The Plague Maiden (9 page)

Jane walked over to him, her blonde hair tied back and a smudge of mud on her nose. He raised a hand and she allowed him to
wipe the smudge off before giving him a quick peck on the cheek as a reward, glancing round to check that no one was watching
them.

‘So what’s the final verdict on those bones?’

‘What bones?’

‘The ones you thought belonged to a murder victim.’

‘I’ve shown the skull to Margaret … she’s had a lot of experience digging up battle sites. She reckons it’s definitely a blow
with a blunt instrument.’

‘Funny it was that skeleton Neil’s nighthawk dug up.’

‘Not really. That dagger with the body would have given
a strong signal on a metal detector so he’d have dug there.’

Matt shrugged. Jane was probably right. In all the years they had been going out together he’d found that she usually was.

‘But if he didn’t take a fine example of a medieval dagger – and he didn’t help himself to the Edward III coins – what was
he after?’

Jane shook her head. The workings of the criminal mind were beyond her.

Keith Sturgeon looked thinner than the last time Wesley had seen him. His body seemed to have shrunk in his immaculate suit
and his face was gaunt and drawn as though he had been suffering sleepless nights.

When Sunita showed Wesley and Rachel into his office they found him sitting in front of a TV monitor, staring intently at
the black-and-white moving pictures on the screen. Wesley cleared his throat and he swung round, startled.

‘Oh, Inspector Peterson. Good of you to come. I’m just going through the CCTV footage. There’s a camera focused on the customer
services desk.’

He returned his attention to the screen and Wesley looked over his shoulder. Rachel hung back, watching. ‘Found anything yet?’

Sturgeon shook his head. He looked near to tears. ‘It could be anyone. People are passing there all the time … staff and customers.
And the spot at the end of the desk where he left the letter is just off camera. Is it true?’

‘Is what true?’

‘Has someone died in Morbay Hospital?’

‘There has been a death but the cause hasn’t been established yet,’ Wesley stated cautiously. ‘Would a member of the public
be able to tell which part of the desk was off camera?’

Sturgeon shrugged. Wesley noticed that he wasn’t wearing his buttonhole that day. Perhaps he hadn’t been in
the mood. He swung his swivel chair nervously to and fro. ‘I suppose Mr Hunting will have to be told.’

‘What did he say about the other letters?’

Sturgeon’s pale face turned a sickly shade of pink. ‘I thought it was probably a hoax so I haven’t actually told him yet.
I didn’t think it was worth bothering him with …’

Wesley read between the lines. He had seen the monstrous stainless-steel award sitting on the desk: it was hard to miss. Sturgeon
had once been Manager of the Year and wanted to stay that way in Hunting’s eyes. But keeping quiet and hoping it would all
go away wasn’t an option now. ‘I think he should be told, don’t you?’

The manager nodded, resigned to his fate. It crossed Wesley’s mind that Aaron Hunting might not be the most understanding
of bosses. Self-made men rarely were.

‘Sunita gave us the names of two employees who’ve been dismissed recently but I’d also like to have the names and addresses
of everyone dismissed in the past, say, five years. Can you arrange that for me?’ He smiled as though he assumed the answer
would be yes. The tactic usually worked. ‘And if the post-mortem findings suggest that this lady did die as a result of something
she might have obtained from this store, I’ll have to interview all your present staff, of course.’

Sturgeon swallowed hard. ‘Of course. You can be assured of our full cooperation. What exactly did she die of? Was it botulism?
What are we dealing with here?’

‘I’m sorry, but we can’t really say until the cause of death has been confirmed, but you’ll be one of the first to know, I
promise you.’ Wesley tried to sound reassuring but Sturgeon looked anything but reassured. He began pacing up and down the
office.

‘Will we have to close the store?’

‘That might be wise … at least until all your shelves have been searched for anything suspicious.’ Wesley continued, ‘Of course,
it makes it more difficult for us that the letter writer has made no actual demands. And it’s usual
in cases such as this for the writer to instruct the recipient not to call in the police, so this doesn’t quite fit the normal
pattern. There have been cases of supermarkets being targeted like this but the motive has always been the extortion of money.
Is there something you’re holding back, Mr Sturgeon?’

‘No. Nothing,’ Sturgeon snapped. ‘I’ve told you everything. There’s been no demand for money. Nothing like that.’ He was jumpy
… but then that was hardly surprising.

As Wesley and Rachel waited for the list of past employees, Sunita offered them a cup of tea. Wesley politely declined.

Wesley walked across the supermarket carpark, avoiding shoppers with fully laden trolleys, Rachel walking silently beside
him. He looked at his watch. It was four o’clock now. Just time to return to the station via Belsham and call in at the dig
to see how things were progressing without Neil. He told Rachel his plans but she made no comment.

When he’d parked on the road opposite Pest Field he turned to her. She was staring ahead, uncharacteristically silent. As
he was about to open the car door she suddenly spoke. ‘I’ve had a postcard from Dave.’

Wesley looked puzzled. ‘Dave? Dave from Australia? Your ex?’

She nodded. ‘He’s done his tour of Europe and he’s coming back in a couple of weeks.’

‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know. But he’s coming to stay on the farm. As soon as my parents found out they went out in search of a suitable
fatted calf to kill.’ Her mouth turned upwards in a bitter smile. ‘I wasn’t going to mention that he’d written but my little
brother went and found the postcard. He could never keep his mouth shut.’

‘What’s the problem? Won’t you be pleased to see him?’

‘My mother will be.’

Wesley thought he understood.

‘I’m fed up of being treated like a child. I just need a place of my own.’

‘Is it your parents who are the problem or is it Dave?’

There was no reply.

‘Running away’s not the answer. Maybe when he comes back you should start introducing him to some other women. What about
Trish Walton, if he’s got a thing about police officers?’

Rachel gave a mirthless laugh. ‘It’s worth a try.’

Wesley thought it best to return to work matters. ‘I want to ask Neil’s colleagues if they know of any local metal detectorists
who might be able to give us some names.’

As they walked across the road side by side Matt spotted Wesley and waved him over.

‘Look, Wes, I’m sorry about what I said earlier about the police … ’

‘Forget it.’

‘Have you seen Neil?’

After receiving the latest bulletin, that Neil was in pain but recovering fast and even attempting jokes, Matt climbed out
of the trench and led the way to a pile of plastic boxes. Rachel followed and said nothing.

‘Come and see our latest finds. I think we’ve got ourselves a murder victim.’

Wesley looked at him, worried. ‘How do you mean?’

‘The more I see of these bones, the more I’m convinced they’re medieval.
Everything points to it – the fourteenth-century pottery and coins found in the trench, the wear on the teeth, you know the
sort of thing. Now it appears to be a mass burial, which means either a battle … ’

‘Or the plague?’

‘Quite right. There’s only one skeleton with any signs of injury so I reckon we’ve found ourselves a plague pit. Fourteenth-century
… right date. The great plague of 1348.’

‘What a place to build a supermarket,’ Wesley said,
thinking of Huntings’ latest little problem. ‘So what’s this about a murder victim?’

‘I was just coming to that. We found one skeleton with severe injuries to the back of the skull. There was a high-status medieval
dagger with the bones and a number of Edward III coins – from the time of the plague – all bunched together as if they were
in a purse that’s rotted away. Now I don’t expect the plague victims would have been buried with their worldly goods, but
if someone was murdered and tipped into the plague pit before it was filled in … A perfect way to dispose of a body.’

‘Ever thought of joining the police, Matt?’

Matt answered with a dismissive chuckle, as though the very idea were preposterous. ‘The bones were disturbed by the nighthawks.
The dagger and coins would have given a signal on any metal detector.’

‘So why weren’t the coins and dagger taken?’

‘That’s what I’ve been asking myself.’

‘Where’s the dagger now?’ This had got Wesley intrigued.

‘In the village hall. We’re using it as the site headquarters. Have a look when you’ve got time. Lovely dagger; corroded,
of course, but in remarkable condition, considering. You can even see that there was some sort of decoration on the hilt …
possibly a coat of arms. We’re having it X-rayed.’

Wesley glanced over his shoulder. Rachel was still standing there patiently. Much as he would have liked to have a look at
Matt’s finds, he felt it would be pushing it a bit.

‘What I really wanted to ask is can you give me the names of any local metal detectorists?’

Matt frowned. ‘None of the local ones’d go in for violence. I’m positive of that.’

‘Even so, they might know of someone who would. Is there anyone I should talk to?’

Matt thought for a moment. ‘Well, there’s Big Eddie. He used to be a bit of a bad lad but he saw the error of his
ways when he got nicked for liberating a horde of Roman coins. After he got a hefty fine he saw the light and decided to cooperate
with the archaeological establishment rather than set himself up in competition, as it were. He’s helped us out a couple of
times on large digs. You could have a word with him. He probably knows what’s going on in the weird and wonderful world of
metal detecting.’

‘Where do I find him?’

‘I believe he can be found in the Cat and Fiddle most evenings … in Neston near the castle.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t go in there
looking too smart, will you. And don’t let appearances put you off. Big Eddie may look like a human Rottweiler but I’ve been
assured that his bark’s worse than his bite.’

Wesley laughed. He felt it was expected. He looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly five. As he was feeling a little
uneasy about Pam’s state of health he wanted to get home at a reasonable time. Big Eddie could wait for another day.

He returned to the police station with Rachel and stayed shuffling papers on his desk for a token half an hour before heading
home.

Pam had been tired when Wesley got in from work and he noticed with some concern how the dark circles beneath her eyes stood
out against the pale skin. He had told her of Neil’s attack gently, assuring her that his life wasn’t in danger, and she had
received the news with a heavy sigh, almost as if she felt too tired to take it in. But the next morning she looked a little
better. As he rushed round getting ready for another day making life uncomfortable for Tradmouth’s criminal fraternity, she
sat propped up in bed, as big and helpless as a beached whale. He salved his conscience by taking her a cup of tea and assuring
her that he’d try not to be late.

As he was on the point of saying goodbye she informed him that she planned to leave Michael with a neighbour and
drive over to Morbay to visit Neil in hospital, which awakened a whole new set of worries in Wesley’s mind. Should she be
driving? What if she had an accident or went into premature labour? He set off for Tradmouth police station telling himself
not to be so foolish. Pam had always taken care of herself. But the worm of worry still gnawed away.

An hour later he found himself driving out to Morbay Hospital with Gerry Heffernan in the passenger seat. He hoped he would
see Pam there and that his mind would be put at rest. But it was half past nine in the morning and it was doubtful whether
she would have left the house yet. He concentrated on driving up the busy dual carriageway that led to the hospital and tried
to put her out of his mind.

At the hospital Dr Choudray greeted them with weary resignation. ‘Are you back again?’

Wesley had a vague feeling of guilt about adding to his workload but Gerry Heffernan had no such misgivings and insisted that
they go into the doctor’s office to have a quiet chat.

‘We’ve come about Edith Sommerby,’ he announced. ‘Any news on the cause of death yet?’

The doctor sighed. ‘I think something arrived first thing this morning from Pathology. Hang on.’ He began a search of his
desk and soon found the piece of paper he was looking for. ‘Here we are. Botulism. The relevant public health authorities
have been notified and we’re on the alert for any new cases. If there’s a danger to public health they’ll need to track down
the source.’

Wesley nodded. ‘Of course.’ What the public health officials had in mind was inadequate hygiene or some accidentally contaminated
batch of food. Wesley knew different.

They could see no reason to keep the doctor from his duties any longer so they left, dropping in on Neil on their way out.
He had been moved to another ward and he still looked weak, not his usual self. He gave a brave smile when Wesley told him
that Pam might call in to see him
later and lay back on his pillows, as though exhausted.

Neil’s recollection of the night he was attacked was still vague. He remembered hearing a noise and going to investigate.
Then being pushed by strong hands into an open trench and ending up face to face with a grinning skull. He hadn’t seen his
assailant and still had no idea who it could be. When Wesley mentioned Big Eddie, Neil said he was sure it hadn’t been him.
He wasn’t the type. Wesley refrained from saying that if he had five pounds for every convicted criminal who ‘wasn’t the type’
he’d be a very rich man.

When they left the hospital it was only a short distance to the address Sister Atkins had given them for Edith Sommerby. Get
to know the victim and you get to know the murderer was what Wesley had always been taught. He had his doubts in this case
but it was always worth a try.