The Plague Maiden (28 page)

He watched the boats skimming over the water, all the time aware of the noises in the background as Rachel conducted her search.
He told himself that it was more appropriate for a woman to delve into Amy Hunting’s
private things … or perhaps that was just an excuse for idleness. After ten minutes Rachel came over to him. She was carrying
a box, a shoebox.

‘I found this. It’s full of photographs. There’s a little girl on them … could be Loveday. And there’s a little boy in some
of them. Mr Hunting didn’t mention a son, did he?’

Heffernan took the photographs out of the box and examined them. Loveday – if it was Loveday – must have been aged around
seven. Her parents featured in some of them, smiling for the camera, and so did a little boy, a toddler aged around two or
three … it was difficult to tell. He bore a resemblance to Loveday, who was holding him on her knee in some of the pictures.
As Heffernan looked through the pictures he realised that, although there were many taken when Loveday was young, there was
none taken when she was older. It was as if time had stopped during that one happy, golden summer.

‘So who’s this other kid?’ said Heffernan, not really expecting an answer.

‘Cousin? Friend’s son? We could ask Mr Hunting.’

As if on cue, Hunting opened the door. He’d knocked politely first, which surprised Heffernan. He hung on the threshold anxiously,
as though waiting for permission to enter.

‘We were just coming to find you, Mr Hunting,’ said Heffernan. ‘We’ve found some pictures.’ He held out the photographs. ‘Can
you tell us who this little lad is?’ As he pointed to the child, he noticed that the colour had drained from Hunting’s face.

‘That’s my son, Chief Inspector. That’s Adam.’

Dr Colin Bowman was writing up his notes on Amy Hunting’s post-mortem when Gerry Heffernan poked his head round his office
door. Colin invited him in, as always, for tea and biscuits, but this time Gerry declined the offer.

‘I’ve got to go and find Wesley. Did you know his little boy’s in here … suspected meningitis?’

Colin’s normally cheerful face clouded. ‘Sorry to hear that, Gerry. How’s the little chap doing? Do you know?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I’m sure they’re doing their best for him. Give Wesley my best wishes, won’t you … and his wife.’

‘Sure,’ Heffernan said quickly. He wanted to change the subject. The thought of Michael’s illness, the thought that the life
of one so young was so vulnerable to the powers of nature, depressed him. ‘Are the results of Amy Hunting’s post-mortem ready?
You said you were doing it first thing … ’

Colin produced a file, and waved it about. ‘I’m waiting for the toxicology report, of course, but all my findings are consistent
with her death being caused by drowning. Want to know how I reached my conclusions?’

‘Thanks, Colin, but I’d rather not hear the gory details. So there’s no chance it was suspicious?’

‘All I can say is that I didn’t find any evidence to indicate that it was anything other than a case of suicide. And I believe
you have a witness who saw her jump in. Sorry, Gerry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. I’ve got enough work on as it is. By the way, I’ve been talking to the man who claims to have killed Helen
Wilmer.’

This got Colin’s attention. ‘Oh yes?’

‘He says he ran her over. Claims it was an accident and denies that he strangled her. Is there any chance at all that you
could have made a mistake about the strangulation?’

‘I’m afraid not. There’s a definite fracture of the hyoid bone.’ Bowman pointed at his throat. ‘Just above the Adam’s apple.
Classic sign of manual strangulation. But as I said before, the injuries to the lower part of her body are consistent with
her having been run over so your man might still be telling the truth. If someone else strangled her and left her lying in
the road, then he might have come along in his car and run over her body by accident.’ Colin smiled. ‘Or perhaps your man
strangled her himself then drove his
car over her to make sure he’d done a thorough job. That’s for you to find out, I’m afraid.’

Heffernan sighed, wondering why life had to be so complicated. ‘I’d better see if I can find Wesley … let him know what’s been
happening.’

He lumbered through the swing-doors leading from the mortuary and on reaching the main hospital spotted a sign pointing the
way to the children’s ward. He marched on down the polished corridors until he saw a pair of glass doors painted with bright
cartoon characters, which told him he was in the right place.

He found Wesley easily enough. He was sitting by Michael’s bedside, holding the patient’s small hand in his. Michael was lying
as though asleep while a nurse checked the electronic instruments that bleeped and winked on the other side of the bed. Wesley
looked up and greeted Heffernan with what looked like a smile of relief. He was glad to see a face from the outside world.

‘Is it okay to come in?’ Heffernan whispered, creeping in on tiptoe.

‘Yeah. There’s no change. We’re just waiting for the results of the tests. Pam’s gone home for a shower and a rest. She took
some persuading but I said I wouldn’t leave his side.’

‘He’s in good hands, Wes.’ Heffernan repeated the mantra. ‘He’ll be fine. He’s a fighter is your lad.’ He felt tears prick
his eyes as he looked down at the tiny figure in the cot and slumped down on a seat near the door. When the nurse had left
the room he stood up again and walked over to Wesley.

‘Sorry to talk about work, Wes, but there have been some developments since … ’

Wesley looked up at him. ‘Don’t be sorry, Gerry. I’m only too glad to have something to take my mind off all this. I’ve brought
the Reverend Shipborne’s diary with me – it’s in my pocket. I’ve been meaning to finish it but I’ve not had a chance yet.
So what’s new?’

‘I’ve just found out that Loveday Wilkins is Aaron Hunting’s daughter.’

Wesley’s mouth fell open.

‘Or rather his estranged daughter. She was a nightmare teenager, according to her father … had lots of mental problems over
the years, apparently.’

‘That’s hardly an excuse for killing innocent people.’ Wesley sounded weary.

‘No, but it could be an explanation. That mother and daughter who ate the poisoned honey are out of danger, by the way. I
had a call before I came out.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘And the post-mortem seems to confirm what we already know … that Amy Hunting drowned herself. I’ve just seen Colin … he sends
his best wishes.’

‘Does Loveday know about Amy’s death yet?’

‘Not yet. I suppose someone’ll have to tell her. How do you think she’ll take it?’

Wesley didn’t answer, and there was a period of silence as both men watched the sleeping toddler intently. After a few minutes
Heffernan whispered that he’d better get back. He crept from the room feeling utterly useless, frustrated by his helplessness,
his inability to do anything constructive.

When he had gone Wesley delved in his pocket for the plastic bag containing the Reverend Shipborne’s diary. He opened it and
began to read, one eye on the page and the other on Michael’s monitors. He needed something to take his mind off things … anything
to remind him that there was a world outside those four walls.

Neil had opened the door to Pam when she returned. He’d asked her how Michael was but she hadn’t said much. She was too preoccupied
for a social chat. She had taken a shower, something to help keep her awake, she said. Neil reckoned that what she needed
was a square meal and a good sleep, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he hardly
felt qualified to offer advice on such matters. After showering and changing her clothes, Pam had gone straight back to the
hospital, leaving Neil alone, wondering what to do next.

His yellow Mini was parked on the road outside but he hadn’t driven it since his fall. He stared at it out of the living-room
window and wondered whether he dared risk the journey to Morbay. Although his ribs still hurt they were certainly healing
fast, so he decided the time had come for action. He left the house, climbed into the driving seat tentatively and, like a
learner on his driving test, set off slowly and carefully, trying to avoid any sudden movements.

He had discovered that a student at Morbay University’s history department had written a PhD thesis back in the early 1990s
on the history of Belsham at the time of the Black Death, and as he was out of action as far as digging was concerned he thought
it might be worth taking a look. He was surprised that William Verlan hadn’t mentioned the thesis when they found the plague
pit … but then Verlan seemed to be a man with secrets.

He had telephoned the university earlier and arranged to look at the thesis. Now all he had to do was get there. The journey
seemed to last for ever as he drove stiffly and sedately, feeling like one of those old men who wore hats and drove at five
miles per hour below the speed limit that people always complained about being stuck behind. But he had no choice. Each change
of gear, each depression of the clutch pedal, sent a twinge of pain through his body. After half an hour he drew up in the
university carpark, relieved that the journey was over.

Morbay University was expanding. Featureless new buildings had sprouted up beside the original red-brick college, founded
in the 1920s to train the nation’s teachers, and more were under construction. The beneficiaries of this rapid growth, the
students, slogged, bleary eyed, between the buildings, chattering as they recovered from
the previous night’s excesses in the bar. It brought back memories, but Neil told himself firmly that he was far too young
to start reminiscing about the good old days … about the time when he and Wesley had had nothing to worry about but getting
essays in on time and their social life. He thought of Wesley and Pam sitting by Michael’s bedside, willing their son to live,
and longed for those days of playful innocence again.

Signs directed him to the history department, where he was met by a female postgraduate student. She was plump and dark with
the face of a porcelain doll – small nose, small mouth and wide brown eyes. If Neil’s mind hadn’t been on the ache in his
ribs, he would have noticed her charms, but as it was he had enough to contend with. She led him to the departmental library
where the red-bound volume awaited him on a pale wooden table. Neil thanked her and waited. He didn’t relish the thought of
someone standing over him as he read the text and made his notes. After a few seconds the porcelain doll seemed to take the
hint and left him to it.

Neil began to read. And soon he forgot all about his pain.

Heffernan had made sure that Loveday had a cup of tea, hot and sweet, before he sat down opposite her in the interview room.
Since his childhood tea had been the universal panacea for shock, bad news and any other troubles that life threw at you.
But Loveday ignored the steaming cup on the table and contented herself with chewing the end of one of her pigtails.

He decided on the direct approach. It was best to get these things over with quickly. He gave a discreet nod to Rachel, who
was sitting beside him.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Loveday,’ Rachel said gently.

Heffernan watched the young woman’s eyes but they betrayed nothing, no apprehension about what the bad news could be.

‘There’s no easy way to say this.’ Rachel hesitated. ‘I’m afraid your mother’s dead. She died last night.’

The two officers braced themselves for tears and hysteria … but none came. Loveday just carried on chewing the hair as though
Rachel had made some routine observation about the weather.

‘I haven’t got a mother,’ she said after a few moments. ‘She died years ago.’

Heffernan glanced at Rachel, who looked as confused as he felt. ‘We’ve been to see Aaron Hunting. He says he’s your dad. We
found photographs of you. Are you saying Mr and Mrs Hunting aren’t your parents?’

Loveday didn’t answer.

‘Are you Aaron Hunting’s daughter or not?’

Another silence.

‘You must have some personal grudge against Mr Hunting or his company to have done what you did. Is it because he’s your father?
Did he disown you?’ He hesitated. ‘Did he abuse you? If you don’t want to speak to me or DS Tracey here, there are … ’

‘No, he didn’t disown me or abuse me. Can I go now?’ Loveday stared ahead, her lips sealed. If she had a secret she was keeping
it for now.

Heffernan nodded to the young policewoman by the door, who took Loveday’s thin arm and prepared to escort her back to the
cells. When she had gone, the chief inspector sat for a while, deep in thought, with Rachel watching him expectantly, waiting
for some comment. His head was aching and he wished Wesley were there to give his opinion, to bounce ideas off. For all he
knew he was about to get things completely wrong. He told Rachel to go home. They’d had enough for one day.

Wesley lay on the bed fully clothed and put his hand out to touch Pam’s pillow. He’d come home for a couple of hours, knowing
that if he didn’t have some sleep he’d be no use to anybody. But, in spite of his urgings, Pam had
stayed at the hospital. He’d felt bad about leaving her, but perhaps when he returned to the hospital he’d be able to persuade
her to take a break. He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting towards oblivion, then the cold fingers of anxiety clutched
at his chest and kept sleep at bay, so he sat up again. How could he sleep when Michael might be struggling for life?

He was just putting on his shoes in preparation for returning to the hospital when the phone by the bed rang. He stared at
it for a few moments, reluctant to answer it, dreading what he might hear. Then he picked up the receiver and muttered a nervous
hello, his heart thumping in his chest.

‘Wes?’ It was Pam’s voice. But from that one word he couldn’t tell whether she was distressed or elated.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘It’s good news. The tests are negative. And his temperature’s coming down. The doctors say it’s just a nasty virus.’ She
was gasping, starting to cry with relief.