The Plague Maiden (22 page)

‘Why wasn’t this followed up at the time?’

Heffernan gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Don’t ask me. Probably an oversight … a cock-up.’

‘Probably.’ Wesley sounded unconvinced. There had been a lot of coppers in days gone by who had ignored inconvenient evidence
if it contradicted their own pet theory and got in the way of a conviction.

‘I asked someone to contact Keith Sturgeon again … Sunita Choudray still hasn’t turned up at work. Not that I expected her
to, if she phoned in sick. Where is she if she’s not at home?’

‘Probably quite innocent … she might have genuinely spent the night with a friend and been taken ill.’

‘But wouldn’t she have let her family know?’

‘Perhaps we should go and have a word with Patience Reid again … see if she knows who Sunita was visiting at the squat. She
might be able to throw some light on the matter.’

‘Good idea.’

‘And while we’re on the subject of Huntings, has the warning about the honey gone out on the local news?’

‘Yeah. It was on the lunch-time bulletin and they’re repeating it tonight. And they’ve decided to keep the store closed until
all this is sorted out.’

‘Good. I’d like someone to go through Huntings’ personnel records again to see if anyone working there has the necessary knowledge
to culture botulism. Perhaps one of the employees has worked in a lab or studied biochemistry or … ’

‘I’ll let you organise that.’ Heffernan suddenly sounded weary, tired of it all.

Wesley leaned forward, elbows on the desk. ‘Do you think Helen Wilmer’s death was connected to Shipborne’s murder?’

‘If she mentioned to her boyfriend that she saw someone where they weren’t supposed to be it’s possible she witnessed something …
or saw someone coming out of the vicarage that night. I wonder where she was on the night of Shipborne’s murder? We could
contact her parents again, see if they remember.’

‘Is that likely?’

‘People tend to remember where they were when something dramatic happens. My parents remember what they were doing when President
Kennedy was assassinated … and I was arresting a gang of art thieves in Essex when Princess Diana died.’ He grinned. ‘There’s
no harm in asking. If she did witness something she might have been killed to stop her talking.’

‘And the killer buried her near Neil’s plague pit … is that a coincidence? And what about Huntings? Everyone we come across
seems to have a connection with Huntings.’

‘The Reverend Shipborne didn’t … unless he did his shopping there.’

Wesley put his head in his hands. It was only four o’clock but he wanted to get home. His brain was becoming overloaded with
information … and he knew from experience that most of it would turn out to be completely irrelevant.

A knock on the door made him sit up straight. He twisted round in his seat and saw Steve Carstairs and Paul Johnson standing
in the doorway, looking pleased with themselves.

‘We’ve got a name for that lad on the photo, sir … the one Hobson picked out.’

Heffernan stood up. ‘And?’

‘The headmaster identified him right away. Seems he’d been a bit of a tearaway … caused his parents no end of grief and left
just before his A-levels.’

‘So what’s his name?’ Wesley asked, earning himself a sideways look from Steve.

‘Norbert, Philip Norbert … and the headmaster said that his dad was a policeman … sir.’

Barnaby Poulson called today to thank me for helping him with his research. I smiled and made the right noises: I couldn’t
let him know how his discoveries had affected me. I didn’t mention that I had locked up the tower and destroyed all the church
guidebooks that mentioned what was in there. When he read me an extract from an original document he’d discovered I sat with
a fixed smile on my face, trying not to listen because the words were too painful
.

I’ve been lying awake wondering whether Robert de Munerie felt as I do when he saw the results of what he’d done. I wonder
what became of him: did he escape or was he consumed eventually by his own brand of evil?

Barry Castello rang just after Barnaby had left. I must make an appointment with my solicitor soon – it’s high time I got
round to changing my will and Barry’s need is far greater than my niece’s
.

I saw Dermot O’D with Helen this morning. His mother tells me how much he’s changed for the better but I’m afraid her parents
see things rather differently. Last night they asked me to have a word with Helen, but I told them that she was a grown woman
and it wasn’t up to me to interfere. It was clear they didn’t care for my answer and Stephen Wilmer then began to berate me
about the tower and his precious bells. I hadn’t realised that he had such a temper. Such things leave an unpleasant taste
in the mouth but I stood my ground
.

From a diary found among the personal effects of the Reverend John Shipborne

It was easy to find the address of ex-DCI Norbert’s widow. But once in possession of the information Heffernan hesitated to
act upon it, saying that he needed time to think. To barge into the home of a late colleague’s widow and virtually accuse
her husband of corruption and her son of robbery and possibly even murder wasn’t something to be entered into lightly. He
looked at his watch, then at Wesley. It was getting late, he said. They’d think about it in the morning.

Wesley supposed that Philip Norbert, wherever he was, could wait another day. And, unlike others, Wesley had never seen any
harm in the ‘softly, softly’ approach.

There was a shy knock on Gerry Heffernan’s office door and both men looked round. Trish Walton was standing behind the glass
partition, an excited expression on her face. Wesley signalled her to come in, hoping that she had something important to
tell them … they needed all the help they could get.

‘What is it, Trish?’ Wesley asked as she stepped into the office.

‘You know you were asking about any Huntings employee who’d ever worked in a lab or knew anything about biology …?’

‘Yes. Go on.’ Wesley smiled encouragingly.

‘Well, I got on to their human resources department and asked them if any employees at Morbay had any relevant experience
or qualifications. They’ve just come back to me, and it seems that Sunita Choudray went to Bristol University. She has a degree
in microbiology.’ Trish stood there like a dog who’d just delivered a stick to its master,
pleased with herself and awaiting praise.

Heffernan smiled at her, bearing a set of uneven teeth. He turned to Wesley. ‘Let’s see if our Ms Choudray has returned home,
eh. Why don’t you give her a ring? Her home number’ll be in Huntings’ files. It’s near teatime … maybe we’ll get a decent curry
if we catch’em at the right time.’

Wesley felt uneasy. He hoped Gerry wouldn’t do anything to offend or frighten Sunita’s parents … he knew that cultural sensitivities
were a minefield these days. One wrong word, however innocently meant, might have Gerry up in front of some police complaints
committee accused of racial harassment. ‘Didn’t you mention the Chief Super wants to see you about the latest developments
in the Hobson case? Tell you what, if it turns out that Sunita’s returned home, I’ll go round there with Trish.’

Heffernan scratched his head. ‘Suppose you’re right … I’d better go and tell the Nutter about the photograph.’

A few minutes later Trish reported that Sunita had still not returned home but had telephoned her family from an unknown location
to say that she was staying another night with her friend. Wesley looked at his watch. It was six o’clock already. As if he
had read his mind, Gerry Heffernan told him to get home to Pam. It would probably be a long day tomorrow.

Wesley put on his coat, ready to set off home. But as he was about to leave the office he hesitated at Rachel’s desk.

‘How are things at home?’

‘Dave telephoned to say he’s coming over the week after next. My mum’s asked him to stay at the farm.’

‘Oh. It’ll be nice to see him again,’ was all Wesley could think of to say.

Rachel looked away and there was an awkward pause as Wesley desperately searched for the next thing to say. Work was a safe
subject, so he began to talk about Sunita Choudray and Phil Norbert and their sparse discoveries about Helen Wilmer’s life
and death. Rachel listened and
made the appropriate noises, but Wesley suspected that her mind was elsewhere.

He saw Steve looking up from his paperwork, the ghost of a knowing grin on his lips. Wesley knew he had to be careful not
to provide the office gossip-mongers with ammunition, and he told himself firmly that he should get home while he had the
chance. Pam needed him. And she had Neil to deal with as well as Michael.

He walked home through the evening drizzle, pulling his coat collar up against the chill. The trees on his route had turned
a rich russet red and had begun to shed their leaves. Soon they would be little more than skeletons against the grey sky,
devoid of life until they were reawakened by the warmth of spring. Wesley had never liked autumn. It reminded him too much
of approaching death. As he walked he thought of the skeletons in Pest Field that had lain beneath the earth for centuries,
winter and summer. What sickness, what agonies, had caused them all to wither and perish?

By the time he reached his front door he was feeling quite depressed.

Wesley watched the television breakfast news the next morning as he munched a slice of wholemeal toast. The warning about
the organic French lavender honey was repeated. Surely everyone must know to avoid the stuff by now, he thought hopefully.

As soon as he arrived at work he received a call from Dr Choudray. Two emergencies had been admitted to Morbay Hospital in
the early hours of the morning and were now in Intensive Care. He couldn’t be absolutely certain yet but they seemed to be
displaying all the symptoms of botulism poisoning. The patients, a woman and a ten-year-old girl, were on the critical list.

Wesley fell silent on the other end of the line. He had somehow managed to convince himself that Edith Sommerby’s death was
an isolated incident … perhaps even
engineered by her vicious, violent husband. He had hardly dared to believe that the poisoner would carry out his threats.
Even when he’d found that the jars of honey at Huntings had been tampered with, he had still hoped it was part of some elaborate
hoax. But now it seemed that whoever was responsible was willing to kill members of the public at random. That meant they
were highly dangerous … or sick.

He sat for a few moments, lost for words. Then Choudray’s voice asking if he was still there brought him to his senses. He
took the patients’ details before asking the question that shock had almost driven from his mind. ‘Has Sunita returned home
yet?’

‘No. She rang my parents to say that she was staying another night with her friend. Why?’ The doctor sounded annoyed.

‘And you’ve no idea who this friend is? The address?’

‘Sorry. I’ve no idea … and neither have my parents.’ The way he said it made Wesley suspect that the Choudrays weren’t too
pleased about their daughter having a life they knew nothing about.

‘If you could let me know when she returns … We’d just like a word with her. Routine.’ There was no way he was going to hint
that Sunita was suspected of any wrong-doing … but now they had discovered that she had the necessary knowledge – as well as
the opportunity – to contaminate goods at Huntings, she had to be a suspect. Why a capable, intelligent young woman like Sunita
Choudray would do such a thing he didn’t know. But he did know that appearances often deceived. Sunita was in the frame … and
they had to find her as soon as possible.

‘Thank you very much for letting us know so quickly, Doctor,’ Wesley said politely before he put the phone down.

Gerry Heffernan lumbered out of his lair like a bear emerging from its cave after its winter hibernation. He stood in the
middle of the main office and stretched before turning his gaze on Wesley.

Wesley looked up. ‘I’ve just had Dr Choudray on the phone. There are two more suspected cases of botulism poisoning at Morbay
Hospital. It’ll be a while before it’s confirmed, of course.’

Heffernan raised his eyes to heaven. ‘That’s all we need. Any sign of Sunita Choudray yet?’

‘Still at her friend’s, according to the doctor. I’ve got the address of the patients … it’s a woman and a ten-year-old girl,
both called Pickering, so they’re probably mother and daughter. We should go and have a word with the rest of the family.’

‘And warn them not to touch the honey.’

‘Of course, it might have nothing to do with Huntings.’

‘And a squadron of pigs have been booked to do an air display at the Royal Regatta next year. Tell you what, we’ll get round
to see the family and I’ll tell Rachel and Paul to pay Mrs Norbert a visit.’

Wesley picked up his notebook from his desk, wishing that Rachel was going with him to see the Pickerings … she had a gift
for dealing with people in distress. Gerry Heffernan’s heart was in the right place, but that was about all you could say
for him.

The Pickering family lived in a large detached house near St Peters church. It was a substantial property, built in the 1920s
to ape the social pretensions of its Victorian neighbours. There was a gleaming white people carrier parked on the drive.
Wesley rang the doorbell and waited.

It was a while before the front door opened to reveal a slim woman with well-cut blonde hair. The lines around her eyes and
mouth suggested that she had probably reached her half-century, but she had a youthful manner which belied her age. Her blue
eyes widened in alarm when they introduced themselves, and she stood aside to let them in. She introduced herself as Mrs Pickering’s
elder sister, Georgie Bettis. Mr Pickering – Joe – was at the hospital and she had volunteered to step into the breach to
look after
the Pickerings’ younger child, a boy, who had been unaffected by the mysterious bout of illness, which the doctors suspected
was some sort of food poisoning.

Once again Wesley found himself wishing that Rachel were there. But he had to make do with Heffernan, who was standing staring
at the victim’s sister like a love-struck schoolboy. Wesley suggested that they sit down. Someone had to.

Georgie Bettis didn’t offer tea; her mind was on other things. She looked at Wesley with puzzled expectancy, and he made the
snap judgement that she was an intelligent woman who would appreciate it if he came straight to the point.

‘This might seem a strange question, Ms Bettis, but do you know if your sister bought any honey from Huntings supermarket
recently?’ He leaned forward, expecting Georgie Bettis to say that she had no idea.

But it seemed that Georgie was more observant than he’d dared to hope. ‘There’s a new jar in the cupboard. I was looking for
something to give to Jonathon, my nephew, but I know he hates honey.’

‘So Jonathon wouldn’t have eaten it?’

She shook her head. ‘And neither would Joe, my brother-in-law … he can’t stand it either. I always say it’s men who are the
fussy ones.’ She attempted a smile.

Wesley was about to say that their fussiness might have saved their lives, but he thought better of it. ‘If I could have a
look at this honey …’

‘Why the honey? Surely it could be anything. And what are two senior detectives doing looking for jars of honey? Surely if
it’s food poisoning it’s a public health matter.’

‘I’m afraid there might be more to it than that, Ms Bettis …’

‘Georgie, please.’

‘Georgie … er, we think that someone may have contaminated products at Huntings supermarket deliberately. A warning went out
on television yesterday.’

Georgie Bettis’s hand had gone up to her mouth. ‘That’s
awful. Poor Aaron. Do you know who’s doing it … or why?’

Wesley shook his head.

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, love,’ said Heffernan. ‘Have you heard how your sister and the kiddie are doing?’

‘Joe rang half an hour ago. He said it’s still touch and go.’ Her eyes began to fill with tears and she took a tissue from
her pocket.

Wesley sat forward. ‘You said “poor Aaron”. Did you mean Aaron Hunting?’

‘Yes. I was his PA before I left to have my eldest.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘I liked him. He was a good boss.’

‘We think that whoever’s behind this might be trying to shut his business down. Might anyone have a grudge against him?’

Georgie shook her head. ‘I suppose there are always those who resent successful people, just because they are successful.
But Aaron was always fair to his staff, treated them well. Even when he had difficulties in his private life he was always
courteous and considerate to me. Is this the first time anybody’s been poisoned?’

‘There was a lady in Morbay last week. That’s why we put out warnings this time,’ said Wesley, fearing that the police were
about to be blamed for keeping the whole thing quiet.

‘And what happened to her?’

Wesley swallowed hard and was about to answer when Heffernan got in first. ‘She died, love.’

‘But she was elderly … very weak,’ Wesley added quickly. ‘I’m sure your sister and niece will pull through. If we could look
for this jar of honey …’

‘Of course, help yourselves.’

Wesley approached the kitchen apprehensively, fearing that the honey wouldn’t have been bought at Huntings and they would
have to rethink everything. But he had no need to worry. As he opened the first cupboard in the newly
fitted Shaker-style kitchen, there was the small jar sitting at the front … organic lavender honey, produce of France. The
same brand. They had found one of the missing two jars.