Page 11 of The Chapel of Bones

Wesley replaced the key and picked up the second bag. Inside was a rough sketch of a serpent with the Latin nameSerpentes marisscrawled untidily underneath. Below this was another image, more familiar to Wesley as the father of a young daughter: a woman with a fish’s tail with the wordSerrabeneath. A mermaid and a sea serpent. Hardly creatures you met every day.

He passed the bag to Gerry, who looked puzzled. ‘That piece of paper the CSIs found with him in the wall – didn’t that list the names of strange creatures too?’

‘That’s right. “Bonnacon. Ape. Griffin.” Apes are real enough but the others are legendary. So are sea serpents and mermaids. If he was an academic, maybe he was studying ancient legends. Don’t forget, the book he failed to return was about beasts of the Middle Ages.’

Gerry was about to say something when Colin cleared his throat. He was ready to begin his examination. The two policemen fell silent and listened to the pathologist’s commentary, recorded into the microphone hanging above the table.

‘The body is remarkably well preserved,’ Colin began. ‘Must have been the right conditions inside that wall cavity. Judging from the barely digested stomach contents, I’d say he died soon after eating.’

‘What about the cause of death?’

He signalled to his assistant to turn the body over.

‘See those two marks on his back? They’re stab wounds. One went right through and hit the heart.’

‘So he was stabbed in the back?’

‘That’s right.’

Aleric Donnal’s notebook

5 April 2011

At first I was searching in Brother Anselm’s writings for any mention of the strange beasts that so fascinated the medieval mind. But I have found hints at something a good deal darker in the story. What did Brother Anselm mean about the secrets he would rather the penitent did not share? So far he has provided no real clue. He writes:The dreadful sins that have been confided to me prey much upon my mind and the very memory of them is a great burden to me. Because they were entrusted to me under the seal of confession, I can say nothing and can seek no advice. I can only pray that the counsel I give will change the heart of the sinner. For if he does not truly repent, I greatly fear that he will die unshriven.

What were those dreadful sins, I wonder? I must continue my research if I wish to find out.

8

Sue Potter had moved into her small white cottage in the village of Belsham five years ago, uprooting herself from her suburban existence in the north to enjoy the beauty of the undulating Devon landscape.

Over the years, she and her husband, Phil, had come to think of Devon as their second home. But it wasn’t until they retired that Phil suggested they sell their house in Manchester and move permanently to their happy place.

Her cousin Tina had once lived down there, and they often used to meet up with her when they were on holiday in the area. But Tina had walked out on her husband fifteen years ago to begin a new life abroad, something Sue hadn’t found particularly surprising. She had been married to an older man with grown-up children, and Sue had sensed that all wasn’t well with her cousin’s new family. Even so, she’d been hurt when Tina had gone abroad without giving her a forwarding address. At that time she’d been too busy with work and Phil to pursue the matter. But since Phil’s death, she found herself wishing that Tina had made an effort to keep in touch.

At first the Belsham cottage had seemed perfect. But when Phil died suddenly of a heart attack six months ago, leaving Sue alone, the inconveniences of an idyllic rural life had turned from a welcome novelty into an irritation. That was when she’d begun to think of Tina again.

The more she pondered the matter, the more she thought it strange that her cousin had broken off all contact. After all,they’d parted on good terms all those years ago, promising to meet up next time Sue and Phil visited Devon. Recently she’d visited her cousin’s old home, but the man she’d spoken to there had claimed to know nothing of Tina’s present whereabouts. And the other person she’d asked had told the same story. She’d mentioned going to the police to see whether they could help to track Tina down, but looking back, she knew that must have sounded rather melodramatic, even foolish. Besides, the police were unlikely to be interested, especially as she had absolutely no evidence anything was amiss. Only an uncomfortable feeling.

Sue had always been the type who soldiered on, and after losing Phil, she’d soon found ways to fill her empty days. She arranged the flowers at the village church, sang in the Sunday choir, and most exciting of all, she’d joined the local medieval re-enactment society, taking responsibility for the costumes. Her spare bedroom now resembled a theatre wardrobe department, filled with racks of medieval-style clothing and footwear.

She washed and mended when required, and at society events she played the role of Mistress Potter, the village ale wife. She’d always been partial to a half or two of real ale, so Phil would have joked that the part came naturally to her. Busying herself with village matters helped to take her mind off her loss, but in the quiet hours, when she was alone, she missed Phil so much it felt as though somebody had thrust a dagger into her heart. At least if Tina had still been there, she would have had one family member in the area. And they did say blood was thicker than water.

That afternoon, Sue was preparing to mend a tunic ripped the previous week by an overenthusiastic archer during the Tradmouth History Festival when she heard something come clattering through her letter box. The postman had already been, delivering nothing more interesting than a bank statement, so curiosity led her into the tiny hallway.

She picked up the brown envelope lying on the doormat. Her name and address were printed in neat capitals, but there was no stamp, so she didn’t need a detective to tell her that it had been delivered by hand. She hesitated for a few seconds before ripping it open.

Inside was a photocopied sheet, a coloured print of what looked like a medieval illustration. She began to relax, assuming it was something to do with the re-enactment society. But when she studied it more closely, she was puzzled by what she saw. It was a medieval illustration all right, probably photocopied from some illuminated manuscript or printed off the internet. It depicted a strange beast, a cross between a big cat and some sort of jackal or hyena, which was pursuing a lion with a large mane and a terrified, almost comical expression on its face. Sue couldn’t make any sense of the writing printed beneath the illustration.The lanzani is a cruel beast who attacks any animal not of its own kind.Not even the bold lion is safe from its implacable hatred.

She stared at the thing before dropping it to the ground and automatically calling out her late husband’s name. Hatred and cruelty were things Sue Potter had never known before in her life.

*

Wesley and Gerry were on their way back from the mortuary when Wesley’s phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, and when he answered, the male voice on the other end sounded a little nervous, as though it had taken some courage to made the call.

‘Er . . . is that Inspector Peterson?’

‘Speaking.’