The Shroud Maker (24 page)

Dennis Dobbs looked defiant as he scraped the metal chair across the linoleum floor before sitting down.

‘Nice to see you, Mr Dobbs,’ said Gerry. He sounded jocular. But in Wesley’s experience this was when he was at his most dangerous.

Wesley sat back and listened as Gerry began the questioning.

‘So you’ve been smuggling antiques into the country.’

‘No comment.’

‘OK, you don’t have to say anything about your nautical naughties. We’re more interested in the murder of Kassia Graylem.’

‘Who?’

‘The young woman whose body was found floating in a dinghy on the river. Someone aboard your yacht, the
Queen Philippa
, was spotted acting suspiciously near where she was found which means you’re a suspect. Along with your mate Jason but he’s got an alibi.’

The answer was a shrug, as if he was bored with their questions already and anxious to leave.

‘Why did you kill Kassia? Did she know too much about your line of business?’

‘She didn’t know a thing because I’d never seen her before in my life.’

Wesley watched the man’s face. He had a feeling he was about to make a revelation.

‘Look, I just found her, that’s all. I’d been up all night playing poker with some of the guys aboard that old ship that’s in port – the
Maudelayne
. Some of them can’t half drink. Anyway, I got back to the
Queen Philippa
around seven to make sure everything was ready for the pick-up when the call came. I needed somewhere to stash the stuff so there were lockers that needed clearing out and I wanted to do it while Jason wasn’t there. He’d no idea what was going on, you see. Anyway, when I got on board I noticed a rope tied to the rail and when I looked down into the water I saw a little inflatable dinghy. She was just lying in it. Gave me the shock of my life. At first I thought she must be some bird Jason brought back who’d got pissed and passed out. But then I saw her eyes were open and her face was all… twisted, and I realised she was dead. I mean, what was I supposed to do? The last thing I wanted was coppers asking questions and accusing me of something I hadn’t done. So I decided to…’

‘You cast her adrift?’

‘I went out on deck and noticed the
Queen Philippa
’s inflatable dinghy was still there so I knew the one she was lying in couldn’t be traced back to me. Anyway, I climbed down and threw a tarpaulin over her so nobody would see her. She was wearing this fancy dress, you see. Old-fashioned like some of the people at the festival. I thought that’s where she’d come from.’

‘Had you ever seen her before?’

‘No. Never.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I tried not to panic. I towed the dinghy out to the mouth of the river and once I’d pulled the tarpaulin off I set her adrift. The tide was turning so I hoped she’d be swept out to sea and she wouldn’t be my problem anymore. Then I heard she’d been found.’

‘So you’re saying you just found a woman you’d never seen before lying in a dinghy tied to the rail of your boat?’

‘It’s true… I swear. I’d never seen her before in my life. Look, anyone could have taken her there, killed her and dumped her. Tied the rope to my boat ’cause it happened to be handy.’

‘The men you were playing poker with, will they vouch for you?’

‘Yeah. Of course.’

‘Was one of them called Andre? Andre Gorst?’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Why?’

Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. Gorst was still in the frame.

‘Are you familiar with a website called Shipworld?’

‘No. Why?’

‘It’s just that the way Kassia was placed in that boat bears a resemblance to something on the website.’

‘Was that her name… Kassia?’

‘Yes. Kassia Graylem. Name familiar?’

He shook his head.

‘And I don’t know nothing about no website,’ he said quickly, turning his head away. ‘I’ve never even heard of this Shipworld.’

‘Has Jason ever mentioned it?’

‘Don’t think so.’ He sounded a little disappointed, as if he’d been hoping to shift the focus of suspicion. There was a short period of silence before he spoke again. ‘OK, I admit I tried to get this dead bird as far away from my boat as possible. You can’t blame me for that, can you? But I had nothing to do with her murder. I swear that on my mother’s life. You ask the blokes on the
Maudelayne
.’

‘We will,’ said Gerry with a threatening smile.

Gerry persuaded Bob Nairn to let them take Jason Teague over to Tradmouth for questioning. Wesley agreed with him that they probably couldn’t trust Dennis Dobbs to tell the truth if his life depended on it. But they’d send someone to the
Maudelayne
to check his alibi. If, by any chance, his story about the discovery and disposal of Kassia Graylem’s body wasn’t a complete lie, they needed to pay more attention to Teague. Perhaps his open straightforward manner, the carefree young public schoolboy who lived on his wits and made his living from his love of sailing, was a mask. If so, was it a mask that hid a killer of young women?

Gerry decided to leave Teague for the moment. He reckoned the delay would make him nervous and therefore more likely to slip up when he was questioned.

Wesley had just sat down at his desk to check if anything new had come in when his phone rang. The caller was a man but he refused to give his name. Wesley was sure he’d heard the voice before and he tried hard to place it but failed.

‘What can I do for you?’

For a while the man didn’t answer, as though he was making a difficult decision. Then eventually he spoke. ‘That girl. The one who was murdered.’

‘What about her?’

‘Chris Butcher knew her.’

Wesley pressed the speakerphone button and, as he signalled to his colleagues to keep the chatter down, he saw Gerry emerge from his office and hover by the door, listening intently.

‘How did he know her?’

‘I saw them together on his boat early on Saturday morning. She had her viol with her.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I just know. You want to ask him what he did to her.’ The caller’s voice was breathless now, as if he was finding it hard to control his emotions.

‘I’ll need to talk to you and take a statement.’

The line went dead and Gerry walked over to his desk.

‘Any idea who it was?’

‘The voice is familiar but I can’t place it. I’ll get the call traced.’ He paused. ‘Whoever it was knew the instrument was a viol. Most people would have said violin.’

‘Member of Palkin’s Musik?’

Wesley thought for a few moments. ‘There are two men in the group and it didn’t sound like either of them.’

‘Could it have been the bloke she lived with… Pixie?’

Wesley shook his head. He didn’t know.

‘Let’s bring Butcher in anyway,’ said Gerry.

‘What about Jason Teague?’

‘He says this is his first visit to Tradmouth but we’ve no way of confirming that. However, Kimberley Smith, the girl he claims to have spent the night with, has given a statement to the effect that he left her place around nine thirty on Saturday morning which puts him out of the frame for Kassia’s murder. We just have to decide how involved he is with this smuggling business.’

Gerry grabbed his coat and signalled for Wesley to follow him as he made for the door.

They needed to ask Chris Butcher about the anonymous accusation and they couldn’t forget his involvement with the Shipworld website. William de Clare had been a character in the Shipworld narrative and Kassia’s death had been depicted on the website. Maybe Butcher himself was de Clare.

Wesley wanted to hear what Butcher had to say. In his opinion the whole Shipworld thing was getting out of hand. If the fantasy had such a hold over the lives of impressionable young people, whoever made up the stories should be careful. Very careful. Or maybe he was just hurtling towards staid middle age too rapidly, and didn’t understand.

He made a quick call to Neil who told him that Butcher had just arrived at the bungalow for a meeting with the builders. Wesley told him he’d be right over and as he walked through Tradmouth with Gerry by his side the sun began to peep through the gathering clouds, luring the crowds out on to the streets again. Over on the embankment he could see groups of children sitting with their feet dangling over the wall, plastic buckets standing beside them on the cobbles. Then he remembered that today was the day of the festival crabbing championships. He saw the
Maudelayne
towering over the nearby boats and he was reminded that there was still no sign of Andre Gorst, who had to be their principal suspect. Perhaps the case was more straightforward than he thought and all this extra effort was a waste of time.

Gerry had phoned to ask for a patrol car to meet them at their destination as it would hardly be appropriate to walk back through the streets with a suspect in tow. When they arrived at Butcher’s house Neil was busy in a trench scraping away at the remains of a stone wall. The white crime-scene tent was still standing over the place nearer the house where the bones had been found but there were no CSIs around today. Presumably they’d finished their mysterious rites and gathered all the available evidence from the earth.

Wesley remembered what Neil had said about Butcher’s reaction to the discovery of the bones. If one of the skeletons did turn out to belong to Jenny, things would look bad for him. On the other hand, Wesley thought, if he’d known the skeletons were there, why would he have allowed Neil and his team to excavate in the first place? Unless it was some elaborate double bluff to throw them off the scent. Whatever Chris Butcher was, he wasn’t stupid.

Neil looked up when he heard the gate bang shut and raised a hand in greeting. ‘Butcher about?’ Gerry’s tone suggested that this wasn’t a social call.

Neil nodded and pointed at the house. ‘He’s inside with the builder. They’re both wearing hard hats so it must be serious,’ he said with a grin.

Gerry marched to the front door first and pushed it open.

Wesley hadn’t been inside the house before but he knew this was where Neil and his fellow archaeologists had been sleeping. The first room they entered was spacious and contained a couple of sleeping bags on top of airbeds as well as a large Victorian chest of drawers and built-in mirrored wardrobes. The makeshift bedroom looked fairly comfortable. Wesley had seen far worse.

The second room was slightly larger and contained three airbeds. This was clearly where the females slept as there were items of underwear dangling from a drying rack in the corner. The team had made themselves at home. In the spacious living room a huge window overlooking the sea provided a spectacular view and Wesley understood why Butcher had chosen this spot for his Devon retreat.

There were voices coming from the end of the wide hallway. They followed the sound and found themselves in a roomy kitchen that was an orange homage to the 1970s. Chris Butcher was standing by the back door talking to a swarthy man in an anorak and white hard hat. The two men turned as they entered the room.

‘It’s usual to knock,’ Butcher said.

‘We need to have a word, Mr Butcher,’ said Wesley.

‘I’m in the middle of a meeting. Can’t it wait?’

‘I’m afraid it can’t.’

Gerry looked at the builder expectantly and the man took the hint and left, mumbling something about carrying on another time. Butcher’s face was turning a dangerous shade of scarlet.

‘We’ve had a call,’ Gerry began.

‘What kind of call?’ Butcher looked worried.

‘We asked you if you knew the girl who was murdered last Saturday morning but you told us you didn’t. We’d like you to come to the station with us. And you might like to contact your solicitor and all.’

Butcher drew himself up to his full height and stared ahead like a man on his way to the guillotine. ‘Very well. I’ve got nothing to hide,’ he said before following them out meekly to the police car that had pulled up outside.

When Wesley looked round he saw that someone was watching from the pavement, no doubt a local curious about the presence of a police car. Then he realised he’d seen the man there before. He was tempted to ask him why he was taking such an interest but before he had a chance, the man had disappeared. Wesley turned his attention back to Butcher. After all, rubberneckers come in all shapes and sizes.

Dennis Dobbs and Jason Teague were in custody and now Chris Butcher was down in the interview room awaiting his solicitor. They had thirty-six hours to decide whether to charge or release him and, as he was temporarily living on a boat that could sail away at any time, Wesley knew that once he was free it might be hard to get him back.

The solicitor had come from Exeter and it had only taken him an hour to get there. Wesley had expected Butcher to opt for an expensive London lawyer but it seemed he had a pragmatic streak. Once Wesley and DC Paul Johnson were settled in the interview room, the questioning began. Gerry hadn’t joined him because he wanted to observe the proceedings from the viewing room next door, watching behind a two-way mirror along with CS Noreen Fitton who had expressed a desire to watch Butcher’s reactions for herself. She was certainly more hands-on than her predecessor, who’d always been content to rely on Gerry’s reports to bring himself up to date.