The Shining Skull (31 page)

‘Whose idea was it that you came here pretending to be Marcus?’

‘My mum’s. She saw in the paper that Jacob had died . . . said I should come down here and claim what’s mine.’

‘What about Leah? Why kidnap her?’

‘Money,’ he said bluntly. ‘I needed money and I didn’t know how long it’d take to get my hands on what the Fallbrooks owed
me.’

‘So you killed her.’

‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill her.’

‘You’re lying. You couldn’t let her go cause she’d recognised you. You had to kill her.’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘She tried to escape and she fell and hit her head. And she couldn’t have recognised me: I always
wore a ski mask so she couldn’t have known who I was. She didn’t know me that well in the first place. I was just another
roadie to her. She treated everyone like trash.’

‘That’s why she died, isn’t it?’

‘I told you, I didn’t kill her. I panicked when I saw she was dead and dumped her in the river. That’s the honest truth.’

‘Where’s the money?’

‘In Manchester.’

‘With Sharon?’

Quin looked up. ‘There’s no Sharon.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean there never was a Sharon. I made her up.’

‘Why?’

Quin didn’t reply.

Then Wesley suddenly remembered something. ‘The real Mark Jones knew all about her. She existed all right.’

‘Like I said, I made her up.’

There was something in the way he spoke that made Wesley uneasy. He looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get back to Tradmouth.
Can you show us where Marcus is buried?’

‘Don’t know. I’ll try,’ said Quin meekly.

Wesley took his mobile phone from his pocket and called for back up. Somebody had to dig up Marcus Fallbrook’s mortal remains
and Wesley’s first thought was Neil. He had helped them in his professional capacity before and he knew how to deal with delicate
evidence as well as any scenes of crime officer. He’d get him called out – from what he said about the Stoke Beeching dig,
he’d be glad of the distraction.

As they walked out into the weak sunlight, Quin turned to Wesley. ‘The Fallbrooks owe me. I only wanted to claim what was
mine by right.’

‘Is that why you tried to kill Adrian Fallbrook? Is that why you cut his brake pipes?’

Quin didn’t answer. He began to lead the way, climbing upwards, scrambling through the trees towards the railway line with
the two policemen following; Wesley close by and Heffernan panting in an effort to keep up. Wesley spotted the large stone
near the yawning tunnel entrance, moss covered like some gigantic grave stone in an ancient churchyard. If Quin was to be
believed, this stone marked the grave of Marcus Fallbrook. The story of Marcus was almost at an end.

Quin pointed. ‘I think that’s it.’

They stood there while Heffernan got his breath back. They
could hear the throaty whistle of a steam train approaching, probably in the tunnel.

‘Let’s get back.’ Wesley started to walk. He wanted to contact the French police and ask them to trace Jackie. If she had
bought or was renting a place, they would find her eventually. He could hear the puffing of the steam engine now. It was getting
nearer. Much as he would have liked to stay and watch it pass by on its stately progress towards the viaduct, he had more
pressing matters to attend to.

He began to retrace his steps, allowing Quin to go first. The bank was steep and Quin was steadying himself with one hand.
Then all of a sudden he sprang up the bank again, taking Wesley by surprise. He was heading back to the railway track, moving
fast. Gerry Heffernan made a futile grab at the man as he shot past but he grasped at air. Quin was too quick for him and
he shouted to Wesley who was caught off balance so it took him a second or two to turn. He began to run. He could see Quin
ahead and he was gaining on him slowly. But then he stopped and shouted. ‘No,’ the word echoing into the smoky air.

Joe Quin had intended to cross the track a second before the engine passed, thinking he could make his escape while his pursuers
were held up by the passing train. Only he miscalculated badly. No longer having the speed and agility of a young man, he
went beneath the great metal wheels with a terrible cry of startled anguish like someone who had seen the gates of Hell opening
before him in a cloud of fire and smoke.

Wesley fell to his knees and hid his face from the sight of the mangled body that lay quite still on the track after the train
had passed, like a half-eaten carcass spewed by some gigantic predatory beast.

‘I knew it.’ Carol Fallbrook’s lips formed into an expression of unbearable smugness. Adrian felt like hitting her but he
didn’t because he had never been that sort of man.

Wesley sat perched on the edge of their sofa and took a sip from the cup of Earl Grey that Carol had provided. He had set
the wheels in motion, asking the Manchester police to check Sharon out, and he had contacted the French authorities about
tracing Jackie Quin. But he had an uncomfortable feeling that it wasn’t over just yet.

He gave Carol a half-hearted smile and turned to Adrian. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to discover all this about your father’s relationship
with this Jackie woman. I hope it hasn’t come as too much of a shock.’

Adrian opened his mouth to speak but Carol got in first. ‘From what I know of my late father-in-law, it’s come as a surprise.
I never thought of him as a lady’s man. Money always seemed to be his driving passion rather than sex.’

‘His affair with Jackie and the loss of Marcus probably put him off for life.’

‘So this Joe was really my half-brother. At least he was telling the truth about that.’ Adrian sounded grief stricken and
Wesley wondered whether he had really grasped the situation.

Carol gave a contemptuous grunt which her husband ignored.

‘He’d no need to lie. He could have told me the truth. I would have accepted him even though he was . . . ’

‘Oh do shut up, Adrian. He tried to bloody kill you . . . cut your brake pipes.’

‘Now we don’t know that for sure.’

‘He was a criminal. He kidnapped that girl . . . the singer. He murdered her. He was a murderer,’ she said as though spelling
an unpleasant fact out to a child.

‘As a matter of fact our pathologist did say that Leah Wakefield’s injuries were consistent with Quin’s account of her death.
It could well have been a tragic accident.’

‘Just like Marcus’s.’

Carol gave another snort. ‘You don’t believe that story about Marcus being epileptic, do you? There’s never been any mention
of it before. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, one accident is believable, two look highly suspicious.’

Wesley smiled. He didn’t particularly like Carol Fallbrook but in this case he had to agree with her. He stood up. ‘Thank
you for the tea, Mrs Fallbrook. As I said, I really only came to bring you up to date with developments. I really must be
off.’

It was Adrian Fallbrook who saw him out. ‘You will let me know when Joe’s funeral is.’ He spoke softly so that his wife couldn’t
hear. ‘I’d like to go. He was my brother after all.’

‘Of course,’ Wesley said, suddenly feeling a wave of sympathy for the man. He’d found a brother and now he’d lost him. And
a brother is a brother . . . your own flesh and blood.

Wesley took the car ferry over the river. It was a fine early autumn day and the dense foliage of the trees that lined the
river was just starting to show the first hints of red and gold. He remembered the way to the place where Quin had claimed
Marcus Fallbrook lay buried. Neil would already be there with a couple of his colleagues and some SOCOs. These things needed
to be done carefully and methodically without destroying evidence.

When he arrived Neil didn’t look up. He was too intent on what he had discovered in the shallow grave at the foot of the rock.

‘Well? Have you found him?’

Neil looked up. ‘He wasn’t very far down . . . I’m surprised animals didn’t get him. Want a look?’

‘Not really,’ Wesley replied. ‘But I’d better have one all the same.’

The small bones lay there in the damp earth. Hair clung to the skull and rags to the bones.

‘What’s that?’ asked Wesley, pointing to the skull.

Neil began to work on the skull area with a small leaf trowel. This was delicate work. After a few minutes he looked up at
Wesley again. ‘The skull’s badly fractured. At a guess someone hit him on the head with something small and heavy like a hammer
. . . probably several times.’

Wesley bent down to get a better look at the bones. The sight of them made him feel slightly sick. But he had a job to do.
‘So all that stuff she told Joe about him dying of an epileptic fit was a lie,’ he said softly. ‘She killed him after all.’

Neil looked up and smiled. ‘Looks like it . . . and violently.’

Wesley straightened himself up and stood for a while, deep in thought. After a few moments he spoke. ‘That theory you had
about Juanita Bentham’s murder? Did you ever find any proof?’

Neil shook his head. ‘No. That’s what it’ll have to remain . . . a theory. Why?’

‘No reason.’ He stared down at the bones. ‘Is Colin Bowman on his way?’

‘Yeah. You OK, Wes?’

‘Course I am.’

‘How’s Pam?’

‘Fine. Why don’t you come over for a meal now this case is wrapped up?’ He hesitated. ‘We miss seeing you, you know.’

Neil gave him a sad smile. ‘Yeah. Why not?’

Before he could say any more, Wesley’s phone began to ring. When he answered it, he heard Rachel’s voice on the other end
of the line. ‘I’ve had that nursing home on the phone . . . Sedan House. Helen Sewell’s room was being cleared out for the
next resident and they’ve found something hidden at the back of her wardrobe. They said we might be interested.’

Wesley didn’t know why his heart began to beat a little faster but it did. ‘OK, Rach, I’ll be over right away.’

‘Do you want me to go?’ Rachel asked tentatively.

‘No, it’s OK. I could do with a change of scene,’ he said glancing at the small bones exposed against the soil . . . at the
smashed skull.

Wesley pressed the button that would end the call and stared at the phone for a few seconds, wondering if the belongings Helen
Sewell had been so careful to hide would prove once and for all that her sister, Jackie, was a child murderer . . . the lowest
of the low. Maybe it was a good thing that her son wasn’t alive to discover the truth about his mother.

Two of the SOCOs were talking while Neil continued his meticulous excavation. Wesley didn’t take much notice at first; it
was just a casual chat between colleagues. Then one word made him listen intently.

‘I gave it to Tim. You know, the new bloke in Scientific Support. He started at Exeter just as I left and my wife knows his
wife – they met at antenatal class when she was expecting our Matthew. It’s a small world. He says she’s staying up there
with the kids till they sell the house.’

Wesley turned away. It was time he got back to Tradmouth.

It was Joyce’s mother who greeted Wesley Peterson and Gerry Heffernan in Sedan House’s entrance hall with a blank stare and
an enquiry about the whereabouts of a Vera. Heffernan knew from what Joyce had told him that Vera had been on her mind a great
deal. The trouble was, Joyce hadn’t the faintest idea who Vera was.

Gerry Heffernan was never quite sure how to behave when he came face to face with Joyce’s mother. There’s no time-honoured
etiquette that tells you how to greet your lady friend’s mother when she is hardly aware of her own daughter’s existence.
So he took the easiest option and smiled, saying nothing about who he
was or why he was there. However many times they met, Gerry was destined to remain a stranger.

They found the matron in the office. She was talking on the telephone with the smooth sympathy of the professional carer.
From what Wesley could hear of the conversation, she was trying to reassure an anxious relative that their mother had settled
in well. When the call was over she turned to the two policemen and smiled.

‘Thanks for calling us,’ Wesley began. ‘You told DS Tracey that you found something hidden in Mrs Sewell’s room that might
interest us.’

The matron stood up and bustled over to the grey metal filing cabinet. She opened the top drawer and took out a large brown
envelope. ‘It’s all in here. One of the staff was sorting out Helen’s room and came across a loose plank in the wardrobe floor.
She lifted it and found these letters underneath.’ Her eyes suddenly glowed with suppressed mischief. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t
resist having a look.’

Gerry Heffernan grinned back. ‘We’re not going to arrest you for it, love. Aren’t you going to let us in on the secret?’

She handed the envelope to the chief inspector. ‘Why don’t you see for yourself?’

Heffernan emptied the contents of the envelope onto the tidy desk in the middle of the room. A trio of small white envelopes
lay there, addressed to Helen at Raleigh House in Morbay – the children’s home where she used to work with her husband’s cousin,
Pauline Vine, who would, no doubt, be horrified to hear about the skeletons which were emerging from the family closet. Wesley
picked up the nearest envelope and extracted a letter written on yellow paper – the same paper as the ransom notes. Jacqueline
Quin must have had a job lot of the stuff.

‘I’ve got to tell someone or I’ll go mad and I know I can trust you,’ it began. ‘You’ll think I’ve done something really stupid.
But I just wanted to get my own back. I’ve taken the kid . . . Jacob’s kid. I thought that if he wasn’t going to leave her
at least I could get some money out of him and hurt him at the same time by depriving him of his precious brat. Why does he
prefer to stay with her and her brat when he could be with me and Joe? Every time I think about the way Jacob’s treated me
and Joe, I feel like killing him but I reckon this way’s better – inflicting maximum
pain for maximum gain. Jacob always called me his little S . . . his little secretary. I didn’t mind when I was infatuated
with him but now I just think, how patronising can you get? Why oh why did I fall for that bastard?