The Shadow Collector (20 page)

Gerry was in his office talking on the phone, a peeved expression on his face. No doubt Wesley would find out who he was speaking
to in due course; Gerry wasn’t a man who could keep things to himself. In the meantime he sat down at his desk, glad of a
moment of calm. The information had been coming at him relentlessly over the past few days and he felt he needed time to think
things through.

He’d already looked through the file of cuttings about the Devil’s Tree Cottage murders they’d found in Boo Flecker’s hotel
room, but it would do no harm to look again. He was in search of inspiration, some hitherto ignored fact that would make everything
fall into place so he opened the file and started to examine the photocopied sheets.

There were photographs of the girls, alone and together, and pictures the newspapers had obtained of the girls at school.
One was a group photograph; several adolescents staring out at the camera, some smiling, some wearing a bored scowl. The two
dead girls stood at the back, school ties unknotted in a small act of rebellion. Gabby was snuggled next to a boy who had
his arm around her waist and Wesley focused on the boy’s face, wondering if this could be the John Grimes who’d been mentioned:
the boy who’d been going out with Joanne but had turned his attentions to Gabby a couple of weeks before the girls died. Finding
Grimes was on his list of things to do, just in case he’d taken
it into his head to wreak some sort of revenge on Lilith Benley for the girls’ murders. But it had hardly seemed like a priority.
Until now.

John Grimes hadn’t changed very much in eighteen years. The hair was different and time and lifestyle had taken their toll.
But that sulky, challenging expression was the same. John Grimes, the Devon teenager, had metamorphosed over the years, had
escaped his chrysalis and had been transformed into the new creation that was Zac James.

Journal of Thomas Whitcombe, Captain in the King’s army, September 20th 1643

I will go again into Tradmouth in my guise of farmer. If I enquire of Alison it may fit well with my disguise for a spy does
not speak of a lady he once knew, rather he is secretive and speaks to nobody except to ask about the town’s defences
.

So it was that I spoke with a man on the quayside, saying she was a distant kinswoman of mine. He told me she is still in
the town and married to one William Hadness, a widower of Mercy Hall. I know the place. It is a handsome stone house not far
from Hilton Farm where we are billeted. He made a ribald jest about an old ram not being able to satisfy a young ewe. I laughed
as he expected, hiding my distaste at his words. The thought of sweet Alison in the bed of an old man, of him pawing her,
his naked body joined with hers, made me angry enough to strike the teller and yet to learn that she is so near is the sweetest
Providence
.

I heard say that an old woman of the town has been conjuring demons, making her neighbours see visions of hell as they lie
shaking
at Satan’s mercy. It is said she has been taken before the Magistrate and there are many who will testify against her. Without
doubt she will hang as witches deserve
.

Written by Alison Hadness, September 20th 1643

I learned the art of making physic from my mother who was skilled in such things. And yet there are many plants I do not grow
in my garden. Instead I collect them in secret, sometimes at night. Even Dorcas does not know of this. If she did, she would
say I was unwise. There are many prepared to cry ‘witch’ at one with my knowledge
.

Elizabeth avoids me. She is a sly girl who keeps to her chamber and says little. Nobody is permitted to enter her chamber
and her father indulges her whims. I observed her collecting candle wax in the shadows last night. I fear she plans to do
me harm. I must think upon the matter for if I put it about she is using sorcery, she will be taken
.

And yet I hesitate to denounce her for pity of her youth
.

The palace of white stucco that was the Riviera Towers had dominated the sea front at Morbay since the resort’s heyday in
the nineteen-twenties. It was where the stars stayed, if they ever strayed in the direction of Morbay for summer season productions
or Christmas panto. And it was where Zac James had chosen to stay, well away from Rupert Raybourn at the Marina Hotel in Tradmouth.

When Wesley and Gerry arrived they found Zac sitting in the bar swigging from a bottle of lager and wearing a pair of large
and unnecessary dark glasses. As soon as he saw them he pushed the glasses back onto his head. His eyes were bloodshot.

‘I’ve told you already, I don’t know nothing about that reporter.’

‘You’ve not heard then?’ said Gerry.

‘Heard what?’

‘Lilith Benley’s disappeared. It’s been on the news.’

‘Haven’t seen the news today. The fucking TV company won’t tell me what’s going on.’ He looked at Gerry accusingly. ‘Do you
know when the filming’s starting again? I can’t hang about here for ever, you know.’

‘Did you hear what I said about Lilith Benley?’ said Gerry, ignoring the question.

Zac took another swig of lager. ‘If she’s done a runner I guess it proves she killed that woman so the rest of us are off
the hook. I heard about Rupert and that photographer, by the way.’ He smirked. ‘Never knew he had it in him.’

‘Where were you yesterday?’ Gerry asked. ‘We think someone might have given Lilith Benley a lift.’

Zac snorted. ‘Well it certainly wasn’t me. I’ve got an alibi.’ He emphasised the last word. ‘I was here all day. Never left
the hotel. And in the evening I was with someone. We ate at the Cheval de Mer on the sea front – two Michelin stars – and
then she stayed the night in my room.’

‘Where can we find her?’

‘She works here on Reception,’ Zac said, reciting her name with a confidence that convinced Wesley he was telling the truth.
Interviewing the star-struck receptionist would probably be a formality.

Wesley had brought the picture he’d found in Boo Flecker’s folder with him. He took it from his pocket, unfolded it and handed
it to Zac.

‘Is that you?’

Zac stared at it for a few moments but didn’t answer.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were at school with Joanne Trelisip and Gabby Soames?’

‘You never asked.’ He sounded like a petulant child, discovered doing something bad and trying to brazen it out.

‘You told us you were from Essex,’ Gerry said accusingly.

‘I am … now. I’ve lived there for years and so have my folks. Anyway, I didn’t want to get involved. I’d had enough of your
lot. Just because I had a bit of coke in my room …’

‘Your real name’s John Grimes, am I right?’

‘Yeah. But I changed it years ago.’

It was Wesley’s turn to speak. ‘We’ve been talking to an old teacher of yours. Laurence Roley.’

Zac’s eyes brightened and he smiled, as if he was recalling fond memories. ‘Old Larry Roley. He was amazing. My family went
through a bad patch and I don’t know what I would have done without him. Used to tell him all my troubles and he actually
listened. He was gay, of course, but that didn’t matter. Everyone knew I was one for the girls so no one got the wrong end
of the stick. Larry was one of the good guys. Fantastic bloke.’

‘You were friendly with Joanne Trelisip and Gabby Soames at the time they were murdered. In fact we’ve heard you were more
than friendly.’ Gerry put his face close to Zac’s.

The glasses slipped down again. Wesley thought they must have made the world go dark. Or perhaps it was intentional. Perhaps
he wanted to conceal his thoughts. Wesley suggested they find a quieter corner and, reluctantly, Zac trailed behind them,
eyes still concealed and bottle in hand.

Zac slumped back in a plush seat, legs spread wide, trying to look unconcerned. ‘I was in the year above Jo and Gabby but
we were mates.’

‘According to our records you were interviewed when they vanished,’ said Wesley.

‘So was everyone. I couldn’t tell them anything. All I knew was that they were going to have a giggle with some witches. It
was Jo’s idea. She had a thing about them. That’s all I can tell you, honest.’

‘But you knew who they meant? Who the witches were?’

‘Everyone knew but most people kept well away. They were supposed to have powers.’

‘What sort of powers?’

‘Search me. It was just something everyone said.’

‘You didn’t happen to follow the girls that night?’

‘I was in Dukesbridge with some mates. Band practice. The police checked it out at the time. As soon as they disappeared they
talked to all their mates.’

‘Your parents were away at the time, I believe.’

‘Yeah but I was with my mates.’

‘How did you get to this band practice?’

‘I drove. I’d just passed my test and my mum had let me borrow her car.’

‘And you didn’t see the girls that evening?’

‘No. Like I said, I was at band practice all night.’

Wesley had already checked. John Grimes had an alibi for the evening the girls vanished, provided by his mates in the band.
And it looked as if he had one now. They’d arrange for the receptionist to be interviewed but he wasn’t holding out much hope.
He’d known from Zac’s confidence when he’d provided the alibi that he was telling the truth.

He had another question to ask. ‘How did Gabby and Joanne get on?’

Zac stared at the bottle, avoiding his gaze. ‘OK I suppose.’

‘You don’t seem too sure.’

‘They fell out sometimes. Jo was … I don’t know … reckless. That was probably why she got herself killed. I can just see her
taunting those old bitches. She never knew when to stop.’

Wesley knew what Zac meant. He had met people who lacked control, often among the criminal fraternity. ‘But Gabby was with
her. She went along with her plan to torment the Benley women?’

‘Jo was going whatever happened so I think Gabby went along to make sure she didn’t get into trouble. She was like that. Jo
told her it’d be a laugh.’

‘Until she pushed things too far.’

‘Or she was unlucky. They got caught and sacrificed …’

Gerry had been listening intently but now he broke his silence. ‘Come on, Zac, those women might have dabbled in white witchcraft
and the mother might have been a bit doolally but human sacrifice?’

Wesley watched for Zac’s reaction, unable to share his boss’s scepticism. Who knows, he thought, what isolation from society
does to a person. To be tormented by teenagers and shunned by your neighbours.

‘They were just a couple of old witches …’ Zac began to fidget, looking around as if he was anxious for the interview to be
over.

‘And outsiders have always been fair game,’ said Wesley softly.

Gerry cleared his throat. ‘I suppose you’ll be catching up with some of your family and your old school mates while you’re
down here.’

‘Like I said, my folks live in Essex – I bought them a nice new house. And most of my old mates have moved away.’

‘We’ve been trying to trace Joanne’s family. Do you know where we can find them?’

‘There was only her mum. Her dad walked out when she was little. Someone I was at school with works here as a waiter and he
told me her mum’s still around. Says she’s gone completely bananas. Jo always did reckon she was odd.’

‘Where can we find this old mate of yours?’ Gerry asked.

‘Probably in the restaurant. And I’d hardly describe him as a mate. His name’s Richard and he’s a bit of a pillock.’

Wesley said they’d be in touch and when they left the bar he looked back over his shoulder and saw a look of relief on Zac’s
face.

‘I want a word with Richard the Pillock,’ said Gerry as he followed Wesley out into Reception, where they both stood for a
few moments looking for a sign that would point them in the direction of the restaurant.

When they arrived at their destination they found the place half full of early diners, taking advantage of a special deal.
Two steaks for the price of one and a complimentary glass of wine.

A waiter hurried up to them. He was round faced with slick hair and a waistline that poured over his tight black trousers.
‘Table for two, gentlemen? Have you booked?’

‘We’re looking for Richard,’ Wesley said.

‘You’ve found him,’ the man said, puzzled, as though he was racking his brains, trying to recall whether he’d met them before.

‘John Grimes told us we’d find you here. We’re police officers.’

Richard’s small brown eyes widened in alarm, as though he feared imminent arrest.

‘It’s nothing to worry about. We just wondered if you knew where we could find Joanne Trelisip’s mother. You told John she’s
still around.’

‘That’s right. And it’s Zac now. Can’t believe I know a celebrity,’ he said, half awed, half proud, as if he’d encountered
a heavenly being. ‘My sister told me about Mrs Trelisip. She’s a social worker, you see, and she only mentioned it ’cause
she knew I’d been at school with Joanne and Gabby.’ He was speaking fast now, trying to convince them that he had no association
with the Trelisip woman, as though she was a creature of the shadows, tainted as an outcast.

‘Do you know where we can find her?’

‘She lives in a maisonette on the council estate just outside Tradmouth. I think she’s got mental health issues. She calls
herself Parry now. According to my sister it’s her maiden name. Our Sarah says her place is in a right state. She’s organising
a home help for her. Look, you won’t mention my sister, will you? She probably shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Any idea of the address?’ said Gerry with a hint of impatience.

‘Off Garrow Road, our Sarah said.’ He paused. ‘I heard that woman’s been let out of prison.’ He looked at them accusingly.
‘They say she’s murdered someone else.’

‘Not our decision,’ said Gerry in a tone that didn’t encourage argument.

Wesley went on to ask about Richard’s relationship with Joanne and Gabby but the answers weren’t much help. He hadn’t had
much to do with the girls because they used to laugh at him, especially Joanne. Gabby had been under her spell, easily led,
but shortly before her murder she’d started going out with John Grimes who was in the year above and
a conceited pillock. Funny, Wesley thought, that Zac had used exactly the same word to describe him. However, there seemed
to be little animosity between the two old school-mates. They were just two men who’d once known each other in passing but
who now inhabited different worlds now that one of them had been elevated to the glittering status of celebrity.

Wesley handed Richard his card with instructions to call him if he remembered anything else. Richard studied it for a few
seconds then stuck it in his back pocket. As they took their leave the restaurant was filling up. It was a Friday night, the
time when people went out enjoying themselves after the working week. Wesley watched the middle-aged women in black dresses,
variations on a theme with added sparkle here and there, and their partners with their sagging jowls and smart casual jackets.
They looked comfortable and slightly smug as Richard and his colleagues showed them to their tables.

‘Think Joanne Trelisip’s mum could have anything to do with Lilith Benley’s disappearance?’ Wesley asked when they arrived
back at the incident room. The place was still buzzing with activity and everyone looked as tired as Wesley felt.

‘The need for revenge never goes away, Wes. Best eaten cold, as they say. Maybe when she heard about Lilith’s release and
Boo’s murder …’

‘Somehow I can’t see the mother making her way over to West Fretham and lying in wait for Lilith, can you? And even if she
did, what’s she done with the body? And what’s the meaning of that wax doll?’

‘Let’s pay this Trelisip or Parry woman a visit,’ Gerry said, looking at his watch.

Wesley shook his head. ‘According to Richard she’s vulnerable. I know it’s not that late but it’s dark and I don’t think it
would be a good idea for us to turn up unannounced. Might scare the life out of her. I vote we leave it till the morning.’