The Skeleton Room (19 page)

As soon as Heffernan spotted him, his face lit up with a grin of anticipation. ‘You’ve got the bag, then. Anything interesting
inside?’

Wesley placed Sally’s handbag on his desk and opened it with plastic-gloved hands. ‘When it’s been checked for fingerprints
we can have a good look, but as far as I can see
the most interesting thing is this photograph.’ He drew the picture out carefully and held it up for the boss to see. ‘It’s
not Trevor Gilbert. Could it be the elusive Mike?’

‘It could be her brother for all we know.’

‘She was an only child.’

‘Or her dad when he was young?’

‘Too recent.’

Heffernan shrugged his shoulders. ‘Okay. We’ll take copies and we’ll start asking around . . . see if anyone knows him. We’ll
try Lisa Marriott and Trevor first. It could be one of Trevor’s colleagues at Nestec. Sebastian Wilde said that Nestec was
one big happy family . . . did a lot of socialising. If he wasn’t someone from the hotel where Sally worked, she could have
met him through Nestec.’

It was a possibility but Wesley was keeping an open mind. She could have met Mike picking up frozen peas in her local supermarket
for all he knew – in fact he had heard that the frozen-food section was rife with that sort of thing . . . not that he’d ever
attempted to find out.

When the bag had been dispatched to undergo the ritual of examination, Wesley picked up a list from his desk. He liked lists;
liked crossing off tasks when they were done. It was one way he prevented his workload from defeating him. There was Sally
Gilbert’s murder; the skeleton found at Chadleigh Hall; the hijacking of Nestec’s lorry and the theft of half a million pounds’
worth of computer hardware. And something else that wasn’t on his list, something that nagged at the back of his mind.

Then he remembered what it was: Harry Marchbank’s search for the London man who had murdered his wife for the insurance money.
But Marchbank, as far as he knew, was still stuck in hospital. And Wesley found it difficult to drum up much enthusiasm for
his manhunt anyway. He had enough on his plate.

‘What next?’ Gerry Heffernan’s voice behind him made him jump.

‘We told Sebastian Wilde we’d have a word about those computers turning up in Morbay.’ He looked down at the photocopy he’d
made of the picture in Sally’s bag. ‘We can ask him if he recognises this man too.’

They left the police station, and as they walked round to the carpark Heffernan put on his jacket, which provided him with
a thin veneer of sartorial respectability.

‘Do you still think Sally Gilbert’s death is connected with the lorry hijack?’ Wesley asked as Heffernan struggled with his
seat belt.

‘Your guess is as good as mine. But I think there’s something odd about the computers turning up at that shop. Almost looks
like the work of amateurs.’

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ said Wesley. He pondered for a moment. ‘And I think Peter Bracewell, our friendly neighbourhood
bin man and discoverer of lost handbags, knows something about our Chadleigh Hall skeleton. He seemed uneasy when I mentioned
it. Almost guilty.’

‘Can you see him tying up a young girl and walling her up in that room?’

‘In a word, Gerry, no. But I could be wrong, of course.’ He thought for a few moments. ‘If she was put in there alive she
must have taken a while to die – wouldn’t Miss Snowman have heard noises when she took over her office again?’

‘Unless the girl was gagged. Or, of course, she might have been dead before she went in there.’

‘Then why tie her up? Forensics say there were definitely traces of rope around her wrists and ankles – the old-fashioned
stuff, not your modern synthetic type. Not that they’ve come up with anything else useful,’ he added, disappointed. ‘I want
to see Jack Kilburn again. He definitely knew something.’

‘It’s just a matter of getting past those old gorgons who are supposed to be looking after him. And there’s his slimy son,
remember.’

‘And this Alexandra Stanes, who went missing from the school. What do we know about her?’

‘Someone’s digging out the file as we speak, Wes.’

‘What about her dental records?’

‘They would only have been requested if an unidentified body had turned up and they thought it might be her. After all this
time they might not even exist.’

‘Not like you to be so pessimistic, Gerry. Have you heard anything more from Harry Marchbank?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘No particular reason.’

‘Harry Marchbank’s someone I’d rather not think about. As far as I know he’s still in hospital, but Steve’ll be the one to
ask. One of the great double acts of history, those two – Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello . . . Marchbank and Carstairs.
I just hope they’re not thinking of making a comeback.’ He scratched the small piece of midriff that protruded from his straining
shirt. ‘How’s your Pam?’

‘Fine. She’s going for lunch with Neil today.’

‘He’s not getting her diving, is he?’

‘I hope not.’

‘My Sam tried scuba diving once.’

‘How is he?’

‘He’s working at a posh house on the road into Tradmouth. And you’ll never guess who it belongs to.’

Wesley didn’t even try.

‘Only Sebastian Wilde’s sister.’

‘It’s a small world,’ said Wesley, his mind on his driving.

‘Sam tells me that Wilde’s son, Jason, has been hanging around there making the place look untidy. He reckons he comes to
sponge off his auntie.’

Wesley glanced at the proud father who was sitting, beaming, in the passenger seat. He was a man unsuited to living alone,
and Sam’s and Rosie’s homecoming had done wonders for his mood. He had been conducting a decorous
semi-courtship with a widowed American lady called Mrs Green – but the relationship had become stuck at the level of friendship,
and Wesley was unsure whether Sam and Rosie had even learned of her existence. She had recently moved away to live near her
daughter in Scotland, and Wesley felt that it was about time the boss found some fresh female company – but he was no matchmaker.

They followed the road signs to Neston, and Wesley drove down the narrow A road, passing through villages and fields dotted
with sheep and cows, grazing placidly in the rolling green landscape.

Soon they were sitting in Sebastian Wilde’s office, sipping filter coffee from chunky green cups.

‘Good news about the stuff turning up,’ said Wilde with a fixed smile. ‘Let’s hope the rest is found soon.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.’ Wesley gave the man a reassuring smile. ‘I’m afraid the owner of the shop
wasn’t able to give us a very good description of the man who sold the computers to him. He was young but that’s about all.
Signed himself D. Duck on the receipt. But we’re going over the stuff for fingerprints. If the thieves have a criminal record
we’ll catch them. The van driver’s made a good recovery, I hear.’

‘Yes, thank God. If he’d been badly injured . . .’ Wilde shook his head. ‘Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’

‘Have you put in an insurance claim for the stolen goods?’

‘Of course. But now some have turned up, I suppose . . .’

‘Yes, sir. It might be as well to inform your insurers.’

Wilde didn’t look too pleased about this and Wesley didn’t blame him. It meant that whatever claim he had made would be delayed
. . . and for all they knew, the rest of the stolen computers might not be recovered. It would hit Nestec’s cash flow badly.

But Gerry Heffernan’s mind wasn’t on high technology. He leaned forward and looked Sebastian Wilde in the eye.
‘You never said you were on Monks Island last Friday.’

Wilde looked somewhat alarmed. ‘Should I have done? I didn’t think it was important.’ Beads of sweat had begun to moisten
his brow.

‘Sally Gilbert, the wife of your warehouse manager, was meeting someone on Monks Island. We’ve found evidence that she was
murdered there. Was it you she’d arranged to meet?’

‘No. Certainly not.’ Wilde sounded quite offended. ‘I was there for a meeting with the owners of the hotel. They’re putting
a new computer system in and Nestec are bidding for the contract. I went there myself because I thought it would be good business
to give them the impression that they were dealing with the top man, if you see what I mean. It seemed to work. The meeting
went very well. And before you ask, I didn’t see Sally Gilbert. I arrived about eleven thirty; we had a working lunch – a
very good one, incidentally – in the manger’s office and I left as soon as our business had finished at around three o’clock.’

‘A long meeting – eleven thirty till three,’ Wesley commented.

‘We had a lot to cover; all their hardware requirements and the software to go with it.’

‘And you stayed in the manager’s office the whole time?’

‘I was given a guided tour of the hotel, but apart from that we were in his office, yes. I’m sure the hotel manager will confirm
what I’ve told you. And the IT manager and the . . .’

‘Thank you, sir. I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Sally Gilbert had a cream tea at the hotel and then she was seen to go
outside and meet somebody – this would be just after three o’clock. That somebody wasn’t you, was it, sir? If you’d just finished
your meeting and . . .’

‘No, Inspector. It wasn’t me. I didn’t see Sally that afternoon.’

Wesley produced the photograph found in Sally’s bag
and handed it to Wilde. ‘Do you recognise this man?’

Wilde shook his head and handed the picture back. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never seen him before. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .’

‘Is Trevor Gilbert back at work?’

Wilde looked a little perplexed at the sudden change of subject. ‘Yes. He’s in the warehouse. Do you want to see him?’

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. ‘We might have a very quick word . . . just see if he recognises the picture. We
won’t take up much of his time,’ said Wesley.

‘Not unless he has something to tell us,’ Heffernan added with the hint of a threat.

As they left Wilde’s office Wesley noticed that Gerry Heffernan was looking uncommonly pleased with himself.

‘We’ve got him rattled, Wes,’ he said softly as they climbed into the car. ‘Sebastian Wilde is not a happy man.’

Pamela Peterson sat on a rock at the top of the beach, and stretched out her limbs in the warm rays of the sun. Peace at last.
Shrieking gulls and crashing waves. No children clammering for her attention at school. No lesson plans and paperwork. No
baby. No Della to visit in hospital. No Wesley getting in tired and late. Just sun on her face and sand between her toes.
It couldn’t last.

‘Enjoying yourself?’

She opened her eyes and saw Neil looking down at her. ‘You could say that.’

‘We’ll go for lunch in about half an hour, if that’s okay. Want to come into the hut and see what we’ve found?’

This was the nearest Neil ever got to a proposition. She smiled and held out her hand. He took it and helped her up.

‘You all right?’ he asked, suddenly concerned.

‘’Course I am. Why?’

‘It’s just with you being . . .’

‘I’m pregnant, Neil, not ill. I’m fine.’ She touched his cheek playfully. ‘Come on, let’s see this hut of yours. Have

you just been down to the wreck?’

He nodded.

‘Exciting?’

‘I suppose it is, in a funny sort of way.’

He led the way to the site hut. It was empty. Oliver Kilburn and Jason Wilde hadn’t turned up as they had promised. Underwater
archaeology was a laborious process and he presumed they had been lured away by more instant thrills.

The finds were laid out in a large water tank at the end of the room.

‘There’s no sign of all the gold coins and jewels that are supposed to be down there. Looks like the
Celestina
was carrying iron bars – pretty boring.’

‘People always like a good story,’ Pam said with a smile.

‘Too right. But there were contemporary reports that the
Celestina
was carrying treasure.’

‘Are you sure she wasn’t?’

‘We haven’t found anything to indicate she was, let’s just put it like that. Unless the wreckers got it all. Chadleigh’s wreckers
were notorious. They used to lure ships onto the rocks then nick anything they could lay their hands on.’

Pam thought for a moment. ‘The wreckers would have been ordinary villagers, right? Wouldn’t someone have noticed if they all
started flashing round gold like a load of lottery winners?’

‘Probably.’ Neil scratched his head. ‘Right, then, what have we found so far.’ He consulted a clip board. ‘There are some
wooden artefacts, including a bucket, and quite a well-preserved shoe. Then there’s an anchor, about fifty iron bars, covered
in concretion, but you can make out the shape; a small selection of eighteenth-century coins; two small cannon – probably
carried in case they were attacked by privateers; what looks like the remains of a sextant; a cooking pot; some fine blue-and-white
pottery – probably from the captain’s table; an eighteenth-century pistol plate; the ship’s lantern; and last but not least,
the ship’s bell with
what appears to be the name – which we’ll be able to see once it’s cleaned up. A marine conservation expert’s coming over
from Plymouth tomorrow to give us a hand.’

Pam nodded politely and peered at the dark, misshapen objects in the tank. When she looked up she saw that Neil was staring
at her throat and her hand instinctively went up to the necklace she was wearing; the necklace Kayleigh Dilkes had given her.

‘Nice necklace,’ said Neil. ‘Present from Wes or have you been treating yourself?’

Pam looked at him, surprised. Neil seldom noticed such things. ‘Neither,’ she answered. ‘It’s a gift from a grateful pupil.’

‘Very nice. Looks like real gold.’

She hesitated. ‘I think it is. That’s the trouble.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It’s hallmarked but I’ve not told Wesley yet. I offered, very tactfully, to give it back to the kid’s mother – I mean, the
family aren’t well off and I felt really embarrassed – but she wouldn’t take it. I didn’t press the matter because I didn’t
want to hurt the poor kid’s feelings.’