Blood and Stone (17 page)

Fielding looked at the ticket, then back up at Mariner. ‘So you didn't get there until one thirty-four. It took you a long time to get there, but you look pretty fit.'

Despite himself, Mariner coloured slightly. For some reason he was pleased not to be talking to Griffith. ‘I didn't go straight there. I took a longer route to extend the walk.' No need to tell her that he was revisiting a former shag-site.

‘Is there anyone who can corroborate any of your route?'

‘Not until I picked up the main footpath to the falls,' Mariner said. ‘I passed other people walking along there, but whether they'd remember me is a different matter. And I suppose the guy in the ticket office might have noticed which direction I approached from and where I went. It wasn't that busy.'

‘And can you tell me what happened when you bumped into Joe Hennessey?'

Mariner had already been over this, twice now, with Griffith, but Fielding was only doing her job. She and her boss would be checking for consistency, so he painstakingly repeated it once more.

‘And what are your plans for the next few days, sir?' Fielding asked, when he got to the end.

‘I hadn't really got anything specific in mind, though I was hoping to stay on here for a couple more days and walk locally before heading off towards the coast,' Mariner told her.

‘Well we would appreciate it if you could keep us informed of your whereabouts, should you decide to move on.'

‘Of course. The people I'm staying with, they're bound to ask questions. Once the incident is made public we're – sorry,
you're
–
going to need the help of local people …'

Fielding was quick on the uptake. ‘I'm sure it will be fine for you to give them the bare facts, sir, without giving away any of the important detail, of course.' She meant anything that might help them identify the killer.

‘You can rely on my discretion,' said Mariner.

Fielding had been scribbling down all that he said, but now she looked up and into his eyes. Hers was an intelligent face, with big grey eyes and a smooth, young complexion. ‘Thank you, sir,' she said politely. ‘That's been very helpful. I'll arrange for someone to drive you back into the village. And if you should think of anything else …' And in line with routine procedure she gave Mariner the card with her contact details on it.

C
rossing the lobby on his way out of the building, Mariner caught sight of the housekeeper through the open door of the room opposite. She was leaning over something on the table before her, her head and shoulders illuminated by a halo of lamplight. Knocking lightly on the door, Mariner hovered on the threshold of what appeared to be a dining room, with a long, highly polished table and enough dining chairs arranged round it to seat more than twenty people. A sideboard at the far end was loaded with silver tureens and serving dishes. The table was not, however, set for dinner but was covered with papers, some stacked in neat piles and others spread randomly across its glossy surface. The housekeeper looked up with a smile of recognition, and in this light Mariner noticed that she had the most extraordinarily dark brown eyes.

‘I'm sorry to disturb you,' he said. ‘But before I go, I just wanted to say thanks.'

She seemed genuinely puzzled. ‘For what?'

‘For not making a scene when we first arrived, and for not asking too many difficult questions. It wasn't a particularly conventional entrance.'

Waving away his gratitude, she straightened up from her work and came round the table to him, eyeing up his rather eccentric clothing. ‘It was obvious that something very serious had happened,' she said. ‘I can't believe it really. It's a terrible thing. That poor man.'

Mariner wasn't sure if she meant the victim or Joe Hennessey but acquiesced anyway. ‘Did you manage to get hold of Mr Shapasnikov?' he asked.

‘One of his staff has been in touch I think. His English is pretty good, but I thought it better that he should hear it in his native language,' she smiled.

‘Oh.'

Another smile; this time broader and with a hint of mischief that formed a dimple in each cheek. ‘You thought I was on his staff too,' she guessed, accurately. ‘No, I'm not permanent. I just happen to be here doing some work for Mr Shapasnikov.'

‘What kind of work?' Mariner was intrigued.

She indicated the table. ‘The library is full of historic documents relating to the house. Mr Shapasnikov has employed me to archive them, and at the same time I'm putting together a sort of rudimentary history of the place.'

‘Oh, you're the historian,' Mariner realized.

She gave him a questioning look. ‘You make it sound as if I have a reputation.'

‘Not at all. Someone I spoke to happened to mention that you were working here. For some reason I imagined a middle-aged man, all side whiskers and tweed jacket.'

‘Hm, I think you might be confusing me with an old-fashioned stereotype.'

‘That's very likely, I'm sorry.'

But she didn't appear to have been offended, and held out a hand for Mariner to shake. It was cool to the touch, with long, delicate fingers, plainly manicured. ‘Suzy Yin,' she said.

‘Tom Mariner,' Mariner said, in case she had forgotten.

‘Yes.' She hadn't.

‘It looks like a challenge,' Mariner said, taking in the extent of the paperwork.

She lifted her eyebrows. ‘You can say that again.'

One item, an old ink-drawn map, caught Mariner's eye. ‘That's Plackett's Wood, isn't it?'

‘Yes.' Going back over to the table, she separated it out from the other documents. ‘It's the one the river runs through, on the edge of the estate. Amongst other things, I've been going over all the original land registry papers for the area. They make fascinating reading; the land round here has been carved up frequently by different land owners over the centuries, according to who was in and out of favour with the monarch of the time. The Tudors were a devil for it. And though the physical boundary encloses Plackett's Wood as part of the Abbey Farm land, I've found some documents that would seem to indicate that the monks who were there in the mid sixteenth century did some kind of deal with the incumbent Earl of Wroxburgh and handed it over to him.'

So this must be the land dispute Rex had mentioned. ‘Why would they have done that?' Mariner asked.

She shrugged. ‘Could be any reason really. This was around the time when Henry VIII was giving the monasteries a hard time, so perhaps they gave over a bit of profitable salmon fishing in return for being left in peace, or even protection.' As her enthusiasm for her subject shone through, she became more animated and, not for the first time, Mariner wished he'd paid more attention to this stuff when he was at school, so that he could make sense of how these communities existed.

‘But as you said, land changed hands frequently,' he reminded her. ‘Couldn't it just have reverted back at some later point?'

‘It's the obvious explanation, though the evidence so far seems to suggest that when the abbey was finally closed down as a religious order, the man who acquired the land just grabbed the opportunity to seize it back. Or it may just have been that the physical boundaries at that time weren't clear and an assumption was made. That's what I'm continuing to research, and I think Mr Shapasnikov has hired a local firm of solicitors to look into it too.'

‘It's where the body was found,' Mariner told her.

‘Oh God.' She recoiled slightly. ‘I didn't know. You don't think …?'

Mariner shook his head. ‘It's probably just an unfortunate coincidence. Who knows about the dispute?'

‘
Possible
dispute,' she corrected him. ‘I don't know. I haven't told anyone about it but I can't speak for Mr Shapasnikov. As I said, he was talking about taking on a local law firm, though I don't know if he's done anything about it yet. I can't imagine it would be something he'd want people to know until we're certain about it.' She clasped her arms around her. ‘It makes me wish I hadn't found it now. Mr Shapasnikov pounced on it, but I mean it's not as if he hasn't already got lots of land.'

‘Have you mentioned anything to the police?'

She understood his implication. ‘Are you suggesting that Mr Shapasnikov would …? I'm sure he wouldn't go that far. In any case he hasn't even been here in the last few days.'

Mariner didn't like to point out that a man as powerful as Shapasnikov wouldn't need to soil his own hands. ‘It probably isn't anything to do with anything,' Mariner admitted. ‘But it would be better to let the police make that decision. They need to have as much information as possible. You should tell DCI Bullman or one of his team about it as soon as you get the chance, so that they have the full picture. It's the sort of information I'd want to have.'

She looked at him strangely, before understanding dawned. ‘Of course, you're a policeman too, aren't you? Well, if you really think I should say something, then of course, I will. It's a horrible thing to have happened, and in such a beautiful spot too …' She tailed off.

‘And the member of staff,' Mariner asked. ‘Did she manage to get hold of Mr Shapasnikov?'

‘I think he's on his way back here now.'

Mariner cast his eye over the table again, then back over the neat and rather attractive form of Suzy Yin. ‘Well, I'll leave you to your work.'

‘Yes, thank you, I should get on, though I'm not sure I'll be able to concentrate very well after this. It somehow makes it all seem quite frivolous.'

‘It might be more important than ever,' Mariner said.

T
he area car driven by a police constable dropped Mariner off just outside Caranwy hostel, by which time the rain had finally stopped, but the wind was gusty and strong. Passing by the White Hart, Mariner had caught the faint whiff of cooking food and suddenly realized how ravenous he was. The number of cars in the tiny car park indicated a brisk trade, and Mariner thought he might add his contribution tonight after he'd got cleaned up. Thanking the constable, he got out of the car and walked up the slight incline, his footfall echoing around the deserted yard, and knocked on the door of Elena's cottage. He found Rex in the kitchen, coffee and something clear and brown in a tumbler in front of him. ‘I thought I should just let you know that I'm back,' Mariner said.

‘Come in, man.' Rex was instantly on his feet. ‘Elena's upstairs trying to persuade Cerys to go to bed. She'll be down in a minute. Have you eaten? You must be starving.'

‘Thanks,' said Mariner. He shook his head. ‘I'm fine. I'll get changed and go back to the pub. It looks pretty lively down there tonight.'

‘I'll bet it is. Word is out already that the police are up at the hall. Everyone's speculating about what's going on. I'd have thought the last place you'd want to be is down there; particularly if they find out that you're involved. They won't leave you alone.'

He was right and Mariner knew it.

‘We've got a bit of chilli left over. Why don't you go and clean up and I'll get it heated up for you.'

‘You really don't have to …'

‘Ah, come on, man, it's what friends do, isn't it? Besides, I have to admit, we're pretty curious to know what's going on too.' He was honest; Mariner had to give him that.

Mariner went across to the hostel, had a hot shower and changed into his remaining clean clothes, realizing that he was going to have to find a launderette before long, or talk very nicely to Elena. By the time he returned, she too was in the kitchen and as he pulled out a chair, she put a piping-hot plate of chilli and rice in front of him. Both she and Rex had the courtesy to let him eat, before bombarding him with questions.

Mariner kept his account of what had happened short. Returning through the woods Joe Hennessey had run into him (literally) having found the body of a man who had almost certainly died of unnatural causes. No, Mariner didn't know who it was, and in any case couldn't disclose it ahead of the police making it public.

‘Oh God,' was Elena's response.

‘Unbelievable,' said Rex, looking bewildered.

‘What about Hennessey?' Elena asked suddenly. ‘Why was he hanging about in the woods?'

‘He's a photographer,' Rex said. ‘He was probably photographing the wildlife.'

‘The sort of weather we've had today?'

‘He was out running,' Mariner said. ‘He was wearing all the right gear and he'd got an mp3 player plugged into his ears. You know him?' he asked Rex.

‘He was propping up the bar of the Hart at the weekend,' said Rex. ‘We just got chatting, like you do. He's particularly interested in the peregrine falcons that have been seen over Gwyn Myndd. At least, that's what he said.'

‘As long as he's not after the eggs,' said Elena. ‘We've had enough trouble with that in the past.'

‘I don't think so,' Rex said. ‘He seemed to have all the right equipment. Looked as if that's what our Megan thought too. She was mooning all over him.'

‘Our Megan moons over anything in trousers,' said Elena. ‘Ron and Josie's daughter,' she added, for Mariner's benefit. ‘She serves behind the bar.'

‘She's a mousey little thing though,' said Rex. ‘I should think Hennessey's a bit out of her league.'

Elena shuddered. ‘I'm still trying to work out how something so brutal can happen out here for no reason.'

‘Oh, there'll be a reason,' Mariner said. ‘There always is. It's just that we can't yet see it.'

Rex reached out and put a comforting hand over Elena's. ‘Sorry, love, but I'm going to have to get going,' he said, getting to his feet. He glanced apologetically at Mariner. ‘I help coach the under-16s rugby squad. We've got an important match tomorrow up at Harlech, so an early start.' He and Elena went to the door. ‘You'll be all right here tonight?' Mariner heard him ask.