Part 14 (1/2)

'Looks like it.'

'So how did he come by the injuries?'

'Now that's where I did a bit of detective work.' He chuckled. 'Don't worry ... I'm not going to apply to join CID at my time of life.'

'Go on,' Wesley prompted. Dan was an amiable man, one of the old school, and his retirement do when Chief Superintendent Nutter would present him with the requisite clock/garden tools/television set was booked for later in the year. He and Heffernan knew from experience that Dan preferred pleasant chit-chat to stating the bare facts. He wasn't a man to be rushed.

'Well, it turns out that I overheard a mate of Andy's saying that Pinney had dropped some food or threw it more like and Andy had to mop it up. Do you get my meaning?' He almost winked. 'Mop. Water. Slippy floor.'

Gerry Heffernan's smile started small at first then widened to a Ches.h.i.+re cat grin. 'Pinney fell on the slippy floor and thought the chance of getting one up on Steve was too good to miss.'

'And n.o.body thought to check the sequence of events till now.' Wesley tried to keep the reproach out of his voice. Maybe if the victim hadn't been Steve who wasn't exactly popular in some quarters, the enquiries would have been more a.s.siduous.

'We've been rather busy,' Dan said righteously. 'There's a lot of villainy about, you know. Now summer's coming and there're more yachts to nick from and tourists' cars to break into. All the records were there ready if there was an official investigation. I'd not had time to examine them, that's all.'

'I know, Dan. I'm not blaming you,' Wesley said quickly. 'It's just a pity Andy never thought to put two and two together.'

Gerry Heffernan thanked Dan profusely as he left and when they were alone he scratched his head. 'I suppose we'd better let the nutter know. At least we'll have another body to help with the investigation.'

'Who's going to confront Pinney? I think he'll tell the truth once he knows he's been rumbled.'

Wesley's mobile began to ring. He answered it and, after a short, monosyllabic conversation, he ended the call and frowned.

'Trish wants to meet me. She says she's got some new information about Charles Marrick something she doesn't want to discuss over the phone.'

Heffernan raised his eyebrows. 'You get going then, Wes. And while you're out I'll have a word with our Mr Pinney ... and this time his brief'll be miles away.' He thought for a moment. 'No. On second thoughts, I want his brief there. I want him to realise what a slippery little liar his ill.u.s.trious client really is.'

Wesley left him to it and drove out to Rhode, wondering what Trish Walton's new information could be.

Neil Watson needed help. He'd called Annabel at the County Archives first thing that morning to ask her if she could dig out any more about Veland Abbey something that would prove once and for all in writing that Stow Barton was the place where the monks had been sent to be bled and enjoy a spot of rest and relaxation. Annabel said she'd do her best and he knew she'd be true to her word.

He had allocated trenches to the more experienced diggers first thing that morning before giving the four students starting the dig that week their introductory talk and health and safety briefing. The diggers' staggered breaks would start soon and the site office would be used for refreshments, but until then, Neil had a few minutes to catch up on his paperwork. He sat down at the makes.h.i.+ft desk a plank supported by two milk crates and began to sort through some geophysics printouts and aerial photographs of the site that showed quite clearly where the manor house walls had once stood.

The trenches they'd opened were yielding good finds mostly high-status medieval stuff with a smattering of Tudor green pottery which dated from the time Veland Abbey was dissolved by Henry VIII. Normally he'd have been pleased as a pig in muck if a dig was going this well but he felt uneasy. Perhaps it was the letters. Or perhaps it was the pit filled with the dark deposit that might be blood probably was blood if it was a seyney house. And if it was the seyney house, his letter writer had got it spot on. And this thought unsettled him.

He looked up and saw Lenny standing in the doorway. He was wearing his Indiana Jones hat as usual and he was staring at Neil as though he was in some sort of trance.

Neil forced himself to smile. 'Hi, Lenny. What can I do for you?' he asked with as much bonhomie as he could muster ... which wasn't much.

Lenny took a step into the room, the sound of his muddy boots thudding on the hard packed floor. 'Have the tests come back yet?'

'What tests?' Neil knew very well what he meant but he wasn't going to make it easy for him.

'That pit. It's blood. I told you it was a ritual site.'

'As soon as I hear anything from the lab, I'll let you know,' Neil said smoothly. 'Found anything in your trench so far this morning?'

'Only more oyster sh.e.l.ls. I think we should dig through all this medieval stuff and get back to the ...'

Neil stood up, raising himself to his full height. 'While I'm in charge, Lenny, we dig this site properly scientifically or not at all. If there's an earlier settlement, we'll find it sooner or later.'

'But I'm only booked in for another couple of weeks. What if ... ?'

Neil took a deep breath. 'The site diary will be on our website so you can keep up to date with any developments.' He spotted Diane in the doorway. 'Diane, come in,' he said eagerly. 'Lenny was just going back to his trench, weren't you, Lenny?'

Lenny took the hint and left slowly, reluctantly.

'Having problems?' Diane asked when he was out of earshot.

'Our Lenny's got his own agenda and monastic manor houses don't feature in it, I'm afraid. To him it's a bronze age ritual site ... probably a place of human sacrifice ... and he won't be told any different.'

A shadow pa.s.sed across Diane's face. 'Is it possible that he's right that the monastic complex was built on an earlier site?'

'The landscape work we've done doesn't suggest it. I reckon Lenny's just got a fixation.' He paused. 'With blood and sacrifice.'

Diane said nothing. She turned to go.

'It was good of you to drop by yesterday. I was at a bit of a loose end and ...' He was aware his words were clumsy but she turned round and gave him a shy smile.

'No trouble,' she said.

He had a sudden urge to confide in her but something stopped him. Perhaps he'd wait and see what happened. Maybe if he just played it cool the problem would go away. And Wesley had the letters the police were involved. Perhaps if the writer got to know that, it'd scare him off.

'I'd better get back,' Diane said, almost as though she wanted Neil to stop her ... to ask her to stay with him. But then he had the dig to think about.

'Okay,' he said. 'I promised Norman he could do some surveying. Will you ... ?'

She nodded and hurried away, Neil staring at her disappearing back.

Wesley had left DC Lee Parsons to go through the missing persons records: they needed a name for their skeleton in the woods. Male, probably aged between thirty and forty with a watch, trouser zip, an a.s.sortment of b.u.t.tons and a few fillings. He'd also told Lee to check out whether any of the guests at Sunacres Holiday Park had gone missing but he'd drawn a blank on that one. The park's owners had only been there five years and they claimed that nothing untoward had happened in that time. The previous owners were being traced but these things could take time.

Wesley enjoyed the drive out to Rhode, on the high winding road with the wide expanse of hazy sea down to his left. Charles Marrick probably hadn't appreciated all this beauty, Wesley thought to himself. By the sound of it, he'd been a greedy, self-centred man. Not the sort to count his blessings.

Trish Walton was waiting for him on the doorstep of Foxglove House. She was hopping from foot to foot like an excited child and her expression told him that she had some momentous information to share. As he opened the car door, she rushed towards him. 'Sorry I couldn't tell you over the phone but it's rather delicate.'

Trish led the way, walking down the drive, away from the house. Whatever she had to tell him, it would be something that shouldn't be overheard. He fell in by her side and they walked until they were out of sight of the upstairs windows, sheltered by the glowering rhododendrons, 'Well?' he said.

'Charlie Marrick was a rapist, sir. He raped his stepdaughter, Petronella.'

'You're sure about this?'

Trish looked annoyed. 'She wasn't lying. No way.'

Wesley made conciliatory noises. 'Sorry, Trish. I had to ask.'

Trish looked embarra.s.sed, suspecting she'd overreacted. But then she'd been with Petronella for the last few hours, in an atmosphere of heightened emotions, so it was hardly surprising. 'I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I've got to know her ... and I'm feeling angry that he could get away with ...'

'Well he didn't get away with it, did he? He's dead.' He paused, knowing he was about to say something that Trish wouldn't like. 'You realise this makes Petronella a suspect, don't you?'

'She was up in Bath at the time. She can't have had anything to do with it.'