by Kate Ellis
‘Any idea who?’
‘Sorry. But she did say something which might be relevant.’
‘What was that?’ Wesley was doing his best to curb his impatience.
‘That it would be good to go off the grid; to become a different person so nobody could ever mess with your head again. I think she had problems.’
‘What problems?’
‘Don’t know. Might have been something to do with her family. She seemed quite bitter about them, specially her dad.’
‘Off the grid? You’re sure that’s what she said?’
‘Yes. And I overheard her talking to someone on the phone the day before she left. She called him Luke.’
Wesley sat forward, suddenly alert. ‘Luke? Had she ever mentioned that name before?’
‘Don’t think so.’ He paused. ‘I heard she was seen with that woman who was shot. You don’t think she’s… ?’
Wesley picked up on the anxiety in his voice and knew that Carswell was thinking the worst.
‘That’s why we’re trying to find her, Craig. If you remember anything else, no matter how trivial it seems, you’ll call me, won’t you?’
The line went dead just as Gwen from Forensics entered the office, a file tucked under her arm. She made straight for Wesley’s desk and he watched her expectantly, hoping she was bringing news that would move the investigation on.
None of the usual pleasantries were exchanged. She came straight to the point. ‘Ballistics say the rounds found at the scene of the double shooting probably came from a powerful hunting rifle, something like a Winchester, but there’s no match to any legally held firearms in the area.’
‘Maybe we should widen the search but it’s more likely our killer doesn’t hold a licence.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘Thanks, Gwen. Leave it with me.’
Why wouldn’t Wesley Peterson speak to her? Didn’t he know how frightened she was? Belinda felt a wave of fury and feared she was losing control. Somebody had his phone. Someone was keeping him from talking to her – probably Rob Carter, who treated her as if she was a time-wasting nuisance. He didn’t realise it could be a matter of life and death.
Belinda sat on her sofa twisting a strand of hair tight around her finger. Was Carter part of the conspiracy? And if he was, who was behind it? Perhaps it was the wife. Or his boss, DCI Heffernan – the one who’d answered his phone earlier. What was Heffernan doing with his phone anyway?
All sorts of possibilities ran through her head. But she needed to find out for sure.
Letter from Oswald DeTorham to his cousin Henry Dyce
3 February 1532
Cousin, I write to tell you that my brother Simeon is well again after his long illness, thanks to the good offices of our priest, Sir Matthew, and his strange mechanical monk. I give thanks even though my brother was, before his sickness, much given to wickedness.
Simeon recovers his strength and speaks of journeying to Exeter. I pray he will not seek out trouble now that the Lord has spared his life.
Letter from Henry Dyce to Oswald DeTorham
5 February 1532
My dear cousin, greetings.
I rejoice at your brother’s recovery even though, as you say, he has been wont to cause great trouble to all around him. You say your priest has a mechanical monk which brought about this miracle. I would see this thing for myself and perchance your priest would bring it to my house for Jane is once more with child and it would be a great comfort to her.
I pray Simeon’s glimpse of death will cause him to mend his ways. He was ever an untamed soul and such a soul is oft times sought by the devil to do his work. I beg you to watch him closely lest he makes mischief for you and your neighbours.
I hear talk of another matter concerning your household. It is said that your steward Peter consorts with heretics and those who would scorn the teachings of the Holy Church. The devil stalks the world and you must be alert for evil. I fear for Peter’s soul as I fear for Simeon’s.
22
‘All legally held firearms in the area have been checked and eliminated,’ said Wesley. ‘The murder weapon’s off our radar.’
Gerry thought for a few moments. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Neil’s metal detector did a good job.’
‘It’s detectorist, not detector. He’s helped Neil out on a lot of digs. Apparently his equipment’s the best you can buy.’
‘Bit of a nerd then?’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Wesley with a smile which vanished when a glance at his list of things to do reminded him that someone needed to visit the family of the girl who’d allegedly been assaulted aboard a yacht during a party organised by Andrea Jameson.
The girl’s name was Phoebe Jakes and she lived on the road to Tradmouth Castle in a house with a crenellated tower. He remembered Pam saying it reminded her of something from a fairy tale – a tower overlooking the water with wisteria growing around the door.
Gerry agreed that Wesley should pay the Jakes family a visit while he and Trish Walton interviewed Jason Fitch. Knowing the situation needed delicate handling, Wesley insisted on Rachel going with him, even though he had to wait for her to arrive from the incident room in Lower Torworthy before he could set off.
The day was fine so they decided to walk, which gave them a chance to consider their strategy for an interview which was bound to be awkward and painful for the girl concerned.
When Rachel knocked at the door Wesley hung back, overwhelmed by a strong feeling that they shouldn’t be intruding. What had happened to the girl was terrible, and here they were about to question her family on suspicion of murder.
The middle-aged man who answered the door introduced himself as Richard Jakes, Phoebe’s father, and asked what they wanted. His attitude was protective, which was hardly surprising, but Wesley knew he shouldn’t allow his sympathy to get in the way of the investigation.
‘You’ve heard about the recent shooting up on Dartmoor?’ Wesley asked once they were settled in the living room.
‘Yes. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.’
‘Is your daughter at home?’ Rachel asked. She’d switched on the sympathetic professional manner Wesley had seen so many times before.
Wesley’s eyes were drawn to the large window to his left, which afforded a view over the river to the far bank where stone houses perched on the hillside, nestling amongst the trees. Yachts glided past on the glistening water, a silent moving tableau beyond the glass. If he lived here he’d never leave this room, he thought. Still, a policeman’s salary didn’t buy views like that in South Devon.
‘She’s in her room but I don’t want to disturb her unless it’s absolutely necessary.’ Wesley saw the challenge in his eyes.
‘That’s fine, Mr Jakes,’ said Rachel. ‘Maybe you could answer some questions for us.’ She waited expectantly.
Jakes appeared to relax now the threat to his daughter had passed. ‘How can I help you?’
‘One of the Dartmoor victims was called Andrea Jameson. I believe you had dealings with her.’
‘I’d hardly describe it as dealings. She gave Phoebe a holiday job, that’s all. And before you ask, I didn’t like the woman. I thought she was a hard bitch.’
‘How old was Phoebe when she took the job?’
‘Seventeen. She was in the sixth form and she wanted to earn some money over the summer as kids do. Mrs Jameson advertised for waiting staff at the events she organised and Phoebe went for an interview. She loved the work at first.’ He stood up and walked over to the window. Even though he had his back to them Wesley could sense the man’s anger as the memories resurfaced. His body had tensed and his fists were clenched as though he wanted to punch something – or somebody.
‘We’ve been told about the incident,’ Rachel said softly. ‘You didn’t report it to the police. Why was that?’
‘What use would it have been? The man in question had sailed away in his yacht so he was long gone and, besides, she didn’t tell us r
ight away so it would have been her word against his even if you had found him. I wasn’t going to drag her through all those intrusive questions; making her relive her ordeal time and time again. It would have done more harm than good.’
‘If people don’t come forward we can’t catch the offender and stop him doing it again to someone else’s daughter,’ said Rachel.
But Wesley had a daughter of his own so he understood how Jakes felt. You’d move heaven and earth to stop your child suffering, even though you longed to wreak your revenge on the person who hurt them. In the absence of the real perpetrator, had Richard Jakes taken his fury out on Andrea Jameson, the woman responsible for Phoebe being there in the first place?
‘You bore a grudge against Mrs Jameson?’
‘I thought she had a duty of care towards Phoebe, and I suspect she persuaded her to say nothing about the incident. My daughter’s personality changed that night, Inspector. She became withdrawn and frightened. Yes, I bore a grudge against Andrea Jameson but that doesn’t mean I killed her.’
‘Do you own a firearm?’
‘No. You can check. I’m sure you have records.’
‘Ever served in the army?’
‘I was in the officer cadet corps at school. Why?’
‘So you know how to handle a rifle?’
‘No. I mean… it was a long time ago.’
‘Where were you the Friday before last, Mr Jakes?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have to ask but we’d like to eliminate you from our inquiry as soon as possible.’
Jakes hesitated by the window for a few seconds before leaving the room and returning with a large desk diary. He consulted it before passing it to Wesley. ‘As you can see I was away at a weekend conference in the South of France.’
‘What kind of conference?’ Wesley asked, curious. The police conferences he’d attended had been in places like Leeds or Reading. The sunny climate of the South of France would have made a pleasant change.
‘I’m in pharmaceuticals,’ he said. ‘Look, is that all?’
‘What about your wife?’
‘She was here. We always make sure somebody’s at home with Phoebe these days. I work from home whenever I can.’
‘Can we speak to your wife?’
‘She’s out at the moment. Shopping in Morbay.’
‘Is it all right if I talk to Phoebe?’ Rachel’s question was tentative. ‘I promise I’ll try not to upset her.’
‘That’s out of the question, I’m afraid.’
‘What’s going on?’
The speaker was a girl who must have been in her late teens but looked younger. She was standing in the doorway with one hand resting on the doorframe as if for support. She was small and skinny with curly dark hair and a pinched face.
‘Phoebe, darling, these people were just going.’
Rachel stood up and gave the girl a reassuring smile. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions, Phoebe. It’d help us a great deal and we can stop whenever you like.’
‘OK.’ Her voice sounded surprisingly strong – and determined.
‘You don’t have to, darling.’
She turned to her father. ‘It’s fine, Dad. Why don’t you go and make a cup of tea or something.’
Her father wavered, as though he couldn’t decide on the best course of action, but eventually he left the room, glancing back to make sure everything was all right.
Phoebe sat down and tucked her legs beneath her, her fragile body dwarfed by the marshmallow-like sofa.
‘Thank you for speaking to me,’ Rachel began.
‘Sorry about Dad. He’s very protective.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Wesley. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’
She looked straight at Wesley and her expression suddenly became guarded. ‘I saw you on TV. You were talking about that missing girl.’
He could tell she was nervous of him. Whether it was because of his gender or the colour of his skin he couldn’t tell.
‘That’s right. Look, if you’d rather speak to Rachel alone, I quite understand.’ He rose from his seat. ‘I’ll go and help your dad with the tea.’
Once he’d left the room Phoebe made her way over to the window where she stood with her back to Rachel, staring out at the scene beyond the glass. After what seemed like a long time she turned and spoke.
‘I overheard you asking about Andrea. She’s been murdered, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well I know it wasn’t Dad. OK, he was angry with her for sending me on to that boat but it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t have known what was going to happen.’
There was something about the way she said it, a hint of uncertainty, that made Rachel uncomfortable.
‘It’s natural that your father needed someone to blame. Maybe if you’d told him who…’
As soon as Rachel had said the words Phoebe’s manner changed and she seemed to shrink back into the wall by the window as though she was trying to make herself invisible. ‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head.
‘Are you afraid of something, Phoebe?’ Rachel said softly. ‘Or somebody? If you are, we can help you. Honestly.’
‘Have you found that girl yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Rachel, surprised at the change of subject. ‘Why? Do you know her?’
Phoebe shook her head, more vigorously this time.
‘We’ve spoken to one of Andrea Jameson’s colleagues. She told us your attacker was somebody on the yacht – a Frenchman who was a friend of the owner.’
‘Is that what she said?’
‘Isn’t it true?’
There was no answer.
‘Are you afraid because this man’s still around?’ said Rachel. ‘He wasn’t French, was he?’
Phoebe froze and Rachel knew she’d hit a nerve. The attacker hadn’t sailed off in that yacht. He was still around and she was afraid of him.
‘Have you seen him in the area since the attack?’
Phoebe hugged herself defensively and looked away. ‘I thought you wanted to talk about Andrea.’
‘What can you tell us about her?’
‘She said not to tell anybody. She said no one would believe me.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Why would anyone believe the word of a silly teenage girl over a man like that? That’s what she said.’
‘A man like what?’
Rachel watched as a tear rolled down the girl’s cheek. ‘She said I was a liar and that’s what everyone would think.’
‘Andrea said that?’ Rachel felt angry on the girl’s behalf; and if she, a stranger, felt like that she could only imagine how Richard Jakes would react if he ever discovered the truth.
‘Did you tell your parents what she said?’
‘No. I just wanted to forget about it.’ She glanced at the door as though she’d only just realised that her father and Wesley were out there and might be eavesdropping. ‘Look, I’ve told you everything I know. I can’t help you.’
