The Shroud Maker (13 page)

And now he’d arrived home to find his sister, Rosie, sitting on the doorstep of the cottage he rented in the village of Stokeworthy, hugging her knees to her body. She looked like a sulky child. But to Sam, who had inherited his father’s naturally sunny disposition, she had always seemed like a bit of a drama queen.

As soon as she saw him get out of his Land Rover, she rose to her feet.

‘What’s up?’

She didn’t answer. Instead she waited until he’d unlocked the door and followed him inside. He shared the cottage with his girlfriend, Freya, who was a junior doctor at Tradmouth Hospital but he didn’t expect her back until later because she was on duty that evening. Rosie looked round nervously as though she was afraid they might be interrupted, but he assured her that they were alone. This was obviously something she didn’t want Freya to overhear and as the moments went by he was becoming more intrigued.

He led her into the low-beamed living room and offered tea but it was refused.

‘How did you get here?’ Like his father, his sister didn’t drive.

‘Taxi. Can you put me up for a few nights?’

He hesitated, unsure whether Freya would welcome the intrusion. ‘What about Dad’s?’ He frowned. ‘You’ll really have to get over this thing about Joyce. She’s the best thing that’s happened to Dad in ages and —’

‘I don’t want to involve Dad. Please.’ She looked at him with pleading, puppy-dog eyes. As a vet he could never resist the charms of puppies, or for that matter kittens either.

‘OK. Don’t see why not.’ Family was family after all. ‘What is it you don’t want Dad to know? Don’t tell me you’ve done something illegal. You’re not on the run are you?’ he asked with a grin.

His smile wasn’t returned. Rosie looked deadly serious. And scared.

‘What is it? Tell me.’

She stayed silent for a while, as though she was searching for the right words. Then she spoke. ‘I’m in a bit of trouble. There’s this bloke…’

‘You’re not pregnant are you? Am I going to be an uncle?’

Rosie looked at him with weary disgust and as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he’d said the wrong thing.

‘If you’re not going to take this seriously…’ She stood up and began to make for the door.

He grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back. ‘What’s wrong. Tell me.’

She sat down again. ‘I’ve been seeing someone. He was really good fun at first but now he frightens me.’

‘In what way?’ He wished she’d be more specific.

She shook her head. ‘Maybe I’m just being stupid.’

‘Who is he? And does Dad know you’re seeing him?’

Her eyes widened in horror. ‘For God’s sake don’t tell him.’

‘Why? Dad’s usually OK about your boyfriends. Apart from the odd interrogation but that’s probably force of habit in his job. What’s wrong with this bloke?’

‘He’s a bit older than me for one thing.’

‘How much older?’

She looked away. ‘About ten years.’

‘That’s hardly a crime. There’s something else, isn’t there?’ he guessed, watching her face.

There was a long pause. Sam waited, wondering what was coming next.

‘I think he might have known Kassia,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘He said something about finding a violin and her viol’s missing. The police are looking for it.’

‘Finding it? How do you just “find” a viol?’

‘I don’t know. And when I asked him he told me to mind my own business.’

‘Is he responsible for that bruise on your face?’

She didn’t answer. Sam had known his sister had got herself into scrapes in the past but this beat the lot. ‘You’ve got to tell Dad.’

‘No way.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you know what he’s like. He’d go in all guns blazing. Make it official.’ She bowed her head. ‘I’m probably overreacting. Promise you won’t mention it.’

Sam, a rotten liar, turned his head away so that she couldn’t see his expression. ‘OK. Have it your own way.’

When Wesley arrived at his desk on Monday morning he found a message from Mrs Bercival asking whether they’d made any progress on the new anonymous letter. It had been sent to Forensic for examination and it would be a while before they came up with anything, even if there was anything to find.

He was more interested in the report that was waiting for him, tucked underneath the message. It hadn’t taken Tom long to come up with the information Wesley needed. By tracing back a variety of links he’d come up with the name of a company. Further detective work had produced the name of the individual behind the Shipworld website. Chris Butcher, who’d made his fortune from a variety of internet enterprises. It seemed almost too convenient that the man was actually there in Tradmouth for the festival. Wesley smiled to himself. Someone up there was looking after him.

He hurried to Gerry’s office to break the news. The DCI was deep in paperwork but as soon as he heard about Tom’s discovery, he rose from his seat and reached for his jacket on the coat stand near the door. After learning earlier that the CCTV camera on the embankment wasn’t working and nothing relevant had been found on any of the others, he needed something to cheer him up.

They decided to walk to Butcher’s house. Or rather his second home, still to be made habitable. Of course it was always possible that he was aboard his yacht moored at the marina but Wesley preferred to try dry land first. Besides, he knew Neil would be there excavating the area around the house for evidence of John Palkin’s former home.

Gerry insisted on taking a detour along the embankment. As Wesley suspected, his motive was to take a closer look at the
Maudelayne
, still tied up there, bobbing gently on the incoming tide. It was only nine thirty in the morning so there was no queue to look round the ship. Wesley could tell that the boss was itching to set foot on board.

They walked up the road, past the line of exhaust-belching vehicles waiting to be transported over the river on the car ferry, and climbed the flight of steps leading to the road above. After a hundred yards they came to a wooden gate bearing a battered wooden sign with the words Palkin House written in dirty white lettering. Wesley noticed an elderly man with the look of an ancient fisherman standing on the pavement watching them, leaning on his walking stick. As soon as he saw Wesley looking in his direction he began to walk away, his stick tip-tapping on the pavement.

Gerry pushed the gate and it opened with a loud creak. No doubt it would be replaced with something smarter once the renovations were completed. The bungalow lay below them beside the glistening water. From where they stood they were level with the roof and a flight of stone steps led down to the front door. The pebbledashed walls, once pristine white, were now stained and flaking after years of exposure to the maritime weather and the window frames were showing signs of rot. Of course Chris Butcher’s renovations would take care of all that and more. The position alone made it a desirable property with a hefty price tag.

Wesley spotted a familiar figure in the garden near the entrance, standing in a long trench. When Neil looked round Wesley raised a hand in greeting before making his way down to join him.

‘Chris Butcher about?’ he asked.

Neil shook his head. ‘Haven’t seen him yet today. But he usually calls in every morning to see how we’re doing. He’s very keen.’

‘You can say that again.’ Dave stood up from his kneeling position, stretching out his back. ‘He’s been a bit of a pain in the arse, if the truth be known,’ he said. ‘Mind you, it’s his property so I suppose we’re lucky he called us in. And he’s letting us stay here in the house so…’

‘And he’s funding the dig,’ said Neil. ‘So we’re being especially nice to him.’

Wesley heard a snort from Dave’s direction. There was something they weren’t telling him.

‘What have you found?’ Gerry asked. He’d been watching from the top of the steps but now he’d joined them and was peering into the trench like a nosy neighbour.

‘John Palkin’s house and warehouse stood on the site and we’ve found lots of medieval stuff.’

Wesley saw Neil exchange a glance with Dave, full of a meaning he couldn’t quite catch. He focused his eyes on the ground. At the bottom of the trench he could see a scattering of cobbles, probably part of some ancient floor, and at one end he could see the remnants of a wall which looked medieval, some stones bearing the signs of fire.

‘There’s been a fire at some point.’

‘According to records the place burned down in sixteen seventy-five, long after Palkin’s time. Then there was nothing on this land until the bungalow was built – apart from an old wooden boathouse which was probably constructed some time in the nineteenth century.’

Neil climbed out of the trench. ‘Come and have a look at this.’

He led the way to another trench covered with a large tarpaulin. With the help of some of the other diggers who were working on a third trench nearer the water, he peeled aside the covering and stood beside Wesley looking down. The trench was about three feet deep and eight feet square. Wesley wondered why it had apparently been abandoned. He waited for Neil to enlighten him.

‘The corner of the original house is over there where Dave’s working and we think this was part of Palkin’s warehouse. It stood by the water so he could unload his ships directly into the storage area. Now there is a sewer pipe nearby so the earth might have been disturbed when the bungalow was built. Or it might have been done more recently. It’s hard to tell.’ He paused. ‘We found a bone.’

From the way Neil said the word, Wesley could tell there was more to come.

‘It looks very like a femur to me but I’ll need an expert to confirm it.’

‘So when are you going to resume work on this trench?’

‘I’ve been asked not to.’ The words were loaded with meaning and Wesley was intrigued.

‘Who by?’

‘Chris Butcher. I joked that it could be a grave and he took me seriously. Said we were to leave it because he has the builders standing by and he doesn’t want any holdups.’

‘So that’s what you’re doing?’

Neil shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’s paying. But I’m itching to find out what’s down there.’ He looked Wesley in the eye. ‘Now if the police suspected an illegal burial and ordered us to dig, there’d be nothing much he could do about it, would there.’ He paused. ‘I presume you and Gerry aren’t paying him a social visit. What’s he done?’ He looked meaningfully at the disturbed earth and Wesley knew he was putting together a few pieces of the flimsiest of evidence and constructing a murder case.

‘He hasn’t done anything as far as we know. We just want a word with him.’

Neil looked as though he didn’t quite believe it. But that wasn’t Wesley’s problem. On the other hand, from what he now knew about Butcher’s connection with the Shipworld website – and the fact that Jenny Bercival had been missing for a year – he would have been neglecting his duty if he didn’t take action.

He lowered his voice. ‘Would it be possible to excavate without Butcher finding out? Keep the tarpaulin over the trench and backfill quickly if you don’t find anything.’

A wide grin spread across Neil’s face. ‘Anything to help the police with their inquiries. Me and Dave can be very discreet when we want to be. Some of the others are working on the trench near the gate so they can warn us if —’

‘You’ve no idea when Butcher’ll be back?’

Neil shook his head. ‘He had a row with his wife yesterday. Then he issued his edict about the trench and we haven’t seen him since.’ He paused, as though he was making a decision. As Wesley waited for him to continue he heard Gerry’s voice, exchanging amiable small talk with Dave. It wouldn’t be long, he knew, before the DCI’s patience would wear thin and he’d want to be off.

Then Neil spoke again. ‘When Butcher and his missus were arguing I couldn’t help overhearing.’

‘And?’

‘Well Astrid said something a bit odd. Something like: “It’s her isn’t it? The one
you’ve been seeing. It’s all your fault just like last time
.
” What do you make of that?’

Wesley looked round. Gerry should really be in on this conversation. ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

Neil looked a little sheepish. ‘People say all sorts of things when they’re having a row, don’t they, and I didn’t think it was worth bothering you as you were in the middle of this murder investigation. I take it you still want us to dig this trench?’

Wesley nodded. ‘Better get on with it.’ If the bone Neil had found had only been a source of curiosity before, now he’d heard what Astrid had said, the matter had taken on a new urgency. Or was he reading too much into her ambiguous words?

When Wesley beckoned Gerry over and explained, the DCI looked at Neil expectantly. ‘Think it’s a burial then?’

‘We’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves,’ Neil replied. ‘It might just be an animal bone.’

Gerry looked mildly disappointed. And, reluctantly, they left Neil and Dave to it. As Wesley climbed the steps back up to the gate he turned his head and saw that they were removing the tarpaulin from the trench. It had just started to drizzle so their timing was rotten, but in spite of this Wesley wished he could have stayed to watch. However, they had things to do. He put in a call to Rachel back at the station to ask her whether Butcher’s name had come up in any past inquiries.