According to Mrs Bettison’s statement, Helen had been
heading for the bus stop and she’d smiled and said hello as though everything was normal. But according to the bus driver
on duty that night, nobody answering Helen’s description had boarded his bus. She had vanished into thin air … or into Pest
Field.
If the bones did turn out to belong to Helen Wilmer, then the people mentioned in the file would have to be interviewed again.
She flicked through, noting names and addresses. But she knew from experience that the person who would come under the closest
scrutiny was the boyfriend. His name was Dermot O’Donovan and his mother had cleaned for the Reverend Shipborne. In fact she
had found his body.
Rachel’s mind began to work overtime looking for some sort of connection.
Wesley felt tired when they arrived back at the station. They had become snarled up in the Bristol traffic and a fresh set
of roadworks on the busy M5 had cost them a good hour. It looked as if the Shipborne case was well and truly reopened and
the police were about to get egg all over their faces. Another miscarriage of justice. No wonder Gerry Heffernan seemed to
be in a foul mood.
It was four o’clock … too early to slope off home. But that was where Wesley longed to be.
As soon as they set foot in the CID office Heffernan received the news that the Chief Super wanted to see him and Wesley urgently.
Rachel had stood up expectantly as if she had some important news to impart but they had no choice. They had been summoned
to what Heffernan always referred to as the ‘Ivory Tower’ and they had to obey.
Chief Superintendent Nutter’s name had been the cause of many jokes when he was a raw young officer. Perhaps that was why
he had been so determined to ascend the promotion ladder, so at least the jokes would be made behind his back and he wouldn’t
have to hear them. Nutter
was a serious-minded sort of man, good with jargon, paperwork and networking with senior ranks. Gerry Heffernan, whose talents
lay in none of these directions, had always suspected that he would go far: most people did who were more at home in budget
meetings than grilling villains in smoky interview rooms. But as far as Gerry was concerned, he was welcome to it.
Wesley and Gerry stood side by side at the Chief Super’s door like two naughty boys summoned to the headmaster’s study. Wesley
knocked and a voice from within shouted, ‘Come.’ The use of the single word irritated Wesley momentarily: it sounded almost
like the sort of order one gave to a sheepdog. But perhaps that was how Nutter considered them – sheepdogs to round up the
villains and herd them into the courts while he watched from afar, leaning on his stick. The thought made Wesley smile.
But Nutter wasn’t smiling as they entered the room. His long face and monastic-style bald patch gave him a serious look at
the best of times. He told them to sit down and looked at them over half-moon glasses.
‘I’ve had a complaint,’ he began, leaning across his impressive desk.
‘Sorry to hear that, sir. Seen the doctor?’ quipped Heffernan. Sometimes, thought Wesley, he pushed his luck.
But Nutter ignored him and carried on. ‘Aaron Hunting thinks you’re not taking the threats to his supermarket seriously enough,
especially in view of the fact that one person’s died already.’
‘Now we won’t know for certain there’s a conection until the tests come back.’
‘Don’t nit-pick, Gerry, I’m not in the mood. Aaron Hunting has every reason to complain. Someone makes serious threats against
his business and you send round a couple of junior officers. He’s an important man.’
‘The officers I sent round were perfectly capable of dealing with it.’
‘That’s beside the point. He expected to see the officer in charge of the case. We have to be seen to be taking it seriously.’
‘You mean because he’s got a bob or two we let him have a DCI when every other poor sod who’s attacked or robbed has to make
do with whoever’s available … sir?’ Heffernan looked at him innocently. Wesley sat tight in his grey upholstered office chair
and said nothing.
Nutter began to shift awkwardly in his seat. Heffernan had hit a raw nerve.
‘Well, it was you who wanted the Shipborne case sorting out,’ Heffernan continued. ‘We’ve just been up to interview Chris
Hobson at Hammersham prison. Inspector Peterson and I might be men of many talents but being in two places at once isn’t one
of them, is it, Inspector?’
Again Wesley stayed silent. Presumably Heffernan knew Nutter well enough to gauge exactly how much he could get away with.
But he was a relative newcomer to station politics in Tradmouth: he was taking no risks.
‘Seriously, though, Gerry, I want you to go and reassure Mr Hunting that we’re doing everything we can.’
‘There’s not much I can tell him. We’ve no strong leads as yet.’
‘Just make the right noises – you know the sort of thing. Perhaps you could leave the talking to Inspector Peterson here.
Tact was never your main strength, was it, Gerry?’ The grin on Nutter’s face told Wesley that the two men understood each
other well.
‘Is tomorrow okay?’
‘It’ll have to be. How did you get on with Chris Hobson?’ The question was directed at Wesley.
He sat up straight, feeling like a child answering questions in class. ‘His story matched Janet Powell’s. And there was one
lead he gave us that I don’t think was followed up at the time.’
‘From what you know already, do you think an appeal could go ahead?’
‘I think there’s every possibility, yes.’
Nutter nodded solemnly, like one who has just received bad news from his doctor. ‘This could reflect very badly on Tradmouth
CID,’ he pronounced.
‘It was a long time ago,’ observed Heffernan. ‘There aren’t many at this station today who were involved at a senior level.
Apart from you, that is.’
Nutter blushed. ‘Well, yes, I did work on the case as a DI … ’
‘So you’d know if Norbert took short cuts … bent the rules … ?’
‘If he did I wasn’t aware of it, Gerry … but he played things close to his chest on that particular case I seem to remember.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I’m putting you in charge as you weren’t involved at the time, but try not to let too many skeletons
out of the closet, eh.’
‘You mean I should sweep Norbert’s mess under the carpet?’ Heffernan sounded indignant.
‘No, no, Gerry, you misunderstand,’ Nutter said quickly. ‘I just want you to bear in mind that if mistakes were made it was
because DCI Norbert was under considerable pressure … And of course Janet Powell’s evidence wasn’t available to him at the
time.’
Heffernan glanced at Wesley, who had been listening to the exchange with considerable interest.
‘And of course I’m glad to have Inspector Peterson involved. It might get us more credibility with the media – make us look
more inclusive and in touch – if we were to have an officer from the ethnic minorities dealing with the press and giving out
statements. I’m sure you’ll be excellent in that role, Inspector. Raise your profile, eh.’ He leaned forward and looked at
Wesley hungrily, as if he were some prized trophy.
If Wesley had felt courageous he would have told Nutter to get lost, but instead he sat there expressionless, seething with
resentment that it would even cross anyone’s mind to use him in that way. He wanted to be working on the cases,
not fielding awkward questions to make some political point.
He was about to say something to that effect, considering the most tactful way of phrasing it, but Heffernan got in before
him. ‘I can’t possibly let my inspector be sidetracked like that, sir. I need him working with me, not having his time taken
up playing silly buggers with the press.’
Wesley looked at him gratefully. He couldn’t have put it better himself.
‘You’ll have heard that another body’s been found at Belsham … a young woman buried in a field. Now I need Wesley on that
one because of his special knowledge of forensic archaeology and … ’ He hesitated, racking his brains for more ammunition.
‘And that sort of thing. My department’s stretched at the moment, you know. There’s the Shipborne case, the threats to Huntings
and now this body at Belsham … not to mention the rest. Crime’s a growth industry, you know. We need all the manpower we can
get. I can’t let a valuable member of my team … ’
Nutter knew when he was beaten. ‘Very well, Gerry. I take your point in this instance.’ He looked at Wesley with some regret.
‘Can we go now?’ Heffernan stood up.
‘Yes, of course.’
Wesley hurried out. Rachel had been about to tell him something before his summons to Nutter’s office and he was anxious to
find out what it was.
As Heffernan was about to follow him, Nutter spoke. ‘If I can have a quick word, Gerry.’
Heffernan swung round. ‘What?’
‘I hope you’re not trying to hamper Inspector Peterson’s career.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘You tell me. Some prejudices run deep but there’s no room for them in the modern police service.’
Heffernan looked at him open mouthed. ‘Are you saying I’m a racist?’
Nutter blushed again. Perhaps he could have made his point more tactfully. ‘Well, you did seem quite averse to the idea of
the inspector taking a more public role … ’
Heffernan drew himself up to his full height. ‘I notice you never asked Wesley what he thought about being paraded in front
of the media as the token black to show how modern and inclusive we were, did you? It never occurred to you that he might
prefer to use his brains to do some honest police work instead. He’s a bloody good detective, you know … one of the best I’ve
ever worked with.’ He turned to go, but then stopped as another thought struck him. ‘And isn’t it racist to take someone away
from the job they’re good at and trot them out like some sort of performing seal just because of the colour of their skin?’
It was Nutter’s turn to sit there speechless with his mouth open.
‘If that’s all … sir.’ Heffernan lumbered out, hoping that he’d won some kind of victory. Heffernan one, the Establishment
nil. He’d had enough of politics for one day. Give him a good straightforward thief any time.
Rachel looked up as Wesley entered the CID office. She smoothed her hair unconsciously before speaking.
‘Can I have a word, sir?’ She glanced to her left and saw that Steve Carstairs had been distracted from the forms he was filling
in and was watching her with an unpleasant smirk on his face.
Wesley walked over to her desk without looking in Steve’s direction. ‘What is it?’
She fumbled for her notebook. ‘I’ve discovered two interesting things while you’ve been out. First of all Fred Sommerby was
dismissed from his job in the warehouse at Huntings for punching the warehouse manager. It seems that it wasn’t just his wife
he used his fists on.’
Wesley raised his eyebrows. They were getting a clearer picture of Edith Sommerby’s husband … and it wasn’t a pleasant one.
‘What’s the other thing?’
‘I’ve found out something interesting about that girl who disappeared in Belsham … Helen Wilmer. It seems that she had a boyfriend
and her parents didn’t approve … ’ She paused tantalisingly before she delivered the punch line. ‘His name was Dermot O’Donovan
and he’s the son of the Reverend Shipborne’s cleaner … the one who last saw him alive and discovered his body.’
Wesley stayed silent for a few seconds as he turned the implications over in his mind … if there were any implications. Coincidences
did happen.
‘If the body’s identified as Helen’s, I think it might be worth paying Mrs O’Donovan a call, don’t you?’
Rachel looked up at him and smiled.
The call from the mortuary came just as Wesley was putting on his coat in the hope of sneaking out of the office and going
home. Rachel was still at her desk and she looked as though she would be there for some time to come.
Colin Bowman, as always, sounded inappropriately cheerful on the other end of the phone. He said that if Wesley had a few
moments to spare before heading home, perhaps he’d like to pop round for a cup of tea and a chat. Colin had the knack of making
everything sound pleasant … even an invitation to take tea among corpses. Wesley looked at his watch and said he’d be there
in ten minutes.
It was almost six o’clock when he reached the mortuary. The place was quiet, most of the staff having headed off to spend
an evening with the living rather than the dead. The silence made Wesley feel uneasy as he wandered down corridors floored
with highly polished linoleum and breathed in the scent of the air freshener that was used to mask the stench of decay and
formaldehyde. He was relieved when he reached Colin’s office and found him sitting at his desk catching up with his paperwork,
a picture of normality in a disconcerting place.
Colin turned in his swivel chair and smiled as though he were genuinely pleased to have Wesley’s company. Not for
the first time Wesley found himself wondering why a naturally sociable soul like Colin Bowman had chosen to work with the
unseeing dead rather than with patients who would be in a position to appreciate his affable nature.
‘Earl Grey?’ was the first question. Wesley nodded. As always, Colin liked to get the social rituals out of the way before
he got down to business.
The sipping of tea and the exchange of polite enquiries about their respective families’ well-being and the state of Neil’s
health took around ten minutes. When the bone-china cups were empty, Colin stood up. ‘I thought you might like to have a look
at our skeletons now they’ve been cleaned up.’
‘Skeletons?’ He was puzzled by the plural.
‘The two from Belsham. The recent one, the young woman, and the early one … the apparent murder victim from the plague pit
… if it is a plague pit: the archaeologists seem to think so.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘I never said that. It’s just that I haven’t had much firsthand experience of medieval plague pits … haven’t had any experience,
in fact. But there were no signs of violence to any of the skeletons – except this one – so I feel I’ll have to take the experts’
word for it. What do you think, Wesley?’