The Funeral Boat (23 page)

They made a full statement to Heffernan and Wesley. Rachel had wanted to sit in on the interview but Heffernan had not

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considered it wise, given her involvement. She did, however, identify Jock Palister’s voice. He had been the man who had pushed Dave against the dresser. They confessed to four robberies. One near Stoke Beeching; one just outside Bereton; one near Dukesbridge; and Little Barton Farm.

‘What about Wexer’s Farm? You shot the farmer … put him in hospital.’

Jock and Darren, interviewed separately, had both shaken their heads. ‘That’s not down to us,’ they each announced with apparent sincerity. ‘We didn’t do that one. We only carried shooters to frighten people … never had them loaded. Looks like someone’s trying to imitate us.’

It was unanimous. Proudy, Jock and Darren all denied it vehemently. They didn’t raid Wexer’s Farm and they certainly didn’t shoot Dan Wexer.

Heffernan’s heart sank. This could only mean one thing. There were two lots of villains going around the district raiding farms. ‘Oh, Wes,’ he said with desperation as the two men left the interview room, ‘what are we going to tell the Super?’

Lee Tertit and Natalie Barker, on holiday together for the first time, away from parents’ prying questions and restrictions, emerged from their tiny tent without many clothes on and ran down the steep fields towards the shore. Natalie giggled as Lee caught her naked waist.

They walked together, their arms entwined, only separating when the time came for them to negotiate their way in single file down the steep narrow track leading to the beach. The track, pitted with tree roots and sandy rabbit-holes, made them stumble, laughing, clinging to one another for support. They looked down at the beach. Because of its inaccessibility to young families, it was deserted … just as they liked it.

It was Natalie who hit the beach first, running, turning to challenge Lee to follow her, to catch her, to kiss her. They had the sands to themselves; the sun was shining in a cloudless sky; they were together, away from the daily routine of the Redditch and District Building Society. Life was good.

Lee threw himself, exhausted, onto the warm, gritty sand, but Natalie continued running, down to the sea, where the waves were teasing the seaweed-strewn shore. She took off her shoes and

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dipped her toes in the foaming water; in spite of the day’s heat, the water was ice cold.

She strolled along the shoreline, glancing back at Lee. He was stretched out now, waiting for her. But she wasn’t ready to join him just yet. The seaweed lay around like litter on the pristine beach. She walked on towards a huge clump of the stuff, strewn thickly over some sort of rock or driftwood.

Lee sat up with a start when he heard her scream. Disorientated, his heart thumping, he shielded his eyes from the sun and looked to see where she was. She was screaming … as loud and insistent as a burglar alarm. He ran towards her, scooping her up in his arms when he reached her. The screaming stopped.

There on the damp sand lay what seemed to be a clump of seaweed. But a hand, ash white and water-wrinkled, protruded from it. On closer inspection Lee saw water-matted hair, the colour of wet rope; a dark cavity where an eye should have been. He held Natalie closer, rocking her to and fro, comforting her as he would a child.

‘Let’s get out of here and call the police, eh?’

As they scrambled slowly back up the rough path, neither of them uttered a word.

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997

AD

I was afeared when we came to Stoke Beeching. We came first

to the village andfound it destroyed. What the evil ones could

not steal, they burned. The church, our fine wooden church,

was but ashes piled upon the earth, the treasures it contained

plundered. I sat in the ruins and wept. Hilda comforted me;

held me and said little. There are no words that describe the

wickedness of the pagans. .

But some people of my village had escaped; had taken their

families and hidden in the woods. Now they creep back to the

village and begin to rebuild their homes. ! met with some who

told me the priest had been burned alive in his church. They

had buried him and others slaughtered in the churchyard. I

saw the fresh graves and wept once more, for I knew many of

the dead.

I askedfor news of my parents. They would say nothing,

only that my father was dead, buried with the others. I fear

there is news too horrible for telling, but I must go there and

see for myself.

From the chronicle of Brother Edwin

‘Lovely day for the beach, Wes,’ said Gerry Heffeman cheerily. ‘Brought your bucket and spade?’

They stood watching as Colin Bowman disentangled the corpse’s limbs from their seaweed bonds. The face was now visible, and Wesley looked away. Sea creatures had devoured the eyes. It was not a sight for weak stomachs.

‘Shall I have a word with the people who found him, sir?

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Wesley wanted to absent himself before things became too gruesome.

‘Yeah. They’re over there. Young couple on a camping holiday. They’re in a bit of a state - especially her - so be gentle with ‘em.’

‘Aren’t I always?’ said Wesley before striding over to where Lee and Natalie were standing, pale and shocked, clinging to each other for support.

‘Well, Gerry,’ said Colin Bowman. ‘Our friend here has been in the water a couple of days by my reckoning. It’s amazing how quickly a few hungry crabs can do that sort of damage. Any idea who he is? Anyone reported missing?’

‘I know who he is all right, Colin. I’ve met him. His name’s Sven Larsen; brother of that woman who’s gone missing. He came over from Denmark a few days ago. He hired a boat and it was found ablaze floating out to sea. There was a dinghy and all but that was found drifting … had a smear of blood near the outboard motor. Any idea of the cause of death?’

‘I won’t be able to tell for certain until I do the post-mortem but at a quick glance I’d say it’s possible that he was knocked unconscious and fell in the water. Look at that wound at the back of the head. It could have been done if the body was dashed against rocks after death. I suppose, or he could have been knocked out by the sail and fallen overboard, but … ‘

‘But you think it could be suspicious?’

Colin Bowman paused, looking intently at the well-defined wound, half hidden by the matted hair. ‘Yes, Gerry. I think it could be. But as I said, we’ll have to wait…’

‘For the post-mortem. I know, Colin. I’ll just have to learn patience. Me mam always used to say it was a virtue.’

Rachel sat back in her office chair, hot, exhausted, feeling a fool. She had liked Wesley from the time they had first met. He possessed a sensitivity, a quiet, unassuming intelligence, that she hadn’t come across in many men she’d known. At first she had been glad when they had teamed up together on enquiries; then ;;he had begun to engineer it. Then she had begun to compare Dave, her straightforward, rather macho Australian boyfriend, .vith Wesley … and had found him wanting. The liking had

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developed into affection which in turn had become … she hardly liked to think about it.

She had known that he was married, had a young baby. And she had also known that he and Pam had had their problems, especially before Michael was born. But seeing Pam face to face had shaken her … had made the whole thing real. It wasn’t a game … a fantasy to while away the idle hours. There were people who could get hurt.

She knew that when she saw Wesley again she would experience a bewildering cocktail of attraction, guilt and acute embarrassment. He had given her no sign that he saw her as anything but a colleague and friend; and the way he had looked at Pam today had told her all she needed to know. Rachel Tracey had the horrible, sinking feeling that she could have made a fool of herself. But she was lucky. Things hadn’t gone too far … hadn’t even started. And she felt curiously relieved.

She heard a polite cough behind her and swung her chair round. Trish Walton was standing there. She looked pleased with herself, as smug as a precocious child who’d just won a talent competition. She proudly placed a videotape on the desk in front of Rachel and took a step back.

‘Do you know when the inspector will be back?’

‘He’s gone over to Widerspool Sands. A body’s been washed up there. Why?’

‘Has Sergeant Peterson gone with him?’

Rachel blushed. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘I found Ingeborg Larsen on a few tapes … just looking in the shops. But on this one she’s met someone. Laurence Proudy. She was talking to him on the day she disappeared. It’s all on the tape.’

Rachel picked the tape up and turned it over absent-mindedly. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. ‘

The office door burst open, making Rachel jump. Gerry Heffernan’s voice boomed out. ‘If any of you lot were hoping to have a day off tomorrow, think again. We’ve just found Sven Larsen’s body … possible case of murder.’ Wesley lurked behind him, his expression serious.

Rachel nudged Trish and handed her the videotape. She’d let the new recruit have her moment of glory.

Heffernan reacted to Trish’s discovery with a satisfied smirk.

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‘We’ll bring Proudy over from Morbay tomorrow morning … get him to tell us the truth for once. I don’t believe in coincidences … Sven Larsen’s death has something to do with his sister’s disappearance.’ He looked over at the notice-board, where an enlarged photograph oflngeborg Larsen smiled out at them. ‘And I’ve got a horrible feeling that now we’ve found Sven dead, we’re not going to find his sister alive.’

The inspector turned and walked into his office. Wesley knew he was worried.

The Golden Dragon was doing good business from the Peters on household. As Wesley didn’t arrive home till after seven, and Pam was exhausted from the rigours of Viking life, they put Michael in his cot and ordered a takeaway. When they had finished they sat ignoring the empty foil dishes on the coffee table, Wesley’s arm round Pam’s shoulders, and prepared to watch a popular archaeology programme they had recorded some nights ago. Pam closed her eyes, prepared to doze through the discoveries. But her rest was disturbed by an urgent ring at the doorbell. It was Wesley who summoned the strength to answer the door.

He was surprised to see Neil standing there, grinning. ‘Hold the door open, Wes, I’m bringing the stuff inside.’ Neil made for his Mini, parked up on the kerb outside.

‘Hang on, Neil. What are you bringing in?’ Neil didn’t answer, and Wesley stood there, feeling somewhat helpless in the face of his friend’s determination.

Neil returned from the car with two large cardboard boxes, each containing something mysteriously bulky. ‘I’m getting these over to Professor Harvey at the museum on Monday. Just thought you’d like to see them … and they need to be kept somewhere dry and safe till then.’

‘What are they?’

‘Didn’t Pam give you the message?’

‘She said something about a casket and some papers but, to tell you the truth, today’s been a bit hectic. We’ve arrested a gang of armed robbers and we’ve got another murder on our hands. I haven’t really had time to think about…’

‘Well, make time,’ said Neil, pushing past with his heavy burden.

At this point Pamjoined them in the hall, rubbing her eyes. ‘Hi, Neil. Should have known it was you.’

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Without a word Neil went into the living room and cleared the remnants of the takeaway off the table, making sure that no stray traces of chicken chow mein remained.

‘What are you doing, NeilT asked Pam, more in amusement than in anger.

He didn’t answer but placed the boxes on the table. The rusted remains of the sword lay there against the crisp white acid-free paper, next to the round shield boss. Then Neil carefully added the piece de resistance to the display: the second box contained an ancient carved casket, crafted from ivory or bone. It wasn’t large - about eighteen inches wide and a foot high - but it teemed with busy carved figures and was topped by a powerful crucifixion scene in the centre of the lid.

‘Wow,’ said Wesley. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘At the Peacock Museum. It was just stuck up in a dusty attic with a water leak in the corner … not even on display. 1 couldn’t leave it there, could I? It needs to be kept in proper conditions. And it needs proper conservation … so do the sword and shield boss. I’d like them X-rayed and all. 1 told that useless Bate-Brownlowe character that they weren’t being treated properly and 1 said 1 thought they should go to the County Museum for conservation and proper display. 1 gave him a receipt, tried to do everything properly, but he wasn’t pleased.’

‘You mean you took them without permission?’

‘Well, er … sort of, technically, 1 suppose.’

‘Neil, I’m a police officer. 1 can’t handle stolen goods.’

‘Well, I’d prefer it if you didn’t handle them, actually … the fewer people the better. You can watch while 1 open the casket. Okay? Does that salve your delicate conscienceT

Wesley turned round and saw that Pam was grinning. Neil had always been single-minded. If he considered that a valuable piece of archaeological history was being abused, he would consider it his bounden duty to confiscate it from its abuser, regardless of the legal niceties.

‘I hope you realise the importance of this, Wes. It’s Anglo bloody Saxon … a thousand years old. Unique.’

‘Worth a fortune?’ asked Pam, eagerly.

‘You can’t think in terms of money,’ said Neil, reverently lifting the lid of the casket. ‘This is a major find. Look.’

They craned to see inside the box, Wesley’s interest defeating.

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his brief bout of conscience. Then Neil closed the lid carefully and produced a cardboard file containing a sheaf of brown-tinged papers covered in neat, even copperplate writing.

These are the papers I found at the back of Peacock’s ledger. They’re obviously copies of something much earlier. It’s my guess he had some ancient documents copied, then lost the originals … or just neglected them so that they fell to bits. Scandalous,’ he added with quiet indignation.