The Skeleton Room (27 page)

‘I didn’t know you could be so bloody stupid. How could you do it?’ Wilde was shouting now. He raised his hand again.

Jason backed away.

Wesley drove to the hospital wondering how long it would be before Gerry Heffernan made some sort of move, before he plucked
up the courage to ask Carole Sanders out for a drink or a meal. Every time her name was mentioned he merely blushed and said
nothing. No doubt he’d do things in his own time . . . if at all.

When he reached the hospital, keeping an eye on the time, he felt an impulse to take some small offering to Rachel, so he
bought a bunch of chrysanthemums from the flower stall at the entrance. He remembered that he had intended to take some flowers
to Pam that evening, a peace offering for all his absences from the marital home. He would buy some more on the way out.

He found Rachel sitting in the hospital foyer, looking around impatiently.

‘I don’t know why I had to come here,’ were her first words to him as he held out his floral offering. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You were unconscious. It’s best to get yourself checked out.’

‘Lot of fuss about nothing.’ She gave him a weak smile. ‘But thanks for offering to run me home. They said I’ve still got
mild concussion and I shouldn’t really be driving.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Were you worried about me?’

‘’Course I was. Everyone was,’ he added hastily.

‘So what’s the latest? Have they found Brenda Dilkes yet?’

‘No. She’s not at her address. Her daughter’s being looked after by a lady she cleans for but she’s not appeared there to
pick her up. She was expected three hours ago.’

Rachel’s lips formed the word ‘oh’ but no sound emerged. Her mouth was stuck for a few seconds in a sexy pout. Wesley looked
down and played with his wedding ring.

‘What about the two boys?’

‘All in good time. We’ll pick them up soon.’

‘Do you think Jason Wilde and Oliver Kilburn actually pinched the stuff from Jason’s dad’s van?’

‘It seems likely. And it looks like Brenda Dilkes was in on it too, or perhaps she just suggested the hiding place. Mind you,
there were only twelve computers found in that hotel storeroom and six turned up in that shop in Morbay, so that means that
there are an awful lot still unaccounted for. They must be keeping them somewhere and they’d need somewhere big.’

‘It’d have to be somewhere well away from Jason’s dad.’ Rachel smiled at him. ‘I hear rumours that the boss has found himself
a lady friend. About time, if you ask me.’

‘Sam’s been landscaping a garden for a certain lady and Gerry’s become rather keen on picking him up from work instead of
leaving him to get the bus.’ He grinned. ‘I think he’s plucking up the courage to ask her out.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘She seems nice.’

‘Is that all you can say? Nice?’

‘There’s not much else to say. She’s the sister of Sebastian Wilde – the owner of Nestec . . . and Jason Wilde’s auntie.’

‘So there’s money in the family. Perhaps the boss has struck lucky at last.’

Wesley looked at his watch. ‘We’d better be off. I’m taking Pam out for that meal at the Tradfield Manor tonight.’

‘Very nice,’ Rachel said without enthusiasm.

They walked out together to the carpark, but when they reached the entrance Wesley saw that the flower seller had packed up
for the night. Pam would have to do without.

Brenda Dilkes looked at the empty bottle and knew that she had had too much to drink. She lay on the balding candlewick bedspread
and stared at the ceiling. She had lain
there quite still while the police hammered on the door. She had lain there while the phone rang, once, twice, twenty times.
But she hadn’t answered it.

She should never have let Jason Wilde involve her in his schemes. But then Jason could be very persuasive when he wanted to
be.

She sat up slowly. Her head swam and a feeling of nausea rose in her chest. After a few deep breaths she felt a little better,
and the sight of the grubby cream telephone on the chest of drawers reminded her that she should make a phone call. She was
supposed to have picked Kayleigh up from Carole’s hours ago. But, since she had neglected to pay the bill, she couldn’t ring
out: she could only receive incoming calls.

She lay back and the dizziness started again, as though she were on a fairground ride or a storm-tossed ship. She opened her
eyes. It was better when she opened her eyes.

The front door bell rang, a sharp metallic sound. Brenda pushed herself up slowly, swung herself off the bed and staggered
over to the window. She stood quite still behind the curtain, holding her breath. But then she smiled to herself, relieved
to see that it wasn’t the police at the door.

She slid her feet into a pair of dirty pink mules edged with cereal-caked fake fur and made her way slowly and unsteadily
downstairs.

‘You look nice. And the necklace goes well with that dress,’ Wesley said dutifully. He wasn’t lying: Pam did look good in
the simple black velvet dress. And the compliment helped to hide the fact that his mind was on other things.

Pam fingered the gold chain around her neck. ‘Have you got the voucher?’

This was the awkward part, presenting the special-offer voucher for the meal. He fumbled in his inside pocket and produced
it. Fifty per cent off the bill was worth a smidgen of social embarrassment.

But as he took Pam’s arm, ready to make their grand entrance into the restaurant, he heard a voice behind him.

‘Hello, Inspector. I thought it was you.’ Lisa Marriott looked Pam up and down. ‘You here for dinner, then?’

‘That’s right.’ Pam noted the thick make-up teamed with the short white uniform. ‘Do you work here?’

‘In the beauty salon.’

Pam noticed that Lisa Marriott was staring at her throat. Her hand went up instinctively and touched the necklace. ‘Is something
the matter?’ she asked, slightly worried. Perhaps the woman had seen a mark on her skin or some horrible swelling.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just your necklace. It’s just like . . . May I have a look?’

‘Of course,’ said Pam, slightly nervous. She could hardly refuse. She put her hand under the locket and held it out for Lisa
to see. Wesley looked on patiently: this was women’s stuff.

But after a brief examination, Lisa turned to Wesley. ‘Do you know, this is just like a necklace that Sally used to wear.
I can’t really remember very well but she might have been wearing it when I last saw her . . . I think I mentioned it when
I reported her missing but then I forgot all about it.’ She squinted at the locket again, examining it closely.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Wesley.

‘There can’t be two like it. Sally said it was an antique – real gold. There’s a little dent
in the back here, see.’

Pam undid the clasp with trembling hands and held the locket, examining it closely. She knew Lisa was right. She looked at
Wesley, uncertain what to say now that her small deception had been uncovered.

Lisa stood there looking rather embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it’s just very like it.’ She gave Pam an apologetic
half-smile.

Pam felt a rising surge of anger, looking for someone to blame. She glared at Wesley, infuriated that he seemed to be taking
the thing so calmly. Tears began to well in her
eyes. She thrust the necklace into his hand and marched out of the building.

Lisa caught Wesley’s eye and blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, lost for other words.

‘Are you absolutely positive?’

‘Oh yes. I recognised it as soon as I saw it. Sorry if I’ve got you into trouble with . . .
er . . .’

‘That’s okay,’ he said quickly, before following Pam outside, clutching the necklace in his fist.

He found her near the entrance, sitting on a low wall, sobbing into a crumpled tissue. He sat down beside her and put his
arm around her shoulder. ‘Did you know it was valuable?’

Pam said nothing. Even though Wesley’s question was gentle she still felt like a criminal undergoing interrogation and experienced
another wave of anger. He repeated the question. ‘I saw there was a hallmark,’ she muttered.

‘You should have told me.’

‘Why?’ she snapped.

‘It puts me in an embarrassing position, you must see that.’

She turned to him, her eyes narrowed. ‘How was I to know it belonged to some woman who’d been murdered? I asked Kayleigh’s
mum about it and she said it had been an unwanted present. She had a lot of men friends so I thought one of them must have
given it to her.’ He could hear the frustration in her voice. ‘You just don’t understand. What was I supposed to do . . .
interrogate the woman? I had to take her word for it. I could hardly call her a liar, could I? And there was Kayleigh – I
couldn’t hurt her feelings.’

‘So why the secrecy?’

‘Because I knew how you’d react. Even now when we’re supposed to be having a night out, you’re always on duty. You can’t bloody
stop yourself.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, taking her hand. ‘But it’s not my fault that Lisa recognised it, is it?’ He gave her hand a squeeze.
‘Come on. We can talk about this later. I don’t
know about you but I’m hungry.’

She hesitated. Then she looked into his eyes. She knew deep down that it was her own awkwardness, the unease she had felt
since she had first seen the hallmark on the gold locket, which was making her so touchy. She was behaving like a bitch, but
sometimes behaving like a bitch felt liberating . . . as long as you didn’t keep it up for too long. Her stomach rumbled and
she realised that she was hungry too. Perhaps it was time to call a truce. ‘Okay,’ she said.

Wesley helped her up. As they walked back into the hotel, Pam slightly ahead, he put his hand in his jacket pocket and felt
the necklace there. The question of how it got from Sally Gilbert’s neck to Pam’s would have to wait until another day.

It grieves me to say that the wrecking of ships off our coast, particularly around Chadleigh, continued and the authorities
could do little to stop it. I preached against it many times, earning myself the praise of Lord Mereham, the patron of my
living, and Mistress Iddacombe, who was particularly distressed to hear of the evil being done so near to her estate. I was
pleased to be invited to dine at Chadleigh Hall on several occasions after the marriage of Mary Anne with Captain Smithers.
The Captain was most attentive towards his new mother-inlaw and I hoped that there had been no truth in the rumours of an
attraction between them. I was concerned for Mary Anne, who looked most ill and hardly uttered a word the whole evening, but
then it occurred to me that women sometimes behave thus when they are first with child and that maybe her pale looks foretold
a joyous event.

I spent much time in conversation that evening with Mistress Iddacombe’s elder daughter, Caroline, who, it seemed, was to
be betrothed to Lord Mereham’s nephew. As for young James Iddacombe, I feared that he had not inherited his sister’s pleasing
nature. He spoke to me only to complain that his sister, Mary Anne, had married beneath her, and I sensed that he resented
Captain Smithers’ position in the household. And when the storm
began to rage outside, he absented himself from the company without explanation
.

The next morning, as I walked through Millicombe towards the church, I heard the news that another ship had been wrecked not
far from Chadleigh. I prayed then that the villagers had heeded the words of my last sermon and aided the poor wrecked souls
instead of doing them harm. But I was fearful that the devil had entered the hearts of the people of Chadleigh.

From
An Account of the Dreadful and Wicked Crimes of the Wreckers of Chadleigh
by the Reverend Octavius Mount, Vicar of Millicombe

The meal at the hotel had been eaten in awkward silence and Pam had been up for much of the night with heartburn. Medallions
of pork swimming in a thick sherry sauce followed by tarte tatin which lashings of cream had proved too rich for an irate
pregnant woman whose necklace was sitting in her husband’s pocket in a plastic evidence bag. By the end of the evening at
least they had been talking in a civilised manner – although Wesley found the large helping of humble pie he was forced to
eat in order to keep the peace less appetising than the meal.

Mental activity rather than indigestion had kept Wesley awake. He turned the case over in his tired mind until nothing made
sense. He wondered about the theory that Steve Carstairs, of all people, had dangled before him. A number of deaths, possibly
one a year, which might or might not be related.

He thought of Sally Gilbert, pushed off a deserted cliff top in a struggle; about her mysterious appointment and the official-looking
letter she had hidden from those around her. Sally, who had a husband who may have been involved in the Nestec hijacking and
a lover with a history of violence. Then there was the necklace: Pam had been given it by Kayleigh Dilkes, who, in turn, had
been given it by
her mother, Brenda, who was somehow involved with the missing computers. But how did Brenda get hold of Sally Gilbert’s necklace?
Did she steal it? Or had Pam’s colleague, Jackie Brice, been right when she had said it had probably been a gift from one
of Brenda’s gentleman friends? From Trevor Gilbert? The missing computers provided a link between them. And if Brenda was
well known for picking up men, perhaps she had encountered Mike Battersley or Robin Carrington.

Wesley lay awake, impatient. He longed to get back to the station; he longed to start asking questions.

At seven he threw aside the duvet and got out of bed. Pam stirred beside him and opened her eyes.

‘How’s the heartburn?’

‘Better.’

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. ‘I’m sorry about last night. I’ll buy you a new necklace, better than . . .’

She managed a weak smile. ‘I don’t think I want it anyway if it belonged to that woman who was murdered.’ She sat up. ‘Sorry
for being such a bitch. Blame my hormones. I don’t even want to see that thing again.’

Wesley sat down on the bed and took her in his arms. They stayed there, cuddled close for a while, until Wesley kissed her
and gave her a last affectionate squeeze. ‘I’ve really got to go. I promise I’ll take some time off when we’ve got this case
cleared up. I said I’d decorate the bedroom, didn’t I?’

‘When will that be?’

He forced himself to smile optimistically. ‘Who knows, perhaps the necklace is the breakthrough we need.’

She kissed him absent-mindedly but didn’t answer.

Sunday passed uneventfully: a day of semi-rest and routine; a day to catch up and collect thoughts. Officers were sent to
pick up Jason Wilde and Oliver Kilburn but again neither was at home . . . or so the police were told by Sebastian Wilde and
Dominic Kilburn. Of Brenda Dilkes there was still no sign.

On Monday morning, after a swift breakfast of cornflakes and orange juice, Wesley made his way down the hill towards the
town. He felt that the walk did him good and cleared his head. And he needed a clear head to deal with the Sally Gilbert case.

Mike Battersley had been released on bail and suspended from his duties in the Traffic Division after being told in no uncertain
terms by Gerry Heffernan that he wasn’t to leave the area.

Trevor had returned to Nestec full-time, which was probably better than moping at home. Robin Carrington had been charged
with conspiracy to murder, arson and defrauding the insurance company just for starters, and was being held in the cells.
That trio seemed to be the favourite suspects at the moment, although Wesley had no idea what motive Robin Carrington could
have had for disposing of Sally Gilbert. Then there was Sebastian Wilde, who might have been more to Sally than just her husband’s
boss: he had been on Monks Island at the approximate time of Sally’s death. He might have taken the necklace and his son,
Jason, might have given it to Brenda.

Or perhaps Sally had been killed by someone else entirely. They had no proof, no evidence. They needed a breakthrough, a bit
of luck.

Wesley arrived at the CID office to be told by Trish Walton that Oliver Kilburn and Jason Wilde had been brought in at last
and were waiting in separate interview rooms for someone to have a word. She looked at Wesley as though she assumed he’d volunteer
and he felt he had no choice.

As Heffernan and Rachel were on their way to speak to Jason Wilde, Wesley was left with young Kilburn. He took DC Paul Johnson
with him. He could trust Paul not to say anything that might aggravate the expensive solicitor who would no doubt be supplied
by the boy’s father.

Wesley entered the room first to find the solicitor – a large grey-haired, grey-suited man – sitting by his youthful
client like a mother cow protecting her calf.

Wesley gave Oliver a businesslike smile. ‘Now then, Mr Kilburn, you and your friend were seen at the Tradfield Manor Hotel
with a number of computers stolen from Nestec. Have you anything you’d like to tell us?’

Oliver Kilburn leaned forward eagerly. ‘It wasn’t my idea. Jason found all these boxes stashed away in the stables at his
place. Loads of them. He thought they were old machines his dad was going to sell off cheap so we reckoned we could flog ’em
and make ourselves a bit of cash. I got hold of one of my dad’s vans and we put some of them in an outhouse at Jason’s Auntie
Carole’s house. Then Jason reckoned it was damp and his auntie had gardeners in and one of them was getting nosey, so we moved
them to an old storeroom at my dad’s hotel which no one ever uses. Jason got the key from one of the cleaners he knows.’

‘Did you sell some of the computers to a shop in Morbay?’

The solicitor shot Oliver a warning look but the young man ignored him, having decided that honesty was the best policy. ‘That’s
right. We told him something about a firm closing and getting rid of their gear. It was easy. Then . . .’

‘Then what?’

‘Then the local paper gave the serial numbers of the computers that were nicked from that van. As I said, we thought they
were just out-of-date ones; surplus stock.’

‘But when you checked the serial numbers you discovered that they were the computers that were supposed to have been stolen?
Are you sure that Jason got them from his father’s place?’

Oliver nodded. ‘Yeah. I helped him shift them. What’ll happen to me? I’ve not done anything wrong.’

He didn’t look so sure of himself now. What had sounded like a good idea – turning his friend’s father’s unwanted computers
into cash – had backfired.

‘What do you know about Brenda Dilkes?’

Oliver hesitated. ‘She cleans at the Tradfield Manor.’

‘And how does Jason know her?’

Oliver blushed. ‘He said he met her at his aunt’s house. He . . . er . . .’

‘What?’

‘You know. He pays her for . . .’

Wesley raised his eyebrows and said nothing. It seemed that cleaning wasn’t Brenda’s only source of income.

He sensed that there was nothing more Oliver could tell him. He told him he was free to go after he’d made a statement. They
knew where to find him if necessary.

It seemed that the Nestec robbery was solved – and, as they had suspected, it had been an inside job. They just hadn’t suspected
that it was Sebastian Wilde himself who had robbed his own company.

Heffernan, sitting with his feet up on the cluttered desk, looked up and grinned as Wesley entered his office.

‘How did you get on with Jason Wilde?’ Wesley asked as he sat down.

‘He knows something but he’s not saying. The cocky little so-and-so just kept saying ‘no comment’. He’s got a nasty black
eye – looks like someone’s been having a go at him. What about young Kilburn?’

Wesley launched into an account of Oliver Kilburn’s revelations.

‘Believe him?’ Heffernan looked sceptical. Then Wesley remembered that Oliver’s accusations were against Sebastian Wilde and
Carole Sanders was Wilde’s sister. A potentially awkward situation.

‘Yes, I think I do. Why? Do you think he and Jason hijacked they lorry and he’s trying to lay the blame on someone else?’

‘He wouldn’t be the first poor little rich boy to get his kicks from a crime spree. But I’m keeping an open mind. I suppose
we’ll have to get a search warrant for Wilde’s place.’

‘I’ve already arranged it.’

Heffernan sighed. ‘Then we’ll have to see what turns up
and what Sebastian Wilde has to say for himself. Anything else to report?’

‘We sent someone to pick Brenda Dilkes up but she still doesn’t appear to be at home. Steve’s still going through those old
files to see if any other deaths can be linked to Sally Gilbert’s. I’d like to start having a word with the relatives to see
if the victims had anything in common.’

‘Or knew anyone in common.’

Wesley took the plastic bag that contained the necklace from his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of the chief inspector.

Heffernan looked up and grinned. ‘Oh, Wesley, you shouldn’t have . . .’

‘It’s Pam’s. Or rather it was given to Pam by one of her pupils – Brenda Dilkes’s daughter.’

‘So?’

‘Pam was wearing it when we went out for dinner on Saturday night to the Tradfield Manor. We met Lisa Marriott.’ He paused
for the punch line. ‘Lisa identified it as Sally Gilbert’s.’

Heffernan raised his eyebrows. ‘Embarrassing.’

‘Pam wasn’t amused.’

‘Was Lisa Marriott certain?’

‘She seemed certain. I want to show it to Trevor Gilbert; see if he can confirm it.’

Heffernan looked at his watch. ‘Right. When we visit Nestec to speak to Sebastian Wilde about his amazing vanishing computers,
we’ll have a word with Trevor Gilbert – kill two birds with one stone.’

They waited until Trish had supplied them with coffee to clear their heads before they drove out to Neston. Gerry Heffernan
sat in the passenger seat beside Wesley, firing questions about the Tradfield Manor: the quality of the food; the atmosphere;
and most importantly the dent it would make in a policeman’s half-empty wallet. He was thinking of asking Carole Sanders out
for a meal, he explained, and he wanted to make a good impression.

Wesley assured him that the hotel was satisfactory on all counts and that the ‘two meals for the price of one’ special offer
lasted another week. He thought it best not to mention the fact that if Sebastian Wilde was nicked for stealing his own computers,
then his sister might not be over-eager to have a cosy tête-à-tête over the starched white tablecloths with the arresting
officer. He didn’t want to spoil the boss’s good mood.

A team of uniformed officers armed with a search warrant had already been dispatched to Sebastian Wilde’s place and they had
promised to call Heffernan on his mobile as soon as they found what they were looking for. The chief inspector sat with the
instrument in his palm, staring at the thing and willing it to ring. As they reached the outskirts of Neston the telephone
emitted a tinny electronic version of ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’. Heffernan pressed a key and answered with a gruff ‘Yeah?’

After a brief conversation, he turned to Wesley. ‘They’ve found the missing computers piled neatly in Sebastian Wilde’s stable
block. Oliver Kilburn was telling the truth. Put your foot down, Wes.’

But Wesley drove sensibly. Sebastian Wilde wasn’t going anywhere.

The car swept into Nestec’s carpark and Wesley parked in a space marked ‘Reserved’. A small, rotund security guard wearing
a peaked cap watched suspiciously and marched over as the two policemen got out of their car.

‘You can’t park there.’

Gerry Heffernan got out his warrant card and held it up to the little man’s nose. ‘I think you’ll find that we can park anywhere
we like. I take it Mr Wilde’s in his office?’

The man’s eyes darted round anxiously. Wesley felt sorry for him. ‘I’d better let him know you’re here.’