The Shining Skull (29 page)

Wesley shrugged. There were all sorts of possibilities. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t happy about the Fallbrooks knowing his true identity
until he knew for certain that everything was OK. Or maybe it was to protect the woman who had brought him up . . . the woman
he had always thought of as his mother.’

‘Jacqueline?’

‘Probably.’

‘Maybe he knew all along that she had been involved in his abduction and he couldn’t bear the thought of her being exposed
as a criminal so he pointed the finger at Gordon Heather to put us off he scent.’

‘But where is she?’

‘Dead?’

‘Or she’s lying low somewhere. And there is another possibility: Marcus might have wanted to hide the fact that, as Joe Quin,
he’s been on the wrong side of the law. Let’s face it, a criminal record would hardly go down well with the Fallbrooks.’

Wesley took his mobile phone out of his pocket. ‘While I’m on to the station I’ll ask them to check if Joe Quin’s got a criminal
record.’

Heffernan nodded in agreement and Wesley went into the small kitchen to make the call to Tradmouth.

A few minutes later he came back into the room and Gerry Heffernan looked up from his search of the bureau. Seeing the expression
on Wesley’s face, he froze. PC Blunt, who had just provided the news that the occupants of the house were Jacqueline and Joseph
Quin, hung around in the doorway, suspecting that something momentous was about to happen.

Wesley spoke quietly. ‘Gerry, we’ve got to get back. There’s been a development.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ Wesley said, giving Blunt an apologetic look. ‘We can leave you to see to everything here, can’t
we, Constable?’

But Gerry Heffernan was still rooting in the bureau. He had found another photograph. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said as a slow
grin lit up his face. ‘That’s a turn up for the books. Look.’ He handed the picture to Wesley.

‘Isn’t that . . .?’

‘Yeah. Jacob Fallbrook and the woman in the other photo with Helen Sewell – the one we’re presuming is Jacqueline. And look,
there in the background. Is that who I think it is?’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ He turned to Blunt. ‘Have you looked upstairs, Constable?’

‘Nothing much up there, sir. All neat and tidy – a woman’s room and a man’s. He’s got quite a few car and boating magazines
. . . not much else.’

Wesley’s grin widened. ‘Thanks, Blunt. You’ve been very helpful.’

Five minutes later they were on their way, the photograph safely tucked away in the glove compartment. It would be dark when
they got back but some things couldn’t wait.

Wesley had rung Pam from a motorway service station on the way back to tell her that he’d be home that night, albeit after
midnight. He felt exhausted after his marathon drive and he knew he had to get some sleep if he was to be alert first thing.
They had a killer to catch.

It was fifteen minutes to midnight when the two men sat in the interview room, the tape machine ready, waiting for Gordon
Heather to be brought up from the cells.

As Heather sat down, Wesley took a sip of strong coffee. He noticed a hint of aggression in the prisoner’s manner that hadn’t
been there before.

‘I didn’t kill her,’ were his first words. ‘I didn’t kill that Leah Wakefield. I want that on the tape.’

Heffernan said nothing. He slid the photograph towards Heather; the image of Jacob Fallbrook with the woman they were assuming
was Jacqueline standing close to him on one side and Gordon Heather a little further away on the other.

‘Teddy Afleck told us that Jacob Fallbrook wasn’t as squeaky clean as he made out, in his business dealings or in his private
life.’

A sly look came across Heather’s face.

‘Tell us about this woman in the picture,’ said Wesley.

Heather shrugged. ‘Her name was Jackie. Jenny found them together. She was a bit of an innocent was Jenny – she was shocked.
He was a randy old bugger was Fallbrook. I told Jenny to watch out or she’d be next.’

‘When was this picture taken?’

Heather thought for a few moments, his face screwed up in concentration. ‘Mr Afleck was taking a picture of a boat we’d just
finished refitting. He took one of Mr Fallbrook and Jackie just to finish off the film.’

‘Mr Afleck said he didn’t know her name.’

Heather gave Wesley a smile that sent a shiver up his spine. ‘He would say that wouldn’t he? He’d been having it off with
her and all.’

Wesley looked at Heffernan. ‘So who was Jackie?’

‘She was a secretary . . . worked for one of the suppliers. She used to make fun of me. I saw them once at the boathouse and
she told me to piss off.’ He clenched his fists, as though he was trying to squeeze the throat of the woman who’d humiliated
him all those years ago.

‘So this Jackie was having an affair with both your bosses?’

Heather said nothing.

‘Do you know what happened to her?’

‘Dunno.

‘Where is this boathouse?’

Heather let out a long breath and frowned. ‘Near Stoke Raphael . . . where the railway viaduct crosses the inlet. I haven’t
been there for years,’ he said, looking Wesley in the eye, willing him to believe he was telling the truth.

Wesley viewed his last statement with some scepticism but he carried on. ‘Did you tell Jenny you’d seen Fallbrook with this
woman?’

His face reddened. ‘I might have done. Can’t remember.’

‘Oh come on,’ said Heffernan impatiently.

‘All right. I probably did. Not that she believed me at first . . . not till she’d seen them with her own eyes. She always
believed the best of everyone, did Jenny.’

‘Can you take one of our officers to the boathouse tomorrow?’

Heather looked uneasy. ‘Why?’

‘Humour us,’ Heffernan said with a mirthless smile.

‘I’ll try,’ said the prisoner half-heartedly.

‘And there’s one more question I want to ask you . . . ’

Once they had their answer they took their leave.

‘Shall we pay the Fallbrooks a call now?’ Wesley asked as they made their way back to the CID office.

Gerry Heffernan examined his watch and shook his head. ‘It’s after midnight. It can wait till the morning.’

Wesley grinned. ‘I asked Paul to speak to Carol Fallbrook earlier.’

‘I presume there’s been no word from Marcus?’

‘No. But Paul says she was surprisingly co-operative. I told him to tell her that we think we know where Leah Wakefield was
held and we’ll be continuing the search tomorrow.’

Heffernan looked puzzled. ‘Why?’

Wesley didn’t answer the question. ‘First thing in the morning then. Eight o’clock?’

‘Can’t we make it half past?’

Wesley hesitated before nodding in agreement.

‘I’ll set my alarm clock then.’

Wesley slept fitfully and when the alarm went off at seven, he had difficulty opening his eyes and facing the world.

But he made it to Gerry Heffernan’s in time, picking the chief inspector up from his cottage on Baynard’s Quay where the boats
bobbed at anchor on the high tide and the seagulls shrieked their own alarm calls to the sluggards of Tradmouth.

Heffernan looked annoyingly alert, like a hound on the scent. ‘Keeping you up, are we, Wes?’ he quipped as Wesley stifled
a yawn. ‘Why do you want to see the Fallbrooks exactly?’

Before Wesley could give an answer his mobile phone rang. After a short conversation, he turned to his companion. Heffernan
could tell that the news was good. ‘That was Paul Johnson. He took Heather up to Stoke Raphael and they’ve located the boathouse.
He said there was a new padlock on the door but fortunately he had the good sense to smash it. Want to know what he found
inside?’

‘What?’

‘Evidence that someone had been held there . . . .tied up. And what looked like blood.’

Gerry Heffernan reached for his own mobile. ‘We’d better get Forensics up there right away.’

‘There’s something else. There’s an old cupboard there and Paul found some yellow A4 paper just like the kidnapper used for
the notes. And, even more interesting, he also found drafts of the Marcus Fallbrook ransom notes. The kidnapper must have
copied them.’

‘Marcus said he was locked in some sort of shed . . . could have been a boathouse. Leah’s kidnapper might have found the place
and discovered the draft ransom notes. Maybe that’s what gave him the idea.’

‘Let’s get the place sealed off, Wes. What are we waiting for?’

‘If the kidnapper’s left stuff, presumably he or she intends to go to go back there to get rid of the evidence. I’ve told
Paul to watch the place – he’s going to let us know as soon as anything happens.’

Heffernan sighed. ‘If anything happens.’

‘Let’s get round to the Fallbrooks’ shall we?’ Wesley said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

They said very little as they drove out to Mirabilis. Gerry Heffernan wasn’t sure what they’d find there. Word hadn’t come
that Marcus had returned to the family fold . . . but that would only be a matter of time. He was family after all. Even if
he had lied about the name he’d been living under.

As they drove up to the front door they were surprised to see Marcus’s battered red car standing in front of the living room
window. But the Fallbrooks’ cars were nowhere to be seen.

‘He’s back,’ said Heffernan with some satisfaction. ‘Just the man we want to see.’

‘Mmm. But a couple of convictions for burglary when he was young doesn’t mean . . . ’

‘No. But it means he lied to us. Just like he lied about his identity. Mind you, Wes, that’s probably why he lied. He didn’t
want his new family knowing he’d been in trouble. It’d hardly go down well in a place like this, would it?’

Wesley said nothing. ‘Let’s have a word with him in private, shall we? Looks like Adrian and Carol are out.’

They knocked on the door and it was a while before it was opened. Marcus Fallbrook – also known as Joe Quin in another life
– looked a little sheepish as he stood aside to let them in.

‘I only got back last night,’ he said. ‘Carol’s gone up to Exeter and Adrian had a phone call . . . said he had to go out
but I don’t know where to.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Wesley, making for the living room. ‘As a matter of fact we’d like a chat with you on your own. We’ve been
up to Manchester. We must have just missed you.’

There was no mistaking the worry on Marcus’s face. ‘I was staying at my girlfriend’s. She came out of hospital yesterday.’

Heffernan sat down heavily on the sofa. ‘Come on, Joe, don’t mess us about. We know you’re not Mark Jones. We saw Mark Jones.
He told us who you were. And we went to your old house. We know the woman you lived with – the woman who presumably brought
you up – was called Jacqueline and we know she was a friend of Jacob Fallbrook’s. Where is she, Joe? Where’s Jacqueline now?’

Marcus put his head in his hands and when he looked up, Wesley saw that there were tears in his eyes. ‘You’re right. Jackie
brought me up but she wasn’t my mum. Anna Fallbrook was my mum.’ He shook his head. ‘And I did lie. But only because I’d been
a bad lad at one time and I thought Adrian and Carol wouldn’t take kindly to having a convicted burglar in their nice posh
house. I thought it was much easier if . . . I knew Mark wouldn’t mind and . . . ’ The tears began to trickle down his face.
‘Look, I didn’t want anything to spoil it. My mum – I mean, Jackie – told me everything before she went.’

‘Went where?’

‘Abroad. She’s gone to France . . . to Provence. She met this man and . . . ’ He hesitated, as though making a decision. ‘And
you’re right. She did know my father – they had a thing going. And when I went missing she went looking for me . . . everyone
was looking for me. She found me wandering somewhere.’ He hesitated. ‘She said it was on impulse. She couldn’t have kids of
her own so she decided to keep me; to go up north and change her surname . . . bring me up as her own. She took me on a train
to Manchester where she used to live . . . told me it was an adventure.’ He looked at the two policemen, defiant. ‘Look, Jackie
cared for me more than my own mum ever did. She’s been bloody good to me and I don’t want her to be in any trouble.’

‘So you thought you’d make up a story about having an accident and getting your memory back in order to protect her?’

‘I didn’t want Jackie involved ’cause I think of her as my real mum. Can you understand that?’

‘What about Jackie’s sister, your Aunty Helen? Did you see much of her? She lived in Morbay. Just died in a nursing home there.
Did you ever come down here with Jackie to visit her sister?’

Before he could answer Wesley’s phone rang and he answered it. After a brief conversation he stood up. ‘That was Paul. There’s
been a visitor at the boathouse.’

Heffernan’s eyes lit up. ‘Who?’

‘Adrian Fallbrook. They’re taking him to Tradmouth Police Station. He claims he had a call telling him to go there.’

The look of triumph on the chief inspector’s face was unmistakable. ‘Well I never had him down as our man. But I suppose it
makes sense . . . copying the ransom notes to make us think we were after the same person who abducted his brother. But why?’

Marcus shuddered. ‘That’s one of the reasons I was glad to get back to Manchester. I had a feeling something was up . . .
that I could be in danger. If Adrian considered me a threat . . . ’

‘Did you really think he’d try and harm you?’

Marcus looked embarrassed. ‘I didn’t at first, of course. But Carol . . . ’

Heffernan nodded. He’d always had Carol Fallbrook down as the Lady Macbeth type.

‘But I had to come back. I don’t know why I should run away. I’ve got as much right to everything as Adrian has.’ He buried
his face in his hands again.

‘So who actually abducted you, Marcus? Who was it?’

‘I told you. Jenny’s boyfriend.’

‘He denies it.’

‘Well he’s not going to admit it, is he?’

There was a long silence. Wesley sat there staring at Marcus who began to play with the tassels of one of Carol Fallbrook’s
gold brocade cushions. He looked nervous. But that was hardly surprising.

‘We’d better get back to the police station. I take it you’re staying here?’