The Cedar Face: DI Jewell book 3 (DI Elizabeth Jewell) (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Sunday May 26th

Plenty had
happened since Monday yet Elizabeth felt she was no further
forward. Natasha Samuel had kept her promise and emailed several
images of what the missing mask could look like. She
had also written.

Not knowing the mask's exact age
makes it difficult to be precise. However, having researched museum
exhibits from the mid eighteenth century to early twentieth century
I've narrowed it down. Obviously the older the artifact
, the more valuable and on that basis I suggest the
earlier exhibits are more representative. However, as with all works
of art you will need a second opinion on authenticity
.

Contact me should you need more help.

Since her visit to Sotheby's Elizabeth had read up on Morven's birthplace in the Nass River Valley and printed off the sections she thought the most relevant. She closed her email account and switched off her computer. The A4 sheets were stacked neatly on her desk.

Masks, she'd learned were symbolic and often depicted animals or supernatural beings. These highly elaborate examples accentuated the eyes, allowing the wearer of the mask to see with greater understanding. The eyes, as the windows of the soul had to search for hidden
spirits
in the material world.

One in particular caught her attention
. The expression was melancholy, as
if the carver had experienced a great tragedy and the cedar wood had absorbed his grief. For hundreds of years cedar and salmon was the mainstay of the early Nass River Valley settlers who had fought long and hard for the rights to their lands and everything upon it. Elizabeth imagined their struggle reflected in the wooden faces and felt moved by their eternal quest for justice. She stopped reading and thought about her own search for the truth and the complex nature of modern police investigations.

Daly crept back into her consciousness, not that he'd ever left. Occasionally he might have slipped away, but not for long. For Elizabeth to discover more facts about Wilson's murder she needed to see beyond the circumstantial evidence. Wearing a mask was out of the question. However, the shamanic message was simple; use your eyes to find the truth.

Jacob Morven had made his court appearance and as expected pleaded not guilty to all charges. His foreign national status and ample funds resulted in the court granting him bail, with several conditions attached. No trial date was set and his next court appearance was two months away. He gave the undertaking to appear and with his passport revoked, he was free to go. Teresa Lane had successfully argued he posed no danger to the public and bail was set at seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds.

Elizabeth had worried about local reaction to the news but fate had intervened in the form of widespread news coverage of a notorious people trafficker. This man's lawyer had also secured bail for his client, so those who wished to voice their opinion, targeted him instead of Morven.

Elizabeth had no illusions. She knew that in order to beat the judicial system you needed money. Top lawyers, injunctions and reputation managers did not come cheap. Anyone worried about a dodgy past resurfacing usually employed certain organisations to rewrite their history.. If the media rebelled and printed detrimental articles about you, a libel suit would stop them. With enough money, a person could cover up anything, even murder.

Teresa Lane
had stood outside the court and used a well known
quote. "It's a wise judge that errs on the
side of caution." She'd spoken briefly to reporters briefly
putting emphasis on her client's innocence. When asked, she
confirmed that his trial was unlikely to start until the
autumn. Morven had the usual restrictions placed on him. He
could not leave the country, had to register an address
and was obliged to regularly report to the police station
. What did surprise Elizabeth was Morven's friend and colleague
, John McAllister, had finally arrived from Canada. Following advice from
Teresa Lane they'd rented a secluded country cottage to
protect their privacy.

Media reports had escalated after the court
appearance. Morven had unwittingly achieved celebrity status. Stories about him
had appeared not just in the UK, but also in
Canada and the US. Elizabeth despaired, what the papers lacked
in facts they had made up for with sensationalism. If
Morven's picture was on the front page, the paper
sold. He was dubbed an enigmatic First Nations advocate, cruelly
detained by a bungling police force. Similar international headlines brought
him more public sympathy. This fuelled a greater interest in
anything Native Art and sales doubled.

This wasn't the
first time someone accused of a serious crime had attained
celebrity status. Even those who felt he was probably guilty
pointed out he was still a figurehead for his oppressed
people and no different from Nelson Mandela.

Elizabeth had experienced
bad press before. Both personally and as a Gloucestershire police
officer, but this time it was a tidal wave that
threatened to drown her.

At least Patterson had submitted the
forensic accountant's report to the CPS and had a
positive result. The Faraday brothers were re-arrested and held
on remand.

The weather had alternated between cool showers and
hot sunshine. Elizabeth dressed in a simple black linen shift
and rope wedged sandals to keep cool. She also took
care applying her makeup. As soon as she was satisfied
with her appearance she picked up her bag and sunglasses
and headed for the Saab, she was on her way
to see Anita Fleming.

Elizabeth's old friend lived in
Uley, a village not far from the M5. Instead of
taking the motorway, she headed onto the A46 to Nailsworth
. From Sainsbury's she headed south and turned off onto
a narrow country road. For once, she wasn't in
a hurry and kept her speed down. Thinking about Anita
made her feel guilty; she hadn't visited her for
nearly six months. At one time they'd met up
regularly for a day out in Cheltenham or Oxford. Anita
had recently finished writing her biography, and encouraged by the
book's success the publisher had asked the retired Oxfordshire
Chief Constable to write a true crime novel. Elizabeth knew
it was about one of the UK's most notorious
murder cases, one Anita had worked on.

Elizabeth's parents
had lived in the same street as Anita. Around the
time she'd moved there she was promoted to Detective
Inspector. As a regular visitor to the Jewell home she
took an interest in the eighteen-year-old Elizabeth, who
hadn't a clue what she wanted to do. With
no desire to go to university, the older woman had
suggested joining the police force. Elizabeth hadn't realised she
possessed the right characteristics and it wasn't until five
years later she took her advice. Anita could have easily
used her senior position to influence Elizabeth's progress through
the ranks, but she didn't. Instead, Elizabeth threw herself
headlong into a career she wasn't convinced would get
her anywhere.

It was much later when Elizabeth discovered DCS
Daly and Anita Fleming knew each other. Curious about their
friendship she'd asked too many questions and he'd
clammed up, refusing to discuss the topic further.

Elizabeth reached
the steep hill leading to the village and as she
negotiated the sharp bends, she hoped arriving unannounced would be
okay. She turned off the main road and pulled up
outside the cottage her friend had bought years ago. A
modern apartment in the centre of Oxford was her permanent
home. This place was her retreat, a country cottage for
her retirement.

Anita's car wasn't in the driveway
and Elizabeth wondered if she'd finally given up driving
. Perhaps it was the reason she was reluctant to meet
up as often, or had suffered another health problem. She
'd had a cancer scare and had recovered well, but
realistically there was always the chance the illness could come
back.

Elizabeth rang the bell. When there was no answer
, she unlatched the side gate leading to the back garden
. She watched as Anita carried a brightly coloured shrub and
dropped it into a prepared hole in the ground. The
colour and shape reminded Elizabeth of bougainvillea and her last
trip to Portugal. Careful of frightening her, she shouted first
. Anita stood up, a tall striking woman, her long grey
hair hidden under a baseball cap. As usual, she wore
old jeans and a baggy t-shirt. As she moved
closer, Elizabeth was relieved at how healthy she looked.

'My
God,' Anita said, pulling off her heavy duty gloves. 'This
is a surprise.'

She threw the gardening gloves onto a
small circular table and held out her hands. Elizabeth grabbed
hold of them. 'I should have rung but I felt
ashamed for not keeping in touch.'

Anita put her finger
to her lips. 'No need for all that nonsense. We
lead busy lives and that's why I'm out
here in the sunshine. I'm almost finished the new
book so I deserve a break. Don't feel guilty
for not visiting. I've turned into a recluse lately
, so much for me longing for a sociable retirement.'

Elizabeth
followed her through the old French doors into a large
spacious kitchen. From the front, the cottage appeared deceptively small
yet it had two reception rooms and three bedrooms. Anita
filled the kettle and switched it on. 'First of all
I want to say sorry for not informing you about
Ted Daly.'

Elizabeth's heart flipped and she wondered if
she'd heard correctly. 'What do you mean, you're
sorry?'

'Let me make the tea first.'

Elizabeth felt like
a thunderbolt had struck her. 'What's happened to him
?'

Anita smiled and placed two mugs on the kitchen table
. 'Don't be alarmed, he's recuperating nicely.'

'God Anita
, I've been worried sick not knowing where he'd
gone.'

'I couldn't say anything before now because that
was the way he wanted it. He hated the idea
of everyone knowing he was ill. Jean had to keep
her mouth shut as well, the old sod made it
very difficult for us. The doctor's weren't sure
of the outcome and Jean wanted them to stay away
from Cheltenham for as long as possible. He didn't
need the kind of stress that goes with everyone knowing
and wondering if you're about to croak. Believe me
, I know just how bloody awful that situation is and
I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. As
your superior officer, he didn't have to inform you
, only his immediate boss. Who thankfully kept his big mouth
shut.'

Elizabeth presumed by his boss she meant the Chief
Constable. 'It's over three months Anita. When can I
see him?'

'I spoke to him about visitors only last
week. He wants to wait until he's completely better
.'

'What's exactly wrong with him?'

'I gave my word
I wouldn't disclose any details. It will be up
to him to explain, if or when he comes back
.'

'I bloody well hope he does. Please pass on the
message from me.' Elizabeth stated. 'I hate DCI Yeats and
still can't understand why we ended up with him
.'

Anita frowned. 'You needed a temporary replacement and Yeats was
probably a sensible choice. Or maybe no other suitable candidate
fancied relocating to Cheltenham. It's hardly a metropolis.'

'You
're right, no conspiracy. Just bloody bad luck we ended
up with the bastard.'

'Try and relax Elizabeth. Three major
crimes in a year would tax most senior officers. Clusters
of complex murders can happen anywhere, to any force. Think
about all the recently reopened cold cases due to the
huge advances in forensics.'

'Yeats was quick to arrest Morven
. Then he buggers off?'