The Funeral Boat (30 page)

followed me, fearing for my safety. I had to know the truth of

how that creature, Olaf, came to be in my mother’s house and

in her care. It was Ordgar who was once my playfellow who

told me. He had escaped the evil ones but had heard the tale

from others. He told of how my father was on the shore and

was killed by the heathen as they came off their ships. He told

how my mother had found one of the Danes sorely wQunded -

Ordgar said it was the man who slew my father. Ordgar said

aiso ihaf my mother had given herself to the creature. I struck

Ordgar and would have killed him but Hilda knelt, .comforting

me, begging me to come away… not to add to all the killing

and wickedness our people have endured.

From the chronicle of Brother Edwin

Wesley rushed into the foyer of Tradmouth police station, his eye5 fixed on Bob Naseby. If he could get Bob’s mind off the crickel pitch for a few minutes, he might be just the man to help.

But Bob was otherwise engaged. A woman and a tearful chile were reporting a missing dog. Wesley waited, trying not to shov his impatience, until Rex’s details had been meticulously recorde~ and Bob’s professional sympathy dispensed.

As the bereft dog-owners left the station, Bob gave Wesley knowing wink and leaned his bowling arm on the desk. ‘What ca I do for you then, Wesley?’ His face lit up. ‘You’ve not change your mind about playing on Sunday, have you? There’salwa~ room on the team for a good all-rounder, you know.’ He beam{

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t Wesley hopefully, so eager that Wesley felt churlish for not

olunteering immediately.

‘It’s nothing to do with cricket, I’m afraid. Who can I ask bout a case of suicide twenty years ago? It was at a place alled Honeysuckle House on the road from Stokeworthy to Neston.’

Bob Naseby scratched his chin. deep in thought. ‘You’ll want Billy Cawthorne over at Morbay. He was attached to Neston for
ears until he was transferred. There’s not much that went on that le didn’t know about.’ Bob shook his head. ‘Old Billy, eh … TIust be nearing retirement.’

‘Is it Sergeant Cawthorne … Inspector?’ asked Wesley entatively, not wishing to offend.

‘Oh, no … just Constable. Billy never had much ambition. One )f the old school is Billy … more at home on the beat than filling n forms. I’ll ring him for you, if you like.’

‘Thanks. That’d be a great help.’

Wesley wandered back to the CID office, turning over the )ossibilities in his mind. He pushed open the office door and ‘ound Gerry Heffernan holding court, the assembled officers langing on his every word. And he was looking remarkably lleased with himself.

When the speech was finished and the troops rallied, Heffernan )ok Wesley to one side. ‘We’re bringing Wexer in … and that

life of his,’ he announced in a stage whisper. ‘I think we’ve

racked it, Wes. Stella Tracey told me that Wexer’s father was

illed at the farm about the time this foreign au pair was staying

[ere. 1 suspect old man Wexer’s death wasn’t an accident … in

.ct there was a bit of a question mark over it at the time, so I’ve

ut for all the files. 1 think Dan bumped his dad off and this au

tir - possibly Ingeborg - was a vital witness. 1 think she came

.ck and threatened to let a very fat cat out of the bag. Then she

,t murdered for her trouble and so did her brother, who was on

r trail. It all fits, Wes.’ He rubbed his chubby hands together in

citement. ‘And you’ve nt heard the best bit.’

‘What’s that?’ Wesley felt faintly disappointed. It did all fit, as

: inspector said. But Wesley’s thoughts had been progressing

ng very different lines.

Trish had another look through those videos, the ones where

eborg appeared. On a few of them there’s this other woman …

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not with Ingeborg, just near by. I think she was following her, and you know who the woman looks like?’

‘Who?’

‘Jen Wexer. She’s got dark glasses on and her hair’s all covered by a big hat but I’m sure it’s her.’

‘Good. Now it’s a matter of proving it.’

‘Oh, we’ll do that, Wes. Don’t you worry. The sun’s shining and I’m feeling lucky.’

Wesley decided to take a break; to go home, remind his wife of his existence and grab a swift meal before returning to the fray. If Dan and Jen Wexer were being brought in, it was likely to be a very long day indeed.

There was something different about Pam, a sparkle in her eyes. She sat by the kitchen table shovelling baby rice into Michael’s open mouth, with a secretive smile on her lips. Wesley bent down and kissed her cheek. He thought he’d better get her in a good mood before telling her that he’d have to spend the evening at work.

Pam took the announcement philosophically. Then she looked up at him, a satisfied grin on her face. ‘Neil called half an hour ago for those things he’s taking to the County Museum; And you’ve got a treat in store,’ she added intriguingly.

‘What’s that?’

‘A murder. And one that’s not your problem because it’s 2 thousand years old.’

Wesley sat down beside her. ‘Go on.’

‘No. You’ll have to read it for yourself. I managed to finis! translating all that Old English and it turned out to be quite a story A Brother Edwin fled from the minster at Neston when the tow was raided by the Vikings. He took some parchments with hir and wrote the whole story down … apparently he was the mon whose job it was to keep the minster chronicle. Anyway, he ml up with this nun called Hilda who was crazy about him and the became lovers. They made their way to Stoke Beeching where h family lived and found that the Vikings had destroyed all tI villages on the way. So when they got to Stoke Beeching thl found … ‘ She stopped, her eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘N You’ll just have to wait till you read it.’ She grinned at hi teasing, lifted the baby from his highchair and placed h

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carefully in his carrycot, stroking his tiny, golden-brown cheek and being rewarded with a wide, toothless smile.

Wesley grabbed her waist and started to kiss her. ‘You can’t leave the story there.’

‘Can’t I?’ She kissed him back, gently at first, then more eagerly, more passionately, pressing her body on his. ‘Haven’t you got to go back to work?’

Wesley glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I reckon I’ve got an hour before Gerry gets back,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. ‘And I enjoy a good story,’ he said softly, Brother Edwin’s exploits being the last thing on his mind.

The first thing Wesley Peterson did when he returned to Tradmouth police station after his brief spell of connubial bliss was to open the drawer of the large filing cabinet that stood in the corner of the office. It was high time he talked to Ingeborg’s
x-husband. He pulled out the plastic exhibit bag containing Sven
arsen’s address book, placed it on the desk and flicked through he pages. Now all he had to find was a Bjorn.

To his dismay there were three Bjorns listed. The first was a asual acquaintance who seemed to show no curiosity as to why ‘le English police were ringing him out of the blue; the second

idn’t answer his phone; the third was the Bjorn he had been

loking for - Ingeborg’s ex-husband.

Luckily for Wesley, Bjorn.Sorensen spoke excellent English.

lthough Wesley couldn’t see his face, he was confident that the

lock and grief Bjorn expressed at the news of Sven’s death were

nuine. Sven had been a friend as well as a former brother-inw. And when Bjorn asked about the progress they had made in

search for Ingeborg, it was clear that he still had some feelings

. his ex-wife; he assured Wesley that he would do anything he

llld to help find her. He asked whether Wesley thought there

s any chance she was still alive. Wesley had to be honest. He

d he didn’t know; all they had was hope.

.-1uch as he longed to leave this unfortunate, unseen man across

sea alone with his grief, there was a question Wesley had to

Mr Sorensen, Ingeborg came to England - to Devon - when

was about eighteen to work as an au pair. I don’t suppose you

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know the name of the family she stayed with. I’m sorry to have to ask you at a time like this but it could be important.’

There was a silence on the other end of the line while Bjorn Sorensen gathered his thoughts. ‘I don’t know, Sergeant. It was long before we met. I’m sorry. But…’ He hesitated. ‘Ingeborg has a lot of old documents and letters still at my house. She left them here when she moved out. They go back to when she was a child.’

Wesley took a deep breath, trying to control his excitement. ‘I don’t suppose you could…’

‘They are all in a big case - what do you call it? - a trunk up in the roof … the attic. 1 will look and ring you back if 1 find anything. Yes?’

‘Please … if you could … ‘

‘And there is something else I must tell you, Sergeant. Before he left for England, Sven said that Ingeborg told him she planned to visit someone in Devon. He had seemed worried about this. He said she was being foolish. 1 told him he must tell the police everything when he arrived in England but he said that he did not wish to involve the authorities. He said he would deal with the matter himself. 1 asked him what it was all about but he said it was better that 1 did not know. That is all the information I have. I am sorry.’

‘Thank you, Mr Sorensen. You’ve been a great help.’

At that point Wesley heard a loud and gleeful LiverpudliaI voice bellowing in the distance. ‘Wes, where are you? I’ve got; surprise for you in the interview room.’

Wesley put the phone down and went out of the office t investigate.

‘We’ll have a drink tonight, eh, Wes? Celebrate. We’ve got him

‘Who, sir?’

‘Dan Wexer. He says he wants to make a full confession. Ra! and Trish are interviewing Jen and all. We’ll crack it by tonight

‘And Ingeborg?’

‘What about her?’

‘Is she still alive?’

Gerry Heffernan looked at his sergeant as though he were ill ‘I doubt it. But he’ll tell us what he’s done with the body.’

‘And what about Honeysuckle House?’

‘What about it?’

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‘What I’ve just told you. What Mrs Jerworth said about…’

‘Oh, that’s got nothing to do with it, Wes. Just a coincidence … she called there for directions or something. There’s no evidence to connect … ‘

‘No, sir. 1 suppose you’re right.’

They opened the door to the interview room. Seated at the table was Daniel Wexer, his crutches in the care of the young constable stationed by the door. He looked up, an expression of resignation in his eyes.

‘I’ve come to get it off my chest,’ he said with a sigh.

Gerry Heffeman switched on the tape recorder and gabbled the legally required words. ‘Now, Mr Wexer. What would you like to tell us?’

Wexer hesitated, watching the whirring tape. Then he spoke in 1 loud, clear voice. ‘I want to confess to murder.’

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997

AD

Then we returned to the house. I had feared what I should

discover there but I had not prepared myselffor the sight. My

mother and Olaf, like beasts of the field, taking their pleasure

in the bed she had shared with my father. I watched as they

sweated and groaned in their shame. At that moment my

mother was dead to me. Hilda begged me to leave them to

God. But I pushed her away. I knew what must be done.

From the chronicle of Brother Edwin

‘It was twenty years back … more maybe. Late summer - harvest. The baler was going and my dad was standing up top We’d been having trouble with it and he was checking it didn’t ge clogged up, like. We’d had a row, me and Dad. He treated me lik dirt sometimes and I knew I could run the place better than him. had all these new ideas and … Anyway, he called me up and tal me to keep an eye. on the machine while he went off. He sai something - I can’t remember what exactly - something like he’ better not be long because he couldn’t trust me to do anythiI right. He starts to come towards me and I tell him to get lost . that I’m sick of being treated like a child, that he was past it a he had no idea how to run a modern farm and he was holding back. Then he starts to shout … says I should be taught a less( He takes a swing at me and I grab hold of him and he loses balance and falls into the baler. I could hear his screams .. were awful. People came running and I pretended I’d just arriv But I’d killed him, murdered him … my own father.’

Dan Wexer put his face in his hands and sobbed. Wesley

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Heffeman looked at each other. After a while Wexer drew a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket and blew his nose loudly.

‘So you’re saying you made your father lose his temper, then he lost his balance … but you didn’t mean to kill him?’ Heffeman thought he’d better get things straight.

‘I never meant to kill him. The coroner at the inquest said it was an accident and in a way it was. I never meant to kill him … never.’

‘What about the au pair? Where was she when all this was happening?’

Wexer looked puzzled. ‘No idea. Why?’

‘Have you remembered her name yet?,

Wexer shook his head. ‘No. I’ve tried but I don’t remember. But I think she was Swedish or something. I remember my father thought she was German when she first arrived … said he’d had enough of fighting Germans in the war without bringing them into his house - typical of that old bigot. But my mother told him she wasn’t German and to leave her alone. The poor girl must have had a miserable time - I was the only one to pay her any attention. But even so, I hardly remember her. I don’t know why you keep asking about her. She’s got nothing to do with all this.’

‘And you haven’t seen her since?’

‘Of course not. What are you getting at?’