by Kate Ellis
‘Memorable enough to be murdered,’ said Wesley. He glanced at Gerry before dropping his bombshell. ‘On our previous visit we asked you about Andrea Jameson but we now think Ian Evans was the killer’s target.’ He paused. ‘You tried to point the finger of blame at Evans when you were investigated for fraud in nineteen ninety-seven.’
‘I honestly don’t remember.’
‘To return to the case of Mary Tilson: her great-nephew, Alcuin Garrard, came to see you after her death, no doubt wondering where her money had disappeared to. You had power of attorney for Miss Tilson, I believe. Don’t deny it because it’s a matter of official record.’
Southwark’s eyes narrowed. ‘Miss Tilson’s carer was helping herself to her money and valuables. You can’t prove otherwise after all this time and you know it.’
This was a new Xander Southwark. The serpent was showing his fangs.
‘Did you steal Mary Tilson’s money, Mr Southwark?’
‘The police knew the carer had been pinching the old lady’s stuff. She had a record for dishonesty – open and shut case. You’re on a fishing expedition but you’re wasting your time. I served my sentence and there’s absolutely no evidence against me as far as the Tilson case is concerned. This is beginning to look like harassment.’
Wesley put his face close to Southwark’s, angry that he was trying to portray himself as the victim. ‘Talking of harassment, I believe you were involved in an inappropriate relationship with a junior member of your staff.’
‘I don’t know where you heard that but it’s a lie.’ He sounded indignant but Wesley knew he’d touched a nerve.
‘You attended a party aboard a yacht in Tradmouth marina. It was arranged by Andrea Jameson’s company.’
He sighed. ‘I’m invited to a lot of parties, Inspector. And as I knew Jason…’
‘A young waitress was assaulted at this particular party. Her name was Phoebe Jakes.’
‘That’s dreadful… but I don’t see what it has to do with me,’ was the calm reply.
‘We think the girl will be able to identify her attacker.’
‘Good. I hope you catch him.’ He made a show of examining his watch. ‘I have an appointment in fifteen minutes so if you’re not going to arrest me, I’d be grateful if you’d leave.’
But Wesley hadn’t finished. ‘Do you know a man called Nathan Rowyard?’
‘No.’
‘He’d been posing as a clergyman using the name John Davies.’
‘In that case I definitely don’t know him.’
‘He was murdered not far from here and we think Andrea Jameson’s and Ian Evans’s killer was responsible for his death as well.’
‘We don’t have TV or newspapers here at Princebury Hall so I’m not aware of the case,’ he said smugly.
‘Where were you last weekend – late Saturday and early Sunday?’
‘I was here. Ask any of my staff.’
‘I presume you have a car,’ said Gerry. ‘You could have slipped out without anyone seeing.’
‘I don’t drive. I know it’s unusual these days but I was involved in an accident some years ago. I sustained leg injuries and it left me with a fear of driving so I haven’t been behind a wheel since. And you can check with all the local taxi firms; I didn’t take a cab and nobody here, guest or staff, gave me a lift.’ He smiled, satisfied. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. If that’s all…’
‘I’d like to arrest that man for being in possession of an offensive personality,’ said Gerry on their way back to the car.
Wesley didn’t reply. He was too busy texting Pam to see if there was any news on Della’s condition. But Pam replied in two words – no change.
Neil had intended to spend the previous evening poring over Alcuin Garrard’s thesis but events dictated otherwise. He had called Wesley to tell him about his new discovery, only to find that his friend was at home looking after the children while Pam was at the hospital. Wesley explained that there’d been an incident at his house: Pam had been threatened with a knife and Della had been run over by the culprit’s car and was now in intensive care. When Neil asked what he could do to help Wesley asked him to take the children over to his sister’s in the nearby village of Belsham so he could join Pam at her mother’s bedside. Neil and Lucy drove straight down and delivered Michael and Amelia to the vicarage where Wesley’s sister Maritia lived with her husband and baby son. It was almost midnight by the time they arrived back in Exeter but Neil felt he’d done his good deed for the day.
First thing the next morning he arrived in Lower Torworthy. There was somebody he wanted to speak to before he joined the geophysics team in Manor Field.
He made straight for the church and found the door unlocked. As his eyesight adjusted to the gloom he saw Sarah Shaw beside the pulpit, carefully inserting blooms into a large flower arrangement. He watched as she stood back to assess her handiwork before removing a couple of stems and replacing them further up. He recognised a perfectionist when he saw one.
‘Hello.’
She swung round, startled, and he was tempted to tell her what he’d discovered about Alcuin’s research. But there was somebody else who needed to be told first.
‘Is Oliver around?’ he asked, strolling down the aisle towards her.
‘At the vicarage as far as I know.’ She looked as if she was about to say something else but returned to her flowers.
Neil headed for the vicarage where he found Oliver Grayling drying his breakfast dishes. An open laptop stood on the kitchen table and Neil assumed he’d been working on a sermon. But whatever it was, Grayling seemed glad of the interruption.
‘I’ve found Alcuin Garrard’s thesis,’ Neil said as he made himself comfortable on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘He discovered a box full of documents at Princebury Hall when he was given access by Ralph Detoram and he located a will dated January fifteen sixty-nine which tells the whole story.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a lurid tale of deception and blackmail ending in murder. Want to hear it?’
The vicar sat down opposite him, looking more relaxed than he had during Neil’s previous visits, perhaps because the bogus curate was no longer around.
Neil took a deep breath and began. ‘The DeTorhams were lords of the manor and patrons of the living with power to choose the vicar, which was probably why there were certain things Sir Matthew left out of the parish records.’
‘He wanted to keep on the right side of the local bigwigs.’
‘That’s right. Alcuin found letters to and from various members of the DeTorham family in the early fifteen thirties and there were some from the young lord of the manor, Oswald. Oswald wrote to his cousin Henry Dyce confiding his worries about his younger brother Simeon. By the sound of it Simeon had always been trouble and when the vicar Sir Matthew created his little monk…’
‘The one we found?’
‘Yes. Everything started well but after a couple of years Simeon DeTorham had an idea. Somehow he persuaded or threatened the priest to take along another prayer machine as well – a big friar to accompany the small version. I’d hoped to find it using a metal detector but that was before I realised that the big friar’s actually buried in the church. I’ll show you.’
The two men made their way back to the church where Neil led the way to the little chapel to the right of the altar which housed a number of DeTorham tombs. In the chapel Oswald’s effigy, splendid in ruff and doublet, lay beside that of his wife while effigies of their eight children knelt piously around the base of the tomb. Neil knew from his research that Oswald had died peacefully in his bed in fifteen sixty-nine. Or perhaps his end hadn’t been so peaceful – perhaps he had been tormented by the thought of the terrible deed he’d committed all those years before.
The vicar watched as Neil squatted down beside a small, worn memorial stone let into the chapel floor.
‘Simeon DeTorham. Fifteen thirty-four. No other details.’
‘I’ve always assumed it was the grave of a child,’ sa
id Grayling.
‘Simeon was an adult – and he was murdered.’
‘Can you prove that?’
‘Alcuin did. I wondered why our graffiti survey found so many protective marks around his memorial stone.’ He pointed at the ground. ‘You can see the shape of an eye with three lines through it – the Holy Trinity cancelling out the evil eye, and crosses formed of five dots representing the five wounds of Christ. The people of Lower Torworthy went to a great deal of trouble to protect themselves against what they saw as an evil soul. If you’re looking for your big friar here he is. Simeon hit on a great scam. He went around with the vicar pretending to be the big friar and he’d listen in to people’s confessions. If they recovered he’d blackmail them – or put the squeeze on their relatives if they didn’t. As far as his victims were concerned, he had an almost supernatural knowledge of their wrongdoings because initially they had no idea the big friar was anything but a machine like its small counterpart.’
‘I’m surprised the priest went along with it,’ said Grayling with a hint of disgust.
‘Think about it. The DeTorham family held sway over the village. Simeon had knowledge and he used it to control the inhabitants, possibly even his elder brother, Oswald. The priest, Sir Matthew, was local, the son of a carpenter, and, according to Alcuin’s thesis, Simeon knew about an incident in his past which gave him a hold over him and so ensured his cooperation. In the parish records Sir Matthew describes the creation of the little monk in detail but there’s absolutely no mention of the big friar.’
‘Because it was Simeon?’
Neil nodded.
‘What happened to him?’
‘He died in the fire at the manor house, along with the DeTorhams’ steward, Peter. After the fire Oswald moved to Princebury Hall. It always seemed odd to me that he had a house built two miles away instead of rebuilding the manor house.’
‘His brother had died there,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘There would have been too many memories. Then there was the possibility that the site was cursed.’ Neil turned and saw Sarah Shaw standing at the chapel entrance. He hadn’t realised she was still in the church.
The vicar looked at her, then at Neil. ‘Can I have a word in private, Dr Watson?’
Sarah showed no sign of being put out by Grayling’s dismissal as Neil followed the vicar to the vestry.
‘Something’s been weighing on my mind,’ Grayling said as they sat down. ‘I thought I should maybe mention it to the police but…’
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t think I was the only person around here Nathan Rowyard was blackmailing,’ he said after a long silence.
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’d forgotten until now but on one occasion when he came here he said he had to go because he had somebody else to see. Somebody nearby.’
‘You should tell the police. It might be important.’
Oliver Grayling nodded. ‘That inspector’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?’
‘Would you like me to speak to him?’
Grayling looked as though Neil had lifted a terrible burden from his shoulders.
41
Wesley put the phone down. Neil’s call had confirmed the suspicions that had been buzzing around in his head. So far he’d found no link between the sham curate-cum-blackmailer, Nathan Rowyard, and Ian Evans – or Andrea Jameson for that matter. If it hadn’t been for his execution-style murder he would have assumed that Rowyard’s death was unrelated but, as it was, the similarities were too obvious to ignore.
Slowly things were starting to make sense. Rowyard had been hanging round Lower Torworthy for a while, using Oliver Grayling as a human cash machine, so if he’d seen something suspicious on the day of the double murder and then tried to extort money from the killer, that would explain why he was murdered. Wesley looked for Gerry, eager to test his theory. The DCI, however, was nowhere to be seen.
The delay didn’t bother Wesley because he had other things on his mind. The file on the death of Mary Tilson was lying open on his desk and there was something he wanted to check; something Xander Southwark had said during their last meeting.
The DC who’d contacted the Probate Registry had come back with the news that he’d traced Ralph Detoram’s will and Wesley smiled to himself as he read the copy, surprised that it hadn’t been changed after the main beneficiary came under suspicion of fraud. No wonder Xander Southwark had been able to afford to open the Well-being Centre: he must have used all his persuasive powers to ensure the old man’s will went unaltered. Wesley made some phone calls to the station and once he’d finished he went through the Mary Tilson file again, checking everything twice and making notes. The timing fitted perfectly.
When Gerry appeared from the direction of the church hall’s lavatories Wesley hurried over to meet him.
‘I think we’ve got him, Gerry,’ he said, waving a sheet of paper in front of the DCI’s nose.
‘There wasn’t much forensic evidence connected with the murder of Mary Tilson and what there was had been ignored at the time because the police were so confident they had the culprit.’
‘I don’t suppose anything still exists in some exhibit store somewhere?’ Gerry asked as if he expected the answer to be no.
‘I’ve been making some calls,’ said Wesley. ‘And it turns out the pillow used to kill Mary is still stored in the basement of her local station. There was no way they could get anything from it at the time but with recent improvements in DNA analysis…’
‘Get it sent to the lab, Wes. Even if nothing’s found we don’t have to let our suspect know that, do we,’ said Gerry with a hint of mischief. ‘You’re sure about the date of that accident?’
‘Absolutely. I think Mary Tilson was killed because she was getting wise to what was going on with her finances. And there’s something else: Ralph Detoram’s will named Xander Southwark as his sole beneficiary. Southwark told us he’d acquired Princebury Hall through an inheritance but it didn’t occur to me for one moment that he’d actually inherited the place. There was a letter from Mr Detoram in Alcuin Garrard’s pocket when he was found. I think Alcuin tried to warn the old man about Southwark but he refused to believe him.’
‘So we bring him in?’
Wesley considered the question for a moment. ‘While we were up at Princebury Hall I noticed a CCTV camera at the front gate. I’ve sent someone to collect the footage for the time of the double murder and the shooting of Nathan Rowyard, if it still exists. The Reverend Grayling thinks Rowyard was blackmailing someone else as well, which would explain the mysterious four grand.’
‘Has he any idea who Rowyard’s second victim was?’
‘No. But he told Grayling he was going to see them so they must be local.’
Gerry paused. ‘What’s the latest on Della?’
Gerry’s question brought the memories flooding back. ‘No change.’
‘And Pam?’
‘Bearing up.’
The next few hours passed slowly as Wesley tried to concentrate on the case. The pillow that had been the instrument of Mary Tilson’s death had been sent to the lab and the CCTV footage from Princebury Hall had been brought in and was being examined by Trish Walton in the AV room at Tradmouth Police Station. It was a gamble but one Wesley considered worth taking.
At three o’clock Gerry told Wesley to return to Tradmouth. He could check on Della, keep Pam company and call in at the station to see what progress Trish was making, if any. More evidence was needed before he acted.
