A Perfect Death (26 page)

‘You thought they were her …’ Trish had been about to say sexual partners or lovers but she decided on something a little gentler.
‘Boyfriends?’

‘Can’t say for sure but that’s what we thought at the time, didn’t we, Bert?’

‘Any of them stop the night?’ Gerry had decided on the straightforward approach.

‘Not that I can remember. The woman did, I reckon – I sometimes used to see her coming out in the morning – but not the men.
Can’t accuse her of anything … you know,’ she added coyly.

Trish said nothing. Mabel and Bert obviously hadn’t considered the possibility that Wendy Haskel’s sexual tastes might not
have included men but neither she nor the DCI were going to say anything to enlighten them.

‘Did you know any of her visitors’ names?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t know their names and I never asked.’

‘Can you tell us what happened on the day Dr Haskel died? Did you see her at all?’

Mabel shook her head. ‘We didn’t see her all that day, did we, Bert? But we heard her come in. Then we heard her moving about
in the bedroom and then we heard the front door shutting. A couple of days after that a policeman came and told us she’d disappeared
and that her clothes and bag had been found on the beach at Littlebury. We told him we’d heard her in the house that day but
that’s all we knew.’

‘I saw her.’

Mabel turned to her husband in amazement. ‘You saw her? Why didn’t you tell the police? When did you see her?’

‘I looked out of the window and I saw her disappearing down the road. She was wearing that big mac she sometimes wore. That
white one with the hood. And I did tell the police.’

‘You never told me.’ Mabel sounded hurt.

‘You weren’t there. You were out at the shops when the bobby called first time – he had to come back later to talk to you.
Remember?’

‘No. I don’t remember.’ Mabel pouted. She looked annoyed, as though she’d missed out on something juicy.

Trish saw Gerry, in an effort to avoid a domestic incident, pull a photograph from his pocket and hand it to Mabel. ‘Recognise
anyone?’

Mabel examined the picture then she put on a pair of reading glasses and peered at it again. ‘Yes. I reckon some of these
used to come and see her. And that was her friend. The woman she used to argue with.’

Gerry Heffernan gave the woman one of his widest
grins, the one that displayed all his teeth and made him look like a crocodile who’d just spotted a tasty snack.

Wesley arrived at Professor Karl Maplin’s Victorian house on the outskirts of Exeter to find that Neil was just parking his
yellow Mini on the street outside the front door. He watched his old friend climb out of the car, a smile of greeting fixed
to his face.

‘Well timed,’ Neil said. ‘I didn’t realise you were keen to speak to Maplin as well. What’s he done? Staged a hold-up at a
bank, threatening the cashier with his trowel?’

Wesley’s mental picture of the fussy archaeology professor demanding money with menaces was ridiculous enough to prompt a
chuckle. ‘I’m hoping he might be able to help us with our enquiries. Nadia Lucas had Maplin’s name in her notebook.’

Neil raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t she work for a professor at Morbay University? Maybe she talked to Maplin in the course
of her job. Come on. He’s expecting us. I phoned ahead.’

Wesley didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed. Gerry Heffernan had always favoured the element of surprise but, thanks
to Neil, it was too late for that.

When Professor Maplin opened his front door beaming, as though delighted to welcome his two former students. But then Wesley
remembered he always looked like that when he sensed the prospect of juicy gossip. Wesley glanced at his watch as he stepped
into the cluttered drawing room. It was coming up to midday and he mustn’t be late for his appointment with Sir Martin Crace.
You couldn’t keep National Treasures waiting.

‘It’s lovely to see you, boys,’ the professor began as they took a seat. ‘And I believe you’re a police inspector now, Wesley.’
He shook his head like a father whose child had turned out to be a disappointment to the family. ‘I had high hopes that you’d
stay on to do a doctorate.’

Wesley said nothing. He had copies of the photographs from Nadia’s locker in his pocket. He took them out and spread them
on the coffee table. ‘I was hoping that you might be able to help me. Do you recognise any of these people?’ He pointed to
the picture in the middle. ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’

The professor gave a little giggle. ‘With more hair and less flesh. Where did you get these?’

‘Wendy Haskel’s daughter had them.’ He paused. ‘Her name’s Nadia Lucas. Has she been in touch with you?’

‘As a matter of fact she has. She came to see me. Rather nervous girl; very intense. A bit like her mother … although physically
she definitely favoured her father. Mind you, I only saw him the once so—’

‘I’m afraid she’s been murdered.’

The fixed smile vanished from Maplin’s face and he looked stunned. ‘Oh dear,’ he kept repeating, shaking his head. ‘Oh dear,
that’s awful.’

‘You knew Wendy well?’ He turned his head and saw that Neil, sitting beside him, was listening carefully.

‘Yes,’ Maplin said quietly. ‘I knew Wendy. In fact we were rather close at one time,’ he added in a whisper.

‘You were, er … lovers?’ Wesley asked. It seemed strange to be questioning his old tutor on such intimate matters but he needed
to know.

‘No. We weren’t lovers.’

‘Was that because she was married?’

‘No. She was living apart from her husband by then.’ He pressed his lips tightly together as if to indicate he’d said all
he was going to say on the subject.

‘Do you recognise the other people in the photograph?’

‘Yes. In fact Nadia showed me this very picture. I think this was taken on an excavation we did near Bloxham. A rather interesting
Saxon farmstead, if I remember rightly.’

‘This was before the dig at Grandal Farm outside Queenswear?’

‘Yes. But not long before. Only a month or so. I was doing post excavation work on the Bloxham site while Maggie and Wendy
were starting in Queenswear.’

‘Do you know where any of these people are now?’

‘A few of them.’ His finger came to rest beneath a pair of smiling faces. ‘That’s Charles and Hannah Whitling. Husband and
wife team. They’re retired now. Live outside Buckfastleigh. He’s an old woman and she’s got a bit of a temper.’

Wesley pointed to a teenage girl slouching at the edge of the group. ‘Who’s that?’ Wesley didn’t know why but the face seemed
vaguely familiar.

Maplin screwed up his face in concentration. ‘Oh,
it’s on the tip of my tongue. What was it now? She was a sixth-former. Volunteer. Used to wear low-cut tops. She wanted to
study archaeology but …’ He closed his eyes, his face contorted as though the effort of remembering was painful. ‘It’ll come
to me. Nadia did ask me as well but I’m afraid I just couldn’t recall …’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Wesley hiding his disappointment. ‘What about the others?’

The professor went on to recite some names, all with an accompanying comment, and Wesley wrote them down carefully in his
notebook. Maplin had the current addresses of a few. The others he’d lost touch with long ago.

‘You told Nadia all this?’

‘Of course. She said she wanted to know more about her mother. She was only four when she died, you see.’

‘Did she mention a letter she’d found recently … possibly something to do with her mother?’

Maplin shook his head.

‘Maggie’s accident and Wendy’s disappearance must have been a terrible shock to you.’ Wesley said once he’d put his notebook
away, watching the man’s face carefully.

‘Yes. They were. Tragic. We were all devastated.’

‘And all the records of the dig were destroyed?’

‘I think we can assume Maggie had them with her in the car when she had the accident. As you no doubt know if you’ve been
looking into the matter, Wesley, the car was burned out. Destroyed.’ He looked away. ‘As was the unfortunate Maggie.’

‘Was Maggie March a close friend?’

‘Maggie? Oh no, I wouldn’t describe Maggie as a friend at all. I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I couldn’t
stand the woman … unlike Wendy,’ he added meaningfully. ‘Now I didn’t say too much about that to poor little Nadia.’

Wesley wanted to delve further but Neil interrupted.

‘So you had no idea what they’d found at the Queenswear dig then?’

‘Sorry, Neil. I can’t add anything to what I told you before. I knew very little about that particular dig. Apart from the
fact that, according to Wendy, Maggie was behaving rather oddly.’

Wesley sat forward. ‘In what way?’

‘Wendy wasn’t specific. But I know Maggie’s behaviour was giving her cause for concern. Maggie could be very – how shall I
put it? – intense … possessive. But as for the details, I’m afraid I don’t know any.’

‘What did you make of Wendy’s disappearance?’ Wesley asked.

‘As I told Nadia, it was a shock … totally unexpected. Of course I didn’t see her after Maggie’s accident the day before. Although
I did give her a ring to tell her the news.’

‘You spoke to her?’

‘Yes, but she didn’t say much. I must have said something like, “Have you heard there’s been a terrible accident and Maggie’s
been killed?” but I remember she just mumbled something and put the phone down. Probably in shock, poor girl.’ He paused.
‘Perhaps, with hindsight, I was a little blunt.’ He shook his head
regretfully. ‘After that we all presumed she’d locked herself away, overcome with shock or grief or whatever. Then that note
was found … and the clothes. I just hadn’t realised that she felt that strongly for Maggie. Rather thought it was the other
way round, actually. Just shows, you never can tell, eh?’

‘You think they were in a lesbian relationship?’

Karl Maplin took a deep breath. ‘It’s the only explanation for Wendy’s suicide, isn’t it? She lost her lover in the accident
and killed herself out of despair. It all fits.’

‘What about Wendy’s husband and daughter?’

‘Wendy Haskel abandoned her family, Wesley. Never saw them as far as I know. But whether she abandoned them for Maggie, I
can’t tell you. Even my infallible radar for gossip didn’t pick that one up. But I can tell you one thing for nothing. Wendy
certainly didn’t abandon her family for me. Of course I wasn’t so blunt with that poor girl, Nadia. I tried to be sensitive
but sometimes it’s not easy, is it?’ He suddenly looked up and smiled in triumph. ‘Cher. That was her name.’

‘Whose?’

‘The sixth-former at the dig with the low-cut tops. Her name was Cher. Can’t remember her second name, I’m afraid, but it
was definitely Cher, like the singer. And before you ask, I’ve no idea what became of her, or even whether she went on to
study archaeology at university.’ He sat forward, suddenly remembering the laws of hospitality. ‘Cup of tea, boys, or something
stronger?’

Wesley made his excuses and left. His impending meeting with Sir Martin Crace was at the forefront of his mind. Much as he
would have liked to stay for tea and scandal with his old tutor, there were some appointments that had to be kept.

Besides, he had the feeling he’d just learned something very important.

Colin Bowman pulled out the mortuary drawer housing Ian Rowe’s charred remains and gently uncovered what was left of the face.
He stared at the bared teeth, brown with smoke, and consulted the sheet of paper in his hand.

He hadn’t held out much hope that any of the dentists in the area would have the dead man’s dental records filed away but
they’d struck lucky. A couple of years ago Ian Rowe had visited a dentist in Dukesbridge and had had four amalgam fillings.
It was there in black and white on the chart. Seven fillings in all, three at some unspecified date in the past and the four
more recent ones.

Ian Rowe clearly hadn’t taken much care of his teeth and this left Colin with a dilemma. The man in the drawer had only had
two fillings during his lifetime.

Colin looked from the chart to the corpse and frowned. What if the dentist had made a mistake and sent another patient’s records?
But when his assistant had telephoned, the chatty dentist had remembered Rowe and he’d recalled him saying that he worked
for Sir Martin Crace.

As far as Colin knew, Rowe’s mother had died around six months ago and there was no sign of a father so a DNA match was out
of the question. It was a puzzle.

He had a corpse on his hands with the wrong ID and if it wasn’t Ian Rowe lying there in the drawer, who was it? But it wasn’t
his problem. He replaced the sheet carefully over what was left of the cadaver’s face, closed the drawer slowly and walked
back to his office.

He’d have to call Gerry Heffernan. And he knew Gerry wouldn’t be pleased.

Gerry Heffernan’s phone rang just as they reached the gates of Bewton Hall. As soon as Wesley heard the words ‘Hi, Colin’
he found himself straining to hear the conversation as he steered the car towards the drive. Colin Bowman might be a sociable
man, but he never called just for a chat in working hours. Whatever he had to tell Gerry must be important.

Wesley was momentarily distracted when the two security men on the gates demanded their ID. It was a different set of heavily
built men this time but they turned out to be as hostile as the pair they’d encountered on their last visit. Wesley flashed
his warrant card and was about to drive off when one of them stepped in front of him and signalled him to wind the window
down. But this time there was no argument and they were waved through just as Gerry finished his call.

‘What did Colin want?’ Wesley asked as they drove towards the house.

‘You’re not going to believe this.’

‘Believe what? What did he say?’

‘He reckons that the body in the cottage isn’t Ian Rowe’s. The dental records don’t match. The corpse only has two fillings
but apparently Rowe had a mouthful. You know what this means, don’t you, Wes? Rowe might still be alive.’

Wesley began to back the car into a parking space, his mind racing. ‘Is Colin absolutely certain? I mean, could the dentist
have made a mistake?’