An Unhallowed Grave (26 page)

There was a sharp intake of breath from Mrs. Wills. "No ... it's not possible ..." She turned on her husband. "How could you have bought this place ... knowing that woman was here ... how could you?"

"I didn't know, my dear ... honestly. How could I have known?" her husband crooned, taking hold of her hand.

"To be fair, madam," the inspector interjected, 'she had changed her identity. We had a hard job finding out her real name ourselves."

Mrs. Wills wasn't listening. She ran from the room, clearly distressed. Rachel looked at her boss, wondering whether to follow, but Heffernan gave an almost imperceptible shake of his tousled head and Rachel stayed where she was.

"Had you any idea that Pauline Quillon was living across the road, sir?"

"No, Inspector. If I had I certainly wouldn't have brought my family here."

"Why did you bring your family here?"

"It was Timothy's decision to buy these two weekend places. He has known the developer, Philip Thewlis, for many years, and when he was offered these properties at a discount price ... and of course, it's near his prospective constituency. He wants to spend as much time as possible down here to ..."

"Quite. So nobody in your family had any idea that Quillon was living close by?"

"Certainly not, Inspector."

"How would you have felt if you'd known?"

Robert Wills shook his steel-grey head, an expression of bewilderment on his face. "I really don't know."

"But she killed your child."

"That was a long time ago."

"Do you think she should have hanged at the time for what she did?"

"I really don't believe in capital punishment, Inspector. It wouldn't have brought Peter back, would it?"

"But surely you wanted revenge. The woman was living here quite happily ... and your son was dead." Heffernan looked at Robert Wills intently. The man put his hand to his face, a nervous action. The sleeve of his shirt fell back a little to reveal the edge of a bandage. "Did you ever visit the doctor here in the village, sir... Dr. Jenkins?"

Rachel looked at her boss. She knew what he was after.

"No, Inspector. I have a man in London

Heffernan stood up. "We might want another word, sir ... and we'd like to talk to your wife when she's feeling better." He turned to go and was halfway to the door before he asked his final question. "Just remind me, sir. Where were you last Saturday night?"

"I thought it was Friday when she ..."

"Just answer the question, please, sir."

"I was here ... with my wife, and my son and daughter-in-law and the children. We had a meal."

"Do you possess a dark-coloured weatherproof coat, sir?"

"Yes. Why?"

"No reason. Thanks for your help. You'll be here when we want another word, won't you?"

Robert Wills, so used to giving orders, knew when he was receiving one. Rachel was sure she could see fear in his eyes as he shut the front door of 6 Worthy Court.

"What did you make of that, sir? I think it came as a real shock to Mrs. Wills that Pauline lived here. I'd say she had no idea."

Heffernan smiled, a secret smile. "I agree. But it's her husband I'm interested in. I reckon he was lying through his teeth."

"I understand our pet archaeologist in the woods is a friend of yours, Sergeant." Philip Thewlis looked Wesley up and down with amused distaste. Steve Carstairs had the good manners to study his notebook.

"We were at university together, sir."

"Ah." Thewlis sat back on the sofa, completely at ease. "You're the new breed of graduate copper, are you?" His eyes twinkled, almost as if he was relishing the prospect of an intellectual challenge.

Wesley wasn't going to let himself be sidetracked. He came straight to the point. "I believe you're a friend of Timothy Wills, who's standing in the Bloxham by-election."

Thewlis showed no sign of nerves. "I've known Tim for years. It's no great secret."

"Is your acquaintance the reason for him having a weekend home down here?"

"I suppose you could say that. My company built Worthy Court and I gave him first pick of the properties there. As I said, we're old friends."

"You were there on the day his baby brother died, weren't you?" Wesley said casually.

Thewlis looked up sharply. This had touched a nerve. His answer, when it came, was well considered. "It was a great tragedy for the Wills family ... terrible."

"Has Timothy ever talked to you about his brother's death?"

"Not at all."

"Did you know the nanny who was convicted of the baby's murder?"

"I must have seen her, of course. We lived virtually next door ... Tim in the big house and me in, er ... rather humbler surroundings. But I can't say I remember her."

"Would it surprise you to learn that the lady who was murdered the one who visited you to complain about your behaviour with your children's nanny was Pauline Quillon, the nanny who was convicted of killing the Wills baby?"

Thewlis looked down, deep in thought. He said nothing.

"She changed her name ... and her identity. When she was released from prison she started a new life here. When she visited you did she mention the Wills family?"

Thewlis looked up. His words, when they came, were carefully considered. "As a matter of fact she did reveal her identity. I was shocked, of course... didn't believe her at first. She began as I've already told you discussing my supposed affair with Gemma. Then she asked me if I recognised her. I said no." He paused. "Then she said who she was. I was horrified, as you can imagine. I told her to get out."

"Did she say anything else?"

"Before she left she said I was making a mistake that she was innocent, that I could help. I really don't know what she meant. As far as I'm concerned, Sergeant, the whole affair is finished. There's no point in bringing up such painful memories for Tim's family. They've had enough tragedy in their lives."

"How long have you lived here, Mr. Thewlis?"

"Well, I've owned the Manor for about seventeen years ... one of my first acquisitions. We used to spend the odd weekend here but we've only lived here for the past year. We got so sick of London and moving around. The children needed some stability. And, after all' he smiled benignly 'they come first."

"Tell us about Timothy Wills." Wesley leaned forward. "Is he an ambitious man?"

"He was a QC by the time he was thirty-five and now he's aiming for Parliament. I'd describe that as ambitious, wouldn't you?"

"And his parents, what sort of people are they?"

Thewlis looked uneasy. "I really couldn't tell you, Sergeant. I have little to do with them."

"But you must have some sort of impression ..."

"I'm sorry. I can't help you."

Thewlis looked at his Rolex watch ostentatiously. "You'll have to excuse me. The helicopter's due in fifteen minutes to take me to a meeting in London. If that's all ..."

Wesley stood up and Steve, somewhat confused, shuffled to his feet, dropping his notebook in the process.

"We'll see ourselves out," said Wesley.

Remaining seated, Thewlis nodded curtly, and Wesley led the way back into the hall. "The tradesman's entrance is down this way," he whispered to Steve. They tiptoed towards the kitchens. The house was quiet and Wesley wondered where everybody was. At last they reached the lobby near the kitchen entrance, and to Steve's surprise Wesley began to search through the coats that hung from hooks on the wall.

"You can't do that ... the boss said he's a mate of the Chief Constable."

"Nobody's above the law, Steve." Wesley pulled an expensive-looking navy weatherproof jacket down from the hook and began to examine it carefully. He turned to Steve, holding out the anorak's right sleeve. "Does that look like blood to you?"

Steve just stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish as the distinctive sound of the helicopter rotor blades drew nearer.

"That's it. The last one," said Matt with considerable satisfaction as the delicately carved statue was removed from its earthy bed and placed carefully on a clean sheet of plastic. "Christ in glory. Look at the carving ... look at that face."

The students crowded round to stare at the thing that was re-encountering the daylight after almost five centuries. The sculptor, Thomas de Monte, had possessed a rare gift. The face of Christ, so benign yet so powerful, would have made more impression on the medieval peasants of Stokeworthy than a thousand scholarly words. This statue was up there with the masterpieces of the Italian Renaissance, and Neil Watson, watching from the sidelines, felt a warm glow of professional and personal pride that he had been involved in its discovery.

"That's the lot," said Matt with finality, climbing out of the trench. "Jesse himself, twelve of his descendants and Christ in glory. I think this calls for a drink."

"Have the geophysics team been over the ground again?" asked Neil, remembering the 'privy' carving mentioned in the accounts and the strange space beneath Jesse on the church wall.

"Yes. They checked again this morning. No more anomalies ... well, nothing that resembles a stone statue. That's everything. Do we start on the deserted section of the village next?"

Neil nodded and grinned. "Yes, That should keep us busy for another few weeks."

Squirrel and Earth, watching from the trees, punched the air in triumph as Philip Thewlis's helicopter whirred threateningly overhead.

Wesley bought the drinks and returned to the table where Gerry Heffernan was sitting, his eyes closed in thought. "What do you make of it all, Wcs?" he asked in quiet desperation as his sergeant placed his pint of best bitter on the mat in front of him.

"Well, Thewlis was there when the baby was killed. He's still a close friend of Timothy Wills. He knew Pauline Quillon's identity because she told him who she was. I think he knows more than he's letting on. He also owns a dark blue weatherproof coat with what looks like a few spots of blood on the sleeve."

"It needs tact this, Wcs. He's a mate of the Chief Constable."

"Just because someone's got money and connections shouldn't mean they're above the law," said Wesley, indignant.

"I couldn't agree more ... in principle. But we'll have the Super breathing down our necks if there's a complaint, so we'll just have to be a bit careful ... and make sure he doesn't get away with anything," Heffernan added with a grin. "Not that I think he's got a motive."

"What did you make of Mr. Wills senior?"

"A big man ... strong. He could easily have done it. He had the motive and, if we can break his alibi, he had the opportunity. He might not be as young as he was, but I could certainly see him strangling Pauline Quillon and stringing her up, no problem ... and he owns a dark coat."

"Do you think he did it?"

Heffernan thought for a moment. "I'd say he's our number one candidate."

"What about his son ... our prospective MP?"

"Where's his motive? And by all accounts he was in Bloxham at the time of Pauline's death."

"Yes, and he hardly strikes me as the brooding, vengeful type. Like most ambitious people I should think he's got a selfish streak ... it wouldn't be in his nature to risk everything to avenge some long-dead baby brother he probably doesn't even remember. I should think Timothy Wills is only concerned about Timothy Wills, wouldn't you?"

Gerry Heffernan nodded solemnly before imparting his next piece of juicy information. "Robert Wills told me he'd never seen Dr. Jenkins." He sat back and looked Wesley in the eye. "I rang the good doctor when I got back to the incident room, and guess what?"

"He'd seen him?"

"Yes. He'd gone into the surgery with a sprained wrist a few days before Pauline was killed." Heffernan took a triumphant sip of beer.

"So Pauline would have been on reception. They could have recognised each other?"

"Exactly."

"Shall we pull him in?"

"Patience, Wcs. There's someone I want to talk to before we make a move. I rang the station at Lyme Regis, had a chat to a sergeant there. He says Mrs. Piert, the housekeeper, still lives in the area ... place called Charmouth."

"I know it, sir. Famous for its fossils."

"There's no answer to that, Wcs," said Gerry Heffernan as he drained his glass.

Neil Watson leaned over a pile of fresh computer print-outs laid on the desk in the glorified garden shed at the edge of the clearing that served as a site hut. The geophysics print-outs told him what was likely to be found underground: stone walls, hearths, ditches ... it was all there if you knew what you were looking for. But Nell's mind wasn't on his work. The translation of the Manor court records lay at the side of the desk, inviting. He pushed the computer print-outs aside and picked it up.

He had no idea whether the hanged girl would get a mention in this particular volume. She could be earlier ... or later. A bone had been sent off for radiocarbon dating but the results wouldn't be known for months. But experts assured him that the delicately carved marble crucifix found with the skeleton had most probably been created by the same hand as the Jesse tree ... Thomas de Monte. He began to read, starting at 1470, and was soon engrossed in the cases that came before the lord of the manor. Most entries were neighbourly squabbles or petty of fences trespassing, poaching or pinching neighbours' firewood. He thought of Wesley; as a modern policeman he would find it amusing. There were burglaries, muggings by bands of itinerant footpads ... all human crime was there in the fifteenth century. Retribution usually came in the form of fines, whippings or a day spent in the village stocks. Neil began to turn the pages more quickly but came across no reference to hanging. Violence was common, with neighbour beating up neighbour, as was dishonesty. The blacksmith's son, John

Fleecer, featured prominently the original wayward son. No doubt he caused his poor father a lot of grief and social embarrassment. Murder, however, had yet to make an appearance. It wasn't until he reached the proceedings for June 1475 that things began to get more serious.