The Shadow Collector (28 page)

He walked to the locked gate set into the hedge and stood there, gazing over the undulating landscape, idly stroking Fin’s
head. The light had almost gone now but he
could make out the shape of Devil’s Tree Cottage in the distance surrounded by skeletal trees. There was a light in the cottage
window. Which meant Lilith Benley was home. Either that or there was an intruder.

He turned and began to walk down the hill back towards his farmhouse with Fin trotting by his side, awaiting further instructions.

It had taken Lilith a while to summon the courage to sneak back to Devil’s Tree Cottage after that night of fear, the night
the intruder had invaded her home. But she had returned and now she sat staring at her mother’s rocking chair. When she closed
her eyes she could see the old woman rocking gently to and fro, her face covered by a handkerchief to keep out the light.
She’d looked like a corpse with her face covered like that. Lilith had loathed the sight of that white square of linen draped
over the wrinkled face like a shroud.

All those years ago Lilith had tried to control her fate through spells and ancient wisdom. At that dark time before her arrest
her Book of Shadows had been filled with pleas to the Mother Goddess to put everything right. But now that book had been violated
and torn. Once she’d believed that her own actions harmed none. But that hadn’t been true. There were people she’d injured.
Lives she’d destroyed.

She should have realised that it had been naïve to return to West Fretham and expect the past to be forgotten.

When she’d heard the intruder enter Devil’s Tree Cottage she’d squeezed herself into the pantry where she’d hidden those knives
that had arrived in the post unbidden – the parcel she’d taken for some sick joke. As soon as she was
sure the visitor had gone she’d returned to the parlour and there she’d found the doll on the floor. The cursed thing made
in her image. And when she’d found her Book of Shadows had been returned defiled, she’d understood the message. That’s why
she’d fled. Fear had made her run, unaware of anything but the need to get away.

There was only one person in that village who’d ever shown her kindness; and that was another lonely soul desperate for company.
Joe Jessop had found her in the lane and he’d taken her back to his cottage and given her tea, hardly talking as if he was
unused to words. He’d allowed her to stay in a run-down cottage on the far side of his land where his family had once housed
their farm workers. He had taken pity on her and kept her from prying eyes, bringing her provisions and making monosyllabic
conversation. But most importantly of all, he’d muttered that he hadn’t believed in her guilt all those years ago. She’d been
grateful for his clumsy kindness and the fact that he hadn’t betrayed her to the police. She knew she didn’t deserve his generosity.

She hadn’t told him she was going back to Devil’s Tree Cottage. If she had, she knew he’d have tried to dissuade her. Now,
as she sat there, she heard a sound from the back room, the shuffling of furtive footsteps, and she waited, hoping Joe had
guessed her plans and followed her.

She held her breath and listened, as the slow realisation dawned that those furtive footsteps didn’t belong to Joe. She switched
off the old lamp on the table next to the chair and waited, paralysed by fear.

The hinges creaked a loud warning as the door swung open. It was too late to escape this time. She was trapped. In the moonlight
she saw a cloaked figure standing in the
shadows like a witch in a fairy tale. It was the cloak that had been stolen from her, the one she’d chosen all those years
ago, black and glossy like crow’s wings. The hood was pulled down to hide the wearer’s face but Lilith knew who it was and
suddenly everything fitted together. The truth and the lies. The living and the dead.

Summoning all her courage, she stood up. ‘What do you want?’

There was no answer. Then the hood was pushed back and Lilith saw the instrument of execution.

‘I don’t think Lee’s one of nature’s murderers,’ said Gerry. ‘I think he was grateful to get everything off his chest.’

‘But he did cut Evan Mumford’s brake pipes. According to him, Harriet asked him to cut the pipes on the yellow Mini. Only
the first time he got the wrong yellow Mini. Evan’s was a flash brand-new Mini Cooper and Neil’s had been around since the
Neolithic period so I don’t see how he could have made the mistake.’

‘He wasn’t at the front of the queue when the brains were being handed out, Wes. If what he’s alleging is true, Harriet Mumford
should have picked someone brighter to do her dirty work. But then anyone brighter wouldn’t have gone along with it. Or if
they had they would have expected a lot more than the occasional bout of rumpy pumpy.’ Gerry sighed. ‘She’ll deny everything
of course. All patrols are on the lookout for her car but what’s the betting that when we pick her up she’ll plead ignorance
and say Lee did it out of jealousy. She could lead that poor bloke by the prick, no questions about that. But it’s a matter
of proving it.’

‘Easier said than done,’ Wesley said. He knew that when
it came down to it, it would be Lee’s word against Harriet Mumford’s unless they could get her to confess, which was unlikely.
But he had other things on his mind.

He’d just rung home. Pam had promised Michael a good telling off from his father. And Wesley found the role of the stern disciplinarian
an uncomfortable one. Neil, in the meantime, reckoned the lad was contrite and he’d promised to take him to a community dig
planned for the spring. An interest would do him good, he said. But Wesley wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the dig would seem like
a reward for bad behaviour. The matter would need some thought.

Gerry told him to get off home and see his son. They’d make an early start in the morning.

Wesley put his coat on, unable to get the West Fretham case out of his mind. Pauline Parry still hadn’t turned up at her address
and they really needed to speak to her about Raybourn’s statement. They needed to ask her about her estranged husband and
his connection with Lilith Benley. Although he wasn’t hopeful that they’d get much sense out of her.

There was no sign of Lilith either and he couldn’t help thinking the worst. In his mind’s eye he saw her dead in one of the
copses that littered the landscape, hanging from a tree or, more likely, snuggled in the undergrowth after taking some pills
and lying down to die in peace. Gerry was still convinced that she’d killed Boo Flecker and Zac James. But he had nagging
doubts. And in spite of the fact that she was a convicted murderer, he felt an unexpected twinge of pity whenever he thought
of her.

The phone on his desk rang and when he heard Rachel’s voice he sat down again, hoping she had news of some new development.
Then he remembered Pam and experienced
a pang of guilt that he suddenly felt so keen to delay going home.

‘I’ve had a call from Vera Bourne,’ Rachel said. ‘She found Pauline Parry wandering round West Fretham saying she was looking
for Joanne. Vera took her home for a cup of tea.’ She sighed. ‘I offered to go over and give Pauline a lift back home to Tradmouth
but she did a runner while Vera was making the call. She’s vulnerable so I’ve asked all patrols to be on the lookout.’

‘Nothing else you could do, Rach. Keep me posted, won’t you?’

As soon as he’d replaced the receiver the phone rang again. It took him a few moments to recognise Geoff Gaulter’s voice.

‘I’ve just had an interesting visit from Jessica Gaunt’s father,’ Gaulter began. ‘I thought you might like to know because
I believe the lad’s name’s cropped up in your murder case. Alexander Gulliver.’

‘What about him?’

‘Jessica Gaunt visited Alex Gulliver and when she arrived home in tears her parents assumed there’d been a falling out … the
usual teenage stuff. Then Jessica told us she wanted to drop the charges – that it had been a joke that got out of hand.’

‘I know. Has something else happened?’

‘Yes. She’s just told her mum that it was Alex who put her up to accusing Frith. It seems she’s feeling really bad about his
suicide attempt.’

‘Have you heard how Frith is?’

‘He’ll live,’ said Gaulter. ‘Jessica’s father’s worried that we’ll bring charges.’

‘Will you?’

‘I want to get the whole story before I make any decisions. I’m going to have a word with this Alex Gulliver. It could be
some sort of vendetta against Frith him and Jessica cooked up between them.’

‘But Alex doesn’t know Frith, does he? Frith teaches at the FE college, not at Alex’s school.’

‘That’s what’s puzzling me. Anyway, I’ll make more enquiries and keep you posted.’

Wesley thanked him and put the phone down.

Neil’s body was mending rapidly and although Pam and Wesley assured him they were in no rush to have the house to themselves
again, he felt it would soon be time to move on. He’d resumed work at the dig in a purely supervisory capacity and he was
making plans to buy himself a secondhand Mini, younger and sturdier than the last one. He’d promised Pam he’d get it properly
serviced and check the brakes regularly but he knew he’d probably lapse into his old ways once the memory of his trauma had
faded.

Wesley had rung to tell him that Harriet Mumford had been discovered in bed with Lee the builder and that the police wanted
to interview her regarding conspiracy to murder. Neil’s response was to say he found it hard to believe because Harriet had
seemed so … He’d searched for a suitable word but all he could come up with was ‘nice’.

But all this made no difference to Neil’s desire to find out the truth about Alison Hadness. Ever since he’d seen the carving
of the hanged woman in the garden, the history of Mercy Hall had haunted him. True to his word, Dave had brought him copies
of the rest of the journal, found folded beneath the wax dolls in the little coffins that were now at the conservation lab
in Exeter, and as he’d read Alison’s
inmost thought and secrets he was beginning to feel he knew her.

Dave had also been researching the story of the Royalist army that had besieged the town, told in various journals, including
that of Thomas Whitcombe. And then there was the story of the people trapped in Tradmouth with Prince Maurice’s troops camped
outside, taking supplies of food from the fertile countryside round about and leaving the townsfolk to their fate.

Neil occupied his convalescent hours reading Alison’s account of the siege, written in a simple code that her husband might
find hard to decipher if he found it. Alison’s journal told of a household fraught with hatred, sickness, betrayal and witchcraft.
Mercy Hall had a disturbing past to match its tragic present.

He’d also studied an account of Alison’s trial and the statements of the neighbours who’d blamed her for the sickness that
plagued the town during the siege, those same neighbours who’d seen her with a good-looking young man they’d taken for the
devil himself.

As he re-read the accounts of the events of 1643 something bothered him. He’d come across something similar before. He switched
on his laptop. There was something he wanted to check.

Even though Joe had seen the light in Devil’s Tree Cottage, he hadn’t liked to intrude. Sometimes people wanted to be left
alone. However, when Lilith hadn’t returned to the farm cottage by eight he began to feel uneasy. Lilith needed shelter and
protection and he wondered what had made her go out again into a world that had treated her so cruelly.

He ate his evening meal of sausage and beans in
brooding silence as Fin gazed up at him adoringly. ‘Where is she, lad?’ he muttered to the dog as he stroked his head. ‘I
thought she’d be back by now.’

As soon as he’d finished eating, Joe pulled on his boots and found a torch. He would walk over to Devil’s Tree Cottage to
make sure she’d come to no harm. Then he’d bring her back. It was the least he could do.

With Fin by his side he left the farmhouse and headed up the fields. Stars dotted the clear sky and the full moon cast a silvery
glow over the landscape. When he reached the gate that separated his land from Lilith’s he hesitated for a moment before climbing
over.

The land sloped away gently beyond the gate, rising again just behind where the cottage stood. Although he’d lived next door
since boyhood, he’d never ventured onto Devil’s Tree Cottage land before. He had never been on visiting terms with either
the Benleys or their predecessors and when the house had lain empty all those years during Lilith’s incarceration, some almost
superstitious misgiving meant that he hadn’t cared to trespass.

He could see Devil’s Tree Cottage but there was no light in the window now. If Lilith had gone back, she wasn’t there any
more. But he had to make sure so he walked down the hill passing a copse of trees to his right, the half-naked branches dotted
with crows’ nests outlined against the moonlit sky like musical notes on a stave.

Suddenly he was aware of Fin bounding off towards the trees. Joe knew there must be something in there to attract him. Even
the most obedient dog could have his head turned by the scent of something irresistible. He called the dog’s name. Once. Twice.
And an answering bark told him that Fin had found something in the trees.

A feeling of dread clutched at his stomach and in his mind’s eye he saw Lilith lying dead in the undergrowth. But as he steeled
himself to enter the copse the dog burst out of the trees, bounding towards him with something in his mouth. Tail wagging,
proud of the thing he placed at his master’s feet.

Joe squatted down to view the trophy, taking his torch from his pocket and shining it at the ground. The bone lying there
might have belonged to an animal. But on the other hand, it was about the right size to be human.

Inside the cottage Lilith sat perfectly still in the rocking chair, her feet planted on the floor, preparing for escape.

‘What do you want?’ she said softly, unwilling to raise her voice in case it goaded her tormentor into further cruelty.

‘It’s not fair that you only got eighteen miserable years for what you did.’