Part 20 (2/2)

Carl's eyes lit up. 'You got a warrant?'

When Paul Johnson nodded, Carl's face was a picture of disappointment. The thought of getting one over on the pigs again had momentarily lightened his life. He'd thought he'd hit the jackpot with that DC Carstairs but he'd been found out. Shame.

Half an hour later Carl Pinney was sitting in Interview Room Two at Tradmouth police station, his bored-looking solicitor installed by his side.

This time it was a female officer who did the honours. She was blonde and quite fit, Pinney noticed, and she introduced herself as Detective Sergeant Rachel Tracey. She informed him that his fingerprints had been found at the scene of a break-in the surgery where the Spider's second victim had worked as a vet. She then proceeded to say that a quant.i.ty of ketamine had been found hidden in his bedroom the same drug that had been taken in the break-in.

Pinney, of course, knew better than to comment. If you kept silent they couldn't do anything about it. And it annoyed them no end.

Then he was asked if he'd ever been to Chester. Stupid question. Carl hadn't been much further than Plymouth. Then DS Tracey asked him if he'd ever met the vet, Simon Tench. The answer was a decisive no.

He knew they had enough to charge him with the break-in and drugs theft and he wished they'd just get on with it so he could get home.

But, just as Pinney and his solicitor thought it was all over, an officer came in and whispered in DS Tracey's ear.

She looked straight at him, her face expressionless, and he wondered what was coming next.

'They've just found a blood-stained knife it looks like the sort that killed Simon Tench,' she said. 'It had been put in a waste bin in Tradmouth. The bin men spotted it when they emptied it. It's being tested for fingerprints and the blood's being matched with the victim's.'

Carl Pinney looked up at her, suddenly worried. 'What's that got to do with me?' he said with a hint of defiance.

'Don't worry. If there's a connection, we'll find it,' she said, glancing at his solicitor who yawned ostentatiously, obviously wis.h.i.+ng he was somewhere else.

'p.i.s.s off,' said Pinney as he rose from his seat, sending it flying to the floor with a loud crash. The solicitor looked embarra.s.sed and told him to sit down. He wasn't doing himself any favours.

Rachel enjoyed reading out the charges. Sometimes job satisfaction was a wonderful thing.

When Wesley and Gerry heard the news about Pinney's arrest, the DCI observed that the little toe-rag deserved it. But even with this new link to Simon Tench, somehow neither man could see him as the murderer particularly with the new developments up in Chester. And they mustn't forget the hemlock. The administration of hemlock to paralyse the victims before they were bled to death showed forward planning and subtlety way beyond the likes of Pinney. The Spider was undoubtedly intelligent which made him all the more dangerous. And there was no sign of a break-in at any of the murder scenes which meant the victims probably admitted the killer.

'So what's our next move, Wes?' Heffernan asked as he lolled back in his black leather executive seat, his feet planted firmly on his desk.

'I want a word with this housemaster, Mr Dean ... and Mr Hedge, the history teacher the one who's working at Neil's dig.'

'You thinking of those funny letters?' Heffernan asked as though he'd read Wesley's mind.

'I'll give Neil a ring and see if Hedge is there. We don't want a wasted journey.'

He made the call but a few minutes later he replaced the receiver, a look of disappointment on his face. 'Hedge isn't there this afternoon hospital appointment. He'll be there first thing tomorrow.'

'I suppose it can wait.'

'Morbooks,' Wesley said suddenly.

'You what?'

'Morbooks. Mr Dean's bookshop. Let's go and have a word with him.'

Gerry Heffernan nodded. For want of any better leads, Mr Dean looked like a good bet. He might be able to throw light on some event in the past that connected the three victims. 'Let's not warn him we're coming. I've come to favour the element of surprise. If there is something to hide, we don't want to give him time to concoct a story, do we?'

Wesley couldn't argue with that. The retired housemaster's initial reaction to their questions might tell them a lot more than the answers he gave.

They drove to Morbay via the car ferry that shuttled to and fro across the River Trad. It took a few miles off the journey and, as the main tourist season wasn't yet upon them, there wasn't much of a queue on either side of the river. The roads leading through Morbay's outer suburbs to the town centre were congested as usual and Gerry Heffernan muttered under his breath as he sat in the pa.s.senger seat. But when they eventually reached their destination, they found a free parking s.p.a.ce just outside Morbooks which improved the DCI's temper no end.

The shop stood in one of Morbay's smarter suburbs a leafy, hilly area of Victorian villas, near the entrance to Pent's Cavern a labyrinth of prehistoric caves which became a bustling attraction in tourist season. Wesley could see a handful of people at the Cavern's ticket office, queuing for admission to the depths below the earth where their distant ancestors toiled with flint tools. The Cavern's proximity to Morbooks would, undoubtedly, be good for Mr Dean's trade.

As Wesley pushed the door open, a bell rang loudly in the bowels of the shop. Bookshops had always held a fascination for him and once he was inside one, it was very difficult, Pam had often found, to get him out. Near the front of the shop was a large display of books about Pent's Cavern and prehistory in general and Wesley couldn't resist picking up a couple of books and flicking through their pages. Gerry Heffernan, meanwhile had spotted the s.h.i.+ps and Sailing section and was on his way to investigate when an elderly man appeared. He was medium height, bald as an egg, and there was a permanent expression of benevolent surprise on his round face.

'Can I help you, gentlemen?' he asked. There was a hint of wariness in his voice, almost as though he'd guessed they were policemen. Wesley hadn't thought he was that obvious.

Wesley flashed his ID card and said they were looking for a Mr Dean. The man replied that he was Mortimer Dean and asked how he could help. He sounded almost eager, playing the good citizen to perfection.

'We'd like to talk to you about some of your former pupils at Belsinger School. We understand that you were in charge of Tavistock House.'

There was no mistaking it. The man looked worried. 'Yes, I was housemaster at Tavistock.'

'You'll have heard that two of your former pupils have been murdered recently.' It was a statement, not a question. He glanced at Gerry Heffernan who was watching the former teacher as a cat watches a mouse.

'Yes. Tragic. Such a waste.'

'You knew the victims well?'

Dean shuffled his feet and looked round, uncomfortable. A customer brought a book to the till and Dean served him eagerly, almost as though he was glad of the breathing s.p.a.ce.

'Well,' he began as soon as the customer had left the shop, 'I knew Simon Tench very bright lad he moved on to St Peter's School for the sixth form, of course, due to family circ.u.mstances. He was a nice boy. Great shame about ...' He hesitated for a few moments. 'The other one Charles Marrick wasn't an easy boy to communicate with. He left us after his GCSEs. Not an academic.'

'I had the impression there was more to it than that.'

Dean looked fl.u.s.tered. 'Oh dear. I never like to speak ill of former pupils ...'

Wesley smiled to put the man at his ease. 'It would help us a lot if you did.' He paused. 'A man called Christopher Grisham was found dead up in Chester in very similar circ.u.mstances.'

The colour drained from Dean's face and he put out a hand to steady himself. 'No. Not Chris. He was ... He was a lovely boy ... as was Simon. Who on earth would want to kill him ... or Simon? They were ...'

'I notice you're not including Charles Marrick in your eulogy,' Wesley said, glancing at the DCI who was listening intently.

Dean swallowed hard. He looked as though he were about to burst into tears. 'Marrick was a nasty piece of work,' he hissed. 'When I heard he owned a successful wine business and had a big house in Rhode, my only thought was that the Devil looks after his own. He was trouble from the moment he started at Belsinger. If I'd had my way, he would have been expelled but the headmaster the last one, not the present one, of course wouldn't hear of it for some reason. Maybe that's why Marrick thought he could get away with ...' He stopped in mid-sentence.

'Get away with what?' Heffernan asked. This was getting interesting.

Another shake of the head. 'He got away with a lot of things, that's all.'

'Some of them criminal?' Wesley felt that if he kept pus.h.i.+ng, he might just get at the truth.

But Dean had closed his lips in a stubborn line. He wasn't talking. Not yet at any rate.

Wesley leaned forward. 'I can't understand why you're s.h.i.+elding him, Mr Dean. He's dead and we're trying to catch his killer. And the killer of two other men who, according to you, were innocent of any wrongdoing. Or were they, Mr Dean?'

<script>