Wesley looked at them with a sinking heart. He had no idea what he would find. Perhaps he was hoping that there might be something,
anything, that would tell him about the people in Shipborne’s life; his friends and enemies. Anybody who would be likely to
want him dead.
As he opened the lid the contents of the first box made him recoil with distaste: he could see that many of the items were
stained a rusty brown … splashed with the victim’s blood. The clothes Shipborne had been wearing when he died lay there, neatly
packaged in plastic, together with the contents of his pockets. There were other items from the murder scene too; things from
the desk in the study where Shipborne had died; things splattered with blood that, understandably, Shipborne’s niece hadn’t
cared to claim.
He was staring into the box when he heard a voice behind him. ‘Do you want me to give you a hand with that?’
He looked round and saw Rachel hovering there, looking at him enquiringly.
‘Thanks, that’d be a help. I don’t really know what we’re looking for but I hoped there might be an address book or a diary,
that sort of thing.’
Rachel knelt on the office floor and began to empty one of the boxes, examining each item carefully. She burrowed among the
small items that had fallen to the bottom of the box and after a while stood up and placed something on Wesley’s desk. It
was a small book … a hardback notebook of the type available in any stationer’s shop. Its cover was black but Wesley could
see rusty patches which looked suspiciously like dried blood.
He grabbed it eagerly and took it out of its protective bag. Rachel craned her neck to see over his shoulder.
‘Looks like some sort of diary.’ Wesley flicked through the pages, satisfied that he had found something that could be significant.
Shipborne had indeed kept a diary of sorts, not of the ready-printed kind detailing appointments; this one seemed to be more
jotted thoughts. Although there was dried blood on the cover, it hadn’t seeped through to the pages. The book was full, and
he noticed that the last entry was dated a couple of weeks before Shipborne’s death. Wesley found himself wondering whether
he had started another volume in that time … if so, perhaps it would be in the other box.
Just as he turned to the opening page, he heard a commotion at the other end of the office. Steve Carstairs had just come
in with the news that someone had come to the front desk saying that they wanted to confess to Helen Wilmer’s murder.
I visited my solicitor in Morbay this morning and I feel so much better now that the will has been changed and I know that,
were anything to happen to me, the money would go where it is most needed. I saw Stephen Wilmer near the church when I got
back to Belsham but he ignored me
.On my return I had a rather strange visit from Amy Hunting, the woman who turned up a couple of weeks ago and confessed that
she was having an affair with William Verlan. I’d sensed at the time that her confession had been an excuse, that there was
really another purpose to her visit, and today she asked me if what I had said in church the other week was true – had I really
been involved in the trial. When I answered her she walked out without another word
.I didn’t know what to make of her visit but somehow she made me feel uneasy. It was all very odd. I wish I knew what she’d
really wanted
.From a diary found among the personal effects of the Reverend John Shipborne
Dr William Verlan’s face was ash pale as he sat in the interview room, toying with an empty plastic beaker that had recently
contained tea.
‘I believe you have something to tell us,’ Wesley said, glancing at the whirring tape machine. ‘You can have a solicitor present
if you wish.’
Verlan shook his head. ‘It’s been on my conscience for all these years. I just want to get it off my chest.’
‘Why don’t you start at the beginning.’ Gerry Heffernan sat back, ready to listen. Criminals weren’t usually this obliging
with their confessions, so he would make the most of it while the going was good.
‘I killed Helen Wilmer.’
‘What happened?’ Wesley prompted.
‘I was driving along and my mind wasn’t on my driving,’ he began, speaking slowly and clearly as if he was telling a well-rehearsed
story. ‘I’d just got back from a trip to the States so I guess I was jet-lagged, and I’d had a bit to drink on the plane.
It was dark and wet and I’d been driving on the other side of the road for the past week or so: I should have been paying
attention but … Well, I felt a bump, as though I’d driven over something. I stopped the car and she was just lying there in
the road. I took her pulse and … ’ He looked down at his hands. ‘She was dead. I’d killed her.’
‘So why didn’t you call the emergency services?’
Verlan looked Wesley in the eye. ‘I panicked. Hell, I’d just killed someone. Wouldn’t you panic? There was nobody about and
it was a bright moonlit night. I saw a small digger in a field near by … in Pest Field. Someone had been digging a drainage
ditch and the hole was still open and there was a spade there beside it. I suspected there might be plague burials in that
particular field from research one of my PhD students had been doing, and I thought if I buried her in the ditch there was
a chance that she might be taken for one of the plague victims if she was ever found. I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘So you went ahead and buried her?’
‘I carried her over and put her in the hole and covered her over with a layer of soil. But I’ve lived with it ever
since, Inspector. Believe me, there’s not a day goes by when I don’t regret what I did.’
Heffernan leaned forward. ‘I bet you got a shock when Huntings announced they were going to build a supermarket on the site.’
‘I’ve been in the States for a year teaching in Boston, so I didn’t know about it. When I got back and found they were about
to start the dig I guess I panicked ’cause I knew it was only a matter of time before they found her. I knew I’d been stupid
to think that she’d be taken for one of the plague victims … she’d had modern clothes … buttons and a necklace and things.’
He hesitated. ‘And after I’d buried her I found I’d lost the St Christopher medal I always wore around my neck … it was a present
from my sister, Louise. She gave it to me when I came over to England … she’d scratched our names on the back so I thought
it’d be traced back to me. When I realised I’d lost it at the time I couldn’t face going back to dig up her grave again to
look for it.’
‘So when you learned about the dig you panicked?’
‘Sure I did. I bought a metal detector. I thought that if I could find my St Christopher … ’
Wesley watched Verlan’s face. ‘But you were disturbed … and you attacked Dr Watson, the archaeologist in charge of the dig.’
‘I was just trying to get away. I panicked and pushed him and he fell back into the trench. I didn’t mean to hurt him. It
was an accident.’
‘You seem to be rather accident prone, Dr Verlan.’
Verlan hung his head and said nothing.
‘And incidentally, you might be interested to know that the pathologist who examined Helen Wilmer’s remains reckons she was
murdered.’
Verlan looked up, his eyes wide with shock. ‘No … it was an accident, I swear. I ran her over. It wasn’t murder. No way.’
‘He thinks she was strangled. Perhaps you’d like your solicitor present after all.’
William Verlan nodded meekly and mumbled another denial.
‘Well, he’s sticking to his story.’ Heffernan put his feet up on his desk. After questioning Verlan for over an hour he felt
he deserved a rest.
‘I believe him, Gerry. His statement fits in with Colin’s findings … the post-mortem injuries. If Verlan ran her body over
after she’d been killed … ’
‘You’re forgetting the small fact that she was strangled.’
‘So someone strangled her and left her body in the road. Verlan admits his mind wasn’t on his driving. He might not have seen
her lying there. Then he automatically assumed that he’d killed her. But what if she was dead already?’
‘So there was a strangler at large in Belsham?’
‘Or a boyfriend. I don’t think we should discount Dermot O’Donovan. But … ’
‘But what?’
‘Everywhere we look we turn up more links between all these cases we’re working on. The Reverend Shipborne, who’d had a row
with the father of Helen Wilmer, who used to teach in Shipborne’s Sunday school and also worked for Huntings, the firm that
Loveday Wilkins has some sort of grudge against.’
‘It’s a small world.’ Heffernan leaned back and scratched his head. ‘Has that Loveday made a statement yet?’
‘She’s not saying a word. I’m getting someone to check out her background. If she does have mental health problems her family
should be contacted and perhaps they’ll be able to throw some light on why she’s been doing all this. Because it certainly
doesn’t look as if money was the motive.’
‘Any word on the mother and daughter in hospital?’
‘Trish rang up a few minutes ago. In hospital-speak they’re “comfortable” – although I’m not quite sure what that means. Keep
your fingers crossed anyway. And there’s good news about the missing jar of honey: it was handed in
unopened at Morbay nick a couple of hours ago and it’s gone off to the lab.’
‘That’s one weight off our minds.’
Wesley shifted in his seat and looked at his watch. It was getting late and he was neglecting Pam again. Perhaps when all
this was sorted out – when the web was unravelled – he’d be able to make it up to her. Or perhaps by then there would be more
cases to keep him at the office. He stood up, trying not to think about it. ‘I think it’s time we found out what Philip Norbert
has to say for himself. Coming? Or should I take Paul?’
‘I’ll sit in if you want some moral support,’ Heffernan said, as though he were making a generous offer. ‘Then I think we
should pay Aaron Hunting another visit … see what he has to say about Loveday Wilkins’s efforts to ruin him and ask him if
he recognises her name. Perhaps we’ll get free groceries for a year for clearing this lot up.’
Wesley laughed. ‘In your dreams, Gerry,’ he said, making for the door.
A few minutes later they walked into the interview room where Philip Norbert was waiting for them, having just been brought
up from the cells. Norbert was seated at the table, watched by a uniformed constable in the corner. When the two detectives
entered he greeted them with a scowl as they sat down opposite him.
‘Want a solicitor?’ asked Heffernan as he prepared to switch on the tape machine.
‘Piss off,’ was the reply. Heffernan took that as a ‘no’. ‘Christopher Hobson saw you hanging around outside Belsham vicarage
on the night of the murder. He was quite positive … said he says he never forgets a face. What have you got to say about that?’
Heffernan smiled benignly and waited.
Norbert shifted a little in his seat and Wesley thought he detected a new uncertainty in his eyes, as though he was weighing
up his options before making a decision.
After a few seconds he spoke. ‘Okay. I was in Belsham
on the night the vicar died. I was drinking with this bloke.’
‘Name?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ said Heffernan quietly. ‘Go on.’ From the guilty look on Norbert’s face there was something
he was holding back. ‘Did you go near the vicarage?’
‘Don’t know.’ He shifted in his seat. He was lying.
‘Your dad thought you’d killed the vicar, didn’t he? Why was that?’ Wesley thought the question was worth a try.
Norbert’s eyes widened and Wesley knew he’d touched a nerve.
‘He covered up for you … sent an innocent man to jail to protect you. How did he know you’d killed the vicar, Phil?’ He leaned
forward. He could smell the garlic on Norbert’s breath and he could see tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘Well?’
Philip Norbert began to speak quietly, almost inaudibly, his head bowed. ‘I’d had a few drinks and when I left the pub I passed
this big house. The lights were on and I could see the French window was open … which was funny because it wasn’t a warm night.
I went up to the window, just out of curiosity, and there didn’t seem to be anyone about so I went in.’
‘Go on,’ Wesley prompted gently.
‘I had a bit of a look round and … well, there was nothing much worth nicking so I went upstairs. I found this wallet by the
bed so I just grabbed it and got out.’ The colour drained from his face and he studied his hands.
Wesley could tell there was more to come. ‘What happened next?’
‘I saw him when I was on my way out. He was just lying by the desk. If I’d seen him I’d never have gone in … never.’
‘How do we know you didn’t kill him?’ snarled Heffernan. ‘Your dad obviously thought you had.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘How did your father know you’d been there?’ Wesley was curious.
‘The murder was on the TV news and I knew I had to get rid of the wallet. But my dad found it first. He’d never trusted me …
used to go through my coat pockets. I was stupid to leave it in there but I wasn’t thinking straight. Anyway, the vicar’s
bloody cheque card was in the wallet and Dad found it and went mad … started shouting and hitting me and … Anyway, I got out …
left home and that bloody school. I stayed with some mates … lay low, thinking the law would come looking for me. I thought
they’d try and pin the murder on me.’
‘So what happened?’ Wesley asked.
‘Nothing. That’s the point. My dad knew I’d got the dead man’s wallet but nothing happened. I read in the paper that he was
in charge of the case and … ’
‘And you were waiting to be named as chief suspect?’
‘Something like that. But as I said, nothing happened. I couldn’t understand it. Then they said this bloke had been arrested
and later on when he was convicted they showed his picture on the telly. I’d seen him before but I couldn’t remember where.’
‘And you never thought of coming forward?’ Wesley knew the question was naive as soon as he’d said it.
Norbert grunted. ‘Do me a favour. I didn’t fancy doing life.’
‘But you said you didn’t kill the Reverend Shipborne.’
‘Yeah … but how could I prove it? I had his wallet, didn’t I? Who was going to believe that he was already dead when I went
into that house? But I swear he was. He was lying there … all blood on his head and his eyes open staring at me … I’ve never
moved so fast in my life.’
‘You admit you took the wallet. Did you notice a silver cup and plate while you were searching the place?’ Wesley asked, watching
Norbert carefully. But Norbert shook his head.
‘What about your dad?’
Norbert bowed his head. ‘Never saw him again. When he died I got in touch with Mum … gave her my address but … ’
Heffernan leaned forward. ‘You owed him a lot. He put his career on the line for you.’
‘His bloody career … that’s all I ever heard.’
Wesley watched him carefully. ‘You didn’t get on with your father?’
Norbert shrugged. ‘I never saw much of him … and I had to live up to being a copper’s son … getting teased at school. And sometimes
it was like me and Mum didn’t matter … that his job was more important.’
Wesley looked away and caught Heffernan’s eye.
‘I didn’t kill that vicar. My dad might have thought I did but I didn’t.’
Heffernan stood up. ‘We’ll send someone along to take a statement.’ He walked out of the room and Wesley followed.
‘What’s up?’ Wesley asked when they were out in the corridor.
‘I don’t know what to do, Wes. Do I go ahead and ruin a man’s reputation or … ?’
Wesley put his hand on the chief inspector’s arm. ‘I don’t think you’ll have much choice … not once Hobson’s case goes to appeal.
Makes you think, though, doesn’t it?’
‘What does?’
‘If you’re too busy catching villains to be there for your kids and that’s how they turn out.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Wes. Not every copper’s kid turns out a criminal, you know. Mine haven’t … as far as I know. And
just because your mum and dad are doctors doesn’t mean you go round smoking like a chimney, eating junk food and ignoring
medical advice, does it?’
Wesley forced himself to smile, but he looked at his watch, wondering how soon he could get home.
‘But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Which of us
wouldn’t do what Norbert did if we found ourselves in the same situation, eh? Do you reckon he did it?’
‘He had Shipborne’s wallet and his story about finding the body on the way out seems a bit thin to me. If Janet Powell’s version
of events is true – and we’ve no real reason to doubt that it’s not because, as far as we know, she has no reason to lie –
he’s the best suspect we’ve got.’