re talking about Harry Parker?’

She gave him an enquiring look. ‘Who else?’

‘Have you spoken to Roz Dalcott?’

‘She’s next on the list. I thought I’d have her brought in in the morning. We don’t want to be accused of ill-treating a pregnant
widow, do we?’

‘Sorry, Rach, what did you say?’

She looked at him, exasperated and repeated what she’d said.

Wesley gave her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, I’m not quite with it at the moment. They’ve found the skeleton of a child at
Tailors Court and everything points to it having been buried fairly recently. Well, within the past sixty years or so anyway.’

Rachel stood there stunned for a few moments, taking in the news. ‘A child. God. I’ll ask someone to go through missing persons,
shall I?’

‘It’ll wait till tomorrow, love,’ said Gerry who’d been standing behind Wesley with an impatient look on his face. ‘I take
it our friend Parker’s safely in the cells?’

‘Yes, but we can’t hold him for much longer without charging him.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that, Rach,’ said Gerry. ‘But he’s our best suspect so far and I think I’ll be able to persuade
the Nutter to authorise more time. Me and Paul’ll have a word with him – see if we can catch him out.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve
got a prior engagement, haven’t you, Wesley?’

Wesley attempted to look cheerful as his eyes met Rachel’s. But he felt like a man en route to the gallows.

‘Good luck,’ said Rachel softly.

‘I think they say “break a leg” in theatrical circles,’ the DCI said with a chuckle.

Wesley left Gerry to deal with Harry Parker, although at that moment there was nothing he’d have liked better than to conduct
the interview himself. He felt frustrated, as though he was missing out. He knew Gerry would bring him up to date with the
facts when they next met but somehow it wasn’t quite the same.

On leaving the bustle of the incident room, he found himself walking down the quiet, unfamiliar corridors of
Neston Police Station. He looked at his watch. Pam would have arrived home from school by now – she was always in by five
unless she had a staff meeting or a parents’ evening. He had ten minutes before the press conference so he took his phone
from his pocket and dialled his home number. Pam answered after two rings.

‘Hi,’ she asked breathlessly. ‘How’s it going?’

He told her. And when he broke the news about the child’s skeleton there was a short silence on the other end of the line.
‘A child,’ she said after a few seconds. ‘How long ago?’

‘We’re not sure yet. But I don’t think it’s very recent. Not within the last few years.’

He heard her exhale. He knew what she’d been thinking. If there was a child killer around, were Michael and Amelia safe?

He decided to change the subject. ‘I’m just on my way to the press conference. It should be on the local news. You’ll record
it, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’ There was a pause. ‘The kids are looking forward to seeing their dad on telly.’

‘I’ll see you later then. Not sure what time but …’

The line went dead and he was left listening to the dialling tone, hoping that she hadn’t meant that Michael and Amelia were
looking forward to seeing him on television because they saw precious little of him otherwise. But he told himself he was
imagining things. He tried his best, as far as the job allowed. But sometimes he longed to be there to share his children’s
worries and triumphs. His own father had been dedicated to his work and had spent long hours in the hospital. As a result,
Wesley had never felt particularly close to him while he was growing up.
Perhaps this had been behind his choice of career: his little rebellion against his family’s expectations. He thought of Michael
and Amelia with a pang of sadness: the last thing he wanted was for them to feel as he had once felt – as though they came
a poor second on his list of priorities. But, as it was, there was little he could do to change things for the time being.

He put the thought out of his mind and continued down the carpeted corridor to the conference room. As he approached he could
hear the buzz of voices and he suddenly experienced a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had faced armed criminals
and ruthless killers but this was far more terrifying.

After pushing open the swing doors he walked confidently up the central aisle, aware of eyes watching his every movement.
He had known from the outset that the press would probably regard a black detective inspector as rather a novelty, but he
found the reality rather daunting; the way the chatter eased as he walked in and the intense stares – most curious but some
hostile.

He took his seat beside Evonne Arlis who looked as though she would have flung her arms around him and greeted him like a
long-lost friend had it not been for the assembled audience.

‘So glad you’re here,’ she whispered, touching his arm as if for comfort. She was wearing her dark blue Sister’s uniform –
no doubt someone had suggested it as a way of emphasising that the victim had been a respected healer and all-round blameless
Performer of Good Works in the local area. Image was everything.

Wesley leaned over to whisper in her ear. ‘How are you?’

She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Bearing up. I’ve gone back to work. It’s good to keep busy.’

Before she could say any more, Chief Superintendent Nutter, dapper in his flawless uniform, appeared at the door with the
Press Officer by his side. Nutter took his seat and, when the Press Officer had finished his introduction, he looked at Wesley
expectantly.

The questions went by in a blur of adrenaline and Wesley was hardly aware of the TV cameras pointing at him. Evonne said her
piece, breaking down in tears at just the right moment. Wesley was just thinking that it had all gone rather well when a young
woman stood up.

‘Nuala Johns,
Morbay Argus
,’ she announced confidently. ‘Why haven’t the police made a statement about the bodies that have been found in the grounds
of a house near Tradington? I understand four have been found to date. Have you anything to say, Inspector Peterson?’

There was a split second of total silence before the shouting began. A hundred journalists baying for a golden story. Four
bodies. This trumped one dead doctor any day. Wesley glanced at CS Nutter who looked like a rabbit caught in a set of monstrous
headlights. This wasn’t going according to plan.

The Press Officer gave Wesley a furious look. He hadn’t been briefed about any skeletons and Wesley guessed that he was the
one who’d get the blame for the oversight.

Wesley stood up and waited for the hubbub to die down. His heart was pounding as he cleared his throat, searching for the
right words. In this situation the wrong ones could lead to disaster. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is true that some human remains
have been found on private property. However, expert opinion has concluded that
these bodies are probably hundreds of years old and there is a team from the County Archaeological Unit investigating the
site at the moment. No doubt a report on their findings will be issued in due course.’ He flashed Nuala Johns a charming smile,
wondering if the insincerity was showing through. ‘If the situation changes, of course, the press will be informed as soon
as possible,’ he added, thinking of the small bones in the fifth grave.

He wasn’t ready to say anything about the child’s burial yet; not until they’d done more background research. But when it
did become public knowledge, he knew now that the press would think all their birthdays had come at once – especially Ms Nuala
Johns who had the lean hungry look of an ambitious young woman on the make.

The Press Officer looked relieved as he brought the proceedings to an end. But not as relieved as Wesley felt.

CS Nutter leaned over and whispered in Wesley’s ear. ‘I think you handled that rather well, Inspector.’

‘Thank you, sir. There’ll be a full statement when we know more about these new bones we’ve found at Tailors Court.’ The words
came out in a rush.

‘New bones?’

Wesley realised that he should have kept his mouth shut. The last thing Gerry wanted was the Powers That Be watching his every
move until they knew exactly what they were dealing with.

‘We’re trying to establish the age of the bones at the moment. There’s a chance that they’ll be of more interest to an archaeologist
than a policeman.’ He hoped his words had reassured Nutter but he wasn’t hanging about to find out. He excused himself, saying
he wanted to speak to Evonne Arlis before she left.

She was hovering by the door and she looked a little lost. Someone should be looking after her, he thought to himself, rather
annoyed that she was being left to her own devices after the ordeal of the press conference. As he approached he saw her expression
change to one of relief.

‘Do you need a lift home?’ he asked.

‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ Evonne said, her eyes scanning the room. ‘A police car called for me and brought me here
and I was just looking out for the young constable.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s not far out of my way.’ She gave him a grateful smile and he felt that warm internal glow that comes from
performing a Good Deed.

‘To tell you the truth,’ Wesley said as they hurried to his car – it had begun to rain again and he’d parked at the far end
of the car park – ‘I’ve been wanting to have a word with you.’ He unlocked the passenger door and held it open.

‘What about?’

Wesley didn’t answer until they were on the road to Tradington.

‘Now that the initial shock’s worn off, I’d like to talk about James.’

‘What about him?’ Wesley detected a wary note in her voice.

‘Is there anything else you can tell us about his life? People he mentioned, places he went; that sort of thing. I presume
you knew he worked part-time in a private clinic? The Podingham Clinic near Podbury?’

‘Yes, but I was sworn to secrecy. He didn’t want anyone else at the practice to know he’d been moonlighting. He joked that
he needed the money because Roz was high maintenance. I bet she’s been bleeding him white since she walked out too,’ she added
with disapproval.

‘You didn’t think to tell us?’

She blushed. ‘To be honest, with everything that’s happened, it slipped my mind.’

‘Did he say anything about what he did there?’

‘He said it was just routine work; keeping an eye on people involved in drugs trials, taking blood tests and generally being
on hand to make sure they were okay. He said it was dull but it was money for old rope.’

Wesley didn’t answer. This was more or less what he’d expected to hear.

She suddenly frowned, as though she’d remembered something. ‘I was at his house once and the phone rang. He went to take the
call in another room.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I could only hear one side of the conversation but I’m sure James said something about someone taking a risk. When
I asked him who it was afterwards, he told me it was someone from the Podingham Clinic and it was just routine.’

‘Were any names mentioned?’

‘I don’t think so. He was speaking very quietly so I only heard snatches. I could even have been mistaken. This is it. Just
turn right into this road.’