The Funeral Boat (29 page)

‘Sorry,’ Stella said, shaking her head. ‘I never even saw the girl. ‘

‘And can you remember anything unusual happening at Wexer’s Farm around that time? An accident, a death … anything?’

Stella thought for a few seconds. ‘That was about the time 10s Wexer, Dan’ s father, was killed … an accident. Tragic, it was. He fell into a baling machine. I mean, farms can be dangerous places if you’re not careful … these things happen.’

Gerry Heffeman was sitting up and taking a great deal of notice. ‘Was there ever any suggestion that it might not have been an accident?’

‘Not that I know of. No.’

‘Where was Dan at the timeT

‘Oh, I think he was there … helping with the harvesting.’

‘Is Dan’s mother still alive?’

Stella shook her head. ‘No, she passed away about five years lack.’

‘And this accident happened at the same time as this au pair was

n the scene?’

‘Yes. I think it was around that time. I heard she went home

Cter the accident. I suppose it was upsetting for her.’

‘1 bet it was,’ said Gerry Heffeman, picking up his mug and

king a long hot drink of tea. ‘1 bet it was.’

Vhy are we here exactly, Sarge?’ PC Paul 10hnson parked the

trol car in front of Longhouse Cottage, took off his hat and

catched his head, puzzled.

‘The inspector wanted me to check whether Maggie Palister’s

right. What did you think of Mrs Wentwood?’

‘They seem to be struggling a bit up there in that big house,

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don’t they? Overreached themselves financially, 1 reckon. That bit about him not being well was just an excuse.’

‘You could be right. She certainly looked worried about something.’

As Wesley began to climb out of the car, he heard someone calling his name. He looked round and noticed Neil’s disreputable Mini parked among the rotting vehicles at the other end of the yard. Neil himself was marching towards him across the field where the skeleton had been found. Carl Palister was following behind, hanging back a little at the sight of the police car.

‘Wes. What are you doing here?’

‘1 might ask you the same question.’

‘Loom weights.’

‘1 beg your pardon?’

‘Loom weights. Carl’s found a load of them over by the door. He thought they were just stones, then he saw they had holes in so he called me up to have a look. They’re late Saxon, I reckon, which fits in with the other finds round here. Carl’s found a load of late Saxon pottery and all.’ Neil grinned widely, getting into his stride. ‘1 think we’re building up a picture of this place, Wes. I reckon the present building’S medieval - classic Devon longhouse - but I think there was an earlier, Saxon house on the site.’ He looked around hungrily. ‘I’d love to do a proper dig here … get everything excavated and recorded.’ He paused, examining the loom weight in his hand. ‘I think that when the Danes were rampaging around this area, one of them was killed and buried in the field down there, along with his sword and shield and a boat for him to sail to Valhalla in … the hall of the slain. And 1 reckon he either died in some sort of battle - ir which case you’d expect to find more bodies - or he wa murdered,’ he concluded with satisfaction. ‘So it’s over to you Detective Sergeant.’ .

‘I don’t know what you expect me to do about it after thousand years. I’ve got enough on my plate with modern-da crime … more than enough. Is Mrs Palister in?’

‘Mum’s in,’ muttered Carl. ‘But I don’t know if she wants I see any filth at the moment.’

‘Inspector Heffeman asked me to see whether she’s okay.’

Carl thought about this for a moment, then nodded.

Wesley signalled to 10hnson to stay where he was and knock!

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softly on the front door. Maggie Palister answered and stood aside resentfully to let him in.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs Palister, but Inspector Heffernan asked me to look in and check you’re all right.’

Unexpectedly Maggie gave a bitter smile. ‘I wouldn’t say I was all right but I’ll survive.’ She lit a cigarette and flashed the packet at Wesley. He shook his head. ‘I started on these things again when Jock turned up out of the blue. I never thought I’d see him again. It was a bloody shock, 1 can tell you. 1 thought it was all over … the bullying, the black eyes. But when he turned up again - and with that Darren, a mate to show off to - it all started again.’ She slid the shoulder of her shabby dress down to reveal a thin shoulder, bruised blue. ‘I wasn’t sorry to see the police here that day,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve struggled to keep this place going… for Carl and me. Then he just turns up and acts like it’s all his… like I’m all his and all. He comes in here after three years thinking he can just take up where he left off. Carl doesn’t know the half of it.’

Wesley watched her as she sucked desperately at the cigarette. ‘It’s all over now, Mrs Palister. He’s going to be in prison for a long time.’

‘But what about when he gets out? He’ll be back.’

‘Let’s hope not.’

‘I told the policeman who arrested him that if any money’s found on him it’s mine. I had a bit put by … hid it in a little hole near the fireplace, under the floor. But he bloody found it, pinched it … a hundred and twenty quid.’

‘I’ll ask for you. There’s a chance you’ll get it back if he had it on him.’ Wesley smiled sympathetically. ‘How much did you know about the farm robberies?’

‘I knew he was up to something but I didn’t know what. Then Carl went and found that bloody skeleton and called the police. When Jock saw you lot crawling over the place he went berserk. It wasn’t long after that that Carl found out what he was really like. Then we had to be careful. Jock could be violent, you see. Oh, 1 :lon’t mean in robberies or anything like that, only to his family … md like all bullies he liked to throw his weight around.’ .

‘It’s over, Mrs Palister. You can get on with building this place JP now. Carl seems a bright lad.’

‘Thank God he doesn’t seem to have taken after his father,

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that’s all I can say.’ She gave one last desperate suck on what was left of her cigarette and stubbed it out in a dirty saucer. ‘And I’m going to try to give these up and all,’ she added as she gave the cigarette a last, violent stab, crushing out the memory of Jock Palister.

Wesley decided it was time he changed the subject. ‘Do you see much of your neighbours up in Waters House?’

‘No. They keep themselves to themselves.’

‘Do you know anything about them?’

‘I know it’s a couple called Wentwood … and there’s another woman who’s turned the old coach house into a pottery. Why?’

‘You don’t know if they used to live round here years ago?’

‘I think they did years ago; then they moved to London after one oftheir parents died. That’s all 1 know … and that’s just what they told me when they bought the place. But 1 wasn’t taking much notice at the time. I had enough problems of my own without taking notice of other people’s.’

‘That black car which you and Carl saw parked on the main road … it belonged to an elderly man. Did you ever see him going up there?’

Maggie shook her head.

Wesley walked slowly towards the open front door. ‘Inspector Heffeman says that if ever you need anything you can get in touch with him. You’ve got his number, haven’t you?’

Maggie Palister nodded and watched as Wesley walked away across the uneven stony yard and down towards where Neil and Carl were deep in conversation. PC 10hnson, he noticed, had returned to his patrol car and was sitting with the door wide open, enjoying the sun.

‘Wesley,’ called Neil. ‘How’s Pam getting on with that translation ?’

‘I think she’s just about finished. 1 haven’t read any of it yet but … ‘

‘I’ll call round for it later, then I can get all the stuff over to the County Museum. Do you want to see what we’ve found here? The broken loom weights were all together as if the loom was knocked over violently.’

Neil held out a plastic box containing shards of pottery which Wesley recognised as late Saxon. Beside them lay half a dozen broken pieces of clay, about the size of a fist with holes in the

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centre. A thousand years ago they had hung from a loom to weigh down the threads. Wesley picked one up and examined it, deep in thought.

He had the uneasy feeling that somewhere in the Palisters’ struggling smallholding, in the strange, obsolete object he held, lay a clue to Ingeborg Larsen’s fate.

‘I’ve found her on five tapes, sir. She never gets too close to Ingeborg but it looks like she might have been following her.’

Gerry Heffernan, newly returned from Little Barton Farm and sated with Stella Tracey’s freshly baked scones topped with home-made jam and thick clotted cream, slumped into the chair beside Trish. ‘Let’s have a shufti. then.’

‘The woman keeps her identity well hidden. She’s wearing dark glasses and her hair’s hidden by a straw sunhat. I couldn’t even tell whether she was blonde or dark-haired. Sorry, sir.’

‘Not your fault, Trish. That was probably the intention.’

Trish put the first tape in the video machine and they watched asIngeborg Larsen, in grainy black and white, searched through racks of summer dresses. Near by, seemingly engrossed in a selection ofT-shirts, was another woman, her hair concealed by a hat and her face by a pair of large dark glasses. In any other weather she would have looked conspicuous, but not in a heat wave. Heffernan studied her carefully.

Trish put on another tape; then another. There was no sign that :he woman was following Ingeborg, or that Ingeborg was aware )f her presence, as the woman always took care to keep her listance. But it was too much of a coincidence that she should :hoose the same time to browse in the same shops. And Gerry

ieffernan wasn’t a great believer in coincidence.

‘Rach!’ he called through to the outer office. Rachel came

lurrying in, and he rewound the tape and played it again for her

‘enefit. ‘What do you reckon, Rach? Do you think that woman

lere in the dark glasses looks like Jen WexerT

Rachel peered more closely at the screen .

.s Wesley Peters on looked out of the window of the patrol car, he ldn’t notice the fields of ripening crops and fattening livestock

lat flashed by outside. His mind was working, making connec-

)ns, piecing together elusive fragments. There was an answer to

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the mystery of Ingeborg Larsen’s disappearance and her brother’s murder. It was just that, so far, he hadn’t been asking the right questions.

‘Paul,’ he said quietly, ‘can we drive along the B road from Neston to Stokeworthy - the one where Ingeborg Larsen’ s car was found?’

‘Sure thing, Sarge,’ said Johnson enthusiastically as he flicked the indicator to turn left onto the road out of Tradmouth.

They drove for a while in amicable silence, and Johnson slowed down as they came to the spot where the car had stood.

He was surprised when Wesley asked him to drive on farther towards Neston and stop outside a large, creeper-clad pink-washed house. Wesley sat and stared at the house.

Johnson watched him with patient curiosity. ‘Well?’ he said after a few minutes.

Wesley looked at him. ‘I’m just going to see if anyone’s in. It’s just an idea … if it doesn’t come to anything there’s no need to tell the boss, eh?’

Johnson grinned and nodded as Wesley got out of the car. He watched the sergeant stroll up to the highly polished front door of the house and knock. Then, when the door was opened and Wesley stepped inside, Paul Johnson took a Spanish phrase book from the glove box and settled down for a little light self-education.

Honeysuckle House was every bit as desirable inside as it was out. Parn, Wesley thought, would have loved it. The hallway was spacious and airy, painted in delicate Wedgwood blue and lined withˇ highly polished antique furniture. Mrs Jerworth, a slight woman in late middle age with steel-grey bobbed hair and a floaty summer dress that made her look younger than her years, invited Wesley into the elegant sitting room and offered him tea witt scrupulous politeness. He thought of Johnson waiting outside, fel a small pang of conscience, and declined the offer.

‘I’m afraid I’ve not remembered any more about that poo woman, Sergeant. I’ve really told the police all I know,’ Mr Jerworth said apologetically, sitting on the edge of a brocade covered armchair.

‘I appreciate that, Mrs Jerworth; We’re trying to discover a much as we can about the missing woman’s background, and it’ possible that you might be able to help us. ‘ .

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‘If I can,’ said Mrs lerworth with the cooperative enthusiasm

f the law-abiding citizen.

T ve been wondering why Ms Larsen chose to call at this

ouse. Could you tell me how long you’ve lived here?’

‘Twenty years, Sergeant. My late husband had just retired from he Royal Navy - he’d been posted at tr.e Naval College in

radmouth - and we were looking for somewhere local. We saw his place and we fell in love with it. There were those who said

e shouldn’t buy it, of course. There are always superstitious

eople around but I took no notice.’

‘Superstitious? What about?’

‘About the suicide. A woman who lived here committed suicide hortly before we moved in. I never asked any details, of course

.. I didn’t want to know. And it has always been a happy house or us. My husband passed away last year, of course, but that was

is heart … nothing to do with the house.’ She smiled sadly. ‘We’ve been very happy here, Sergeant.’

Wesley sat forward. There was one question he was burning to lsk. ‘Could you tell me the name of the people who lived here Jefore you? The people involved in this alleged suicide.’

‘Of course.’

As Mrs lerworth told him the name, Wesley Peters on began to ‘eel more confused than ever.

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I wandered back to the village, my mind distracted. HUda