The Merchant's House Part 9

Chapter 10.

Anne is gone and Jennet hath resumed her duties. I am grieved to find my old feelings do return but with prayer we can but hope to drive out sin.

Elizabeth feels well once more and doth not now keep to her bed. Yet she is still much fatigued and I should not presume upon her to resume the full duties of a wife at this time. But my body hath needs and when I cast my eyes upon Jennet I am reminded of them. I pray for strength.

Extract from the journal of John Banized,

30 April 1623

Gerry Heffernan was partial to church bells. They reminded him of his childhood when they had summoned the faithful out of their pebbledashed Liverpool semis to prayer at the red sandstone church on the corner of the main road. He had been in the choir then, Beanos and gobstoppers hidden beneath the angelic white of his surplice, and he was still singing now, minus Beanos and sweets and with a considerably deeper voice. The bells increased in volume as he approached the church and he felt his step lighten as they swung in celebration.

His spirits needed raising on this dull Sunday morning. He had just called on Mrs Giordino, who had politely refused his tentative invitation to church. She was a Catholic, she explained, lapsed. Heffernan had left, saddened that he could offer so little comfort.

Taking his place in the oak choir stalls behind the elaborately carved and painted screen, reputedly one of the finest in Devon, he was aware of a grey curly head in the row in front. Dorothy Truscot's grim discovery hadn't affected her warbly singing voice adversely.

After the service and the unmemorable sermon, he emerged from the porch of St Margaret's as so many had done since the days of the fourth King Henry, when the church had been built with money donated by prosperous local dealers in wine, fish and wool whose earthly remains had long ago been consigned to the crypt and forgotten.

When he arrived home he checked the carrier bag that contained the food. He had told Wesley half past twelve best time for the tide and the working lunch he had planned; a chance to get away from the office and the paperwork; to clear the mind and get the facts in some sort of order.

The invitation had come as a relief to Wesley. He had left Pam preparing for tomorrow's lessons. She had seemed so preoccupied with her work and her own thoughts that she hardly seemed to notice him going out. The atmosphere in the house was still somewhat chilly.

Heffernan greeted his sergeant heartily and invited him in. Wesley looked round the living room, making a quick appraisal.

It was neater than he had expected; no sign of the squalor that had surrounded him in his own single days. The walnut baby grand piano dominated the room; sheet music scattered over its top showed that it wasn't there merely for decoration. The plain white walls were hung with pictures of ships of varying types and sizes, and a bra.s.s s.e.xtant lay in pride of place on the oak sideboard. If Wesley had had to hazard a guess about the owner of such a room on one of the more popular television quiz shows, he would have suggested it belonged to a musical sailor. No sign of a police connection, but then his own house was hardly adorned with handcuffs and copies of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. Home was a place of escape.

Heffernan emerged from the kitchen carrying a large carrier bag and led Wesley outside onto the cobbled quayside. He was expecting a pie and a pint in the Tradmouth Arms but Heffernan was heading across the quay towards the water.

'Here she is,' the inspector announced with obvious pride.

Wesley looked around, expecting to see a woman approaching down the quay a hidden aspect of his boss's private life. But there was n.o.body in sight. Heffernan had climbed aboard a small yacht moored a few yards away from his front door. Wesley prayed silently that the seasickness he had experienced on the storm-tossed cross-Channel ferry last year wouldn't return today. He eyed the vessel nervously. The weather was calm, hardly a breath of wind; he stood a chance.

'What do you think of her?' Gerry Heffernan gazed at the boat lovingly.

Wesley had seen some men get like this about their cars, but hadn't known the phenomenon extend to boats. 'Very nice, sir.'

'Got her three years ago and did her up. Completely refitted her and gave her some new keel bolts.'

Wesley nodded, trying to appear knowledgeable.

'She's a sloop, East Anglian cla.s.s. Twenty-seven foot nine, four-berth,' Heffernan continued proudly. 'She was in a state when i got her, I can tell you.'

Wesley tried to look enthusiastic as he clambered aboard. He didn't know one end of a boat from another, but he was loath to let his ignorance show.

Once aboard, in the surprisingly neat cabin, the carrier bag was opened to reveal the delights of fresh crab, prawns, salads and what appeared to be a home-made fruit pie.

To his astonishment, Wesley found he was hungry. They ate at anchor. The meal, washed down with a chilled bottle of Chardonnay, was as good as it looked. But the trip downriver to the sea which followed left Wesley feeling distinctly queasy. His boss observed happily that even Lord Nelson had been p.r.o.ne to seasickness.

'I hadn't expected this,' Wesley said as Heffernan steered the streamlined craft through the waves.

'Just thought we could do with a change of scene.'

They stood for a while on deck, Wesley watching as the craft was navigated skilfully round the headland, topped with the twin castles that guarded the entrance to the River Trad.

'You seem to know what you're doing. Been sailing long?'

'Seems like all my life. I was in the merchant navy first mate before I joined the force.'

They stood for a while in amicable silence, watching the waves and the receding ruggedness of the cliffs.

'What made you join the force, Wesley?'

Wesley thought for a while. He had not been prepared for the question and he wasn't even certain of the answer. He did his best. 'It was always a.s.sumed that I'd become a doctor like my parents and my sister read medicine at Oxford.'

Heffernan looked impressed.

'The family got a bit of a shock when I chose to read archaeology and an even bigger one when I joined the Met. But my grandfather back in Trinidad was a detective, a chief superintendent. When we stayed with him he used to entertain us at bedtime by telling us about his more lurid cases.' He grinned. 'And all those Sherlock Holmes books I used to read when I should have been revising for exams probably had something to do with it too.'

'Bet he's proud of you, your granddad.'

The suggestion of praise almost made Wesley forget his queasiness. 'Would have been. He died five years ago.'

'I'm sorry.' Heffernan stood in silence, remembering his own early days: his uncle, a bridewell sergeant, the choice between the force and the sea, the sea winning until a burst appendix landed him in Tradmouth Hospital after being winched off his ship by helicopter. He smiled to himself. Such a fuss for such a small part of the human anatomy.

'I joined 'cause of my appendix.' Wesley looked at him curiously. 'There was this nice young nurse in the hospital and the sea lost its appeal. We got married and I stopped here. Joined the force. Kathy, my wife ... she died three years back.'

'I'm sorry.'

The inspector said nothing. He stared in front of him at the outstretching sea.

Wesley thought it best to change the subject. 'Any news about Jonathon Berrisford yet?'

Heffernan shook his head. 'The mother rings Stan Jenkins every day. It's really getting to him. Fancy having to tell a mother every day that there's no news. I'm just glad it's not my case.'

'Have you had any thoughts on the Karen Giordino case, sir?'

'You had any?'

'Looks like a domestic so far. Body found in beauty spot: sort of place you'd go walking with your girlfriend or whatever...'

'I believe partner's the word these days, Wes.' Heffernan grinned.

'They had a row; a violent quarrel. He bashes her head and face in and runs off. Panics, clears out of the flat. He could be anywhere. We don't even know who he is.'

'We will soon. Someone must know them, and if he's got an ex-wife or in-laws down this way they might be only too happy to turn him in. It shouldn't take long.'

'Straightforward, then?'

'We won't know that till we find him, will we?'

Heffernan turned the boat round skilfully. It was time to go home.

It was clear to Heffernan that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had never been in the police force. Irritated by the good doctor's low estimate of the number of brain cells collectively possessed by the Metropolitan Police, he flung the book across the room, blaming Wesley for his unfortunate choice of reading matter. It was Wesley's mention that lunch-time of his adolescent literary tastes that had made Heffernan pick the smartly bound volume off the bookshelf. Now he remembered why it had been left untouched all these years. If he had been Lestrade, he would have devised some fiendishly cunning way of ridding himself once and for all of that unbearably smug, violin-playing drug addict.

He turned to his bedside table for more reading fodder. Since Kathy's death he had got into the habit of reading till the early hours.

It wasn' what he normally cla.s.sed as bedtime reading, but he hadn' yet had a chance to examine it in detail. The post-mortem report lay on top of a pile of tempting novels. Duty overcome hedonism: he picked it up.

Ploughing through the medical jargon wasn't easy, not with a drowsy brain. But when he came to page five something caught his eye and he stopped, went back to the previous paragraph, and began to read more carefully.

Chapter 11.

I did go into my chamber when Jennet was changing the linen. I stood in the doorway and watched her and she was unaware of my presence. I saw the whiteness of her neck and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and was quite overcome with desire for her. She looked at me as if she comprehended my need. I withdrew from the room lest I be tempted to kiss her Extract from the journal of John Banized,

14 May 1623

Neil had spent all Sunday worrying about the dig. They couldn't afford any more wasted time.

After the fragment of white bone had been uncovered, he had thought it best to abandon work until Monday. Jane and Matt had readily agreed. Although n.o.body voiced their fears, they were all thinking the same thing.

As he unlocked the gate at 8 am on Monday morning, Neil felt uneasy. He retrieved his equipment from the wooden hut at the edge of the site and removed the protective tarpaulin from the trench they'd begun work on. Jane and Matt arrived to find him already at work. He stood and turned as they approached, and stepped aside so that they could see what he'd begun to uncover.

Jane's hand went up to her mouth.

Neil spoke quietly. 'I'll ring Wesley. At least there's someone in that police station now who knows what they're doing and won't trample all over the b.l.o.o.d.y site.'

The minicab stopped by the newly painted Victorian gateposts and the driver, instructed to wait, picked up his copy of the Daily Mirror to read while the meter ticked away.

Mr Carl looked back at the throbbing taxi and cursed the police force which had temporarily deprived him of the use of his BMW.

He felt in his pocket for the key it was there. He strode confidently up the gravel path: if you did anything with enough confidence n.o.body ever questioned your right to be doing it. He had found that out at an early age.

But today was an exception to that rule. On the steps leading to the front door stood a uniformed policeman, an expression of boredom on his freckled face. He would be only too eager to relieve the tedium with a few questions about Mr Carl's presence.

He turned and walked quickly to the waiting taxi, praying he hadn't been noticed.

Constable Parsons took the notebook out of his top pocket.

Heffernan poked his head out of his office and bellowed. 'Wesley, can I have a word when you've got a minute?'

Rachel, behind a pile of computer print-outs, raised her eyebrows. 'What have you been up to?'

Wesley gave her an innocent shrug and joined his boss in the gla.s.s-part.i.tioned office.

'Sit down.' The inspector seemed to be in a good mood. 'Good trip yesterday. Bit of a swell, though not too good for seasickness. What did you think of Rosie May?'

Wesley looked puzzled.

'The boat. What did you think of her?'

'Very nice, sir ... very nice.'

He saw Wesley's eyes glazing over. It was a shame his new sergeant didn't share his pa.s.sion for things nautical. Never mind. Back to the matter in hand.

'I was just arranging rosters and all that. Have you got another appointment at that clinic? Want to make sure you get there this time ...'

'Nine thirty, Thursday. I was just about to tell you.'

'That was quick.'

'It's surprising what they can do when you cross their palms with silver. I don't really agree with private medicine but ...'

'Will you be there long?'

'Well, they did all Pam's bit last week, so I shouldn't be long. They say there's nothing to it more embarra.s.sing than anything else.'

'Have they said anything yet? Any ideas?'

'They did some tests and didn't find anything wrong. She might have to have one of those laparoscopy operations. You know, when they stick a camera ...'