The Shadow Collector (16 page)

‘I still can’t get the fact that you were in West Fretham
eighteen years ago out of my mind,’ said Gerry. ‘Then as soon as you’re back, lo and behold, there’s another murder. Was Boo
Flecker onto you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Dan Sericold, the photographer you attacked, was her colleague. He’s been following in her footsteps, hasn’t he? She got
hold of the rent boy story first and confronted you. You lost your temper and killed her.’

‘That’s not true. She never approached me and that’s God’s honest truth. It wasn’t me she was interested in.’ Raybourn half
rose from his seat.

‘Then who was it?’ Gerry said sharply.

‘I’ve no idea. This has nothing to do with me.’ Raybourn’s cheeks had gone an alarming shade of red and Wesley put it down
to high blood pressure.

‘Have you seen your aunt while you’ve been down here?’

‘I visited her a couple of days ago. She’s in her eighties but her mind’s still sharp.’

‘Did she know the Benleys?’ Wesley asked.

‘They kept themselves to themselves but she sometimes used to see them in the village.’

Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. ‘Did she say anything about them?’

‘Only that they were weird and people kept away from their place. There were all sorts of stories going round even before
those girls got killed.’

‘What stories?’

‘People used to say they conjured demons and sacrificed animals.’ He gave the knowing smirk of one far too sophisticated to
give credence to such claptrap. ‘I must admit I was surprised when it turned out they’d killed the girls. I hadn’t believed
the rumours but it looks like I was wrong.’

‘Lilith Benley always insisted she was innocent.’

Raybourn looked up. ‘I thought she confessed.’

Wesley shook his head. ‘That was her mother. She had dementia and the doctors reckoned she didn’t understand what she was
saying.’

‘Or she was too crazy to think up any clever lies.’

‘Did anybody in the village actually witness any of these rituals the women were supposed to have taken part in?’

‘Not as far as I know. But the truth never gets in the way of a good story, does it, and the tabloids have nothing on an isolated
community.’

‘What about the girls? Did your aunt know them?’

‘I don’t think she knew them well … although she sometimes mentioned a Mrs Trelisip. I think she lived nearby. She was very
upset when the girls disappeared but that’s only natural. Look, is this photographer going to press charges?’

‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ said Gerry.

‘I need to know where I stand because my agent wants to talk to me about something that’s just come up … a show for a cable
network. He says it’s an exciting opportunity.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘He must live in a constant state of excitement if
his phone calls and e-mails are anything to go by. After a while you learn not to get your hopes up.’

Gerry considered the matter for a few moments. ‘We’ll keep you posted.’

‘And you should be sorting out that lying bastard who’s been making up these things about me. I could sue, you know.’

‘Not our department,’ said Gerry without much regret.

Raybourn bowed his head, newly humble as if he’d suddenly realised the potential damage to his precious
reputation. A dark cocktail of seedy sexual shenanigans and alleged racism could put a stop to his agent’s ‘exciting opportunity’
before you could say ‘lucrative contract’.

As they stood up to leave, Raybourn spoke again. ‘That Lilith woman … is she a suspect?’

Something in the way he said it struck Wesley as unusual. He sat down again. ‘Why do you ask?’

Raybourn didn’t answer.

‘Have you met her at all while you’ve been down here?’

There was another long silence. Gerry was waiting by the door and Wesley caught his eye.

Eventually Raybourn spoke. ‘I met her once briefly many years ago but I can’t say I knew her.’

‘When was this?’

Raybourn seemed flustered now. ‘Back in the nineteen eighties, I think. Can’t remember exactly.’

‘How did you meet her?’ Gerry growled.

‘Er … she came to the theatre in Morbay. She was a fan – or it could have been her old mum, I can’t remember.’ He gave a nervous
half-smile. ‘I used to get lots of them in those days … wanting autographs and all that.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yeah. That’s all. She got my autograph and I hardly said two words to her.’

‘But you remembered her?’ said Wesley.

‘I remembered the name. It’s unusual. And she was a striking woman. Not easy to forget. That’s it. End of story.’

Wesley glanced at Gerry who raised his eyebrows. There was another question he needed to put to Raybourn. More fishing in
the hope of enlightenment.

‘Have you ever come across a retired teacher called Laurence Roley?’ he asked.

Raybourn made a great show of thinking. ‘The name’s not familiar. Can I go now?’ He looked from one policeman to the other
hopefully.

Gerry gave him a brisk nod and left the room. Raybourn was still up there on their suspect list but the clock was ticking
and they both knew they couldn’t keep him in custody much longer.

‘Bit of a turn up him knowing Lilith Benley,’ said Gerry as they walked off down the corridor.

‘Think it’s relevant?’

Gerry thought for a few moments. ‘Probably not. He must have had loads of fans back in the day. It’s time we talked to Dan
Sericold. I want to get the full story. If Boo was onto Raybourn first …’

‘You think he killed Boo Flecker to stop it coming out that he uses rent boys and he’s a racist?’

‘With the wholesome image he’s always tried to create something like that could finish him.’ He looked at Wesley. ‘You must
have developed a feeling for these things, Wes. Do you think he’s a racist?’

‘If he is, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let it show in front of us, would he?’

‘What about the weapon … the athame? Is it likely he’d be carrying one around on the off-chance he might meet some journalist
who might be writing an unfavourable story about him? Benley ordered three of the things so she’s a much more likely candidate.’

‘If Lilith’s hiding the fact that those knives were pinched in that burglary at her place, the thief could have dropped one
somewhere. Maybe Raybourn found it just before he met Boo so he had it with him.’

‘Bit far-fetched.’

Wesley knew he was right. ‘I was just thinking aloud. We need to see Lilith again and ask her about those knives.’

‘I reckon she’s our number one suspect. And Raybourn’s coming up a close second.’ He stopped so suddenly that Wesley almost
collided into him. ‘I forgot to tell you, Wes, someone left a message on my desk. They’ve spoken to Boo Flecker’s mum – she’s
widowed and she lives up in Yorkshire. She’s coming down tomorrow. Rachel said she’d pick her up at Morbay station.’

Wesley said nothing. A mental picture of the victim’s mother identifying her dead daughter flashed into his head, causing
a knot of tension to form in his stomach.

He was glad that they had two visits lined up – Dan Sericold the photographer and Laurence Roley, Boo’s lunch companion. Anything
to take his mind off the prospect of facing the bereaved mother.

As soon as they got into the car Wesley began to drive towards Neston. But on the way they stopped off at the pub in the village
of Whitely where Sericold was staying.

They found him in the bar sipping coffee. He was in his forties and dressed in denim with a scarf draped around his neck.
Wesley knew they’d found the right man because he had a black eye, badly bruised and still half-closed. Raybourn had packed
a hefty punch.

‘We meet at last, Mr Sericold,’ said Gerry, shaking hands heartily. He introduced Wesley and they ordered more coffee. Wesley
felt he needed something to stimulate his brain.

‘Boo Flecker’s death must have come as a shock,’ Wesley began.

‘Yeah. I’m gutted. I can’t believe it.’ Wesley didn’t think he looked particularly grief stricken. But it’s often hard to
tell.

‘You were friends?’

‘More colleagues. Boo was good at her job. Single-minded. Always on the lookout for a new story or a fresh angle.’

‘I take it you haven’t come all the way down to Devon just to help us with our enquiries,’ Wesley said. ‘You could have done
that over the phone.’

Sericold’s lips turned upwards in a secretive smile and he tapped the side of his nose. ‘Boo said she was onto something.
I don’t only take photographs. I sometimes work on stories of my own. It pays to diversify.’

‘This story … it was about Rupert Raybourn?’

‘I assumed it was about Raybourn. I know he’s a bit of a has-been but he’s still newsworthy. Lots of old ladies still think
the sun shines out of his arse.’

‘And Boo found out different?’

‘As soon as I heard what had happened to her I started asking around. That’s when I heard about the rent boy.’

‘You think Raybourn killed Boo to stop that coming out?’

‘If she hadn’t got the story someone else would. He probably just lost his temper.’ He pointed to his eye.

‘But murder?’

‘Like I said, the guy has a temper.’

‘Did Boo ever mention Lilith Benley?’ asked Gerry.

Sericold shook his head.

‘Anything else you can tell us?’

Sericold hesitated. ‘That voicemail message I mentioned when you first rang – I listened to it again. Her exact words were
“one thing leads to another”. I assumed it was about Raybourn but …’

Wesley leaned forward eagerly. ‘But she could have been referring to someone else?’

Sericold shrugged and put his cup down. ‘Could have
been. But the way Raybourn reacted it must have been about him, mustn’t it?’

They talked to Sericold for a while, learning more about the dead woman, about her nature and her ambitions. He didn’t tell
them much but at least they now had a better idea of what Boo had been like. Tough. Determined. Not the sort of woman who’d
have any scruples about raking up uncomfortable secrets.

When they took their leave they drove straight to Laurence Roley’s address on the outskirts of Neston. It turned out that
the retired teacher lived on the outer fringe of the town in a brick bungalow built in the nineteen-seventies, architecture’s
least inspiring days, and fronted by a pristine garden where late roses still bloomed. The blue Mondeo, familiar from the
CCTV footage, stood polished and immaculate in the drive, telling them that they’d come to the right address.

Warrant cards at the ready, they rang the doorbell and stood there expectantly. After a while the door opened to reveal the
man they recognised immediately from the CCTV footage as Boo Flecker’s companion.

When they introduced themselves he looked surprised but he invited them inside and offered coffee. Wesley felt he needed another
one to keep him alert after his restless night so he accepted gratefully, as did Gerry.

Roley disappeared into the kitchen and when he returned a few minutes later with the drinks he made a great show of putting
down coasters so the cups wouldn’t damage the polished surface of the coffee table. The room was as neat as the garden, not
a thing out of place, and there were fresh flowers in a cut-glass vase on the sideboard.

Wesley had assumed that there must be an unseen wife
fussing somewhere in the background and he was a little surprised when another man, small and dapper with snowy hair and a
tan suggesting a recent holiday in sunnier climes, entered the room. Roley introduced him as his partner, Ian, and both policemen
stood up and shook hands with the newcomer, who sat down in the armchair opposite as though he was determined to stay.

‘Mr Roley, I believe you met a woman called Boo Flecker for lunch at the Ploughman’s Rest last Tuesday,’ Wesley began. ‘I
don’t know whether you’ve heard that the body of a woman matching her description was found in a field near the village of
West Fretham later that day. Her name hasn’t been released yet but …’

Roley’s hand went to his mouth. Either he was an extremely accomplished actor or his shock was genuine. ‘Oh my God … it wasn’t
her was it?’

Wesley saw Ian rise from his seat and perch himself on the arm of Roley’s chair, placing a protective arm around his shoulders.

‘I’m sorry if it’s come as a shock, Mr Roley, but you’ll understand why we need to speak to you.’

‘Of course, Inspector. I’ll help in any way I can.’

Laurence Roley assumed the half eager, half worried expression that Wesley had seen on the faces of so many concerned, law-abiding
citizens, only too anxious to assist the police.

‘How did you come to know her?’ Gerry asked.

‘She contacted me out of the blue that morning. Said she’d been looking into a murder case from many years ago and she’d tracked
me down. I’m not sure how she traced me but I believe it’s not difficult … the phone book, the electoral register and …’

‘Yes, Mr Roley,’ said Gerry before the man became sidetracked. ‘Which murder was this?’ They already knew Roley had been interviewed
when the girls had vanished eighteen years ago but they wanted to hear it from the man himself.

‘Two of my pupils – sorry, we have to call them students nowadays, don’t we – were murdered.’

‘Were these students Gabrielle Soames and Joanne Trelisip?’ Wesley asked, his instincts telling him that this was important.

‘That’s right. They’d been in my form that year and Boo wanted to talk about them.’

Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. According to Dan Sericold, Boo had been investigating Rupert Raybourn but one thing had led to
another and, presumably, an even better story had come up – one she hadn’t cared to share with her colleague at that point.
The Benley case hadn’t been mentioned but now it looked likely that the story she’d stumbled on might have been Lilith’s return
to the scene of her grisly crime. Cases like that always captured the public imagination.

‘Did you know that Lilith Benley’s been released from prison?’ he asked.

‘I had heard,’ Roley said softly. ‘It only happened eighteen years ago. In those women’s case I would have thought life would
mean life.’