Wesley Peterson: The Blood Pit Part 15

'That's what we're trying to find out.'

The vet gave Rachel a weak smile. 'Of course you are. How's Emma bearing up? I was thinking of going round to see her ...' He sounded uncertain of his reception. But then most people are lost for words in the presence of the bereaved at the best of times.

'I'm sure she'd appreciate that, Mr Wicks.'

The man nodded. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he said. 'I've been wondering if we should offer a reward or something ...'

Rachel smiled. 'Perhaps it might be worth discussing it with DCI Heffernan he's in charge of the case. His son works here Sam Heffernan.'

'Ah, Sam ... nice lad. He mentioned something about his father being in charge of the investigation.'

'I know this might seem ridiculous but you said Simon Tench didn't have any enemies. Are you absolutely sure about that? Could there be someone he'd annoyed ... someone who'd threatened him?'

The vet shook his head. 'There are times in our profession when farmers lose valuable animals and put the blame on us.'

Rachel nodded. As a farmer's daughter she knew that sort of thing happened on occasions when livelihoods were threatened and emotions ran high.

'But I'm not aware of Simon being involved in anything like that.'

'I understand he lost a valuable foal on the day he died.'

'Yes. I'm afraid these things happen. It's a cause of great regret of course but ...' He shrugged. 'In this case I believe the owner took it philosophically realised there's nothing Simon could have done.'

Rachel had heard this story before. The consensus of opinion seemed to be that the unhappy horse owner had nothing to do with Tench's death. But it would still have to be checked out. If the owner turned out to have borne a grudge against Charles Marrick as well for some reason, he or she would move rapidly up the list of suspects. But something told Rachel that things wouldn't be quite that simple.

'There was the burglary, of course. Simon was out on a night call and he came back here to the surgery for some supplies. He disturbed some little thug in a hoodie breaking in to nick ketamine we use it as a tranquilliser for larger animals. Simon saw the light was on and came to investigate kid pushed past him. Got away with the ketamine. That's all there was to it really. We did report it of course.'

Rachel's heart began to beat a little faster. There was a possibility albeit a small one that the kid in the hoodie was Carl Pinney. And if he was back in the frame, the DCI would be delighted.

She was about to thank the vet and leave when Wicks suddenly raised his hand as though he had remembered something. 'There was one incident not long ago. I almost forgot because the person involved doesn't use our practice any more. There's a smallholder near Neston ... city boy trying to play at farmers. You know the type.'

Rachel nodded. 'What happened?'

We had a call from this man. Barty Carter his name is. He made his pile in London something in the city and decided he'd try the country life. He thought it was all Barbours, green wellies and Range Rovers ... had no idea about real farming. He planned to keep pigs and develop his own range of designer sausages and luxury black puddings well that's how he described them.'

'And?'

'When one of the pigs took ill he called Simon out. And Simon told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't looking after his stock properly basically because he hadn't a clue how to deal with animals rather than malice aforethought. Simon gave him a good telling off and threatened to report him to the authorities if he didn't get his act together. Carter wasn't pleased. Ordered Simon off his smallholding with a shotgun and never used this practice again.' He suddenly looked worried. 'I've been a bit concerned about those pigs actually. I was wondering if I should go up there ... if it's an animal welfare issue.'

'I could pop up there to have a word,' said Rachel. 'Call you in if necessary.'

After promising to arrange the visit, Rachel interviewed Simon's remaining colleagues. They all sang the same tune. Simon Tench was wonderful. n.o.body would want to harm him.

But on the way out to the car, she called the police station on her mobile requesting a check on Barty Carter. And somehow she wasn't surprised when the reply came back and she discovered that Carter had form.

Trish Walton was only too glad to get away from Foxglove House and Annette Marrick's self-pitying complaints. On her return to the police station, she couldn't stop thinking about Petronella's revelation. Marrick's stepdaughter hadn't really been considered as a serious suspect and, as far as she knew, she had no connection with Simon Tench. But, on the other hand, her alibis for both murders were shaky and if you opened enough cupboards, all kinds of skeletons were likely to tumble out. And Charlie Marrick had raped her, which was motive enough in Trish's book for that particular murder.

Steve's vindication was the talk of the CID office. The consensus of opinion was that it was a triumph for common sense against the sort of villain who can mete out brutality to his victims but can't take even the lightest tap when he's on the receiving end. Police one, villains and their briefs nil. An honourable win.

DCI Heffernan promised to break the happy news to Steve and tell him that he was to report for work first thing tomorrow. They needed all the manpower they could get.

Heffernan seemed to be in an unexpectedly good mood, considering he had two unsolved murders and an unidentified skeleton on his hands. He told Trish to knock off early at half four. She'd had a tough few days nursemaiding the Marrick menage, he said before telling her to go off and enjoy herself. Trish hadn't turned down his offer. She was glad to get away from the pressure of the incident room. And besides, she'd seen a pair of particularly desirable shoes in a Morbay shop a week or so ago and she was wondering whether they were still there.

She drove out to Morbay and, when she'd visited the shoe shop and decided that the shoes were too uncomfortable and far too expensive, she returned to her car and sat there for a while, thinking. She was within walking distance of Steve's flat. He would be returning to work first thing the next morning so maybe she should pay him a call and bring him up to speed on the case. After all they had been close once and, even though Rachel Tracey, her housemate, kept telling her she was well rid of him, there was still a slight pull there, a faint attraction normally suppressed, which floated to the surface and bobbed there occasionally.

Trish climbed out of her car and walked down the busy streets to Steve's flat. But as she arrived at the front door, she experienced a sudden flurry of panic. What if he wasn't in? What if he took her visit the wrong way? Interpreted it as a come-on?

She stood on the doorstep, shifting from foot to foot, in two minds whether to leave there and then and forget the whole thing. She was only there on impulse after all. But then Steve was a fellow officer and he had been falsely accused. She was giving him the support of a colleague and making certain he had the necessary information to do his job properly. Nothing more.

When Steve answered the door, he looked dishevelled and rather sheepish. He grinned at her nervously, almost as if he had something to hide. After a few seconds he stood aside to let her in and, as she entered, Joanne emerged from the kitchen and gave her a shy smile. Trish tried to smile back but she suspected the result was more of a snarl. It looked as if Steve had found plenty to do in his period of enforced idleness, Trish thought, her inner b.i.t.c.h rising to the surface for a split second.

Trish cleared her throat. It was probably best to stick to the subject of work. 'I presume the boss has been in touch about you coming back tomorrow?'

Steve looked puzzled and shook his head.

'He said he was going to call you tonight. I'm surprised he hasn't done it already ... G.o.d knows we could do with an extra pair of hands. It's good news. You're in the clear. Pinney threw his dinner round his cell and slipped on the wet floor after the mess had been cleaned up. His story's been shot to pieces.' She tried to inject some excitement into her voice but Steve wasn't looking impressed.

He put his arm round Joanne, who stood rather stiffly beside him. 'I'd feel better if they'd believed my version in the first place over that little toe-rag's lies. Why is it they always have to believe these ... ?'

'That's just the way it is, Steve you know that as well as I do. They've got to investigate any complaints against the police. Sometimes it's not fair but ...'

'It stinks,' Joanne piped up, folding her arms defensively.

Trish looked at her. 'Yeah. You're right. It does stink.' She turned back to Steve. 'I don't know if you want me to bring you up to date on the case.'

Joanne squeezed his arm, whispered something in his ear, then disappeared back into the kitchen. Trish waited until she was out of sight before she continued. 'A lot's happened since you ... You know this vet's been murdered same MO. But, unlike Charles Marrick, he didn't have an enemy in the world.'

'Random attacks then?'

Trish shrugged. 'The boss doesn't think so. Charles Marrick was a nasty piece of work. He raped Petronella Blackwell ... his wife's daughter. And he swindled that chef, Fabrice Colbert ... who's not French but that's another story. There must have been people queuing up to put the knife in. But this vet, Simon Tench, was just the opposite everyone liked him.'

Joanne appeared again and resumed her place at Steve's side.

'Maybe he was leading a double life. Maybe he had a grubby little secret,' Steve said with a confident swagger, probably calculated to impress the new girlfriend. 'The boss wants me back tomorrow then?'

'That's what he said. I expect he'll be in touch.' Trish glanced at Joanne who appeared to be listening intently. 'By the way, how's your dad?'

Steve's expression gave nothing away. 'He's okay.'

She hesitated before saying, 'Probably see you tomorrow then,' and turning to go, uncomfortably aware that she'd said too much when Joanne was within earshot. But it was done now.

'Probably,' was Steve's cool reply just as the phone on the wall began to ring.

'That might be the boss now,' she said.

Steve, looking unimpressed, moved to pick up the receiver.

Gerry Heffernan had just telephoned Steve Carstairs, to tell him to be at his desk first thing the next morning. He'd delayed making the call, saying he wanted to make Steve sweat for as long as possible. Wesley, however, doubted if this tactic would do any good. Steve, as far as he could tell, was as thick skinned as your average elephant and any attempt at subtlety would be wasted on him.

As he finished his call, Gerry sensed that the news hadn't come as a surprise to Steve. But then he'd always been c.o.c.ky and over-confident. Perhaps that's why Gerry always had to fight the urge to slap him down.

When Wesley wandered into his cluttered inner sanctum, he looked up and smiled. 'Come in, Wes, sit yourself down. Let's go over what we've got, shall we?'

Wesley said down with a sigh. They seemed to have a lot especially about Charles Marrick but, as yet, nothing seemed to make much sense.

'I really can't see any link between Simon Tench and Marrick,' Wesley began. 'Do you think Tench's could be a copycat killing? If one of our local nutters discovered the details of Marrick's death and ...'

'We've not released the details. It's hardly public knowledge. And why target Tench?'

'Some people don't need a reason.'

'Tench must have let his killer in. Same with Marrick. It was someone they trusted.'

'Maybe.' Wesley shuffled his feet, at a loss for something else to say.

'We're just waiting for Tench's toxicology report from Colin. By the looks of it he didn't put up a fight, exactly the same as Marrick. If he was given hemlock to paralyse him it means that whoever's doing this has it all planned out carefully.'

But the DCI's thoughts were interrupted by a perfunctory knock on the door. When the door burst open DC Paul Johnson was standing there, his eyes bright with untold news. Paul was a tall, lanky young man, fond of athletics, and he almost bounded towards Heffernan's desk.

'Sir, I've just had a call from Cheshire police.'

Heffernan leaned forward. 'And?'

'I did a check like DI Peterson asked me, to see if there had been any similar deaths anywhere else in the country and there was a case in Chester a few weeks ago ... bloke with neck wounds in a flat above a shop. Traces of hemlock found in the body. The coroner gave a verdict of suicide but ...'

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other.

'I called them and asked them to send the reports and photographs.'

'Good,' said Wesley. 'Are they still satisfied with the suicide verdict or ... ?'

'They were but since they've been alerted to our two murders, they're looking at the case again. They're e-mailing me the details.'

Wesley thanked Paul. He'd done well. He looked at his watch. It was six thirty already but he didn't want to make for home until they'd seen what Cheshire were about to send. It might be nothing to do with their case, of course. Just a coincidence. But Wesley had an uncomfortable feeling that they were about to learn something important.

And half an hour later when Paul brought them the e-mail from Cheshire police headquarters in Chester, Wesley knew that their case had just become more complex.

It looked as though their killer had struck before.

CHAPTER 8.

The writer rose early that morning and switched on the computer. It was time to continue the tale. It helped so much to put it all into words. That way, things made more sense.

There was corruption in the Abbey of Veland as there is in every place human beings gather together. What is it about our species that makes it fall prey to wickedness?

I think Brother William was a pure young man, an innocent. He didn't expect to encounter evil in the abbey that should have been his refuge from the world. The corruption must have begun in a small way. A touch here and a look there. But for some the lure of sin is too tempting to resist.

What happened to Brother William wasn't his fault. But all victims blame themselves. I should know that more than anyone.

Perhaps it would be wise to strike the last sentence out. It gave too much away. Another day or so and the letter would be finished. Another move in the blood game.

Gerry Heffernan had found it hard to get to sleep and when he did finally drop off, he'd been awoken by Sam leaving the house an early morning call to a calving just outside Whiteley. Eventually he decided to cut his losses and get up, creeping around to avoid waking Rosie who'd rolled in late the night before.

For the past few days he'd been too busy to see Joyce and he was missing her company and her down-to-earth common sense. They'd been seeing each other for almost a year now but Rosie still didn't know of her existence and he saw no reason to upset the delicate balance of household relations by telling her. It was Gerry's secret and he told himself that he was just waiting for the right moment to reveal it a moment which never seemed to arrive. Rosie had been close to her late mother, Kathy and he didn't want to risk upsetting her. Sam, however, knew all about his dad's lady friend and wished him luck. But then Sam had always been easygoing and pragmatic. A chip off the old block.

He arrived at the police station early to find the details of the Chester case waiting for him on his desk, in the small s.p.a.ce in the centre that he left clear for anything he considered to be urgent. He'd glanced at them the previous night, just to get the gist of what was what, but now he intended to examine them in detail to see if there was indeed a link to the two murders that had happened on his patch.

As soon as he picked up the papers, his office door opened and Wesley Peterson stepped into the room, looking annoyingly awake for first thing in the morning.

'You read it yet?' Wesley asked eagerly.

'Just about to, Wes. Come in, will you. Anything new?'

Wesley shook his head. Then he hesitated for a few moments. 'Steve's due back this morning,' he said, his expression giving nothing away.

Heffernan raised his eyebrows.

'At least it's another pair of hands. I've just heard through the office grapevine that Trish paid him a visit last night gave him the good news.'

'Did she indeed? I wanted to prolong the agony so I didn't ring him till late. He never let on that Trish had already told him.' He rolled his eyes. 'I would have thought she'd have more sense.'

'Apparently he's got himself a new girlfriend someone who works with his dad so if Trish has any hopes in that direction ...'

'You seem to know all the gossip, Wes.'

'We aim to please.' He sat down on the chair by the DCI's desk, collecting his thoughts. 'I had a quick read through the stuff from Cheshire before I went home last night.'

'And?'

'Sounds identical to our murders but the local force interpreted it as suicide. Victim tried to poison himself then, when that wasn't working fast enough, he stabbed himself a couple of times in the neck struck lucky with the jugular vein. There was no sign of a break-in or a disturbance and the knife was on the floor as though the victim had dropped it.'

'Unlike our two cases. Wonder why the killer took the knives away when Marrick and Tench were killed.'

Wesley shrugged. 'The weapon that killed Simon Tench hasn't turned up yet. I've got uniform searching for it but it's a question of where to start. If Carl Pinney was telling the truth and the first one ended up in a carrier bag on the Winterham Estate, the second could be anywhere.' Wesley paused. 'Look, Gerry, I've been thinking. What do the victims have in common Marrick, Tench and this new one up in Chester?'

'Dunno. What?'

'Well, they're all male. And they're all exactly the same age. Thirty-one.'

Gerry Heffernan scratched his head. Why hadn't he noticed something so obvious? But, as far as he knew, n.o.body had ever been murdered for being a certain age before. There must be more to it than that. 'What are you saying, Wes?'