The Plague Maiden (33 page)

‘Does that mean you’re better?’ Wesley tried not to sound too hopeful.

‘Yeah. I’d be thinking of moving on if you and Pam didn’t need me here to help out. But I don’t mind staying for a while.’

Wesley almost choked on his last piece of pasta. ‘Thanks, Neil, but I think we can manage. And you’ll be wanting to get back
to Belsham to be nearer the dig, won’t you. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about us.’

Neil, oblivious to the irony in Wesley’s voice, gave his old friend a satisfied grin and put his feet up on one of the other
chairs. ‘By the way, Pam said could you clear up in here. She says it’s getting on her nerves.’

Wesley looked him in the eye. ‘Tell you what, Neil, why don’t you do it?’

Neil gaped at him, puzzled, as Wesley left the kitchen, making for the stairs … for Pam and Michael.

Wesley spent half the night lying awake, going over the case in his head, turning over all the possibilities and coming up
with no clear conclusion. It hadn’t helped that Pam too had been awake, disturbed by the discomforts of late pregnancy. By
the time the morning came they were both exhausted.

At the station the next day Rachel greeted him with the news that the boss wanted a word with him. Wesley hurried to the chief
inspector’s office, eager to seek Gerry’s opinion on the theories and ideas that had been spinning around in his head during
the early hours. However, he was disappointed to find the boss slumped at his desk, his head buried in a newspaper, uttering
angry exclamations under his breath.

‘What’s the matter?’ Wesley asked as he stepped over the threshold.

‘Have you see this, Wes? “Police incompetence led to wrongful arrest.” It’s all over the front page.’

‘I take it Chris Hobson’s appeal has started.’

‘It certainly has. And the full glare of publicity is on the corrupt officers of Tradmouth CID.’

‘Those particular corrupt officers are long gone,’ Wesley pointed out.

‘That’s not what it sounds like here. You know how newspapers twist things. It makes us sound like a load of useless crooks.
I sometimes wonder why we bother.’

Wesley slumped down in a chair and yawned. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it.’

‘It might help if we came up with the right man. Any thoughts? Think we should charge Phil Norbert?’

‘I’d like a word with Aaron Hunting first. Even if Verlan was right and he wasn’t really Adam’s father, he probably thought
he was. He might have wanted revenge for his son’s death.’

‘You’ll have to be tactful, Wes.’

Wesley smiled. ‘Tact isn’t something you normally worry about.’

‘I do when the person we’re talking to is likely to take cocktails with the Chief Constable. You want to go now and get it
over with? No time like the present.’

Half an hour later they found themselves at the front door of Hunting Moon House. Wesley always felt a little awkward when
they called, as though he should have been using the tradesman’s entrance as policemen did in old films.

When Corazón answered the door, she told them that Mr Hunting was down in the boathouse. He was about to go sailing. Gerry
Heffernan’s eyes lit up and he set off round the side of the house following Corazón’s directions, Wesley following behind,
almost running to keep up. They reached a set of concrete steps that appeared to lead down
to the water but a sharp right turn brought them out on a small balcony, protected on the river side with wrought-iron railings,
painted black and free of any trace of rust. There was a wooden door ahead: Heffernan tried the handle and it opened. They
had found the boathouse.

It was considerably bigger than Wesley had imagined; a cavernous space beneath the house where a large yacht bobbed at anchor.
There was probably room there to moor a smaller boat as well, and it reminded Wesley of a scaled-down version of a villain’s
underground headquarters in a James Bond film. In the dim glow of the overhead fluorescent lights Wesley could see a figure
moving about on the deck. Aaron Hunting looked preoccupied and unselfconscious as he made preparations for his voyage, and
Wesley knew that he hadn’t seen them. They had the element of surprise.

‘Mr Hunting,’ Wesley called. The man on the deck almost jumped.

‘What is it?’ Hunting sounded annoyed.

‘We’d like a word, sir … if it’s convenient.’

‘Is it about Loveday?’

‘Not exactly.’

Hunting hesitated before inviting them aboard. Heffernan went first, eager to get his feet off dry land. Wesley trailed behind.

Hunting’s expression was inscrutable as he showed them into a well-appointed cabin, fitted out for comfort as well as practicality.
Red leather seating lined the spacious area, and it had the look of a floating gentleman’s club … the expensive kind. The
fittings were dark oak and there was a prominent drinks cupboard on the starboard side. It was a masculine space, and Wesley
guessed that Amy Hunting had never ventured aboard. This was Aaron Hunting’s refuge from the world … and all its problems.

‘Nice vessel,’ Heffernan commented. ‘I’ve got a thirty-foot sloop moored just upstream. Did her up when my wife … when I lost
my wife.’ He gave Hunting a nervous
smile. ‘Took my mind off things. Great comforter, the sea.’

Hunting looked at Heffernan and smiled, as if the chief inspector’s bereavement had created a bond of sympathy between them.
‘Yes. You’re absolutely right. Please, gentlemen, sit down. I’m sorry I was a bit brusque … I just wasn’t expecting to be
disturbed. Drink? I don’t usually indulge so early but I’ve just been making the arrangements for my wife’s funeral on Monday
and I feel I’m in need of a little Dutch courage.’ He waved a bottle of single malt in Heffernan’s direction.

‘I’d better not. Sun’s not over the yardarm yet. Look, Mr Hunting, I don’t quite know how to say this. It’s a bit embarrassing.’

‘What is it?’

Heffernan glanced at Wesley as though he expected him to take over. Just when things had been appearing to go so well the
boss had chickened out. Wesley cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, Mr Hunting, we’ve been talking to William Verlan … a friend
of your late wife’s …’

‘One of her lovers, you mean.’ A hint of bitterness had crept into Hunting’s voice.

Wesley looked down, avoiding the man’s eyes. ‘Mr Verlan told me that your son Adam … that you weren’t his biological father.’

A few moments of complete silence followed and Wesley waited for some sort of explosion. But none came.

‘Verlan’s wrong. Of course Adam was my son.’ There was something in the way he said it that didn’t quite convince Wesley.
‘Why are you bringing this up now? Can’t you just let my wife rest in peace?’

Wesley hesitated, almost wishing he hadn’t started this line of questioning. But he had to get at the truth somehow. ‘We think
the Reverend Shipborne might have been killed because he was involved in some germ warfare trials back in the late 1970s.
A huge quantity of active bacteria was sprayed in this area … around the time Adam died.
Apparently the bacteria they used were supposed to be harmless but later they found that vulnerable people had been affected
… pregnant women, old people, babies, people like your son with weakened immune systems. Amy got to know about all this …
and she had a strong motive for revenge.’

Hunting shook his head. ‘That’s impossible,’ he muttered without conviction.

‘She was distraught at Adam’s death. Don’t you think she might have been quite capable of attacking a man she thought had
killed him?’

Hunting sighed. ‘I suppose … I don’t know.’

‘Did she tell you about Shipborne’s experiments?’

‘No. She never mentioned anything like that.’

Wesley watched the man’s face, uncertain whether to believe him. ‘Where was she the night the vicar died?’

‘I’ve no idea. It was a long time ago and I had no reason to take much notice of the case, did I?’

‘If it turns out to be true that Adam wasn’t your son, have you any idea who his father could have been?’

He had expected Hunting to be offended, but instead he answered matter-of-factly, as though it hardly mattered any more. ‘I
spent most of my time building up the business in those days so Amy and I saw very little of each other. I probably neglected
her but as far as I know Adam was mine. She never told me otherwise.’

For the first time Wesley noticed that Hunting’s eyes were glassy with tears, his only sign of emotion.

‘What about Loveday?

Hunting wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed. ‘I was hardly there while she was growing up because I was concentrating
all my energies on my business, and with Amy’s problems after Adam’s death I’m afraid she was rather neglected too. And I
confess that I didn’t find her an easy child to love. She’d inherited her mother’s instability but I just didn’t realise how
much she hated me.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘I’ve made rather a mess of things on the family front, haven’t I?’

Wesley glanced at Heffernan and said nothing.

‘Could William Verlan have been Adam’s father?’ Heffernan asked with a bluntness that almost made Wesley wince.

Hunting shook his head. ‘As far as I know Amy didn’t meet Verlan until a few years after Adam died.’ He walked over to the
drinks cupboard. ‘I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I think I need a drink.’

Heffernan gave Wesley a nudge. They both knew they weren’t going to learn the identity of Adam’s real father from Hunting
… and with Amy dead, they wondered whether they ever would.

But Wesley was game for one more try. ‘What was your wife’s relationship with Barry Castello? I saw a photograph of some black-tie
function at his place and she was in it.’

Hunting turned round to face them, a freshly poured drink in his hand. ‘I’ve always considered it good for Huntings to be
seen supporting local charities: Amy and I went to some of Damascus Farm’s fund-raising events along with some of my staff.
Honestly, Inspector, I’ve no idea what her relationship with Barry Castello was … and after all this time and with everything
that’s happened, it doesn’t really seem that important any more, does it?’

The look on Hunting’s face told them that he’d said all he had to say on the matter. As they left, Gerry Heffernan glanced
longingly back at the yacht.

‘Lucky bloke,’ he said quietly.

Wesley turned to him. ‘Do you really think so?’

Heffernan didn’t reply.

Loveday Wilkins was being held in a secure psychiatric ward for assessment, and as Monday morning dawned Wesley decided that
he’d rather go there with Rachel than Heffernan. Rachel usually knew the right things to say … which was more than he did
in such situations. Mental illness made him uncomfortable … but then it had that effect on many people.

Wesley found Loveday in a room on her own. The white walls were dirty and chipped and there was nothing in there but a basin,
a hospital bed, a grey metal locker and two chairs formed out of stained black plastic. A small window, set high in the wall,
let in a dribble of grey light. If the fluorescent light overhead hadn’t been on, it would have been too dark to see the figure
sitting on the bed, clutching her knees to her chest.

The nurse unlocked the door for them and Loveday looked up as they entered the room then looked away again, as if their arrival
was of no interest to her.

Wesley sat on one of the chairs and tried to move it closer to the bed. But it didn’t budge. It was fixed to the floor for
safety.

He said Loveday’s name softly and she looked up.

‘Do you mind talking to us, Loveday? You haven’t met Rachel before, have you?’ He used Rachel’s Christian name rather than
her rank, thinking it might be less intimidating … and he wanted Loveday’s full cooperation.

‘We’ve been talking to your father.’ He waited a few seconds but there was no reaction so he carried on. ‘He feels bad about
everything that’s happened.’

‘So he should.’ Loveday began to rock gently to and fro.

‘Why did you just target the Morbay branch of Huntings? Why not other local branches?’

Loveday shrugged. But there was a new wariness in her eyes.

‘Did you have a grudge against that branch in particular or against your father’s stores in general?’

No answer.

‘We’ve heard that Adam was only your half-brother, that your father wasn’t his father. Do you know who his father was, Loveday?’

‘If you know, please tell us,’ said Rachel gently.

Loveday stared ahead, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘They used to whisper in corners: they thought I didn’t know what was going
on. She could have screwed every man in Devon and
he would have been too busy with his bloody shops to notice. I didn’t matter … it was all bloody Adam, Adam, Adam. Adam needs
this, Adam needs that … be careful with Adam.’

Rachel put out her hand to touch Loveday’s shoulder; a gesture of sisterly solidarity, or so it seemed to Wesley.

‘Do you know who Adam’s father was?’ Rachel whispered gently.

Loveday gave a secretive smile. ‘Oh yes, I worked it out. I made it my business to work it out and I wanted the bitch to know
that I knew. I asked Auntie Jan’cause I knew she told her all her nasty little secrets. She wouldn’t tell me at first but
when I said his name I guessed from the look on her face.’

‘Who’s Auntie Jan?’

‘Her sister.’

‘Where can we find her?’

‘New York. You’ll just have to take my word for it.’

‘So who was Adam’s father?’

Loveday didn’t answer.

Rachel glanced at Wesley. ‘Your father thinks Adam was his.’

Loveday started to speak again, as though she hadn’t heard. ‘I saw them … I caught them doing it … in her bed. I saw them.
I was too young to know what they were doing … but I know now.’ She gave a knowing chuckle and began to rock to and fro. ‘If
he hadn’t got my mother pregnant … if Adam had never been born … everything would have been all right. He was always ill …
’

‘That was hardly his fault,’ said Wesley under his breath. But he knew that it hadn’t been logic and reason which had driven
Loveday’s actions. It had been blind emotion … kicking out. What didn’t make any sense to him made all the sense in the world
to Loveday’s troubled mind.