An Unhallowed Grave (29 page)

"Has it occurred to you, Wcs, that we only have her word for it that that baby was alive and well when she left it unattended under the trees to get this fictitious drink? She might have killed the baby before her frolic in the rose garden with her employer."

"Killed a baby then calmly had it off with its father? I suppose if he'd rejected her she might have killed him afterwards. But no ... I can't see Pauline doing that, can you?"

"We never knew her."

"But we've talked to enough people who did. To do that she would have had to be ... I don't know. Cold, evil."

"There's a lot of wickedness in this world, Wcs. If there wasn't we'd be down the benefit office drawing the dole. I think it's quite feasible that she had a row with the father in the rose garden then killed the baby in a temper ... for revenge."

Wesley, unconvinced, followed his boss back to the village hall. Rachel greeted them at the door.

"There's someone to see you, sir. Lady called Monica Belman."

Wesley and the inspector exchanged looks. "Wonder what she wants," Heffernan mumbled as he shambled towards his desk, where Monica was waiting. Her split skirt had fallen open to reveal a length of tanned l
eg.
Steve Carstairs and PC Johnson, sorting through paperwork on their desks opposite, couldn't take their eyes off her.

"I believe you want to see me, Miss Belman."

She nodded. "I saw someone on the night that woman was murdered the one Julian had words with."

Heffernan sat down, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. "Who did you see?"

Wesley stood quietly at the side of the desk. Monica looked at him and gave him a nervous half-smile.

'1 was getting something out of the Merc, about half eight. He came out of his place and I watched him go over and knock on that woman's door. I don't think he saw me."

"Who was it you saw?"

"The old bloke ... grey hair. Wills, I think he's called."

Neil followed Caroline Thewlis into the drawing room. He thanked her and handed her the book, saying he had made copies of the relevant pages.

"You can keep it for longer if you like." She handed the book back and he took it gratefully. "Aren't you going to tell me what you found out?"

Caroline poured him a cup of coffee from the cafetiere that stood on a polished oak chest as he told her, in simple, tabloid terms, about Alice de Neston and her unfortunate end.

Caroline shook her head, horrified. "So they just took a girl out and hanged her from the highest tree ... like something out of the Wild West?"

"It wasn't usual, I assure you. Normally such a serious case would have been tried at the assizes in Exeter. Manor courts usually dealt with trivial things squabbles between neighbours, that sort of thing. But I suppose with it being the lord's son, the steward and the villagers just took the law into their own hands."

"I suppose so." Caroline put down her empty coffee cup and turned to Neil, invitation in her eyes. "I'm sure you'd be interested in the carving in the bedroom. It's set into the fireplace ... and there's some Latin writing on it. Can you read Latin?"

"A little," said Neil modestly. His tutor had once said he read it like a native. He had hoped she meant a native of ancient Rome, but he hadn't been sure at the time.

"Come on, then. What are we waiting for?" She held out her hand, inviting. Neil wondered whether he was misreading the message that flashed from her eyes. Her husband was out. Squirrel had reported seeing him go off in the Rolls that morning, which meant he wasn't going very far. So when was he due back? He hardly liked to ask.

He allowed himself to be led up the fine oak staircase, feeling somewhat nervous. Things were moving too fast ... and he wasn't used to dodging irate husbands. Caroline flung open the ancient oak door that led into what had been the great hall's solar, the lord's private apartments, a refuge from the sounds and smells of his household retainers. It was now a large and handsome oak-panelled master bedroom, brightly lit by the jewelled lead lights of a large oriel window, a pillar of brilliance in the corner of the room. A fine Elizabethan tester bed, which would have dominated a smaller room, stood comfortably against one wall, its yellow silk hangings reflecting the sunlight. The fireplace opposite the bed was magnificent: early Tudor, Neil thought. An ancient cradle stood in a corner of the room, filled with fresh flowers.

"Wow," was Neil's only comment. "Where did you say this carving was?"

"It's over there above the fireplace." Caroline sounded slightly disappointed. Then a thought struck her. "Do you think this is where it happened? Where that baby was murdered?"

"Probably."

"Oh, that's awful, Neil. I'll never be able to be in here alone again without thinking ..."

"When you get a house like this you get the ghosts that go with it."

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

"No," replied Neil, matter-of-factly. He strolled over to the fireplace and looked up, his heart beating faster.

He recognised the style, masterly and powerful. This was a block of stone carved with a scene ... a scene of murder: one man striking another. Beneath it was a Latin inscription. He thought of the vacant space below the figure of Jesse on the church wall. This block would have fitted perfectly. He stared at the Latin, translating in his head. Then he turned to Caroline, who was sitting on the bed watching. "Have you got a piece of paper? I'd like to write this down for a friend of mine."

She left the room without a word, as Neil stared at the carving. What a thing, he thought, to wake up to ... but if the inscription was to be believed, it was put there for a purpose. Misere mei, Deus, it said. Have mercy upon me, oh God.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices, probably coming from the ground floor. He crept out onto the landing passage and stood at the top of the stairs, shamelessly eavesdropping. The first voice he heard was Caroline's. "You've abused my house, abused my hospitality, creeping around with this little ... slut. Her grandmother thought she was having an affair with Philip. That woman actually accused him ..."

Neil couldn't make out the reply but it was a man's voice, low and appeasing.

Then a sobbing female voice, young, local. Gemma Matherley. "But he loves me ... he's going to leave his wife. Anyway ..." Gemma was gaining in confidence. "You said for me to treat this house as if it was my home ... you said that when I first came."

"It's the deceit I can't stand, Gemma."

At this point Neil heard the front door open. "What the hell's going on?" Philip Thewlis didn't sound pleased to come home to domestic discord.

"I've caught this so-called friend of yours in flagrante dellcto with our nanny... our nineteen-year-old nanny. She says he often comes here for a bit of... extracurricular activity. How much do you know about this, Philip?"

Nepoleon had met his Waterloo. "Well, actually, dear, I said he could visit the house whenever he wished ... and Gemma's over sixteen. She can make her own decisions."

"Not in my house, she can't." Caroline turned on her heels.

The man's voice was heard now, clearer, more confident.

"Well, actually, I've not told Gemma this yet but I feel that for the sake of my family and with the by-election coming up1 think perhaps we should end things now. I assure you, Caroline, I shan't abuse your husband's hospitality again."

"You bastard, you rotten bastard. You hypocritical ... You think you can screw me then just end it when it suits you. If your precious wife ..." Gemma's voice trailed off.

"It's no use telling her. She knows already. I've assured her it's over. She's been very understanding. Please, Gemma, let's be grown up about this ..."

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, you'll have to spare me the cliches," said Caroline, coolly. "I've got an archaeologist in the bedroom."

Philip Thewlis watched, open-mouthed, as his wife glided elegantly up the stairs.

Robert Wills was taken to Tradmouth police station for questioning. As he sat on the cheap plastic chair in the interview room, Wesley Peterson switched on the tape recorder and said the required words.

"Pauline didn't kill your son, did she?" he then asked quietly.

Robert Wills shook his head. "No, she was with me. We were ... we were making love."

"And you didn't tell the police this at the time? You let an innocent woman go to prison?" Gerry Heffernan could hardly control his indignation. "She did fifteen years. You could have ..."

"If they had had the death sentence, Inspector, I'd have thought twice about what I did, but sometimes there's a hard choice ... between one evil and another. I did it to protect someone ... someone I knew couldn't cope with ..."

"Your wife? She killed the baby?"

Robert Wills nodded sadly. "I suppose they'd be more understanding today with all their psychiatrists and ..."

"So you let Pauline go to prison to protect your wife?"

"I suppose it was partly the guilt... that my affair with Pauline could have tipped my wife over the edge." The man's eyes were filling with tears. "That she was driven to do such a terrible thing ... that I was responsible. And now ..."

"Did your wife confess to what she'd done?"

"We never talked about it. There are some things you don't put into words."

"Do you know who killed Pauline, Mr. Wills?"

"I swear I've no idea."

"Did you tell the truth about you all being together on the night she died?"

Robert Wills looked uneasy. "Yes ... of course. We were together that night."

"You were seen calling at Pauline's cottage."

Wills looked at Wesley with horror, then his expression changed to one of resignation. He'd been found out.

"Yes. Yes, I did," he said nervously. "I called because she'd said she wanted to talk to me. I was horrified when I saw her in the surgery, as you can imagine. And I think she was shocked at first. I shouldn't have gone. I should have left well alone ..."

"What did she want?"

"She wanted me to tell the truth ... about what had happened that day. She wanted to clear her name, she said. She wanted the case reopened."

"Why now?"

"She said that she was innocent and it was time she cleared her name and stopped paying for something she hadn't done. She also said she was thinking of getting married some artist she'd met -and when she had to produce her birth certificate everyone would know her true identity and ..."

"So you thought about your wife?"

"Of course ... although Pauline didn't mention her by name, she must have guessed what really happened. I told Pauline it was better to leave things as they were. It would do more harm than good to bring up the past again ... and besides, it was Pauline who left Peter alone when she should have been looking after him. She must bear some blame."

"How did Pauline take that?"

"She said she wasn't going to give up. She would clear her name. She'd seen all these cases on television, she said ... the Birmingham Six and all the rest. She said she was innocent too and why shouldn't she prove it. But my wife's not well, she hasn't been for a long time. I told Pauline there was no question of it all being raked through again. Then I left her. I didn't want to be long. I didn't want my family wondering where I was."

"Did you see her alive again after that?"

"No. And before you ask, my wife was in all evening."

"And your son?"

"He was over in Bloxham at a dinner. He got back after midnight. Why? Tim doesn't know anything about this."

"Are you sure?"

"He was just a child when it happened. We've never discussed it. I don't suppose he even remembers."

Gerry Heffernan leaned forward, looking Wills in the eye. "If it came out that your wife killed the baby and that you conspired to let an innocent girl spend fifteen years in jail, it wouldn't look too good for your family, would it? And don't give me that hypocritical rubbish about her being to blame. Think about why she left the baby alone in the first place so you could get your leg over. I bet it wasn't her idea. I'd say you'd have been prepared to do anything to prevent the truth coming out, Mr. Wills. And making it look as if she'd hanged herself ... that was a stroke of genius. That would have wrapped the case up nicely. The nanny hangs herself in a fit of remorse and nobody ever finds out the truth. You were the only person who knew the truth, weren't you, Mr. Wills?"

Robert Wills swallowed hard and asked for his solicitor.

Neil got his piece of paper; an expensive sheet of deckle-edged notepaper from Caroline's persona! supply. She sat on the bed watching as he copied the Latin inscription.

"Did you hear any of that row downstairs?" she asked, nonchalant.

"What row?" He decided to play dumb.

"My nanny's been how shall I put it? "having it off" with a friend of my husband's ... and he's let them use this house to meet. According to the girl's grandmother, who cleans for us, he even screwed her in this bed. Can you believe that? Anyway, he's just given her her marching orders, so hopefully it's all over."

"Is that right?" said Neil, trying to concentrate on copying accurately. To his relief, Caroline fell silent until he had finished his work. He turned to her. "I think this carving used to be in the church. It matches up with the Jesse tree carvings we found in the grounds. And there was one missing. I think this is it."

"Then why is it here?"

Neil tapped the side of his nose. "That's all in the inscription." He didn't know the answer to her question but he wasn't going to let her know that. Hoping he had been suitably mysterious, he left her. Once he was outside the house, he took his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled Wesley's number.

Chapter Sixteen

Have mercy upon me, oh Cod. after thy great goodness. According to the multitude of thy mercies do away mine of fences

I Simon de Stoke do confess my great wrong in that I did cause an innocent woman to be hanged for a crime that she did not commit. Let it be known to all people that I did cause the death of Alice de Neston, cruelly hanged.