The Shadow Collector (17 page)

‘The mother died in a secure hospital. And now Lilith’s moved back into her old home. Boo Flecker was found near there.’

Roley pressed his lips together in a determined line. ‘That Benley woman’s a danger to society. She should be put away for
good.’

‘What exactly did Boo Flecker ask you?’

‘She wanted the dirt on those two poor girls. Somehow she’d heard that they weren’t exactly angels but I didn’t give her what
she wanted.’

Ian gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. ‘Larry’s not one for speaking ill of the dead, are you, Larry?’

Roley shook his head.

‘Sometimes it’s necessary to get at the truth,’ said Wesley quietly.

Roley sat for a while in silence and as Wesley watched him he saw the emotions pass across his face; worry, grief and indecision.

‘You’re not doing the girls or Boo Flecker any favours by not giving us the whole picture,’ said Gerry. Roley’s bland statement
eighteen years ago had read like a eulogy but the passage of time would, hopefully, have stripped sentiment away.

The blunt words seemed to jolt Roley out of his reverie. ‘Very well. I’ll be honest. I can’t pretend that Joanne and Gabrielle
were easy students. Well, Gabrielle had been a nice girl when I’d taught her English in the lower forms but I’m afraid she
was rather easily led so when she came under the influence of a stronger personality …’

‘Joanne called the shots?’

‘I suppose you could put it like that. But whatever Joanne might have done those poor girls didn’t deserve …’ He took out
a spotless handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes while Ian hugged him, full of concern. ‘Boo wanted to know about the girls
… about their relationships and their love lives. I thought it best to plead ignorance because I guessed what kind of article
she had in mind. Sensationalist tabloid rubbish.’ He pursed his lips with disapproval and Ian nodded in agreement.

Eventually Roley spoke again. ‘It was Joanne who attracted the boys. Gabrielle was …’ He hesitated. ‘What some unkind people
would call the plain friend – although she wasn’t plain, she was just quieter.’

‘Did Joanne have a boyfriend?’ Wesley asked.

‘She used to chase after John Grimes; he was in the year above and he had a reputation for being the class Romeo.’ A small
smile appeared on his lips. ‘John was one of my star pupils. I like to think I introduced him to the joys of poetry. In fact
we became quite close.’ He suddenly realised that his words might be misconstrued. ‘I don’t mean that anything untoward went
on. It’s just that when you get an extremely talented student who shares a passion for your subject, it’s rather a wonderful
thing.’ He sighed. ‘Such a shame he dropped out of school after the tragedy and gave up going to university to join some pop
group. It was a terrible waste.’

Wesley knew he had to interrupt Roley’s fond reminiscences and return to the subject of murder. ‘So John and Joanne …?’

‘They were caught together in the art stock room … having sex. And her behaviour towards authority left a lot to be desired.
She was defiant and she didn’t see why she should be working for her exams, which was a pity because she was very bright.
She was, I regret to say, one of those girls whose hormones get the better of them … always had the shortest skirt and the
biggest mouth, if you know what I mean. But she was only sixteen so who knows what she might have become once maturity set
in. That’s what’s so dreadfully sad about the whole thing, Inspector. Most people have a chance to grow up but she never did.’

‘And Gabrielle?’

‘She hung on Joanne’s every word, although I did hear rumours in the staff room a couple of weeks before the tragedy that
John Grimes had tired of Joanne and turned his attentions to Gabrielle. I must confess I hoped this might eventually herald
a parting of the ways. Joanne’s influence on her must have been a terrible worry for Gabrielle’s parents – they were decent
people. I did hear they’d moved away but I suppose that’s understandable.’

Wesley nodded. ‘What can you tell me about Joanne’s family?’

‘She was an only child. Absent father who’d absconded with another woman when Joanne was about eight and an ineffectual mother
who found it hard to cope. Joanne had had no boundaries set so it’s hardly surprising she ended up as she did.’

So far they hadn’t spoken to Joanne’s mother who seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. If she was traced Wesley
didn’t relish the prospect of facing her – but police work, by its nature, was full of sad encounters.

‘If you want the sorry truth, Inspector, I didn’t think Joanne Trelisip was a nice person,’ Roley said, glancing at Ian for
reassurance. ‘In fact she made life very awkward for me a few weeks before she died. This isn’t something I’d normally share,
of course, but if you heard it from someone else you might think …’

Wesley saw Gerry was sitting on the edge of the sofa, waiting for the revelation. It was a few moments before Roley continued,
as if he’d been summoning the courage to speak.

‘Joanne used to write nasty little notes which she’d leave in peoples’ lockers spreading rumours about various members of
staff. For a few weeks I was her victim. She made
allegations about my … about my sexuality. She said I’d been touching the younger boys, which was absolute rubbish, of course.
I can only suppose that she’d picked up on the fact that I was gay and thought she’d use it to amuse herself – unfortunately
people weren’t so tolerant in those days. Bullies behave like that, don’t you find? They find somebody different and torment
them because of that difference. I imagine it’s a primitive thing; the fear of the other. It’s something civilisation is supposed
to eradicate.’

‘Only it doesn’t always work that way,’ Wesley said quietly. He glanced at Gerry and saw he was nodding in agreement. ‘You’re
sure it was Joanne who wrote the notes?’

‘Oh yes. She was suspended from school for three weeks, which didn’t really bother her because she just regarded it as an
extra holiday. Look, the death of a young person is always a tragedy and this case was no exception … but it would be dishonest
to pretend Joanne Trelisip was an angelic innocent.’

‘Did you share any of this with Boo Flecker?’

‘Certainly not. I didn’t want to see the girls’ names dragged through the mud in a tabloid newspaper.’

‘We have CCTV footage of you and Boo in the car park of the Ploughman’s Rest,’ said Gerry. ‘You parted on amicable terms?’

‘That’s right, we did. I didn’t particularly like the woman but we didn’t fall out.’

‘She left her car there and walked off in the direction of Jessop’s Farm where that reality show was being filmed,’ said Wesley.
‘She told a colleague she was investigating one of the participants – Rupert Raybourn, the comedian. Did she mention that
at all?’

‘She said she was working on a story about a well-known celebrity. But she also said she’d had a more interesting lead. Then
she asked me what I knew about Lilith Benley and did I know exactly where the two girls had been murdered.’

‘And you told her?’

‘It’s in the public domain so I didn’t see the harm.’

‘When she left did she say anything about visiting Lilith Benley?’

‘Not exactly but it wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d gone up there. I don’t think Ms Flecker was one to consider the finer
feelings of others.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘And if she did visit the Benley woman, you realise it means she’s probably
killed again. Perhaps you’ll lock her up for good this time.’

‘We’ll have to bring Lilith Benley in,’ said Gerry. ‘I think Boo came after Raybourn then she found out Benley had been released
and returned to the scene of her crime. What’s the betting Boo Flecker went there wanting an exclusive story and she got more
than she bargained for.’

Wesley couldn’t argue with his logic. In spite of Raybourn’s violent outburst against Dan Sericold he found it hard to imagine
him committing murder. But Lilith, if her mother’s evidence at her trial all those years ago was to be believed, had once
thought nothing of killing two young girls who’d made a nuisance of themselves. Lilith had ordered three knives from Evan
Mumford’s company – athames identical to the murder weapon – and as yet they hadn’t been able to ask her whether she could
account for them. If Boo had met her after leaving Laurence Roley that day, she might well have lost control and killed again.

‘We’d better get up there and hope she answers the door this time,’ said Wesley. ‘But there’s something I need to do first.’
As they were already in Neston it made sense to visit the police station while he was there.

Gerry looked at his watch. ‘The Nutter wants to see me – another ruddy meeting.’ He rolled his eyes. Wesley knew it was years
since Chief Superintendent Nutter had worked on the front line … and sometimes his ill-timed interference sorely tried Gerry’s
patience. ‘I’d better get a car to take me back to Tradmouth. Then as soon as I’m done we’ll get up to Devil’s Tree Cottage
and bring her in for questioning. We’ll keep her in custody on suspicion of murder if necessary.’

They drove the short distance to Neston police station in silence and while Gerry met the car which would take him back to
Tradmouth, Wesley made for the police garage.

He looked for the man he’d met the night before but he was nowhere to be seen. However, when he saw a uniformed officer in
the glass-fronted office at the side he walked over and introduced himself. There were several vehicles in the cavernous garage
which smelled of oil and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on, some crashed, some intact and surrounded by police
tape awaiting examination. He spotted Neil’s wrecked Mini in the corner and the thought that someone had deliberately attempted
to kill his friend made his stomach churn afresh. The officer was intent on his paperwork but he looked up when Wesley cleared
his throat.

‘I’m DI Peterson from Tradmouth. That yellow Mini belongs to a friend of mine. I believe the brake pipes were cut.’

The officer looked at Wesley curiously for a while then,
having made up his mind that he was probably who he said he was, he leaned back against the desk and folded his arms. ‘Has
your mate got any enemies?’

‘He’s an archaeologist not a Mafia boss.’

The man grinned. ‘Rival archaeologist after the same buried treasure?’

Wesley shook his head. ‘I was wondering if any prints had been found on the brake pipes.’

The officer shook his head. ‘Nothing usable. Pity. How is your mate?’

‘Still in hospital. He’s had an operation on his leg and he’s undergoing more tests. Do you happen to know if DS Gaulter’s
in his office?’

The answer was another shake of the head followed by an offer of the extension phone on the desk to ring through to CID. Wesley
was in luck. Gaulter was in. And he was happy to have an informal word.

The CID office at Neston Police Station was smaller than the one at Tradmouth and the view wasn’t so spectacular. At Tradmouth
the large windows of the first floor office overlooked the river, the town of Queenswear on the opposite bank and the wooded
hills beyond, a view the tourists paid good money for but the police had free of charge. However, here in Neston the unlovely
view of the main road into town had to suffice. Almost a year ago a murder incident room had been set up here following a
shooting in nearby Tradington and Wesley had felt rather claustrophobic working in the low-ceilinged, utilitarian room.

DS Gaulter was waiting for him. The two men had never met before but Wesley’s first impression of Gaulter was favourable.
His wispy fair hair was thinning on top and,
with his round, amiable face, he looked like a rather worldly monk.

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked after inviting Wesley to sit and offering a cup of tea from the machine, an offer Wesley
found easy to refuse.

‘It’s a bit delicate. A teacher has been accused of assaulting a minor and the consensus of opinion among his colleagues seems
to be that he’s innocent. Look, tell me to get lost if I’m treading on toes here but I promised someone who works with him
I’d have a word.’ He shrugged apologetically, half expecting Gaulter’s welcoming manner to change.

‘You’re talking about the Simon Frith case, aren’t you?’ Gaulter began to search through the cardboard files neatly stacked
on his desk. He found one and opened it, the frown of concentration on his face wrinkling his forehead.

‘Do you mind talking about it?’

Gaulter didn’t reply for a few seconds. Then he looked up. ‘It seems pretty cut and dried. Jessica Gaunt is fifteen, and in
spite of the fact she’s one of those Goths, she seems a nice quiet girl from a caring family. Dad’s a chartered accountant
with offices in Morbay and mother’s a part-time nurse and they answered an advert placed in a shop window by a teacher offering
GCSE tuition. Frith teaches History at South Hams College of Further Education and came with excellent references. All was
well at first then, after six months or so, the girl told her mother Frith had touched her inappropriately. Claimed he’d squeezed
her breasts and made suggestive remarks … something about Abelard and Heloise. They were a teacher and a pupil in medieval
France who fell in love, I believe.’

‘That’s right. It does seem the sort of thing that might
spring to a History teacher’s mind in those circumstances. The girl’s stuck to her story?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve had a look at Frith’s computer?’

‘Yes. Nothing incriminating. No kiddie porn. Mind you, that might just mean he’s been careful.’

‘But something’s bothering you?’ Wesley knew the signs. He’d experienced that same feeling himself; a nebulous feeling that
something wasn’t quite right.

‘The girl was very confident when she was interviewed. Maybe too confident, as if she’d rehearsed it all carefully.’

‘Or cooked up the story with one of her mates?’

Gaulter thought for a few moments, turning the pen he was holding over and over in his fingers. ‘There is a boyfriend; a lad
from her class at school. Look, I’ve absolutely no proof that she’s not telling the truth but I’ve seen how she behaves in
front of her parents; all tears and shyness. I also caught her off-guard one day. I happened to call when she was alone with
the boyfriend in the house and it was almost as if she had to remind herself to keep up the act. The female DC who was with
me agreed. But it’s hardly evidence, is it?’