The Funeral Boat (16 page)

The phone went dead and Heffernan bit into his roll, longing for a plate of sausage and chips to sustain him. It was going to be a long day.

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997

AD

We followed the river to Stokeworthy where we found much

destruction. But one old man and a young child were left

living in that place. They had been collecting firewood in the’

trees when the evil ones arrived and, so hid and were spared.

The man whose name was Ethelheard told of such cruelty mid

said the child’s mother had been taken as a slave and its

father slain. The village was burned… laid waste.

Hilda wept much at the sight and clung to me. I have vowed

to protect her. She looks upon me with great affection and she

has great beauty but I should not think of her as men

commonly think of lovely women… I should not.

From the chronicle of Brother Edwin Rachel Tracey sat by the hospital bed, watching Dave intently. She turned to her mother, who was standing behind her.

‘I saw his eyelids move, Mum. I’m sure I did.’

Stella took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘I don’t know, my luvver. 1 never saw. The nurse said we should talk to him. She said that helps … sometimes.’

Rachellooked back at the young man in the bed. ‘What should 1 talk abqut?’

‘Anything, 1 suppose. I don’t know. You know himbetter than I do.’

The tears began to flow down Rachel’s cheeks and Dave’s eyelids flickered open. Gerry Heffernan’s first reaction to the news from the coastguard was to look for Wesley. But then he remembered he’d gone out to Stoke Beeching and then to lunch. He could be some time.

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His second thought was to ring Sven Larsen’s hotel. The receptionist said that he wasn’t there … hadn’t been back all night. Somehow Heffeman wasn’t surprised.

He looked through the glass partition and saw that Steve was back at his desk, apparently engaged in some tedious administra-tive task. Heffernan stood up and opened his door. ‘Steve,’ he shouted. DC Carstairs looked up with a start. ‘Any sightings of that silver BMW yet … Laurence Proudy’s?’

‘No, sir, nothing yet,’ came the half-hearted answer. ‘Bet he’s halfway up the M4 by now.’

‘Don’t be so defeatist. Let me know if you hear anything, eh? And when Sergeant Peterson comes back tell him I’ve gone to see a man about a boat.’

Steve nodded and returned to his paperwork.

GelT)’ Heffeman strolled out of the police station into the summer sunshine and weaved his way through the meandering tourists who thronged the quayside, enjoying the spectacular view across the river. Some hung around brightly coloured ticket booths, deciding whether or not to brave a trip aboard one of the many pleasure craft that plied up and down the river to the accompaniment of a lively commentary by the skipper on local places of interest or notoriety.

But tMse delights held no interest for the inspector. Avoiding the ubiquitous children with their crabbing lines, he descended a series of stone steps that led onto a wooden jetty and made for a notice that said ‘River Trad Boat Hire’ .

‘Hi, Jim. I had a call from the coastguard. What’s been going on?’

The man he addressed was tall and lean with the weather-beaten look acquired only through a lifetime spent out of doors. He was standing on the deck of a small cabin cruiser, a coil of rope in his hand, He put the rope on the deck and looked up at Heffernan solemnly. ‘That bloke you sent … the foreigner. Yacht I hired him was found drifting half a mile off Little Tradmouth Head … been set alight, it had. Next time you send someone to hire a boat off me just make sure he’s not going to torch it, eh?’

Gerry Heffeman couldn’t tell whether or not Jim was truly annoyed with him, but he didn’t want to take any risks. He felt an apology was in order. ‘Sorry, Jim. The bloke was an experienced sailor. I never thought … ‘

JimsmiledruefuIly. ‘Not your fault, Gerry. GoodjobI’minsured.

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You’ll find her over there at the end of the next jetty … just by the police launch. Your lot have been giving her a going-over.’

Heffernan looked across and saw the craft tied up next to the gleaming blue-and-white launch. It sat low in the water and the cabin had been reduced to a shell-definitely an insurance job. ‘So how did Sven Larsen seem when he came to pick her up?’

Jim shrugged. ‘Fine. He appeared to know what he was doing. He just said he was going for a trip round the head and up the coast a bit. He said he’d be back by ten yesterday evening … never turned up. The coastguard had a report of a boat on fire about eleven last night. When the fire was put out they searched and found nobody on board. They’ve had the helicopter out, and the lifeboat … but no sign of Mr Larsen.’ He sighed. ‘How do you know him, anyway? One of your criminals, is he?’

‘Not that I know of, Jim. But you can never be sure in this game.’

He was about to take his leave when Jim called him back. ‘The dinghy’s missing, you know. ,She was towing an inflatable dinghy with an outboard motor … he said he wanted it in case he decided to go ashore anywhere. It’s gone.’

‘Thanks, Jim.’ Heffernan strolled down the jetty, hands in pockets. Maybe things weren’t looking too bad for Sven Larsen after all.

Wesley noticed that his boss had a bit of colour in his chubby cheeks when he returned to the office. And he looked more cheerful. A walk in the sunshine had done him good.

‘Good lunch, Wes?’

‘Yes, thanks, sir. I met Neil and we found a sword and shield boss that had been buried with that skeleton at Longhouse Cottage. ‘

‘What would Jock Palister want with a sword and shield boss? Now if it was a pickaxe handle and a baseball bat … ‘ .

‘It’s not Jock, sir. Dr Bowman assured me that the man was over six foot and the bones were very old,’ Wesley said patiently. ‘And we’ve found a reference to a skeleton being found near Longhouse Cottage in the last century. The sword and shield were taken from the grave, then the body was covered up again. It would explain a lot.’

Gerry Heffernan looked disappointed. His theories were fast disintegrating. He liked Wesley, but there were times when he was too clever by half. He really would have to have another word

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with the Super about his promotion. He decided to change tack. ‘Have you heard about the yacht?’

‘What yacht?’

‘Sven Larsen hired a yacht. It was found adrift and on fire with nobody aboard. The inflatable dinghy it was towing is missing and Larsen didn’t go back to his hotel last night.’

Wesley gave a low whistle. ‘Oh dear. To lose one Dane may be regarded as a misfortune but to lose two looks like carelessness,’ he misquoted with a grin.

‘You what?’ Gerry Heffernan looked at him blankly.

‘Never mind, sir. Any news of Ingeborg yet?’

‘In a word, Wesley, no.’ Heffernan scratched his head. ‘The whole thing’s a complete mystery. Are you going to tell the Copenhagen police that we’ve mislaid another of their citizens or shall I?’

‘If he managed to get away in the dinghy he might turn up at any time. Let’s wait a bit, shall we? He could be wandering round dazed somewhere.’

‘Mmm. We’ll give it another twenty-four hours or so, eh?’

The phone rang on Heffernan’s desk. Wesley watched as the inspector’s expression during the brief conversation changed from one of funereal solemnity to one of positive glee. When he put the phone down he rubbed his hands together with relish.

‘Dave’s come round, Wes. Looks like he’s going to be okay.’

When they reached Tradmouth Hospital, Gerry Heffernan went up to C Ward to break the news to Dan Wexer that his new Land Rover had been found, apparently undamaged. Dan was making an excellent recovery and would be discharged the next day. If the shot had hit him a couple of feet higher, things might have ended quite differently. Heffernan remembered that and shuddered inwardly. Life is a precarious business. .

Wesley had volunteered to visit Dave. Rachel met him at the entrance to the ward, pacing up and down, chewing her fingernails. She looked pale and strained - not her usual chirpy, efficient self. Without a word she walked into the deserted day room with its ripped wallpaper and suffocating haze of cigarette smoke.

‘How are things?’ was all Wesley could think of saying. ‘I hear Dave’s going to be all right. That’s great.’

Rachel said nothing. But her eyes brimmed with tears. Wesley

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had never smoked in earnest, but there were times when he could see the attraction of it: the calming of the nerves; the casual offer of the packet … of shared comfort. That day room must have witnessed countless scenes of anxiety … of terror. No wonder it stank of burnt tobacco. He touched Rachel’s hand, a gesture of sympathy … of solidarity.

She drew closer, burying her face in his shoulder. He put a tentative arm around her and Rachel clung to him as if reluctant to let him go. Then, after a few long minutes, she took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped back. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, straightening her back.

‘Don’t worry about it. You’ve been through a lot.’ He took hold of her hand again and gave it an encouraging squeeze. ‘So how is he? Have they said how long they’re keeping him in?’

‘They say he’ll be fine. But they’re keeping him in a few days for observation. You know how cautious they are.’ She attempted a smile.

‘Is it all right if I talk to him now … take a statement?’

‘I suppose so. Wesley … ‘

‘What?’

‘I feel so guilty.’

‘What about?’

She took another deep breath. ‘I was thinking of telling Dave it was all over before this happened.’

He sensed Rachel wanted to talk … to confess some imagined wrong. He looked at his watch, careful not to let her see him doing so. If it would make her feel better he would listen and make sympathetic noises. A row of grey-upholstered institutional’chairs stood against the wall beneath a cheap Constable print. Wesley sat down and Rachel sat beside him. .

‘I don’t see why you should feel guilty,’ he said, trying to sound reassuring. He could think of little else to say. Playing agony aunt was hardly his thing.

She shook her head, near to tears again. Then she reached up and touched his shoulder, looking into his eyes. He looked away quickly. Perhaps he was misreading things. He hoped he was.

‘Look, Rach. You’re upset now … you’re bound to be. But what’s happened to Dave isn’t your fault. I’d like to see him now and take a statement, ifhe’s up to it.’ He stood up; crisis averted.

Rachel looked mildly embarrassed. As someone who liked to

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be in control, she sensed that she had almost made a fool of herself. She led the way to the ward, walking briskly, as efficient as any blue-uniformed sister.

Dave greeted Wesley with a weak: smile of recognition. ‘Hello, mate. How’s it going?’ he muttered breathlessly, lying back on the plump hospital pillows, his fair hair spread out like a halo. His face looked thinner, drawn.

‘Are you feeling up to making a statement yet, Dave? If you’re not I can come back … ‘

‘No … I want you to get those bastards. Things are still a bit hazy, but I’ll tell you what I remember.’ Dave replied with feeble determination.

Wesley prepared to write. ‘Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Before the robbery, did you notice anything suspicious? Anyone hanging around or … ‘

‘No, nothing like that, mate. The only unusual thing was early on that evening … before the robbery. I was walking down to the bottom fields to give Rachel’s dad a hand when I saw two of the people staying at the old barn - that Proudy character and his missus. They were really having a go at each other, so I stopped behind a tree where they couldn’t see me. He was loading a big suitcase into his car … big flash BMW. They were really going at it hammer and tongs. Then he drove off.’

‘What time was this?’

‘About six, quarter past … something like that.’

‘Is there any chance Proudy could have been the man you heard talking later … the man you fought with?’

Dave shook his head. ‘No, different accent. The man with the gun was local. Proudy was from up North somewhere, I guess. But he could have been one of the others: I never heard them speak:.’

Wesley patted the patient comfortingly on the shoulder, trying not to show his disappointment. Dave hadn’t told him anything he jidn’t know already: that Laurence Proudy was aggressive; a nasty bit of work. But Wesley’s instincts told him that Proudy was iOmehow involved in the farm robberies, and he wondered ..vhether he had returned to Little Barton Farm yet.

He met Gerry Heffernan in the hospital’ smain reception and ;hared his suspicions.

‘We’d better get someone round to Little Barton Farm to see if

his Proudy’s turned up … or failing that, see if his la~y friend -

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wife, partner, whatever - is still there,’ said Heffernan wearily. ‘Let’s face it, he’s the best suspect we’ve got at the moment. It’s just a matter of finding some proof.’

‘How’s Dan Wexer? Pleased about his Land Rover?’

‘Oh, aye. And so was that wife of his. Although she was more concerned about the jewellery she had nicked … asked about that antique locket. She’s a bit of all right, she is. Apparently he traded his old one in for a new model. Don’t know how these blokes manage it … I always reckoned that Kathy was the only one who’d put up with me.’

Wesley, who could hardly envisage Gerry Heffernan with a glamorous young blonde on his arm, smiled in agreement. ‘So what do we do now, sir?’

‘You go back to the station and see what you can find out about Proudy and I’ll pop up to E Ward and pay Stan Jenkins a visit.’

‘What exactly is the matter with him, sir? Nobody’ 11 say.’

Heffernan winked solemnly. ‘Don’t ask, Wes. Just don’t ask.’

With that the inspector turned and disappeared down the long, bright hospital corridor.

Wesley walked back to the police station slowly, enjoying the sunshine and the holiday bustle of the quayside. Flowers tumbled from lamp-posts and municipal tubs - the happy result of the town’s efforts to win some coveted horticultural prize - and their sweet scent mingled with the aroma of seaweed, fish and chips and boat fuel, borne in on the breeze. He stopped to buy a pasty then hurried back, thinking of the paperwork piling up on his desk … and trying not to think about Rachel.