‘Where are they now?’
‘In the safe on board my boat. You’re welcome to see them if it helps get this mess sorted out.’ He looked Wesley in the eye,
all co-operation. The good and helpful citizen.
‘And Lewis?’
‘He left with the money straight away. He was a strange kid. I guess he was trying to act grown up.’ He smiled. ‘He
shook hands and said it was nice doing business with me and I thought to myself that he’d go far. He seemed keen on medieval
history, and I was interested to hear what he had to say about the letters.’
‘And what did he have to say?’
‘That they were dated 1471 and concerned a family called Merrivale.’
Wesley edged forward and his plastic chair scraped nosily on the floor. ‘And?’
‘I haven’t studied them properly yet. I’ve been busy with this and that, you understand.’
‘Do you know a man called Alec Treadly?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Paul Heygarth?’
Lancaster shook his head. ‘Should I know them?’ Wesley didn’t answer. ‘Do you have any objection to us searching your boat?’
Lancaster shrugged theatrically. ‘None whatsoever.’
‘You have a computer on board, I take it?’
‘How else would I have contacted the kid by e-mail?’ Heffernan looked at him, eyes narrowed. Hal Lancaster was too smoothly
confident for his taste. When a suspect was being so helpful, warning bells rang in his head. ‘If you’ve nothing to hide,
you won’t mind if one of our computer experts has a rummage through your files?’
‘Help yourself. I’ve nothing to hide. But there’s confidential stuff in there – business, you understand.’
Heffernan nodded. He had the same faith in Tom from Forensics as ancient tribes used to have in their magic men. If Lancaster
had anything dubious locked away in that computer of his, Tom would find it. He changed the subject. ‘While you were in Tradmouth,
did you contact Jonny Shellmer? Did you know his new address?’
‘Sure, Jonny let me know he was moving down this way. I’d spoken to him a couple of times recently about this reunion I was
planning. When I arrived in Tradmouth I rang his number – I was going to take him out for lunch –
but there was no reply so I thought he must be away or back in London.’ He looked down at his empty plastic cup as though
stifling tears. ‘I guess he was dead by then. I can’t think who’d want to do that to Jonny, I really can’t.’
‘What was Jonny like?’ Wesley thought he might as well ask.
Lancaster smiled. ‘Talented. Full of life. A bit wild when he was young but then which of us wasn’t? He was married to his
childhood sweetheart when Rock Boat first hit the big time – but it didn’t last long.’
‘We’ve met his ex-wife,’ said Heffernan bluntly. ‘He never married again, I take it?’
‘No. But that doesn’t mean he lived like some sort of monk. He was always popular with the chicks and I heard he was getting
pretty serious with a lady named Sherry. I met her once – lovely girl. Jonny was a lucky guy.’
‘Did he ever mention someone called Angela to you? Possibly his half-sister.’
Lancaster shook his head. ‘No, I never knew about a half-sister. There was that song, “Angel” – great hit. He’d never say
what that was about. Angel … Angela?’ He shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘To get back to Lewis. When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Like I said, he made the delivery, I examined the goods, I paid him, he left. That’s it. End of story. I never saw him again.’
‘How much did you pay him?’ Heffernan asked suspiciously.
‘Fifteen hundred pounds. I reckon it’s an important collection and I’d have paid a hell of a lot more at auction. Why?’
Heffernan and Wesley looked at each other. If young Lewis Hoxworthy was wandering around with fifteen hundred pounds in cash
in his pocket, this changed things considerably. If Hal Lancaster was telling the truth.
*
Wesley arrived home just before midnight, opening the front door quietly, trying his best not to wake Pam. But his efforts
were in vain. She was awake and standing at the top of the stairs as soon as she heard his key turning in the lock.
‘You said you were staying the night in Liverpool,’ she said accusingly.
‘Sorry to disappoint you. You’ve not got a man up there, have you?’
‘The only man I’ve seen today is Neil. He came round earlier to ask if I’d like to bring my class to his dig in Derenham.
He’s just after cheap labour, if you ask me.’
Wesley said nothing. His mind was still on Gerry Heffernan. They had parted in the High Street, stranded stone cold sober
amidst the last stragglers ejected from the late-night pubs. Nothing more had been said about Kathy’s death but, as Wesley
had watched Heffernan walk away towards his empty house, it had filled his thoughts.
Paul Heygarth had probably been drunk when he had killed Kathy in a hit-and-run accident – and he had got away with it. No
wonder Heffernan had wanted to get him for something serious like murder.
But however much Wesley sympathised, he knew it wouldn’t work: the evidence would be torn to shreds and Heygarth would walk
out of court laughing – as those more guilty than him often did. It had taken Wesley a long time to come to terms with this
unpalatable fact when he had first joined the force.
They could do Heygarth for moving the body and stealing the car. It was something. But it wasn’t enough. Then the image of
the old painting he had seen in Terry Hoxworthy’s barn flashed into his mind. The Last Judgement. Wesley smiled to himself.
Perhaps one day in the distant future Paul Heygarth would get his just deserts.
‘Do you want something to eat?’ Pam interrupted his thoughts.
‘No thanks. We had a Chinese at the station.’
‘All right for some. How was Liverpool? Gerry show you the sights?’
Wesley mumbled a non-committal answer before walking into the living room, where he switched the television on and opened
a can of beer. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation and he didn’t feel like sleeping just yet. There was too much on his
mind.
‘I nearly forgot,’ said Pam, following behind. ‘Anne rang. She said one of your colleagues had been round on her day off asking
if Jonny Shellmer had rung the library. She said she spoke to a man with a Liverpool accent last Wednesday but they didn’t
get as far as names. He just wanted to know if the library had an edition of the Merrivale letters – the one Neil’s got. Does
that make sense?’
Wesley nodded. ‘I think so. Thanks.’
‘It seems a funny thing for a pop star to ask for,’ was Pam’s only comment before leaving the room.
Wesley sat there with his eyes shut. There was a Hollywood action movie on the television but the fast-moving sounds from
the screen didn’t register on his tired mind as he went over the day’s events. Something had been pushed to the back of his
mind in all the excitement of Lancaster being brought in. A name from Jonny Shellmer’s past. Angela. Jonny Shellmer had a
half-sister called Angela. And Jonny had been in contact with Angela Simms, who was now fighting for her life in hospital.
And Angela Simms had been visited by Terry Hoxworthy.
It seemed that Terry Hoxworthy had a few questions to answer.
The next morning it was raining heavily as Wesley drove into Tradmouth. He ran from the carpark to the police station, his
jacket shielding his head against the wet, and when he arrived in the CID office he found it buzzing with activity.
There was a message from Tom on Wesley’s desk.
Nothing remotely suspicious had been found on the laptop computer Hal Lancaster used aboard his yacht, and his e-mails had
concerned either business or the collecting of old manuscripts. Tom, whose turn of phrase lacked some originality, concluded
that he was as clean as the driven snow. With the news of Lewis’s fifteen-hundred-pound windfall, the paedophile theory seemed
to be dead in the water, much to Wesley’s relief.
Gerry Heffernan was nowhere to be found, and a reliable informant told Wesley that he had gone down to the canteen for one
of his hearty breakfasts. The chief inspector didn’t allow much to get in the way of his appetite.
Wesley strolled into Heffernan’s empty office and saw that the file on Paul Heygarth was sitting in pride of place on the
desk. He opened it and leafed through the papers, noticing that on one sheet the words ‘released on bail’ were underlined
angrily in red Biro. He closed the file and put it back in its original position, hoping Heffernan wouldn’t be tempted to
join the ranks of coppers – good ones sometimes – who fabricated evidence to get some vicious toerag put away and then found
themselves in trouble and the toerag in question laughing with the case against them dismissed. Wesley would make sure that
any case against Heygarth was conducted strictly by the book – for Gerry’s sake.
He was greeted at the office door by Rachel. ‘Do you want me to come with you to see Terry Hoxworthy? I know the family and
…’
‘Yes. Good idea.’
‘Do you think Terry could be connected with all this? Could Lewis have witnessed something and run away?’
Wesley shrugged. It was as good a theory as any. He walked to his desk, followed by Rachel, and took Jonny Shellmer’s photograph
from his top drawer. Rachel watched, perched on the edge of the desk.
He pointed to the dark-haired boy in the picture. ‘I think this one’s Jonny Shellmer. I think this was taken when Jonny came
down in the summer to stay with his father and
his second family.’ He pointed to the girl, who was staring wistfully at the camera lens. ‘Could that be Angela Simms? Is
she really Jonny’s half-sister?’
Rachel stared at the picture in silence. Wesley turned to look at her. ‘What is it?’
‘When Trish and I had that look through Angela’s things we found a very similar photograph there: probably the same children.
Only that boy at the end was missing.’ She pointed to the eldest boy. ‘In fact the end had been cut off… perhaps with him
on it.’
‘Family quarrel?’ Wesley suggested.
‘Who knows. Or perhaps he was someone she didn’t know well and she cut him off the end to make the picture smaller … to fit
into a frame or something. If Angela comes round, hopefully she’ll be able to tell us.’
Wesley studied the picture again. ‘That boy there looks a bit like the photos we’ve seen of Lewis Hoxworthy. You don’t think
it could be Terry, do you? If he and Angela were childhood friends …’
‘We won’t know if we don’t ask.’
Half an hour later they drew up outside Hoxworthy’s Farm. Jill had heard the car and rushed out to meet them, anticipating
news of Lewis. When Rachel told her gently that there was none, the spark of hope in Jill’s eyes disappeared and the strain
and worry returned. She told them Terry was in the new barn seeing to one of the tractors. He liked to keep busy.
They walked to the barn, a huge nineteenth-century edifice, more convenient for the farm but lacking the charm of its medieval
counterpart some way away down the lane, and found the tractor parked just inside the great double doors. Terry, wearing an
oil-stained boiler suit and a preoccupied expression, was examining the engine. He looked up as they approached and grunted
a wary greeting, on his guard.
‘Any news?’
‘Sorry. But no news is good news, eh?’ said Wesley, wondering how to broach the subject of Angela. He paused for a few seconds
while he arranged his thoughts. ‘I believe you visited Tradmouth Hospital last night and enquired about a patient called Angela
Simms.’
Terry examined an oily rod he had just pulled out of the tractor engine and said nothing.
‘May I ask why you visited her?’
‘Old friend, isn’t she.’
‘How did you know she was in hospital?’
‘Read about it in the
Echo
, didn’t I. There’d been a robbery at her shop. Not safe anywhere these days.’ He shot Wesley a hostile glance, as though
he were solely responsible for the police’s lack of efficiency.
‘How well do you know Ms Simms?’
‘Like I said, she’s an old friend. I’ve known her since we were kids.’
‘So you’ll know about her connection with Jonny Shellmer.’
‘I might do.’
Wesley was growing impatient with the farmer’s cagey answers. ‘She was Jonny Shellmer’s half-sister. Is that right?’ He looked
Terry in the eye, challenging him to offer another evasive answer.
Terry knew he couldn’t stall any longer. ‘Okay. I knew her dad had a woman and kid up North somewhere – things get round in
a small community and folk like to gossip. Her dad used to bring the lad down every summer, bold as brass, and he used to
tell his kids that they could all be one big happy family. But of course it didn’t quite work out like that, and there was
a lot of bad feeling, especially from Angela’s mother. I was only young, but I could tell.’
‘When you found Jonny Shellmer’s body you said you didn’t recognise him.’
‘That was the truth. I’d not seen him for over thirty years. People change,’ said Terry, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
Wesley decided to leave that question for the moment. ‘What was Angela’s relationship with Jonny?’
‘I don’t know.’ Terry replaced the dipstick and began to undo a bolt.
Wesley glanced at Rachel. Terry wasn’t making it easy for them.
‘Have you seen much of Angela recently?’ asked Rachel.
‘Might have done.’
‘We’ve evidence to suggest that she had seen Jonny on several occasions; that she even visited him at his cottage.’
No answer.
‘Has Angela mentioned Jonny to you?’
Terry Hoxworthy shrugged his shoulders.
‘When was the last time you saw Angela Simms?’
‘I drop in on her from time to time just to see if she’s all right.’
‘Is there any reason why she shouldn’t be?’
Terry looked up from the engine. ‘Woman on her own and all that. Like I said, she’s an old friend.’
Wesley realised this was going nowhere. Nonetheless there were a couple more questions he wanted to ask.
‘I presume Angela’s parents are both dead.’
‘She died of cancer and he drank himself to death,’ Terry said with relish.