The Mechanical Devil

by Kate Ellis

  ‘Can you tell us the name of the firm he worked for in Exeter?’

  Whitcombe searched through the files on his desk, eventually selecting a thin folder. He opened it and began to read. Wesley, who had some practice in reading upside down, saw that it was Ian Evans’s personal file.

  ‘Ah yes, the firm was Jellicoe and Travers – now defunct.’

  ‘What was the name of the partner who was jailed for fraud?’ Wesley thought he could guess but he wanted it confirmed.

  ‘Alexander Southwark. He must be out of jail by now. Wonder what happened to him.’

  Wesley and Gerry exchanged a glance. Perhaps it was Southwark himself who started the rumours about the young employee, Ian Evans, who was too junior and powerless to answer back. Evans would have been the ideal scapegoat to deflect suspicion from himself.

  Alexander Southwark had transformed himself into Xander and now he was up at Princebury Hall, a couple of miles from where Ian Evans met his death.

  ‘Who recommended Ian for the job here?’

  ‘Diana Ruffwood. She used to work for me. Nice woman. Very capable.’

  ‘Ian’s mother mentioned her.’

  ‘I believe she and Ian were close at one time but he broke off their relationship after the trouble in Exeter. Ian was a sensitive man and I can only imagine he considered himself unworthy of her, despite the fact that he was innocent. I think she was still fond of him for a while but eventually she must have given up. About a year after Ian started here she met someone else, got married and moved away. I understand she lives in Tradmouth now.’

  ‘Do you know her married name?’

  ‘Smith.’

  As soon as they left the offices of Bach and Whitcombe Wesley made a call to the police station at Tradmouth to ask them to trace a Mrs Diana Smith, née Ruffwood.

  Wesley was sure he’d heard the name somewhere before.

  Extract from draft PhD thesis written by Alcuin Garrard

  July 1995

  After the first tantalising mention of the ‘big friar’ records become sparse. However, a senior cleric in Exeter writes to Oswald DeTorham in February 1534.

  ‘Word has reached me that the machine the priest has lately created is present when he hears the confessions of the sick and there is talk that the people go in fear of it.’

  The letter mentions no specific cases but the Exeter cleric is clearly worried by the rumours of what is happening in Lower Torworthy. There is no record of Oswald’s reply.

  An entry in the journal of Oswald’s cousin, Henry Dyce, dated January 1534 states that Sir Matthew and both his machines visited one of Henry’s tenants who later came to him ‘in much distress’ claiming that the ‘big friar – that thing with the wooden face – moved in such a lifelike way that he would swear it was a living man and his wife was sore afraid and would not be alone with it’.

  The truth of this, however, was uncertain as Sir Matthew left with the thing before he could be challenged. At this stage it appears that the seemingly blameless parish priest was heavily involved in whatever deception was going on.

  37

  It was just after 3.30 when they returned to the incident room and Wesley knew that if the station managed to trace Diana, it might be a late night. However for the first time since the case began his frustration gave way to hope.

  ‘Fancy going to Princebury Hall to poke the hornet’s nest?’ The sound of Gerry’s voice made him jump.

  ‘I want to speak to Diana first. We need to be sure of our facts before we go barging in.’

  Gerry shrugged his shoulders and sloped off like a child whose friend hadn’t been allowed out to play.

  The file on Alcuin Garrard’s death was still on Wesley’s desk and he stared at it, lost in thought. Garrard’s great-aunt’s money had vanished and Xander Southwark – or Alexander as he called himself in those days – had been jailed for defrauding the estates of several elderly clients in 1997. What if he’d been Mary Tilson’s solicitor and done something similar with her assets two years earlier without being caught? He was about to pick up the file when he saw Rachel walking over to join him.

  ‘Something wrong?’ she said.

  ‘We’ve found a link between Xander Southwark and Ian Evans.’

  ‘And Southwark’s connected with Andrea Jameson as well. What about Nathan Rowyard?’

  ‘Can you get someone to check whether Southwark and Rowyard were in prison together? Or maybe Rowyard was a client of Southwark’s at some point.’

  ‘Sure.’

  As soon as she left his phone rang. It was Pam and she sounded worried.

  ‘I’ve just got home and Maureen opposite said she saw someone going round the side of our house this lunchtime. She called the police but by the time they got here whoever it was had gone.’

  ‘I wasn’t told.’ Wesley felt annoyed at the laxity of the patrol officers who’d gone to investigate. He should have been their first point of contact.

  ‘They said they’d let you know.’

  For the first time he noticed a piece of paper on his desk amidst the files and paperwork. He unfolded it, cursing himself for not seeing it before – but he’d been too busy thinking about Xander Southwark.

  It was a scribbled message asking him to get in touch with Tradmouth regarding a suspected intruder at his home. He screwed it up and threw it at the bin with some force.

  ‘And there’s something else. I can’t find Moriarty. She always meets me by the front door but there’s no sign of her. I’ve looked everywhere.’

  ‘She’ll turn up soon.’ He was fond of the cat and he felt a twinge of worry.

  ‘Amelia’s upset and my mother’s out scouring the area.’

  ‘I’ll be home as soon as I can.’

  He saw Gerry watching him. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Someone was seen hanging round our house and the cat’s gone missing.’

  ‘Cats can go walkabout for hours.’

  ‘I know, but ours always hangs around by the front door when Pam gets home, nagging for food. After everything that’s happened Pam’s convinced herself…’

  ‘OK, Wes. You get home and see what’s going on. We can manage for an hour or so.’

  Before he could pick up his coat Rachel hurried over, a look of triumph on her face. ‘I’ve found Diana Smith. She does live in Tradmouth.’

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘She wasn’t hard to find. She’s a big noise in the Traders’ Association – gave up the law a few years ago and now she runs a bakery opposite the market – the posh kind where a small fancy loaf costs five times what you’d pay in the supermarket.’

  Wesley now knew why the name was familiar. He must have passed Loaf by Diana Smith many times but, as with many overfamiliar things, he hadn’t paid much attention to it.

  ‘Do you want to pay her a visit?’ She passed him a piece of paper with the woman’s home address written on it in Rachel’s neat handwriting.

  ‘Fancy coming with me? Only I’ll have to call in at my house first. Bit of a crisis.’

  ‘More funny phone calls?’

  ‘The cat’s gone missing.’

  ‘Cats do their own thing.’

  He went on to explain about the neighbour’s sighting of an intruder.

  ‘Pam’s really upset. All this is getting to her.’

  Rachel followed Wesley to the car and offered to drive. She enjoyed driving down the country lanes but she knew he didn’t. Besides, he looked as if his mind wouldn’t be focused on the road.

  When Wesley and Rachel arrived Pam was doing her best to stay calm, but Amelia was tearful and even Michael had let down his guard and kept asking what they could do to find their pet.

  Rachel advised checking nearby sheds and outhouses. It was a practical suggestion which went down well, since at least the children would feel as if they were doing something constructive. Wesley found it strange to see Pam and Rachel sitting side by side deep in conversation and he felt a pang of something he
hadn’t experienced for a while: shame and embarrassment that he’d been attracted to Rachel. It had taken all the self-discipline he could muster to banish the temptation. The memory flashed back into his head and made him turn away to gaze out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elegant black cat who had inveigled her way into the heart of the family. But there was no sign of her.

  It was almost five by the time Wesley and Rachel finally got round to visiting Diana Smith. When they reached her small baker’s shop, Wesley feared she’d already have packed up and gone home and he was relieved when he saw an OPEN sign on the shop door and the proprietor wiping down the empty shelves.

  Diana Smith, née Ruffwood, wore a floral apron over jeans and striped Breton top, the sort favoured by the yachting set who probably provided her main source of income. She was small, with a pleasant face and tied-back brown hair, and she smiled as they introduced themselves; the sort of cautious smile Wesley had often seen before on the faces of people who had no idea why the police would come calling.

  ‘I understand you used to be friends with Ian Evans,’ Wesley began once they were seated in the shop’s little back room. In contrast to the self-consciously rustic decor of the shop, the room was homely with a well-worn sofa and an array of mismatched mugs upside down on the sink drainer.

  It took Diana a few seconds to answer. ‘Yes, Ian and I were close at one time.’

  ‘Did you know he’d been murdered?’ said Rachel.

  Diana winced at the bluntness of her words before shaking her head in disbelief. ‘I heard on the news that an Ian Evans had been identified as one of the victims of that shooting up on Dartmoor but it’s not an unusual name and it seemed so unlike the Ian I knew to get involved in anything like that, so I never associated it with…’ Her voice trailed off and Wesley saw that her eyes were moist with unshed tears. She tore a tissue from the box beside her and dabbed at them before blowing her nose.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s definitely the Ian Evans you knew,’ said Wesley. ‘I realise this has come as a shock but would you mind if we ask you some questions?’

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I haven’t seen or heard from Ian for years so I don’t see how I can help.’ She gazed down at her hands. ‘I knew him in another life.’

  ‘You were a solicitor?’

  ‘That’s right. Some years ago I felt I needed a change of direction so I gave up the law and opened this place. I’ve always had a passion for baking and I’ve no regrets about the path my life’s taken, Inspector,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘But I often wondered what became of Ian. I can’t believe he’s dead, I really can’t.’

  ‘He was working in Dorchester – living with his mother.’

  ‘He never married?’

  Wesley shook his head.

  ‘There was a time when I thought…’

  ‘That you and him… ?’

  She looked Wesley in the eye. ‘I saw it as a possibility once but…’

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘Everything.’

  Rachel was about to say something but Wesley gave her a small signal to wait. His patience was rewarded when Diana took a deep breath and began her explanation.

  ‘We met in Chester when we were studying to become solicitors and when we finished we both got jobs as trainees in Exeter at separate firms – junior dogsbodies straight out of law school.’

  ‘You were going out together?’

  She nodded. ‘Ian worked at a firm called Jellicoe and Travers, mostly dealing with wills and related matters. His boss was a man called Alexander Southwark and Ian was really impressed with him at first – said he was charming and good with elderly clients who thought he was wonderful and recommended him to their friends. Then slowly Ian started to realise Southwark was taking risks and that there was a lot going on that he kept to himself – files locked away that Ian wasn’t allowed to see, that sort of thing. Later Southwark was found guilty of fraud – milking clients’ accounts and altering wills in his favour. I believe he got away with a fortune before he was caught. According to Ian, he was extremely plausible.’

  ‘And Ian?’

  ‘He worked directly for Southwark but even so I’m absolutely sure he had no idea what was really going on. And even if he’d had his suspicions, nobody would have believed him.’

  ‘How did Ian react when Southwark was arrested?’

  ‘I’d left Exeter by then to work in Honiton but we were still in touch, although we didn’t see each other quite so often.’ She sighed. ‘We were drifting apart but even so, when Southwark was arrested I was the first person Ian turned to. To be honest, I was shocked by the change in him. Southwark had tried to lay the blame on him and the fraud officers refused to believe he hadn’t been aware of what was happening so he endured hours of questioning. To cut a long story short he had a breakdown and I let him stay at my place because I couldn’t bear to think of him being on his own and he said he was too ashamed to go back to his family in Dorchester. When he was better I got him taken on at my firm in Honiton. It was a small firm – friendly. I thought it would suit him better.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Paul Whitcombe.’

  She smiled. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. He’s a nice man. Ian was… damaged, traumatised, and Paul allowed him to take on undemanding work because that was all Ian felt capable of doing.’

  ‘You and Ian never got back together?’

  ‘I would have done but he insisted he wasn’t worthy of me and nothing I said would convince him otherwise. In the end he moved into a place of his own and I gave up, I suppose. Then I met my husband and…’ She gave a long sigh. ‘Ian had been so ambitious when he first started at Jellicoe and Travers – far more ambitious than I ever was. As far as I’m concerned Alexander Southwark destroyed him.’

  ‘Southwark’s running a well-being centre up on Dartmoor now,’ said Wesley.

  Diana gave a bitter laugh. ‘Well-being? How inappropriate. The man’s a snake – and Ian got bitten.’

  ‘How long did Ian work for Southwark?’

  ‘We left law school in nineteen ninety-five and it was his first job. He stuck at it – until Southwark’s arrest in nineteen ninety-seven. Maybe he should have got out sooner but we can all be wise with hindsight, can’t we.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about the goings-on at Jellicoe and Travers?’

  She stood up. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Yes please.’ Wesley saw Rachel sneak a look at her watch but he had the feeling Diana’s memories couldn’t be rushed and that the tea-making ritual might help.

  When the steaming mugs were in front of them his patience was rewarded.