The Merchant's House (13 page)

‘And does it?’ Dr Bowman asked, curious.

‘It’s James I, a sovereign.’

Wesley had been watching the proceedings with interest. ‘I think we can take it the police needn’t be involved, then?’

‘There’ll be formalities, of course, but I think this one’s out of your jurisdiction, Sergeant,’ said the doctor. ‘About four hundred years out, so you can relax.’

‘Can you tell how she died?’

‘That depends. I’ll get her back to the mortuary and have a look. Just out of interest, of course.’

Jane was hovering nervously. ‘If you could be careful with any fabric that’s there, Doctor … I’d like to examine what there is, if I may. Maybe send it for conservation if it’s suitable.’

‘Naturally.’

It was over an hour before the skeleton was gently released from its resting place by trowels and brushes. Colin Bowman took the opportunity to go to lunch, but Wesley helped as much as his unsuitable clothes would allow.

When the doctor returned, he bent over the skeleton which lay awaiting its journey in the mortuary van. He turned to the archaeological team, who were standing awkwardly, unsure what to do next.

‘You’re absolutely certain that this section of the site didn’t show signs of recent disturbance?’

‘Yeah,’ said Neil with conviction. ‘There was a layer of concrete on top of this lot which dated back to the turn of the century, then soil and rubble filling in the cellars, then the flags of the old cellar floor. This is about three feet under the flags.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Bowman with evident relief.

‘Why?’ Wesley asked, his curiosity aroused.

‘I won’t know for certain till I’ve made a proper examination, maybe not even then. Look at those dark stains on
the facial bones. They could have been caused by the rupture of blood vessels. That’s often an indication of suffocation or strangulation. And look at this round the neck. Looks like the remains of a strip of leather, a belt or something. Would you agree?’ He looked up at Wesley. ‘I think you might have a murder victim on your hands, Sergeant.’

Trade is good and I am needing more help in the shop. This morning I did meet with a captain in the Butterwalk who had news of my ships. He assures me all is well and the weather fair. Elizabeth is desirous of moving the stair from the passage to the back of the shop. It would be better for her to keep watch on the shop were I to be out of the house. Master Mellyn, the carpenter, saith he knows of a ship’s mast which can be used in the construction.

I did see Jennet this morning in the garden, gathering herbs. She did not see me.

Extract from the journal of John Banized,
18 May 1623

Heffernan switched on the tape machine, uttered the legally required words, then sat back and looked at the man on the other side of the table. Sometimes this was how killers looked – defeated.

‘When did you meet Karen Giordino?’

‘Couple of years back. Business trip to Blackpool. She worked at the hotel.’

‘What do you do for a living, Mr Fielding?’

‘Sales executive – agricultural chemicals.’

‘And you were selling these in Blackpool, these agricultural chemicals?’

‘No. It was a conference.’

Heffernan sat back. ‘Very nice. Conferences in hotels, pretty girls. Unfortunately Sergeant Peterson and I never get the chance, do we, Sergeant?’ Wesley shook his head co-operatively. ‘We leave that sort of thing to chief superintendents and the like. Are you married, Mr Fielding?’

‘Divorced.’

‘Was this before or after you met Karen?’

‘Er … I was separated then.’

‘Did you move in with Karen right away?’

‘No. That was about two years ago. I was seeing her every weekend and she wasn’t having much luck with her modelling work so we decided to rent a cottage together. Other side of Morbay. Then the owners wanted us out so we got the flat.’

‘Were you happy?’

John looked up. It seemed a strange question. ‘We were okay. Had our ups and downs like everyone.’

‘And a couple of weeks ago you had a down, eh?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘What made you do a runner? Why didn’t you stay in the flat?’

John sat for a while contemplating his fingers. ‘I was scared. Karen had disappeared and I heard that a blonde woman had been found murdered. Then when I saw her picture in the papers I panicked. All right?’ He looked up defiantly.

Wesley spoke softly. ‘Surely it would have been better to have come forward, if you had nothing to hide.’

John shuffled nervously in his seat. Wesley had seen his type before: salesmen flashing down the motorway cocooned in the company car; the loud chuckles over business lunches; wife number two (preferably blonde); the drink problem; the ‘mid-life crisis’. But as one who had himself experienced prejudice, he told himself firmly that he mustn’t let it cloud his judgement now.

Heffernan took another tack. ‘When did you last see Karen?’

‘Seventeenth September. I know ’cause I had to travel to Birmingham that day. Stayed overnight.’

‘Tell us about it.’

‘Oh shit, I might as well tell you. We had a row that night. She wanted to go for some modelling job. I don’t mind her doing a bit here and there but this meant her going abroad.’

‘Why didn’t you want her to go?’

‘I just didn’t.’

‘Nobody to wash your shirts?’ the inspector threw in mischievously.

John gave him a look and Heffernan regretted his flippancy. There was a long pause before John broke the silence.

‘I was scared she was getting sick of me. I could feel it. She’d started getting more modelling work, and then this travelling abroad …’

Wesley nodded. He understood. ‘Did she get much modelling work?’

‘Yeah, she wasn’t doing too badly. Catalogues, mainly – stockings, tights, trousers. She had good legs. So when she said she was meeting this man in Tradmouth and she might be …’

Heffernan sat up. ‘What man?’

‘She was meeting him in Tradmouth. He’d arranged this job.’

‘Did she tell you his name?’

‘No. I don’t know anything about him.’

‘So you don’t know how he contacted her?’

‘Could have been through the agency.’

‘What agency?’

‘Tradmouth Models. They used to get her work.’

‘Tell me about them.’ Wesley was interested.

‘They’re a small outfit, somewhere in Tradmouth, but don’t ask me where. She never talked about it much. She didn’t have to work, you know, I’d have paid for everything; but she liked the modelling. She liked to look good.’

‘The flat’s in her name. Why?’

‘Everything is. Don’t want the ex-wife to get her hands on anything, know what I mean?’

Wesley knew. He wondered how many enemies Karen had made in Devon. There was probably no love lost between her and the woman she replaced. ‘So you can’t tell me anything else about this agency or who she met at work?’
John shook his head. ‘Was she keen on this job, meeting this man?’

‘I’ll say. Gave herself the works. New hairdo, facial, leg waxing. Trip to Plymouth to buy some new clothes – the lot.’

‘Who did her hair?’

‘Charlie … Carl. He did her hair at the flat. He always did her hair. She doesn’t … didn’t trust anyone else. He’s my sister’s ex-husband. We stayed mates when him and Claire broke up. He lent me the cottage. I couldn’t stay in the flat when I knew she was dead. I had to get out … get all my stuff out …’

Heffernan watched as John’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I hope you catch the bastard who did this. I hope. …’ The tears came faster and John tried vainly to wipe away the mucus that glistened on his nose. Heffernan nodded to Wesley, who turned off the tape machine.

‘Detective Sergeant Peterson terminating this interview at seventeen twenty hours.’

Heffernan handed John a crumpled handkerchief.

Rachel hadn’t joined the police force to fill in forms any more than she had joined it to make cups of tea. It was with relief that she picked up the phone and heard Bob Naseby’s voice on the other end summoning her downstairs to the front desk. A lady wanted to speak to her.

She ran lightly down the uncarpeted stairs, glad to be out of the office. When she reached the front desk Bob pointed out a young woman, sitting on the padded bench, her face bearing the stoic expression of a patient waiting to see the dentist.

‘Her name’s Denise Wellthorne,’ Bob whispered confidentially, ‘She asked to see you.’

‘Did she say what it was about?’

‘You’d best go and see, my luvver.’

The woman looked more nervous as Rachel approached. She was young with blonde curls and a noticeable suntan. Rachel introduced herself and waited expectantly.

‘I’m a hairdresser,’ the woman blurted out. ‘I work at
Chez Danielle down by the market. I’ve been away – Tenerife.’

‘Very nice.’ Rachel smiled to put Denise at her ease.

‘When I got back to work this morning they said you’d been round asking about a blonde lady who had a cut on the seventeenth.’

Rachel started to take interest.

‘Well, I did a lady’s hair on the seventeenth. She came in without an appointment, just for a cut and blow. I’ve been away, you see. I didn’t know. And it was lunch-time so I was the only one in …’ She stopped gabbling and looked at Rachel enquiringly.

‘We’ve identified the dead woman and we’ve traced the person who did her hair. But thanks for coming in anyway. If I want to talk to you again, I’ll get in touch.’

Denise Wellthorne gushed out her name, address and phone number and tottered out on her high heels.

‘If only all hairdressers were as public-spirited,’ Rachel commented cryptically to Bob before she disappeared upstairs.

‘We can’t hold him much longer without charging him.’

‘Come off it, Wesley, we do know the rules down here, you know.’

‘I don’t think he did it, sir.’

‘Put money on that, would you?’

Wesley shrugged his shoulders. Gut feelings were hard to put into words.

‘We’ll get an extension. We need more time. I’ll tell the super. How did you get on with your skeleton, by the way? More work for us, is it?’

‘Dr Bowman says it’s murder, sir.’

Heffernan looked up sharply. ‘Then why the hell didn’t you say? We’ll have to get—’

‘Don’t panic, sir. It happened about four hundred years ago.’

‘Thank God for that. As if we didn’t have enough to deal with here. You’d best get back to our friend Fielding. We don’t want him getting lonely, do we?’

Wesley nodded and returned to the interview room, where John was devouring a sandwich hungrily.

‘You all right?’

John nodded. His solicitor, a balding man with the face of a middle-aged goat, scowled and looked at his watch ostentatiously.

‘Can I see her?’

Wesley raised his eyebrows. ‘See who?’

‘Karen.’ The reply was almost a whisper. ‘I’d like to see her.’

Wesley sat down. ‘Well, she’s a bit … it’s not very …’

‘Please.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Wesley nodded to the bored-looking constable in the corner and left the interview room in search of his boss. He found him in his office with a ham sandwich smuggled from the canteen.

‘It’s being arranged. Another thirty-six hours.’

‘Fielding wants to see the body.’

‘Not a pretty sight.’

‘If he killed her, he’ll know that already. What about this man she was supposed to meet?’

‘Rachel’s been on to the model agency she used. They say the man’s a photographer, a Maurice Brun. It was arranged through the agency and he uses their models quite regularly. All seems to be above board. Rachel’s trying to trace this Maurice bloke at the address the agency gave her but she’s not had much luck. The agency reckon he could still be abroad. Do you think Fielding’s ready for another little chat?’

Ready or not, John Fielding had no choice. The tape machine whirred into action and Heffernan resumed the questioning, this time on different lines.

‘What happened to the child?’

John looked genuinely perplexed. ‘What child?’

‘She had a child recently, within the last couple of years. What happened to it?’

‘She never had a child. Who told you she had?’

‘The post-mortem showed …’

‘Well, it’s wrong. Karen never had a baby. They must have got it wrong.’

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other.

Heffernan spoke. ‘I believe you’ve asked to see the body, Mr Fielding?’

Master Mellyn hath begun the work upon the staircase. A new consignment of wool hath come into my warehouse so I must move the leather to the cellar which, thank the Lord, is good and dry.

Elizabeth is well and is a good wife to me once more. But I still think upon Jennet. I do try not to see her about the house. That is the best way.

Extract from the journal of John Banized,
25 May 1623