by Kate Ellis
‘I had some dealings with his colleagues when I was doing my doctorate and I had the impression Harris wasn’t particularly popular. Anyway, I asked him about Alcuin Garrard because I’m trying to track down his thesis. He was researching this area in the early sixteenth century so I hoped to find some reference to our little monk.’
‘And did you?’
‘According to Harris he never finished the thesis and he doesn’t know what became of his drafts or research notes. I hoped there might be some documents in the church but I haven’t found anything. I was told Alcuin found material at Princebury Hall so I went up there.’
‘Any help?’
‘I saw a guy called Xander Southwark, who told me the builders flung a lot of old stuff into skips when the place was being converted.’ Wesley could hear the disgust in Neil’s voice. ‘He said if he’d known the material was important he’d have saved it, but he didn’t sound altogether convincing. I’m still waiting to hear from Annabel. She’s promised to look for references in the cathedral archives.’
‘I found the police file on Alcuin Garrard’s accident. He was friendly with a girl called Sarah Booker shortly before he died but I guess she could be miles away by now.’
‘One of the flower arrangers here is called Sarah Shaw and she was brought up in the village. She told me she used to know Alcuin so she could be your woman. No harm in asking.’
‘If you see her, will you ask her if her name used to be Booker and, if so, would she be willing to have a word with me?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks. I owe you one.’ Much as Wesley wanted to trace Sarah Booker, there were more urgent matters to deal with. ‘Is the vicar about?’
‘In the vestry.’
Without another word Wesley headed for the vestry where he found Oliver Grayling at his desk bent over a notepad. When Wesley cleared his throat Grayling’s head jerked upwards, as though Wesley had caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
‘Sorry to disturb you but I need a word,’ Wesley said. ‘This morning a man’s body was found three miles from here. He’d been shot and there are similarities to the two deaths in Manor Field. It was another execution-style killing.’
Grayling stared at him. ‘That’s terrible.’ He sounded genuinely shocked. ‘But I don’t see how I can help you. You say it happened three miles away. Where exactly?’
‘An isolated cottage near Three Crosses Farm. It’s north of here.’
Wesley saw relief on Grayling’s face. ‘That particular parish isn’t my responsibility. You need to speak to the Reverend Yelland.’
‘The dead man was a clergyman. Late thirties, well built, shaved head. Rented the cottage in the name of John Davies.’
‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’ The words came out in a squeak. ‘Perhaps he was here on holiday. He isn’t necessarily local.’
‘I thought it was worth a try.’ He gave the man a disarming smile.
‘Sorry I can’t help you,’ Grayling said weakly.
Calls were still coming in about Jocasta Ovorard and were being processed by the team who’d stayed behind in Tradmouth.
The missing girl had been spotted alive and well in all parts of the UK. There had even been a sighting in Spain and Gerry had joked that they should go over themselves and follow it up. But Wesley knew there was no chance of them getting away from Dartmoor until the killer of Andrea Jameson, Ian Evans and the as-yet unidentified man near Three Crosses Farm had been caught.
The phone on his desk began to ring and when he picked it up he heard Rob Carter’s voice.
‘There’s been a break-in at Belinda Crillow’s. Few things smashed up and she’s badly shaken.’ He paused. ‘The intruder mentioned your name.’
Wesley’s grip tightened on the handset.
‘He said he knew she’d been talking to you. It looks like the attack was some kind of warning. He was armed with a knife.’
Wesley had done his best to delegate the problem but now it seemed he was about to become involved whether he liked it or not.
‘Description?’
‘Same as before. Male. Balaclava. Local accent. She thinks it’s the same man who attacked her before but she has no idea who he is.’
‘Believe her?’
Rob hesitated. ‘No reason not to… is there? A female PC’s there looking after her. Thought I’d better let you know.’
An image of the slashed tyres on Pam’s car flashed into Wesley’s head. But if Belinda Crillow’s intruder was responsible and he knew where he lived, what did he have to gain by going after Belinda?
After speaking to Rob he phoned home and Della answered after three rings.
‘Is Pam OK?’
‘Of course she is.’
‘Nothing unusual’s happened?’
When she replied in the negative he asked her to go to the front window and look out. Were there any unusual vehicles? Or any strangers hanging around the close?
‘Your neighbours over the road are having a delivery from Sainsbury’s. Does that count as unusual?’ Wesley heard a note of sarcasm in her voice. Telling her about Belinda Crillow’s intruder might make her take the matter more seriously but he couldn’t trust her not to panic and make things worse.
‘Can I speak to Pam?’
‘She’s gone into work this afternoon. One of the other teachers called in sick and she offered to cover for her. I told her not to go but she wouldn’t listen. You know what she’s like.’
As soon as Wesley put the receiver down he was seized by panic. What if Pam had been followed to work? He’d slashed her tyres so he knew her car. Wesley toyed with the idea of calling her mobile but he knew she wouldn’t thank him when she had a class full of children clamouring for her attention.
Instead he called Rob back and asked him to return to Belinda Crillow’s cottage and ask her more questions. If there hadn’t been so much to deal with in the incident room he would have gone himself, he said apologetically, uncomfortable about ignoring the victim’s calls.
He crossed over to Gerry, who was busy studying witness statements, and asked if he could have a word.
Gerry sat back, glad of the break. ‘Have as many as you like, Wes.’
He told Gerry about Rob’s call. ‘Seems I was wrong to ignore her.’
Gerry considered the problem for a while before speaking. ‘If this thug’s after you I can’t see where this Belinda Crillow comes into it. Why not approach you direct?’
‘Maybe he has – Pam’s tyres? Someone seems to think Belinda Crillow’s involved with me somehow but I can’t think why. I’ve had no contact with her since her break-in the year before last.’
‘Did we make an arrest?’
Wesley sighed. ‘Afraid not. But it must be the same man. I’ll ask Rob to go through the file. There might be something we missed at the time.’
‘Good idea, Wes. But if you ask me, you should keep your distance from Ms Crillow from now on. Let Rob deal with it; it’ll do him good to get some experience. And watch your back. Anything suspicious, you call it in right away. That clear?’
Wesley nodded. Gerry was right: Belinda Crillow wasn’t his problem.
The officers sent to Bristol Airport to meet Jason Fitch’s brother-in-law, Kyle Ball, off his flight had a wasted journey. The so-called ‘Hit Man’ hadn’t been on the flight and further inquiries revealed that he’d returned from Spain late on Saturday evening instead – considerably earlier than planned.
Colin Bowman hadn’t yet got back to them to confirm their latest victim’s time of death but as soon as Wesley heard about Ball’s early arrival he realised that he could well have been in Devon at the time the man at Three Crosses Farm met his end.
Jason Fitch had been released on bail pending further inquiries and his whereabouts at the weekend had already been checked out. Rather than going home to Dukesbridge or joining his wife in their Littlebury cottage, he’d gone to stay with Gemma Whittingstill at their little love nest and she’d been only to
o ready to vouch for him. Gerry observed that perhaps Gemma’s patience might now pay off and he was sure she had good contacts amongst the area’s divorce lawyers.
Gerry called Plymouth to request that Kyle Ball be picked up at his address and brought to Tradmouth. They needed to interview him sooner rather than later and, with all the hints about firearms that were flying around, his flat needed to be searched for illegally held weapons.
They were waiting for news when Neil entered the incident room, looking unsure of himself. As soon as Wesley saw him he beckoned him over.
‘Looking for me?’
‘Word has it that a vicar’s been shot.’
‘There’s been a suspicious death at a cottage three miles north of here and we think the victim’s a clergyman. I’ve already asked Mr Grayling but he says he doesn’t know him.’
‘Have you got a photo of the dead guy?’
Wesley hesitated before leading Neil to the noticeboard at the far end of the room where photographs of the recent victim had joined those of Andrea Jameson and Ian Evans. The images taken at the crime scene weren’t pretty to look at but Neil didn’t seem unduly upset by the explicit signs of violence. He studied the pictures of the dead man for a while before turning to Wesley.
‘Grayling lied to you. Last Thursday he was leaving the church as I arrived and Oliver seemed upset, as though they’d had some sort of row.’
‘Why would the vicar lie to us?’
‘That’s your department, not mine. I thought me and Lucy might come round one evening – if you’re not there we can keep Pam company. She must be feeling jittery after what happened.’
‘She’s better than she was. Her mum’s still staying.’
‘I can put up with Della if she can put up with me. Any news on your vandal?’
‘No, but the phone calls seem to have stopped.’ He wondered whether to mention Belinda Crillow’s intruder before deciding against it. ‘Can you tell me anything else about the victim?’
‘Only that I found him in the church one day and he introduced himself as John Davies – said he was a curate. When I asked Oliver about him later he denied knowing him.’
‘Is Grayling in church at the moment?’
‘Are you going to question him?’
‘He lied to me, Neil. I’ve got no choice.’
Extract from draft PhD thesis written by Alcuin Garrard
July 1995
Although in June 1533 we start to find references to a ‘big friar’ accompanying Sir Matthew and his little wooden companion on his visits, the priest’s meticulously kept parish records contain no mention of its creation, whereas the construction of the ‘little monk’ two years earlier is described in some detail, along with the costs involved.
The journal of Henry Dyce, cousin to Oswald DeTorham, contains an interesting entry dated July 1533.
‘My maidservant was sick of a fever,’ Henry writes. ‘And as I knew of Sir Matthew’s machine’s miraculous powers I sought my cousin’s steward, Peter, wishing him to fetch the priest. I could not find Peter so I sent another servant and when Sir Matthew arrived he had with him his praying monk which was pulled upon a rough cart by a donkey. There was also a larger machine upon the cart – a wooden figure in the habit of a friar which had upon its wooden face such a gentle expression that I knew at once it was a holy thing.’
Later Henry writes that: ‘Peter’s behaviour of late has been most secretive and yet my cousin will hear no word against his steward.’
27
On Tuesday morning Professor Harris arrived in his office earlier than usual.
He’d had the initial idea when he’d discovered Lower Torworthy’s parish records in the archives at Exeter Cathedral but it had been Alcuin Garrard who’d found other primary sources and gathered all the material into one coherent form to bring the dramatic story to life. Alcuin Garrard had had the makings of a brilliant historian and Harris possessed enough self-knowledge to realise that, on Garrard’s death, he’d hidden his research out of pure envy.
The visit from Dr Watson of the County Archaeological Unit had triggered an uncharacteristic attack of conscience. Watson had found the thing itself – the little monk mentioned in the early sources – and, with the publicity this was bound to generate, Harris needed to consider his options. Perhaps Watson’s discovery would spur him on to complete the work Garrard started all those years ago, but there was still the question of the wrong he had done and the possibility of exposure. Then there was the future to consider – what was left of it, anyway.
Watson had left his number but as Harris’s hand hovered over the phone he began to have second thoughts. A short delay would allow him to read through Garrard’s notes again. This latest development might mean Harris’s career would end in the blaze of glory that had eluded him all these years. First though he had a visit to make… and after that he would decide.
When Wesley reached work on Tuesday morning he found a message waiting for him. The latest victim had been identified from his fingerprints as Nathan Rowyard, a small-time crook and conman who’d spent a few short stretches inside. Although Rowyard had no record of violence it was doubtful whether he’d found God and taken holy orders since his last period of incarceration so the clerical get-up was most likely part of some scam he was running.
After breaking the news to Gerry he wrote the dead man’s real name beneath his picture on the noticeboard. He hadn’t spoken to Oliver Grayling the previous day because the vicar had been called away to Exeter on unspecified business but seeing him was at the top of his list of things to do that morning.
Rowyard’s post-mortem was booked for 11.30 so he had time to visit the church and seek out the vicar. Rachel was deep in witness statements but when he asked her to go with him she didn’t hesitate to accept his invitation.
‘Nice church,’ she commented as they entered St Bartholomew’s. She walked down the aisle, paying particular attention to the flower arrangements. ‘I’m in the middle of choosing flowers at the moment,’ she explained. ‘St Margaret’s is a big church to decorate so it’s going to cost a bomb.’
For a long time she’d avoided the subject of her coming wedding and this was the first time he’d seen her display anything approaching enthusiasm.
‘Everything’s going OK is it?’
She looked at him and smiled. ‘It’s fine, Wes. Honestly. I’ve got over my jitters. And you and Pam… You seem solid these days. After her… treatment.’
Wesley nodded, surprised at the intensity of her words. ‘Something like that makes you realise what’s important.’
They stood for a moment facing each other before Rachel broke the silence.
‘I never thought I’d marry a farmer.’
‘Probably in your blood. It’s good to have roots.’
She didn’t answer.
They found Oliver Grayling in the vestry and he greeted them with an unconvincing smile which didn’t spread to his eyes.
‘Sorry to bother you again,’ said Wesley. ‘May we sit down?’
‘Of course.’
Wesley came straight to the point. ‘Dr Watson met a man here in the church who introduced himself as John Davies. He claimed to be your curate.’
‘He must have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’ He gave another smile which looked more like a grimace.
‘The man found dead at a cottage near Three Crosses Farm has been identified as the man Dr Watson met here.’ He paused to allow his revelation to sink in. ‘He appears to have been posing as a clergyman but his real name was Nathan Rowyard and he had convictions for deception. What exactly was your relationship with Rowyard, Mr Grayling?’
