The Shining Skull (30 page)

‘Adrian said I should but . . . It might be best to stay in a guesthouse and look for somewhere to rent when Sharon comes
down.’

‘Yes. That might be for the best.’

As Wesley stood up, Gerry Heffernan’s phone began to emit a tinny version of ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’. It irritated Wesley
who was no great Wagner fan: he wished he’d change it.

After a short conversation, Heffernan looked up. ‘There’s been an accident. They were taking Adrian Fallbrook in for questioning.
Steve was driving Fallbrook’s car and he crashed it. He’s been taken to hospital.’

Wesley turned slowly to Marcus Fallbrook. ‘I think we should go for a little drive, Mr Fallbrook.’

The child locks were set on the back doors. A routine precaution.

When one of their own was injured, the station grapevine worked overtime and they had been kept up to date with the minutiae
of Steve Carstairs’s condition. He had a broken arm, fractured in two places, and he was concussed. Wesley, who disliked Steve,
tried to summon up some sympathy . . . and found himself wanting.

He had driven to Neston, taking the long way round to avoid the car ferry. Now they were bypassing the outskirts of Stoke
Raphael, following the narrow lane that led to the railway line. A train was passing. A steam engine puffing asthmatically
down the track like something out of a children’s story book. The line was popular with tourists but locals also used it to
travel from Queenswear to Morbay: the Trust that ran the railway allowed locals to travel at reduced rates.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Marcus from the back seat. He sounded vaguely worried.

Heffernan turned and grinned at him. ‘You’re being abducted, mate. Scary, isn’t it?’

Marcus looked uncomfortable. Wesley glanced at his boss – one day he’d go too far.

‘We’re going to the place Adrian was told to go. You were there when he got the call were you?’

‘Yeah, but he just went straight out. Didn’t say where he was going.’

They had reached the overgrown track that led to the boathouse. It was time to get out and walk. As Wesley opened the back
door to let Marcus out, his phone rang. When the conversation was finished, he turned to Marcus again. ‘That was Forensics.
They say Adrian’s brake pipes were cut.’

Marcus looked shocked. ‘Who’d do a thing like that?’

Wesley didn’t answer. He led the way, Heffernan bringing up the rear. Soon he saw it, the little wooden boathouse. It was
next to the shore and he could hear the gentle lapping of the waves. The boathouse itself was windowless and the green-painted
door stood shut, its padlock lying smashed on the rocky ground.

Wesley opened the door and stepped back as the smell hit his nostrils. The scent of excrement – animal or human – still hung
in the air, although there was no evidence of it now apart from an empty bucket in the corner of the room that gave off an
unpleasant odour.

Wesley’s phone rang again. He answered it but nothing was said apart from a perfunctory thanks.

‘What is this place?’ Marcus asked, absorbed in his own world, oblivious to Wesley’s icy stare. He started to shake and the
colour drained from his face. ‘I’m sure it was here. He kept me here or somewhere very like it. Is that possible? Did he keep
me here?’

There was a long silence before Wesley spoke. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’

Marcus stood quite still, reluctant to enter the place of his imprisonment. Wesley held the door open and he crossed the threshold,
looking around fearfully as if it brought back terrifying memories.

‘Go inside. Sit down.’ He took a torch from his pocket and flicked it on before shutting the door behind him. Marcus’s breath
was coming faster.

‘Frightened?’

‘Please, can we go?’

‘No, I don’t think that’s possible. Because you were never abducted, were you? You’ve been lying to us all along.’

Marcus opened his mouth to protest. Wesley could see his face in the torchlight and the panic in his eyes.

‘Copying the Marcus Fallbrook ransom notes when you abducted Leah to make us think we were looking for the same kidnapper
was clever, I’ll give you that. The last person we’d suspect would be the seven-year-old victim.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Joseph Quin. I’m arresting you for the abduction and murder of Leah Wakefield. You do not have to say anything which might
harm your defence . . . ’

As Wesley recited the rest of the caution, the man they had known as Marcus Fallbrook looked around in panic, searching for
an escape route. But Gerry Heffernan was leaning on the door, blocking the way. Like the real Marcus Fallbrook and Leah Wakefield
after him, he had walked into a trap.

Quin swallowed hard. ‘Prove it,’ he said with feeble defiance.

And Wesley knew he was right. That was the challenge . . . proving it.

‘Not very nice in here, is it? Don’t worry, the Forensic team have already been here so we’ve no need to worry that we’re
contaminating anything.’ He stood opposite the prisoner who occupied the stained plastic seat that had been used by Leah Wakefield.
He had toyed with the idea of taking Quin back to the station and questioning him there but he sensed that here, where it
had happened, was the best place to find the truth.

‘Jackie was your real mother, wasn’t she?’

Quin looked uneasy. ‘She wasn’t. She looked after me. It was like I said – she found me and looked after me.’

‘You used to visit her sister, your Aunty Helen when you were young.’

‘No. Jackie wouldn’t take the risk of me being recognised.’

‘Helen used to talk about Marcus Fallbrook.’

‘Well?’

‘Sometimes people remember incidents from the past . . . they remember them better than yesterday. You visited Aunty Helen,
didn’t you? There’s a picture to prove it – you with Jackie and Helen. There’s one at your house in Manchester. Where’s the
money?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Gerry Heffernan had been silent up to now, staring at Quin, noting every movement, every nervous tic. ‘You must have done
something with it. Where is it?’

Quin looked at Heffernan as though he were stupid. ‘How should I know?’

‘There were boating magazines at your place in Manchester. Like boats do you?’

‘Not really the sort of thing you do in Manchester. It’s forty miles inland.’

‘Your friend, Mark Jones, said you spent quite a bit of time in North Wales.’

‘So what? Sharon likes Abersoch.’

‘Lots of boats there. Ever used a jet ski?’

‘No.’

Heffernan put his face close to the man’s. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Gerry Heffernan gave Wesley a small nod. They were a double act and it was his turn.

‘You kidnapped Leah Wakefield, didn’t you? You kept her here. You tied her to that chair you’re sitting on.’

‘The answer was a snort of derision. ‘I’ve already got a fortune coming to me. Why would I want to take the risk of kidnapping
some . . . ’

‘But you knew Leah, didn’t you? The real Mark Jones said you’d once worked as a roadie so we’ve been doing a bit of checking.
That call I had was from a colleague whose just spoken to Leah’s manager, Brad Williams. You worked as a roadie for Williams.
Leah knew you and you followed her. And when she went to meet Williams in Derenham you seized your chance. And you used exactly
the same MO that had been used for the kidnapping of Marcus Fallbrook.’

‘I’m Marcus Fallbrook.’

Wesley ignored him and carried on. ‘Only the motive for Marcus’s kidnapping wasn’t money, was it? The money was collected
but it wasn’t the main reason he was abducted. That was hatred . . . jealousy.’

Quin’s hand tightened into a fist. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Jenny Booker wrote a letter to her parents. I read it but I didn’t take much notice at the time. She mentioned she’d seen
a woman with a little boy and that he was the image of Marcus. She said they could have been twins. It was an innocent remark
. . . Jenny didn’t know the truth. But when I spoke to Gordon Heather he told me he saw Fallbrook with a secretary from one
of his suppliers. Her name was Jacqueline. Jackie. Then I got one of my officers to check up on any births to a woman named
Jacqueline Brice – we confirmed it was Helen Sewell’s maiden name. A Jacqueline Brice had given birth to a son on the 3rd
October 1966 . . . father unknown. But she knew him all right, didn’t she? And he gave her money because he already had a
wife, a wealthy one who was providing most of the money. And the affair carried on, didn’t it? Jackie couldn’t give up seeing
Fallbrook because she had to fight for her son, the son she’d had by Fallbrook. You.’

He looked at Quin who was shaking his head. ‘No, you’re wrong.’

Wesley carried on. ‘She was so enraged at the way he treated her and his son – his own son – that she decided to take her
revenge. By that time Fallbrook was just using her; seeing her when it was convenient; treating her like some sort of prostitute:
he was paying for her after all.’

Quin looked as though he wanted to land Wesley a punch then he took a deep breath and stared at the ground.

Wesley continued. ‘She wanted to teach Fallbrook a lesson so she kidnapped his son, Marcus. Oh she didn’t intend him to come
to any harm. She wrote the letters and collected the money; made him pay. But then something went wrong and Marcus died so
she didn’t dare contact Fallbrook again. Whatever happened gave her such a shock that she disappeared from the scene altogether.
She went up to Manchester and changed her name to Quin . . . got well away from Tradmouth. I doubt if Fallbrook ever suspected
it was her. I expect he just thought the kidnapping had changed things and she’d decided to get away.’

Quin jumped out of the chair and banged his fist on the wall, the sudden noise, thundering in the silence, made Wesley jump.
‘You’re wrong about Jackie. It wasn’t her.’

‘But she was your mother?’

There was a hesitation then a shake of the head.

‘You’re Jacob Fallbrook’s son all right . . . but you’re Marcus’s half-brother. It wasn’t the DNA that lied, it was you.’

‘Prove it.’

‘We can get a DNA sample from Jackie when we find her.’

‘I told you, she’s abroad.’

Heffernan leaned forward. Well her sister, Helen Sewell hasn’t been buried yet. We can get a DNA sample that’ll prove she’s
your aunt.’

Quin sat back, uncomfortable.

After a few moments Wesley spoke again. ‘Did you ever meet Marcus?’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘Never. I could never go to the house when the family was there.’

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. ‘You went to the house?’

‘Mum used to take me there. She had a key. She’d taken it from
my father’s pocket and had a copy made. We used to look round . . . pretend it was ours. She said it would be one day. I
used to play on my own in the tree house. She used to say it was really mine. It was all to be mine when . . . ’

‘Only there was the small problem of Jacob Fallbrook’s wife and his son, Marcus.’ Wesley spoke softly, sensing that Quin was
about to confide in them. He had no choice. Nowhere to go now. He knew that they knew. It was just the details that were missing.
‘I presume you told the truth when you said Jackie was abroad. We’ll need to speak to her. Where can we find her?’

Quin shook his head. ‘She said she was travelling round for a while – I haven’t heard from her yet.’

‘Did she tell you the truth before she left?’

Quin nodded. ‘She’d had an affair with Fallbrook for years – he was my father. He was married but he said he’d leave his wife.
She believed him. But when his wife got pregnant he didn’t want to know. He just paid mum to keep my existence quiet. Nobody
had to know she had a kid. Helen looked after me some of the time. Mum hung around, living in a flat he paid for – only the
price of the rent was her silence. He’d pay the bills as long as she didn’t rock the boat. His other son got everything he
wanted while we were treated like shit. That hurt.’

‘I imagine it did,’ said Wesley.

‘The night before my mum left for France she said there was something she had to tell me. She hadn’t mentioned Fallbrook for
years . . . not since I was a kid. I had vague memories of my trips to Mirabilis but that was it. She showed me drafts of
the ransom notes she’d written. It was like she wanted to get everything off her chest. Confession, like in church.’

Wesley took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of smoke and seaweed . . . and something else. Death. ‘So what did she tell
you?’ he asked gently.

Gerry Heffernan was shuffling from foot to foot. Wesley could tell he was anxious to get back to the police station to continue
the interview in a more formal setting but he was reluctant to break the spell. The man was talking. A car journey might give
him fresh courage to keep his mouth shut . . . to rethink his decision to confess all.

‘What did she tell you?’ Wesley repeated.

Quin looked up at him. ‘She planned it all. She went to
Marcus’s school and persuaded him that his dad had sent her to fetch him.’

‘Were you with her?’

Quin nodded. ‘That’s why he trusted her . . . ’cause she had a little boy with her.’

‘And she brought him here to the boathouse?’

‘She told him it was a game. She said his father would come looking for him. We sat in here playing I spy. Then she said we
had to go and his father would be along to fetch him soon. She locked him in here and we left him.’

‘What happened then?’

‘She sent me to stay with Aunty Helen. I suppose that’s when she sent the ransom note and all that . . . ’

‘She collected the ransom money.’

Quin shook his head. ‘Yeah, but he was dead by then. She told me that she unlocked the door one morning and she found him
dead. He was epileptic or something. She said he must have died of a fit.’

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. ‘So where is he now? Where’s he buried?’

Quin took a deep breath. ‘She said she’d buried him near here. By the railway line. There’s a stone near the entrance to a
tunnel. She put him there.’