They’d discovered that Nadia Lucas’s mother had disappeared and was assumed to have committed suicide after her colleague,
and possibly her lover, had died in a car accident in 1983. And before she met her
gruesome death in Grandal Field, Nadia herself had engaged a private detective, Forsyte Wiley, to discover all he could about
her mother’s fate – an investigation apparently triggered by the discovery of a letter. Then, shortly after her death, Nadia’s
room at the house she shared with Caroline Tay had been searched, possibly by her killer. As there was no sign of the letter
Nadia had told Wiley about, it was safe to assume that the thief had taken it.
It was possible that Nadia’s boss, Professor Yves Demancour, was involved in her death somehow because he found the idea of
women being caught in flames sexually gratifying. And, as well as this, a connection with Sir Martin Crace and his entourage
was starting to look increasingly likely, especially now they’d been politely warned off.
Of course they couldn’t forget the threats to Sheryl Bright and the arson attack at her home either, although the only surviving
threatening letter she’d received had yielded no forensic clues.
When the briefing was over and the day’s tasks allotted, Wesley followed Gerry into his office. ‘I want to speak to that couple
from Buckfastleigh who were on the dig with Nadia’s mother and Dr Maggie March. I’ll take Trish if that’s OK.’
‘Fair enough. Nadia had their pictures in her locker and it’s possible that she went to see them so it’s time we had a word,’
said Gerry. ‘You still think this business with Nadia’s mum has something to do with her murder?’
Wesley thought for a while. ‘I don’t know, Gerry. It’s just …’
‘A good, old-fashioned hunch?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, I don’t see anything wrong in following your instincts now and then. I want another word with Jack Plesance. According
to Uniform he’s still down here. I need to ask him who else was likely to have been in that cottage. And where we should start
looking for Ian Rowe. Your old mate’s in this up to his neck if you ask me.’
This time Wesley couldn’t be bothered pointing out that Rowe had been no mate of his. But he couldn’t argue with the DCI’s
logic. This had all started with Rowe and now all roads seemed to lead to the man.
But he’d leave that to Gerry. Somehow he never wanted to see or hear of Ian Rowe again.
Charles and Hannah Whitling – the husband and wife team – lived in a small cottage which stood on a lane between Buckfastleigh
and the famous Benedictine abbey of Buckfast.
‘This is nice,’ said Wesley to Trish Walton as they drove down Buckfastleigh’s high street. ‘I don’t think I’ve been here
before. The DCI mentioned that there’s a pub here that hasn’t changed since the war.’
Trish said nothing. She was too busy looking for the right road to indulge in small talk. Eventually she turned off the main
road and it wasn’t long before they came to a halt outside the Whitlings’ cottage.
They’d rung ahead so they were expected. And Wesley could tell from the lavish choice of cakes and biscuits laid out on the
coffee table that visitors of any
kind were a rare and welcome treat.
The couple were still recognisable from that old photograph Wesley had found in Nadia Lucas’s locker. Hannah Whitling was
a sensible-looking woman, still favouring the checked shirt and long khaki shorts she probably wore during her digging years.
Her husband was a tall, suntanned man with a shock of white hair. He too wore khaki and check. Wesley found himself wondering
whether the pair still helped out at digs. But Neil hadn’t seemed to recognise their names and the world of archaeology was
notoriously small.
Wesley thought it best to establish his credentials before the questioning started. He sensed that the Whitlings would be
more likely to confide in a fellow archaeologist than a detective inspector so he chatted for a while about his time at Exeter
studying with Karl Maplin and his friendship with Neil, while Trish sipped tea and listened politely.
Eventually he steered the conversation round to Maggie March and Wendy Haskel.
‘I remember Maggie and Wendy were very close,’ Charles Whitling said. ‘I told Wendy’s daughter that when she came round.’
‘She came here to see you?’
‘Oh, yes.’
His wife gave a snort of derision. ‘Close. Maggie and Wendy were having an affair, darling.’ He smiled at her husband fondly.
‘Really, you can be so innocent sometimes.’ She gave Trish a conspiratorial look as if to say, ‘Men … what can you do with
them?’
‘Let me get this clear,’ said Wesley. ‘Maggie and
Wendy were having a lesbian relationship? You’re absolutely certain?’
She shifted in her seat. ‘Oh, yes. I could tell by the way they were with each other. Intense. Even passionate. And the looks
that passed between them. They were more than friends all right. Funny they both had children. Not that I said any of this
to Nadia, mind.’
This was something new. Wesley sat forward. ‘You’re saying Maggie March had children too?’
‘Just the one, I think.’ She frowned. ‘But I can’t remember …’
Charles Whitling screwed up his face in concentration. ‘It was a boy, I think. Or rather a young man. She must have had him
when she was quite young.’
‘What about his father?’
‘Not around and Maggie never mentioned him. Of course Wendy had Nadia. Not that she saw her much because I know for a fact
she lived with her father. Wendy showed me a picture of her once and I sensed she was sad that she didn’t have much of a relationship
with her daughter.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘There was something sad about Wendy, you know, and it didn’t surprise me
that much when I heard she’d left her clothes on the beach and walked into the sea. Don’t you agree, darling? I said that
to Nadia. I don’t think your mother was very happy, dear, I said.’
But Charles wasn’t toeing the line. ‘I thought Wendy was rather a nice girl. Always friendly. Not like Maggie. Maggie could
be a tartar. Tragic the way she died though.’
‘Do you remember much about the dig at
Queenswear? The one Maggie March directed just before her death?’
‘Oh, yes. It was rather a good one … some fascinating finds but we had neither the time nor the resources to dig the whole
site. I remember Maggie being particularly excited about the foundations of a round dovecot. There are several examples in
Devon, you know, but this one had been burned to the ground at some point in its history and apparently never rebuilt.’ She
smiled. ‘There are legends about the lord of some manor in Queenswear locking his unfaithful wife in a dovecot and burning
it to the ground with her inside it. And presumably the unfortunate doves. The location, of course, isn’t specified but this
particular find did seem to fit the story. Strange, don’t you think?’
‘Do you remember who else took part in the dig?’
‘Of course,’ said Charles and proceeded to recite some names Wesley had heard before from Professor Maplin. ‘And then there
was little Cherry. Well, I called her Cherry – she called herself Cher in those days. Probably thought it was more …’ He paused,
searching for the appropriate word. ‘More trendy. She wanted to study archaeology at university but I don’t know whether she
did.’
‘What was her surname? Do you remember?’
‘It was Bakewell. I remember we laughed because that’s the name of a cake round Derbyshire where I grew up. That’s why we
called her Cherry, isn’t it, dear? Cherry Bakewell.’ Hannah gave a tinkling little giggle and looked at her husband for confirmation.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Little Cherry Bakewell. And we saw her in the paper not long ago, didn’t we?’
‘Did we?’ Hannah looked confused.
‘Remember. It must have been last year. I pointed it out to you. That’s Cherry Bakewell, I said.’
‘Oh, I remember now. It was something to do with an art exhibition.’
‘She was twenty-five years older, of course, and she was using her married name, but I never forget a face,’ Charles said
proudly.
‘And what was her married name? Can you remember?’
Charles shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
But Hannah rose from her seat and hurried over to the large mahogany sideboard that took up one wall of the small room. After
rummaging inside one of the drawers for a minute or so, she returned triumphant, carrying a yellowed newspaper cutting in
her hand. ‘This is it. I cut it out.’
She handed the cutting to Wesley and when he’d read it, he handed it to Trish. ‘Did you tell Nadia about this?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘May we keep this, Mrs Whitling? It could be important.’
‘Of course. Another cup of tea?’
Wesley accepted. He thought he deserved it.
He’d just made the discovery that Cherry Bakewell was now Sheryl Bright – wife of the developer of Grandal Field.
*
Rachel felt a little overawed by being in the home of Sir Martin Crace. She was not usually given to self-doubt but she felt
rather nervous at the prospect of meeting the great man, and she’d been somewhat relieved when Eva Liversedge had told her
over the phone that he was in London that day for a meeting at the House of Commons.
When she entered Eva’s office with Paul Johnson by her side she gave the PA her most charming smile. She knew she had to watch
her step.
‘So sorry to bother you again, Ms Liversedge, but I assure you we wouldn’t be here unless it was important.’ She made no mention
of DCI Heffernan’s encounter with the ACC concerning Sir Martin’s complaint: it was probably better, she thought, to ignore
it for now.
Eva Liversedge pressed her lips together. She didn’t look pleased. ‘You’d better get on with it then.’
Rachel glanced at Paul and cleared her throat. ‘It’s come to our attention that a member of your security staff has gone missing.’
She tilted her head to one side expectantly and watched Eva’s face.
But her expression gave nothing away. ‘That’s right. But I don’t see how it concerns—’
‘Has anybody heard from him?’
Eva shook her head.
‘Has he been reported missing?’
Eva gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I understand that his partner’s been to the head of security kicking up a bit of a fuss. She’s
asked to see Sir Martin but I had to say he wasn’t available.’
‘I thought he took a personal interest in all his staff,’ Paul said with studied innocence.
‘He does but … He has a lot on his plate at the moment. He can’t concern himself with every junior staff member who walks out
on his girlfriend and—’
‘You don’t know for certain that he’s walked out,’ Rachel said. She was getting sick of tiptoeing around. This woman was annoying
her. ‘Something could have happened to him. We’ll need his name and address. We’d like to talk to his partner ourselves.’
‘You’ll be wasting your time. She’s a hysterical woman and—’
‘If we could just have those details we won’t bother you any further,’ said Rachel calmly.
Eva Liversedge walked over to a large filing cabinet and took out a file. She handed it to Rachel who copied the details into
her notebook.
The missing man’s name was Denis Wade and the partner who was causing Eva grief was called Linda Potts. And, as the address
wasn’t far away Rachel decided, with Paul’s agreement, that it would do no harm to display a bit of initiative and pay Ms
Potts a visit.
The address was in Dukesbridge itself, in a block of modern flats behind the main shopping street. It didn’t have views of
the river, or much else for that matter apart from the backside of a supermarket – pretty views would have doubled the flat’s
value.
The woman who answered the door was stick-thin with a pasty complexion and her mousy hair was pushed back behind her ears.
She looked at Rachel
suspiciously as she held up her warrant card, almost as though she was used to unwanted visits from the boys and girls in
blue.
‘I believe your partner’s gone missing, Ms Potts. Mind if we come in for a chat?’
This was the open sesame. Linda Potts stood aside and let them into a flat which was small but immaculately neat.
‘I didn’t know whether to report it officially,’ she said in a rush of anxiety. ‘Miss Liversedge told me to wait a bit but—’
‘Why was that?’
Linda gave an exasperated shrug. ‘I don’t think she wanted it to get into the papers. Sir Martin’s a very important man, she
said. It wouldn’t do for him to be associated with …’
Rachel knew she was repeating verbatim what Eva Liversedge had told her and she suddenly felt angry on this woman’s behalf.
‘Well, we know about it now but we’ll need some details. When did you last see him? Can you think of any reason he might have
chosen to go off without telling you?’
Once Linda got going it was as if a cork had been pulled out of a bottle. It was hard to stop her going into every detail
of their last week together, some so intimate that Rachel noticed that Paul was blushing.
Denis enjoyed his job at Bewton Hall and his disappearance was quite unexpected. Linda had spoken to his colleagues in security
and they seemed as puzzled as she was. Denis had worked there two years and Sir Martin thought highly of him and trusted him.
In fact he was sometimes asked to do special jobs for Sir Martin, she said proudly.
But it was when Linda told her the exact date of Denis’s disappearance that Rachel asked for the name of his dentist and whether
there was anything in the flat that might provide them with a sample of his DNA.
She saw the anguished look on Linda’s face as she hurried off to fetch Denis Wade’s toothbrush but she resolved to stay professional
and focussed. Especially now she’d learned that Denis had disappeared on the night of the fire at Owl Cottage. Someone had
met their end in that cottage and, now they knew it hadn’t been Ian Rowe, she feared very much that that someone was Denis
Wade.
Wesley slumped down at his desk, his notepad set in front of him. Maggie March had had a son, but he had no idea whether this
fact was relevant.
After a while he picked up the phone and dialled Sheryl Bright’s number. He needed to talk to her. She’d been there on that
dig. She’d been around when Maggie March had died in the car accident and Wendy Haskel had killed herself. She’d only been
a schoolgirl, helping out in her summer holidays, but she might have seen or heard something relevant. She might even hold
the key to the riddle of Nadia Lucas’s death.