The Shadow Collector (19 page)

It was an old-fashioned room with flowery wallpaper, matching frilly curtains and fussy, lace-trimmed bedspread. The overall
theme was pink and it was an overtly feminine room – as if Mrs Broughton had poured all her suppressed frivolity into this
one chamber. There were clothes strewn on the bed; jeans, jogging bottoms and a couple of long-sleeved T-shirts. There was
underwear too – probably worn – and a screwed-up pair of socks. Wesley peeped into the little en suite bathroom. The glass
shelves over the sink were crammed with make-up and an array of half-used hair products stood around the edge of the bath.
Boo Flecker hadn’t been the tidiest of guests.

A suitcase lay on a low table next to the little TV. And beside the suitcase was what looked like a laptop case. Boo’s mobile
phone hadn’t yet been found but there was a chance that her laptop might contain something important. Perhaps her decision
to lie low in this unlikely setting had been the right one after all.

‘I suppose you’ll want to take her things.’ Mrs Broughton’s voice sounded a little unsteady.

‘We’ll have a good look round first, love,’ he heard Gerry say. ‘Sorry but there might be a few coppers with size twelve boots
tramping all over your nice clean carpets for a day or so. Then it’s all yours. Back to normal.’

Gerry gave her a big reassuring smile. But both of them knew nothing would be normal again. Not now that room had been tainted
with violent death. Wesley put on his crime scene gloves and flipped open the suitcase. There
were more clothes inside – Boo hadn’t believed in travelling light. Gerry watched him as he pushed them to one side to reveal
a blue cardboard file. His heart began to beat a little faster as he took it out and flicked through its contents.

Gerry turned to Mrs Broughton, beaming at her like a benevolent uncle. ‘It’s OK, love, we can manage now. We’ll let you know
when we’ve finished.’ He spoke gently, as though he wanted to relieve her of the heavy burden.

She took the hint and left and once they were alone Gerry looked at Wesley expectantly. ‘Well?’

‘There’s press cuttings in here about the Benley murders.’ He began to read. ‘Devil women sacrificed teenagers. Witchcraft
led to double murder. Mother held girls while daughter stabbed them. Fed to pigs.’ He replaced the cuttings in the file. ‘No
wonder Boo wanted a piece of the action. I’m surprised she appears to be the only one going after Lilith. Once she was released
I would have thought she’d be fair game for anyone wanting a sensational story.’

‘The Nutter told me her release was deliberately kept quiet, Wes. Apparently she was offered a change of identity but she
refused. Said she was innocent so why should she hide. As soon as she turns up I’m pulling her in.’

Wesley couldn’t argue with Gerry’s logic but there was still a fragment of doubt in his mind, niggling away, ruining the neat
solution.

‘I’ll call the crime scene people to get this room searched properly.’ Wesley took his phone from his pocket. ‘And I’ll get
Tom from Scientific Support to have a look at that laptop.’

‘Still want to see Alex Gulliver?’

Wesley looked at his watch. ‘He should be back from school by the time we get over there. Who knows, he might have seen something
last night.’

Wesley felt that they were going round in circles. All this wasn’t going to find Lilith Benley. And they needed to find her
as soon as possible, dead or alive.

Ever since she’d watched her grandmother die, Harriet Mumford had always regarded hospitals as places of uncertainty where
death was ever present, hovering around the curtained beds looking for fresh meat to devour. They were borderlands, shadowy
barriers between one world and the next, and normally she avoided them at all costs. But in spite of this she’d been drawn
to Neil Watson’s bedside.

She’d told Evan she was going to her studio in West Fretham so no questions had been asked. She’d learned to tread carefully
over the years.

The nurses, busy with their paperwork at the nurses’ station, didn’t glance up as she passed and she walked from one four-bedded
room to another, peeping in nervously. Sometimes the patients in the beds would stare back at her as if they were half hoping
for company, but most took no notice, ignoring her as if she was invisible.

She found Neil in a room by himself and she wondered whether this meant his condition was serious. He was lying perfectly
still with his eyes shut and when she tapped nervously on the open door she saw his eyes flicker open.

‘Hi.’ His voice sounded weak, like an old man’s.

‘I thought I’d come to see how you’re doing.’ She sidled into the room, trying her best to sound cheerful, recalling her attempts
to sound positive when her grandmother was dying – the stress and pain of keeping up the act. She’d
been twelve years old then and the strain of supporting her mother through the crisis meant that she’d become adept at hiding
her feelings and innermost secrets.

‘It’s good to see you.’ Neil made a great effort to raise himself up on the pillows. His flesh was pale, the colour of parchment,
and the blue-black circles beneath his eyes made him look as if he’d been punched. ‘Always nice to be visited by beautiful
women. Sorry I’m not at my best.’

‘So you’ve had lot of beautiful women weeping at your bedside, have you?’ She forced out a smile.

‘Only the nurses and I’ve got to tell them they’re beautiful or they stick needles in me,’ he said weakly. ‘My friend Pam’s
visited a few times.’

‘And she’s beautiful is she?’ She regretted the question as soon as it had left her lips.

‘I suppose she is now you come to mention it. Not that I think of her that way …’

‘Why’s that?’

‘She’s married to my best mate and I’ve known her for years.’

Harriet’s nagging feeling of jealousy subsided just a little. But not much.

‘How are you?’

‘I’ve got a bad leg fracture which they’ve operated on, three broken ribs and I’m covered in cuts and bruises. I had concussion
too. They did a brain scan and luckily they found I had one,’ he said with a grin that looked more like a grimace of pain.
‘They keep telling me I was lucky.’ He tried to haul himself further up on his pillows but Harriet saw him wince. ‘Dave’s
been keeping me up to date with what’s been happening. He says they’ve found two more coffins.’

Harriet nodded. ‘I wanted them out of the house so he’s taken them to Exeter to show someone. You had one in your car when
you crashed, didn’t you? It makes you wonder …’

Neil said nothing. Perhaps the crash was something he didn’t want to discuss and she wasn’t surprised when he changed the
subject. ‘Have you found out anything more about Alison Hadness – your witch?’

‘Sorry. I haven’t had time.’

‘Is something wrong?’

Harriet reached out and touched his hand. It felt rough and cold, not as she’d expected. ‘I’m frightened, Neil. I’m really
scared,’ she whispered, the fear rising up inside her, vague and threatening.

‘What about? What’s up?’

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said before hurrying out of the room. The visit had been a mistake … possibly a big one.

Gerry’s phone rang as they were driving back to West Fretham. After a short conversation he turned to Wesley. ‘You’ll have
to deal with the Gulliver lad on your own. The Nutter’s organised a press conference and I’ve drawn the short straw. Seems
there’s been a lot of interest from the press, the victim being one of their own. He wants yours truly to take part.’ His
eyes lit up. ‘You don’t fancy fifteen minutes of fame, do you, Wes?’

‘I tried it once. Never again.’

A wicked grin spread across Gerry’s face. ‘I’ll tell the Nutter you volunteered then.’

At first Wesley didn’t know whether he was being serious. But he knew his boss’s sense of humour of old so when he said no
more he assumed that he was off the hook. With his
no-nonsense attitude and his Liverpool accent Gerry came across well on TV – a real star, some said. A natural. There were
even some who said he should have been doing Rupert Raybourn’s job.

When they reached the Rectory Gerry mumbled something about Joyce saying he needed more exercise before asking Wesley to drop
him off so he could walk back to the incident room. Wesley turned into the Gullivers’ drive and parked next to a new black
Range Rover.

Gwen Gulliver answered the door. As soon as she saw him she looked worried. But then everyone did when there was a murderer
at large in the area and the police on the doorstep. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt today and there was a hint of
pale root showing at the parting in her hair.

‘We’ve already had more policemen round,’ she said as she stood aside to let him in. ‘They asked us if we’d seen that Benley
woman from the smallholding on the other side of the farm. What’s happened?’

‘We just need to check she’s safe, Mrs Gulliver,’ he said as he stepped into the hall.

Gwen looked horrified. ‘Check she’s safe? Your lot seem more interested in protecting criminals than punishing them. If she
killed that poor woman at the farm you should be locking her up again.’ He could hear the panic rising in her voice now.

‘We’re keeping an open mind.’ As he said the words he realised how unconvincing they sounded. He was hardly doing his bit
to reassure the people who lived round about that they could sleep safely in their beds. ‘Is Alex in?’

‘Why?’ There was a defensive note in the question. The mother protecting her young.

‘I just wanted to ask him something. Nothing to worry about.’

‘What’s the matter?’ The voice belonged to Shane Gulliver who’d just emerged from the drawing room. ‘We’ve already had someone
round,’ he said as though Wesley was some door-to-door salesman. ‘We haven’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary and
I don’t see how we can help you so I’d be grateful if you’d leave us in peace.’

‘He wants to speak to Alex,’ Gwen said meekly, as if she was afraid of upsetting her husband, or maybe of driving away the
muse that paid the mortgage.

‘I need to check something with him. Just routine. Nothing to worry about,’ Wesley repeated, giving Gwen a reassuring smile.

‘He’s in his room.’

‘OK if I go up? We had a nice chat about metal detecting last time I came.’

Gulliver raised no objection so Wesley climbed the wide oak staircase, aware that the author was watching him. He knocked
on Alex’s door and it opened almost at once, as if the boy had been listening in to the conversation downstairs.

‘How’s the metal detecting going?’ Wesley asked cheerfully once he was in the room and Alex had shut the door firmly behind
him.

‘I haven’t found any more murder weapons if that’s what you mean.’

‘Can I sit down?’

Alex made a vague gesture towards the seat by his computer. It was switched on and instead of the expected Facebook or computer
game Wesley could see he was
composing an essay. Perhaps his little pep talk had worked. He felt a faint glow of pride that he might have made a difference
– perhaps teaching was more rewarding than Pam and her colleagues made out.

‘I hear the murderer’s on the run.’ The boy’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm. The subject of murder was clearly to his
liking.

‘I’m not here about the murder this time. Do you know a girl called Jessica Gaunt?’

A guarded look suddenly appeared in Alex’s eyes. ‘Why?’

‘Is she your girlfriend?’

For several seconds he didn’t reply to the question. Then he gave a casual shrug. ‘Might be.’

‘She reported her History tutor to the police. His name’s Simon Frith.’

Wesley saw the boy clench his fists, as though he was preparing to throw a punch. ‘The pervert groped her. She was dead upset.’

‘Think she was telling the truth?’

‘’Course she was. They should lock the perv up and throw away the key.’

‘Did she tell you what happened?’

‘He groped her didn’t he? Touched her tits.’

‘He denies it.’

‘Are you calling Jessica a liar?’ The mask of righteous indignation had begun to slip.

‘Mr Frith could lose his job so the police have to be absolutely sure.’

‘He deserves all he gets.’

‘Have you ever met him?’

‘No. But my dad was going to ask him to come and help
me with my history. He got talking to Jessica’s dad at a parents’ evening and he recommended him.’

‘Really? So how long did he teach Jessica before this, er … incident happened?’

‘A while. Six months maybe.’

‘And he’d never tried anything like that before?’

‘There’s always a first time, isn’t there?’ Alex said. ‘I didn’t know you were on that case. You never went round to see Jess.’

‘No, that was another officer. Thanks for your help. Sorry to have bothered you.’ He stood up and made for the door. ‘By the
way, did you see or hear anything suspicious last night? Strange cars on the lane or intruders in the garden?’

‘Nah. It’s all gone quiet since the TV people left. Like the bloody grave.’ When Wesley was halfway out of the door Alex spoke
again. ‘Is it true she’s a witch?’

Wesley didn’t know the answer to that one.

None of the house to house reports Trish Walton had just finished collating had produced anything even vaguely helpful. Nobody
in the nearby village had seen or heard anything suspicious or unusual on the day of Boo Flecker’s murder. And nothing had
come in on the whereabouts of Lilith Benley. Nobody had seen her on the night she vanished and no taxi firms had picked her
up. Her disappearance was a mystery and all tests on the wax doll that had been found in her place had come up negative. No
fingerprints. No DNA. No nothing.

Wesley, however, wondered whether the people of West Fretham would have confided in the police even if they’d seen someone
killing Lilith in front of their eyes. Most of
them were relieved she’d gone, expressing the hope that she’d never come back.

The routine checks he’d requested on Harriet Mumford hadn’t revealed anything suspicious. As far as they could see she had
no connection with Boo Flecker and no apparent reason to kill her. It seemed it was yet another dead end.