The Funeral Boat (28 page)

‘What manner of man is he?’ I asked, fearful of our safety.

‘His name is Olaf, , my mother said, standing by his side.

‘And he is a Dane. ‘

From the chronicle of Brother Edwin

‘What are you doing, Wes? Killing ‘em yourself? We’re not on piece-work, you know. Don’t you think we’ve got enough on om

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plates at the moment without you going round finding more dead bodies? When you or that Neil aren’t digging ‘em up, you go searching for ‘em in hotel rooms.’

Gerry Heffeman paced up and down his office floor, wondering how much worse things could get.

‘I wouldn’t worry about this one, sir. Colin Bowman says it looks like natural causes, probably a heart attack. And he found some heart pills in the dead man’s bedside drawer. He’s doing a post-mortem some time tomorrow but…’

But Gerry Heffeman wasn’t listening. ‘And the Super’s going berserk about the budget,’ he said, still pacing, scratching at his bare, tattooed forearms.

Wesley had worked with Heffeman long enough to know his moods and ignore them. ‘I’m going over to Waters House to see if they know anything about the dead man, Harry Wentwood. I’ve told you that his car’s been seen up there when they’ve reported that prowler, haven’t I?’

Heffeman took a deep breath and stopped pacing. ‘Yeah, you do that, Wes. And call in to see how Maggie Palister’s getting on while you’re up there, will you?’

‘If I’ve got time. I think I’ll take Paul Johnson with me. He’s been up to Waters House before. They know him.’

‘Right you are. And I’ll pay Mrs Tracey a little visit … see what gossip I can pick up about Dan Wexer’s amorous exploits. Have you had any feedback on those enquiries of yours yet? Found anyone who saw Sven Larsen on the day he died?’

‘A local fisherman said he thought he saw him on the deck of his yacht with an elderly man but he couldn’t give a description. And a woman on a visiting yacht said she might have seen someone possibly fitting Sven’s description with a woman in dark glasses … but again she couldn’t be sure. The trouble is that in the holiday season there are so many strangers around that people jon’t take much notice.’

Wesley left his boss contemplating modem man’s ever—

Neakening powers of observation. Ten minutes later he was

;itting beside PC Johnson, heading out to Stoke Beeching,

njoying the view as Johnson steered the patrol car along the

vin~ing coast road. As the car swung into the long drive of

Ľaters House, Wesley looked to his left. Over a tumbling stone

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wall, he could see Longhouse Cottage, where half a dozen skinny sheep grazed unperturbed by the events of the past week.

10hnson parked neatly in front of Waters House next to a tiny blue, rust-encrusted Fiat. Over by the garage stood a blue Volvo estate. Wesley hoped the Wentwoods didn’t have visitors.

They were unfastening their seat belts when the front door opened and a woman rushed out. She was plain, middle-aged; hardly one to turn heads or stand out in any sort of crowd, however small. Wesley stared as she climbed into the Fiat and drove quickly away down the drive. He had seen her before but he couldn’t remember where. His mother had always said that if you stopped thinking so hard it would come to you eventually. So he tried to put the woman’s face from his thoughts as he knocked on the once-imposing front door of Waters House.

It was Gwen Wentwood who answered. She looked anxious, and there were deep, dark rings beneath her eyes.

‘We’re sorry to bother you, Mrs Wentwood,’ Wesley began, trying to put the woman at her ease. ‘But I think we might have some news about your prowler.’

A fleeting expression of alarm passed over Gwen’s face as she stood in the doorway defensively.

‘May we come in?’ asked Wesley, as an invitation didn’t seem to be foithcorrJng.

Without a word Gwen Wentwood led them through to the back of the house. Wesley noted the shabby, half-finished look of the decor. Wallpaper was stripped off in places but there seemed to have been no serious attempt at redecoration; fireplaces were ripped out, awaiting replacement by something more fashionable. He had the strong impression of grand ideas thwarted when the money - or the inclination - ran out. The Wentwoods had, perhaps, overreached themselves.

‘I’m sorry to bring bad news, Mrs Wentwood,’ said Wesley gently as he sat down in a large, lumpy armchair which had seen better days. ‘But a Mr Harry Wentwood has been fOl!.nd dead in a hotel in Tradmouth. Suspected heart attack. We wondered if he was a relation of yours.’

He waited expectantly. Johnson took his notebook from his uniform pocket and sat on the edge of his seat, preparing to write.

‘What makes you think he was a relative?’ said Gwen without emotion.

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‘His car was seen by your neighbours at Longhouse Cottage. The number gave us his name and address. The car was seen around the times your husband reported your prowler.’

There was a long silence while Gwen considered her reply. ‘Harry Wentwood was my husband’s father. They didn’t get on … never spoke. Of course, when he reported the prowler he’d no idea it was his father. It wasn’t until he called here last night that we knew. There was a knock on the front door at about nine o’clock and there he was … just standing there.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead. He seemed so…’

‘It seems he had a heart attack.’

‘He did say he was very ill. But I don’t think Christopher believed him … I mean, people say that, don’t they … when they want sympathy.’

‘Can you tell us what happened last night?’ Wesley glanced across at Johnson, who was rearranging his long legs in preparation for a writing session.

‘He came here and my husband said he didn’t want to see him. I know they’ve not talked for years … in fact, I’d never met Harry before. Then my husband’s sister, Ursula, came over from the studio and found him here. She went mad. Told him to get out. Said she never wanted to see him again. She can be very determined … far more so than Christopher,’ she added fondly. ‘Then Harry left and he gave me his phone number at the hotel in case Christopher changed his mind. That’s it really.’

‘Do you know what they’d fallen out about?’

‘Christopher and Ursula just said it was a family matter. Families are sometimes like that, aren’t they, Sergeant?’ she said with an awkward smile. ‘They fall out over a will or some trivial matter and the thing festers for years.’

‘What about Christopher’s mother?’ asked Johnson, beating Wesley to the question.

‘She died when the children were young. Then they went to live in London with their father. It must have been after that they fell out.’

‘Where were they living when their mother died … before they moved to London?’ asked Wesley.

‘It was somewhere round here but I’m not sure where.
hristopher wanted to get away from London, from the rat race … ;tart his own small business in the country.’

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‘It seems to be a common dream these days,’ said Wesley sympathetically. ‘I came here from London myself … used to be in the Met.’

Gwen Wentwood looked up, suddenly interested. ‘I should really be used to moving about: I was in the army before I married. But it’s not easy, is it … moving somewhere where you don’t know anyone? And Christopher’s working so hard … and he’s not been well.’ She looked around. ‘We had all these plans to do up this place. I thought it would be good for Christopher to have an interest but…’ She didn’t finish the sentence.

Wesley nodded sympathetically. ‘Does your husband’s sister live with you?’

‘In the studio at the side of the garage.’

‘Perhaps we should have a word with her. Is she inT

‘No. She’s out selling her pottery.’ Gwen picked up a brightly coloured dish, decorated with leaping dolphins, from the rickety coffee table. ‘It’s good, isn’t it? She makes it here and sells it through craft shops ’” and there are enough of those in Tradmouth and Neston,’ she added with a bitter smile. ‘Not much else really. I miss the shops in London, don’t you?’

Shops had never come high on Wesley’s list of priorities. ‘I expect my wife does,’ he said for the sake of politeness. ‘When will your husband and your sister-in-law be back? We should really have a word with them about their father. ‘

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

‘Will you ask them to get in touch with me?’ He handed her his card. ‘I’m sorry about your father-in-law,’ he added formally as Gwen saw them off the premises. ‘By the way, a woman left as we arrived … middle-aged, drove a blue Fiat. I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere before.’

‘Her name’s Millie. She used to work for my husband’s family when he was young … some sort of cleaner or housekeeper.’ Gwen Wentwood changed the subject. ‘What was going on at Longhouse Cottage the other day? There seemed to be police cars everywhere … ‘

‘We, er … had to make an arrest in connection with a series of armed robberies. But it’s all cleared up now … nothing to’worry about.’ .

As Wesley climbed into the police car beside PC 10hnson he looked back at Gwen Wentwood standing in the doorway of

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Waters House and noted that his last words to her didn’t seem to have reassured her in the least. She looked worried. Very worried indeed.

Rachel wondered how Gerry Heffernan and Steve were getting on with her mother. No doubt they were being stuffed full of home-made scones and regaled with Mrs Tracey’s brilliant deductions. Rachel knew that her mother had never taken to Dan Wexer; but she had liked his former wife, Claire. She had made no secret of her disapproval when Dan had replaced Claire with some flashy young thing who worked for a firm of accountants - a calculating young woman in more ways than one.

She feared that before the afternoon was out her mother would have Daniel Wexer tried and sentenced for Ingeborg Larsen’s abduction, Sven Larsen’s murder and any other unsolved crimes in the area that happened to spring to mind.

But Rache} had other things on her mind: there was something she wanted to check. She strolled casually over to Trish’ s desk. Trish looked up, suspicious, and Rachel flashed her a conspiratorial smile.

‘Trish, have you got time to give me a hand with something? It’s just an idea, but you know those videos you looked through?’

‘Yes,’ said Trish, wary. ‘What about them?’

‘Do you remember Proudy said that there was a woman hanging around when he saw Ingeborg?’

Trish nodded. She knew what was coming.

‘Can you go through all the tapes where Ingeborg appears and see if this woman’s there too?’

Trish looked out of the office window at the sun-drenched scene outside - the boats bobbing on the sparkling river, the brightly clad holidaymakers meandering slowly along the water-front - and nodded, resigned to spending the next few hours :ooped in a small stuffy room.

But Trish’ s sentence was shorter than she had feared. The tapes )n which Ingeborg made a fleeting appearance had been separated Tom the rest and the task was fairly easy. After half an hour she

merged, triumphant. ‘She’s there,’ she announced proudly to

achel. ‘I’ve found her.’

Well, I wouldn’t leave that Dan Wexer alone with any daughter ,f mine,’ Stella Tracey said righteously. ‘Not that my daughter

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can’t take care of herself,’ she added swiftly, not wishing to criticise Rachel in front of her boss and her bored-looking colleague, who was sitting with his feet up on a neighbouring chair.

‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘I reckon that Jen’ s young enough to be his daughter. And his ex-wife Claire’s a lovely woman. He’s just a randy old sod, that’s what he is, chucking his wife off the farm and installing some … dolly bird.’ Steve smirked at this archaic expression, earning himself a look of disapproval from Stella.

‘And I’m not surprised about young Pete attacking his dad. Those kids were so angry at what happened. He told them they could stay on the farm but there’s no way they wanted to. They went with their mum. Poor Claire, , she muttered, shaking her head at the injustice of it all. Then she looked up with a sudden, gloating smile. ‘Mind you, I’ve heard that Claire’s gone and got herself a new bloke … a widower who works at Neston Pottery. Good luck to her, that’s what 1 say.’

Steve looked impatiently at Gerry Heffernan, who was nodding in agreement.

Stella regarded Steve with renewed distaste. ‘I thought you’d bring that Wesley with you. He seems such a nice young man.’

‘He’s over at Stoke Beeching,’ said Heffernan cheerfully. ‘1 tllOught our Steve here could do with some fresh air.’

‘He could do with a few lessons in manners,’ she said pointedly. Steve, getting the message, took his feet off the chair, reddened and sat up straight.

Gerry Heffernan gave Steve a withering look and took a sip of tea from the colourful mug, decorated with leaping sheep, on the table. ‘Nice mug … very appropriate for a farm,’ he said, feeling he had to make up for Steve’s shortcomings.

‘Yes, they’re lovely, aren’t they. Rachel bought them for me fOT Christmas. They’re made by a woman out at Stoke Beeching … Ursula Wentwood. She’s getting to be quite well known round here.’

Wentwood? Heffernan wondered if she was any relation to the late Harry, whose untimely death had caused such a ripple in the Tower Hotel’s normally calm surface. He leaned forward. ‘J wonder if you remember a foreign girl staying on Wexer’s Farrr … before Dan Wexer was first married. It must have been abou twenty years ago, give or take a couple of years.’

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ˇ Stella sat down at the kitchen table and thought hard. ‘Yes,’ she announced, looking up. ‘1 remember hearing something about it through the grapevine. I never actually saw the girl, of course.’

‘What did you hear?’

‘Just that young Dan had been having a bit ofhow’s your father with this girl who’d come as an au pair to help his mother in the house.’

‘You don’t remember the girl’s name, I suppose? Or her nationality?’