by Kate Ellis
Harris sighed. ‘That would be for the best. They need conserving properly. Knowing they’re here makes me uncomfortable if you want the truth.’
‘May I borrow the thesis?’ he asked, hoping the answer would be positive.
‘Yes, and after you’ve read it I want you to submit it to the university authorities.’
Neil looked at him, puzzled.
‘It’s time I put a stop to the deception, Dr Watson. Alcuin Garrard was never awarded his doctorate because I failed to submit his thesis after his death. I suppressed it because I intended to use his research myself but in the end my conscience wouldn’t let me. Alcuin’s work has sat in that drawer since nineteen ninety-five because he made me feel inadequate.’
The tortured look on Harris’s face suggested that his sin of omission had eaten away at his soul for over twenty years.
‘Why are you telling me all this now?’ Neil said after a long silence.
The professor walked over to the window and stared out at the street. It was dusk and the street lights were already glowing feebly, gathering their strength for the night.
‘I received the results of a number of hospital tests yesterday and the upshot is that my heart’s giving out. According to the quacks I don’t have long unless I have a transplant and I don’t think that’s going to happen.’ His words were regretful rather than anguished. He sounded like a man resigned to his fate. ‘I don’t want to leave this world burdened with the memory of what I did but I want to ask a favour of you.’
‘Anything,’ Neil said, stunned by the man’s revelation.
‘Please wait until I’m gone before submitting Alcuin’s thesis. I couldn’t bear my colleagues to…’
Neil nodded. He understood.
‘But by all means use the information Alcuin found for your own research. It’s what he would have wanted.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And I want to make one thing absolutely clear before you go.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I was bitterly jealous of Alcuin Garrard but I had nothing to do with his death. I might be weak, vain and spiteful, Dr Watson, but I’m not a violent man.’
39
Wesley tried to ring Pam but there was no reply. Rachel put her foot down, the cat complaining loudly from the carrying basket, as all sorts of scenarios flashed through Wesley’s mind, each one more dreadful than the last. Without doubt Belinda Crillow had kidnapped his family pet, slashed Pam’s tyres and bombarded her with threatening calls. She was disturbed, obsessed – and she wished Pam harm.
Rachel was concentrating on the road, staring ahead with her mouth set in a determined line. They’d soon be at their destination and Wesley felt a knot of dread clutching his stomach.
‘Look, she didn’t harm the cat,’ Rachel said, as though she’d read his thoughts. ‘She’s playing games.’
Wesley knew her words were meant to reassure but they didn’t make him feel any better.
As they turned into his close he could see Pam’s car in the drive with a dark blue Fiesta parked behind, blocking it in. There was no sign of the patrol car he’d ordered.
In spite of the cat’s vociferous objections they left her in the car and when Rachel opened the boot she took out two stab vests.
‘OK, let’s go in,’ Wesley said once the vests were on.
‘We’re not waiting for back-up?’
Wesley ignored the question and ran to the door, his hands shaking as he turned the key in the lock. Once inside the house he stood and listened, aware of Rachel standing close behind him. He could feel her breath on his neck.
He could hear muffled female voices behind the closed living-room door, speaking softly. Then he heard a voice he wasn’t expecting. Amelia was at the top of the stairs shouting, ‘Daddy, Daddy.’ When she started to come down he darted up to meet her taking the steps two at a time.
‘Go back to your room, love,’ he whispered, brushing the top of her head with a kiss. ‘Where’s Michael?’
‘At Nathaniel’s.’
‘And Della?’
‘She’s gone to the shops. Who’s that lady with Mum?’
‘When did she arrive?’
‘She was waiting when me and Mum got home. Mum asked her to go but she wouldn’t so Mum told me to go upstairs and not to come down. I’m hungry. When’s dinner?’
Wesley’s heart ached at the innocence of her question. She had no idea Pam was in danger – and he wanted to keep it that way.
‘Can you do me a favour, darling? Do as Mum told you and stay upstairs. I’ll talk to the lady and everything’ll be fine. We’ll have dinner later. And I’ve got good news. I’ve found Moriarty. She’s OK.’
Amelia gave a little cry of relief and excitement. ‘Can I see her?’
‘Soon, I promise.’
His daughter was bright and old enough to know when adults were fobbing her off. But, to Wesley’s relief, she didn’t argue and retraced her steps, giving him and Rachel a questioning backward glance as she walked across the landing to her room.
He took a deep breath and pushed the living-room door open, glad that Rachel was behind him providing support.
Pam was standing with her back to the fireplace, her fearful gaze fixed on the woman a few feet away. Belinda Crillow turned her head as he entered the room. Her eyes were wide and she was smiling, almost flirting.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said in a nervous rush. ‘Where have you been?’
‘You called me. I thought you were in trouble.’
She waved her hand in Pam’s direction and he noticed the cuts to her left arm, thin red lines traced on the flesh. ‘I was explaining to this woman that we want to be together.’
‘You slashed my tyres.’ Pam sounded remarkably calm.
Belinda ignored her. ‘I’m making us something special to eat tonight. I thought we’d have a bit of a celebration.’
Pam drew herself up to her full height. ‘I want you to go. So does Wesley.’
Wesley shot his wife a warning glance. ‘Please, Belinda, can we talk about this another time.’
‘No. It’s time we were honest. Tell her she has to leave. Please.’
There was a note of hysteria in her voice, as though she was on the verge of losing control. It would only take one wrong word to push her over the edge. Then he saw the knife in her hand, held at waist height and pointed at Pam’s stomach. A vegetable knife: small but sharp and potentially lethal. Rachel positioned herself behind her and Pam caught on quickly, staring directly at Belinda, doing her best to keep her attention.
‘I’ll need time to move out?’ Pam said calmly. ‘Me and the children need to find somewhere to live.’ She glanced at her husband and he gave her a small nod of approval. Appeasement was their only option for the time being. ‘Why don’t you give Wesley that knife? Please.’
Wesley edged forward a little. ‘Please, Belinda. There’s no need for this. Let Pam go and she’ll put the kettle on for us, eh. We can talk about it over a cup of tea.’
His heart was racing but he forced himself to stay calm, knowing that if he said or did the wrong thing the results could be devastating. But just as he thought Belinda was going to do as he suggested, she shook her head and the knife stayed where it was.
‘I don’t want tea,’ she said like a petulant child. ‘This woman’s been making your life a misery. She’s keeping us apart.’
‘You’re right,’ said Wesley. ‘But surely you can see she needs time to make arrangements. Give me the knife. Please.’
He heard the whine of approaching police sirens and saw Belinda’s hand tighten on the weapon. Then, without warning, she swung round and slashed at Rachel, who was standing behind her, catching the stab vest she’d had the foresight to wear. When Belinda saw what she’d done she froze in panic, giving Pam the chance to shoot out of reach and put the sofa between her and her would-be attacker.
Wesley saw Rachel, handcuffs at the ready, creeping forward like a hunter
stalking her prey.
‘I’m sorry, Belinda,’ he said gently. ‘You’ll have to go with the officers now. They’ll look after you – make sure you’re safe.’
She screamed like a wounded animal, repeating the word ‘no’ several times before lunging at Wesley, who caught her wrist, sending the knife clattering to the floor. Belinda collapsed, sobbing, as Rachel darted forward to make the arrest but somehow the prisoner managed to slide from her grasp and hurtle out of the room.
‘Amelia’s upstairs.’ Pam’s words were screamed; the raw, primitive sound of a mother protecting her young.
Wesley and Rachel reacted immediately. They rushed into the hall and saw Belinda vanish through the open front door.
‘Where’s that bloody patrol car?’ Rachel shouted. They’d expected to see it outside but there was no sign of it.
Belinda Crillow had reached her car and Wesley heard the engine start up just as a familiar figure emerged from the car that had drawn up opposite. The dark-blue Fiesta’s engine revved like a racing car and shot off, flinging the other vehicle’s former occupant upward like a rag doll.
Pam’s scream coincided with a loud metallic bang that shook the air. Belinda Crillow had driven straight into the side of the patrol car as it turned into the close.
Extract from draft PhD thesis written by Alcuin Garrard
July 1995
Henry Dyce’s journal, along with other correspondence discovered at Princebury Hall, hints at an increasing atmosphere of fear in Lower Torworthy and beyond. By 1534 parishioners are requesting the services of Sir Matthew’s ‘little monk’ less and less whereas previously the machine had been hailed as a miracle worker and in great demand. The evidence suggests that this was connected to the increasing use of the ‘big friar’ alongside its smaller counterpart. There is also a tantalising mention of Peter, Oswald DeTorham’s steward, ‘going once more to London and returning with divers books which he hid from others’.
In 1534 Henry Dyce writes in his journal:
‘My wife fell sick after the birth of our child so I sent word to Sir Matthew and he came at once. I requested that he bring his “little monk” but he also brought the “big friar”, saying that two machines for prayer would be more efficacious.
‘Once in my wife’s chamber the machines were set moving, raising their arms to heaven and beating their wooden breasts. The larger figure’s movements, I noted, were fluid and most human-like and once again I marvelled at the miraculous nature of Sir Matthew’s creation.
‘Sir Matthew bent to hear my wife’s confession and as I stepped back into the shadows I observed that the “big friar” had crept forward as my wife mouthed her sins, her voice feeble but clear. Then I heard a strange sound, like a man sneezing, and the “big friar” shook. At once my neighbour’s fear was brought to mind.’
40
‘How is she?’ Gerry’s face was solemn. Wesley’s mother-in-law Della had often been the subject of the DCI’s teasing, but all that had changed overnight.
‘In intensive care. Pam’s with her.’
‘Crillow just ran her over?’
‘She was trying to get away but God knows what was going through her head. I should have seen the signs. If I’d dealt with it instead of passing her case on to Rob I might have realised what was going on.’
Gerry put a comforting hand on Wesley’s arm. ‘You couldn’t have known it would go this far. We had three murders and a missing girl on our hands so you had no choice.’
‘I’d helped her when she had that break-in and when she saw me on TV making the Jocasta Ovorard appeal the memory turned into an obsession. You have to feel sorry for her. She needs help.’
‘Typical. She persecutes your wife and almost kills your mother-in-law and you still see things from her point of view. Still, I expect the psychiatric report will recommend she gets treatment rather than prison.’ Gerry sounded exasperated. He looked at his watch. ‘We need to speak to Xander Southwark about Ian Evans’s days at Jellicoe and Travers. If Ian suspected there was something dodgy about Alcuin Garrard’s death…’
The events of the previous evening had almost driven the case out of Wesley’s mind and now he was glad to have the distraction of work – anything that didn’t remind him of Belinda Crillow. Even though she’d tried to harm his family the thought of her loneliness and desperation depressed him. ‘I need to check something first,’ he said.
He found the file on Alcuin’s death beneath a pile of papers on his desk and, after studying the letter found in the dead man’s pocket, he asked one of the DCs to contact the Probate Registry for him. He needed to confirm the suspicions that were forming in his head.
On the main road half a mile from Princebury Hall Wesley saw flashing blue lights on the road ahead. It was an accident. An SUV had come off the road and turned on its side; probably driving too fast in the drizzle that had dampened the tarmac. He carried on past, refusing to be one of those rubberneckers who slows down and causes more problems, but the sight of that car triggered a tantalising flicker of recognition, there for a moment then gone. Maybe whatever it was would come back to him in time.
‘Probably speeding. Some idiots never learn,’ said Gerry.
‘Think we should have stopped?’
‘Nah. Leave it to Traffic.’
When they reached their destination it was hard to read Xander Southwark’s thoughts as they were shown into his office. He wore an expression of polite concern but Wesley thought he must have become a master of pretence over the years. Perhaps that’s why he’d succeeded in fleecing so many of his clients before he was eventually caught.
‘I’m always happy to help the police,’ Southwark said smoothly. ‘Only I can’t add anything to what I told you last time – or the time before. You’re becoming regular visitors, gentlemen. Perhaps I can tempt you to sample our facilities.’ His lips formed a mirthless smile that reminded Wesley of the serpent in the Garden of Eden depicted in the west window of Lower Torworthy church.
‘On my last visit I asked if you knew Ian Evans.’ Wesley watched Southwark’s face closely. ‘You said you didn’t recognise the name.’
Southwark gave a little shrug.
‘Evans used to work for Jellicoe and Travers, the law firm where you were a partner.’
‘It was a large firm. I can’t be expected to remember everyone who ever worked there.’ Wesley detected a new wariness in Southwark’s voice.
‘Evans was a trainee solicitor at the time, fresh out of law school. He worked in your department and he became involved in the case of an elderly client of yours who was murdered – smothered by her carer… allegedly. You sent him to her house to fetch some papers.’
‘Who on earth told you that?’
‘Is it true?’
Southwark assumed a mournful expression. ‘I presume you’re talking about Miss Tilson. She was a lovely lady. What happened to her was tragic.’
‘The carer who was arrested for her murder hanged herself in her cell. She always protested her innocence.’
‘Surely the fact that she killed herself confirms her guilt. She was either overcome with remorse or she couldn’t face the consequences of her actions.’
‘Why did you tell us you’d never heard of Ian Evans?’ Gerry’s question sounded threatening but Wesley suspected this was the intention.
‘Evans is a common name.’ He sat back, looking pleased with himself. ‘I have a faint recollection of him now but I confess he’d slipped my mind. Between you and me he wasn’t very memorable.’
