The Shadow Collector (30 page)

Wesley didn’t answer.

The smile vanished. ‘I blame myself for what she did, you know.’ He saw tears forming in her eyes. ‘I was responsible. I didn’t
mean to but …’

‘What do you mean?’

But before she could answer a nurse bustled up and told him that was enough. If he wanted to question her any further he’d
have to come back.

When he returned to the incident room, now in the process of being packed up, he requested an inquest report and made a call
to the Met. There was something he hadn’t checked and he felt uneasy about the omission.

He had an uneasy feeling that a secret still lay hidden. Something that held the key to the whole affair.

Statement of Joan Booker, aged nine years, October 1st 1643

On a Monday while the King’s soldiers were at Hilton Farm I did see Mistress Hadness in the lane near my house. Knowing she
was a lady of some wealth I asked her for a penny but she said children like me should not beg and then she cursed me and
my kin. The next day my mother fell ill with a fever and died, twisting in pain and crying out as the devil possessed her
body. A week later I saw Mistress Hadness with a black cat that was her familiar. It turned into the Devil and chased me down
the lane but it did not catch me
.

Statement of Alice Buddiford, October 1st 1643

One day in September my son, John, came to me and said that he’d seen Mistress Hadness in the churchyard gathering flowers
that were yellow and purple. She had a black dog with her and when the dog saw my son it ran toward him and barked with the
voice of a man. My son
swore it was the voice of Satan. Mistress Hadness turned and told my son to be away and that the churchyard was no place for
a boy of such tender years. He ran home frightened and three days later he died of a fever, uttering such strange words that
they could only have come from sorcery
.

That same week three of my cattle sickened and died. Mistress Hadness had walked across the field where they grazed and it
was only after she had looked upon them that they sickened
.

Statement of Elizabeth Hadness, October 1st 1643

I saw my stepmother in the trees beside our house and she was cavorting with the Devil. He was in the guise of a man with
black hair and blue eyes and he had a pleasing countenance. She was kissing him and he was touching her private parts. When
I called out to her he assumed the form of a cat and ran off
.

Statement of Alison Hadness, October 3rd 1643

This day I shall meet my death and so I make my peace with God. My husband is dead, as are many in the town who are possessed
by demons that rack their bodies with agony and rot their living flesh
.

I have denied all to the Magistrate for the accusations against me are false. They say that, being blind with lust and not
having the fear of God before my eyes I did create dolls of wax in the form of my husband, his daughter Elizabeth, and my
maidservant Dorcas. They say I took them to the cellar to cast spells which brought about the deaths of those they represent.
It is said that I consorted with the Devil and I intended evil to my neighbours and that I am the most wicked of women who
deserves death
.

I have no knowledge of this evil yet I know that it is Elizabeth who fashioned the dolls and the cellar is beneath her chamber
and not mine
,
but with Dorcas and William dead there is no person to bear witness to this
.

Who will believe my innocence in this matter? Even our vicar says I am lost to Heaven. Now he sickens but I wished him no
ill. May the Lord have mercy on my soul
.

Journal of Thomas Whitcombe, Captain in the King’s army, October 5th 1643

The town of Tradmouth has been under siege a month now and today, in the endless rain, we attacked from Battlefleet Creek,
taking the road block at the mill and seizing the fort there. The defenders fought valiantly with the loss of many men yet
we prevailed and Tradmouth is now for the King with a garrison of our men to ensure the loyalty of the townsfolk
.

I enquired for Alison but word had it she was held for sorcery because evil tongues had spoken against her and two days before
we took the town she was dragged to the crossroads on the edge of the town and hanged in full view of the townsfolk. I pray
the Lord to have mercy on her soul
.

Neil was disappointed when Wesley told him Colin Bowman was still on holiday enjoying a cruise, well away from his usual complement
of corpses. But this didn’t stop him contacting Colin’s replacement, a formidable lady called Jane Partridge who agreed to
meet him at Morbay Hospital. He persuaded Dave to give him a lift there, saying it was relevant to the dig up at Princes Bower.
The final piece of the jigsaw, he’d said, and Dave had believed him.

He had never visited the mortuary at Morbay Hospital before and he felt a little apprehensive as he pushed open the swing
doors. Luckily Dr Partridge’s office was near the
entrance so he didn’t have to venture far into the mysterious realm of death.

When he knocked on her door he heard a curt ‘come’. Wesley had already briefed him so he knew what to expect. She was sitting
by her desk reading a file and she peered at him over her glasses.

‘Dr Watson, I presume.’ She stood up and offered her hand. Neil took it, surprised at her hearty grip. ‘How can I help you?’

Neil explained. He’d brought copies of various documents and a translation of Alison’s coded diary. He laid them in front
of her and waited while she read.

‘I see what you mean,’ she said after a long period of silence.

‘The Salem witch trials gave me the idea. There’s a theory that …’

‘Ergot. Otherwise known as St Anthony’s fire. These accounts mention the classic symptoms of ergot poisoning; vomiting, convulsions,
hallucinations and eventual gangrene. The hallucinations account for the victims’ claims of seeing the Devil and experiencing
flying and all that sort of thing. And it’s a fungus that affects cereal grain, especially rye. These accounts say that during
the siege they were making bread from old rye flour so it seems to fit.’

‘It certainly does,’ Neil agreed.

He had kept one paper back and now he gave it to Jane with a hint of triumph. ‘Apart from this account of William Hadness’s
illness. That seems different.’

He waited while Jane studied the document and after a minute or so she looked up.

‘Alison mentions gathering henbane to cure a swelling of her husband’s privates. Only she says she prepared an
infusion when it should only have been used externally. The symptoms described are classic hyosine poisoning; blindness, drowsiness,
vertigo and extreme thirst. Dr Crippen used it to murder his wife. I think Alison poisoned her husband.’

‘Deliberately?’

‘I don’t doubt it. If she was used to preparing herbal remedies, as many women were in those days, she would have known only
too well which plants should be ingested and which should only be used externally.’ There was a moment’s pause. ‘Did you find
out what became of the ghastly Elizabeth, by the way?’

‘Yes. She inherited Mercy Hall, married a wealthy man and lived to a ripe old age.’

‘No justice in the world, is there?’

Neil thanked her and gathered up his papers and as he was about to leave Jane spoke again.

‘From what I’ve just read of William Hadness, he sounded like a dreadful bore. Can’t really blame Alison, can you?’

And for the first time he saw her smile.

Wesley hadn’t visited Lilith again. But he rang the hospital each day to check on her progress. Her condition was improving
slowly.

Joanne Trelisip, alias Gwen Gulliver, had now recovered sufficiently to be remanded in custody to a prison hospital. She would
stand trial. But she was still saying nothing. ‘No comment’ were the only words she’d uttered when she’d been interviewed.

A couple of days after the investigation team abandoned the village hall at West Fretham and returned to
Tradmouth Police Station, Wesley came out of a long meeting with the Crown Prosecution Service regarding charges against Harriet
Mumford and found a message in Trish Walton’s neat handwriting waiting in the middle of his desk.

‘Enquiry into the death of Arnold Trelisip. Please call this number.’

It was a London number. The direct line to the Met officer’s desk. Wesley dialled it and, after a lengthy conversation, he
told Gerry he was going out. There was something he needed to clear up.

When he arrived at the hospital he found Lilith looking a lot better. The tubes had been removed along with the bleeping monitoring
equipment. She was still in a ward on her own. Perhaps, in view of her notoriety, the Sister in charge had decided it was
for the best.

He sat down on the plastic chair by the bed and asked her how she was feeling.

‘Better, thank you.’ She didn’t meet his eyes and the words sounded formal.

Wesley thought it would be best to come straight to the point. ‘I’ve been talking to an officer from the Met about the death
of Arnold Trelisip. They didn’t have enough evidence to bring charges, did they?’

She bowed her head but there was no answer.

‘The pathologist was never really satisfied with your claim that he suffered a heart attack and fell downstairs, was he? He
said it could easily have been the other way round. Someone gave him a push and he had the heart attack as a result. It’s
my guess that his daughter, Joanne, found out about it somehow when she was living in London. Perhaps she made enquiries of
her own. She’d
already taken her revenge on you for taking her father away when you were convicted of double murder. But then she discovered
there were question marks over her father’s death.’

‘There was no evidence against me.’

‘Only the neighbours’ statement that they heard you and Trelisip arguing. They said you had a volatile relationship.’

The defiance he’d seen in her eyes the first time they’d met had returned. ‘That’s hardly evidence. Yes, our relationship
was passionate. We loved each other. Everybody quarrels, don’t they?’

‘Last time we spoke you said you blamed yourself for what Joanne did.’

She bowed her head and said nothing.

Wesley sat there watching her. He would have liked to tell her that he’d get proof and bring her to justice for the one crime
she did commit. But he knew it was unlikely after all this time. And besides, she’d already received her punishment. Eighteen
years locked away from society.

He glanced at his watch as he left the hospital. Simon Frith was taking him and Pam out for a meal that evening as a thank
you for clearing his name. It was a nice gesture but Wesley wasn’t sure whether it was necessary … or that he was in the mood
for a cosy dinner. There was still too much on his mind.

Neil, who was feeling a lot better, was still ensconced in their spare bedroom and had offered to babysit and help Michael
with his work. Why was it Michael never argued with Neil when it came to homework? Maybe he and Pam were just ineffective
parents. Or maybe all kids were like that.

The case was over but unfinished business always made
him feel a little uneasy, like a minor nagging ache that comes and goes.

On his way back to the station he passed a shop window filled with pumpkins, spiders’ webs and Halloween masks. There was
only one way to deal with Lilith Benley. And that was to forget her.

Two weeks later

There seemed to be no reason to stay in Devon. Not after what had happened. Shane Gulliver’s publicist reckoned that his personal
tragedy would only increase sales. When she’d said it, Shane had slammed the phone down on the flint-hearted bitch.

He still had the apartment in London and Alex seemed keen on moving there. Alex’s maternal grandmother was in no fit state
to care for him, having been admitted to a psychiatric hospital following Gwen’s injury and subsequent arrest. Gwen would
stand trial and if she was convicted, she’d be put away for a long time. Alex’s natural father, the married man who’d set
Gwen up in a flat and abandoned her shortly after the boy’s birth, was hardly likely to assume any responsibility even if
he could be traced, so as Alex was far too young to fend for himself, Shane knew he was stuck with him.

At times he resented the responsibility and at others he knew he’d need someone to share his life in the dark days to come,
even if that someone was a damaged adolescent who spent half his days staring into space, lost in his own bitter thoughts.
Even the metal detecting was a thing of the past and Alex’s dyed black hair now showed brown at the roots.

The boy hadn’t said much since that terrible night. And when Shane asked him what his mother had said during his visits to
the hospital, he’d refused to answer, carrying her words like some precious burden she’d entrusted to his care. Shane hoped
they’d been words of love … not the poisoned words of a twisted, vengeful mind. But until Alex decided to confide in him there
was no way of knowing.

The removal van had already squeezed itself down the narrow lane, its tall sides scratched by a thousand twigs and brambles
in the leafless hedgerows. Now it was time to follow in the Range Rover. But Alex was nowhere to be found.

Shane checked the house before walking round to the entrance to Jessop’s Farm. The TV people were back with their vans and
equipment. Shane had heard that a previous runner-up, a disgraced MP, had taken Zac James’s place in the contest, up against
Rupert Raybourn. He should have learned long ago that nothing halts the progress of commerce. The show goes on.

He retraced his steps and as he climbed into the Range Rover, he suddenly sensed that something was wrong, a dreadful feeling
of foreboding like a heavy weight on his heart. He had never been to Devil’s Tree Cottage but he knew he had to go there now.

He drove the short distance and parked halfway up the overgrown drive. He’d thought the Benley woman would leave the area
after everything that had happened but he knew she had returned there on her release from hospital. He imagined her squatting
in the crumbling cottage like a malevolent toad, cursing all she came into contact with.

He started the car engine again and drove slowly up to the house. The place looked unoccupied – the windows
cloudy with dirt and the paintwork flaking. But the front door was open. And Alex was standing in the doorway.

Shane undid his seat belt and as he leapt from the car the boy didn’t move. He stood perfectly still, staring wide-eyed at
his stepfather as if he’d seen a vision of hell. Shane began to run towards him, his legs slowed by some unseen force. When
he reached Alex he grabbed his arm and dragged him to the car. Alex put up no resistance and once he was safely installed
in the passenger seat, Shane flicked the key fob to lock the car doors and rushed back to the cottage.