Page 2 of The Chapel of Bones

Wesley hooked his jacket off the back of his chair and followed the DCI out. He was determined to catch the individuals who’d caused such grief and worry to the dog owners of south Devon. But the discovery of a human body trumped the search for the dognappers. At least for the moment.

2

The builder, who went by the name of Chaz, appeared to be in a state of shock. When Wesley and Gerry arrived at Sycamore House, he was being fussed over by a woman who looked mildly upset but composed enough to carry on. Chaz himself was slumped in an armchair in the large, sparsely furnished drawing room while his hostess plied him with tea; hot and sweet for the shock. Wesley suspected the man was milking the situation for all it was worth as he watched him help himself to a chocolate biscuit.

Chaz was in his thirties, lean and muscular with a shaved head. He looked up painfully as the detectives entered the room, as though he was in the process of recovering from some great ordeal. Gerry decided they’d better have a word with the man before they found out what all the fuss was about.

The owner of the house, who introduced herself as Helen Jones, was in her forties but looked younger; slim with neatly bobbed blonde hair, she wore a pale cashmere sweater with her jeans and spotless trainers. She watched the builder protectively as though she feared he might become a victim of police brutality if she took her eyes off him for one moment.

Wesley took a seat opposite the man and gave him a sympathetic smile. Gerry, in contrast, stood, hands in pockets, looking expectantly at their hostess, hoping the offer of tea and biscuits would extend to police officers. Mrs Jones seemed to get the message and hurried out to fetch more cups.

‘Can you run through what happened?’ Wesley began.

Chaz hesitated. ‘It was terrible.’ He gave a dramatic shudder. He was well-spoken and Wesley wondered fleetingly whether he might be a drama graduate who’d decided to opt for a more secure profession. ‘I’ll probably have nightmares about it for weeks to come,’ he added, glaring at Wesley as though he held him personally responsible for the horrific experience he’d just endured.

‘Yes, it must have come as a terrible shock.’ Wesley glanced up at Gerry and waited, knowing the urge to fill a silence could be irresistible.

The tactic worked. ‘Helen decided she wanted the wall between the kitchen and the small dining room next door knocked through. Lots of people do that these days. It’s not a supporting wall, so it wasn’t a difficult job.’ Chaz took a deep breath. ‘Until I started work and found this . . . cavity in the wall, as though someone had plastered over an alcove really badly. I didn’t think it would be a problem, but when I ripped away the plasterboard, I saw . . . a face. It looked like a zombie from a horror film.’ He shuddered again. ‘I’ll never forget it as long as I live. It’ll be seared on my brain for ever. Then Helen came in and let out a terrible scream.’

Chaz composed himself by taking a sip of tea and helping himself to another chocolate biscuit.

‘Can you show us where it is?’

The builder looked at Gerry as though he’d just asked him to face a man-eating tiger armed only with a cheese sandwich. ‘Sorry, I’m not going back in that room while that thing’s still there. Not if you offered me a million pounds.’

At that moment, Mrs Jones returned with the tea tray. ‘A van’s just arrived. I think it’s your crime-scene people. I suppose they’ll want tea.’ There was a note of resignation in her voice.

‘Wouldn’t be at all surprised, love,’ said Gerry. ‘But not till they’ve finished what they have to do. Mustn’t tempt them away from their work. Can you show us what Chaz here found?’

Helen Jones was obviously made of sterner stuff than her builder. She didn’t hesitate. After placing the tray on the coffee table, she led the way into the adjoining room. Wesley noticed the DCI glance regretfully over his shoulder as they followed her. His tea was bound to be cold by the time he got back.

The dining room window overlooked the gravel drive and Wesley could see the white-overalled CSIs unpacking their gear. There was just time to find out what they were dealing with before the inevitable invasion.

The room was empty of furniture and the shabby carpet had been lifted in preparation for the renovation. A section of wall had already been removed, giving a view into the modern kitchen beyond. But in the far corner the demolition work had come to an abrupt halt and they could see something in the hole that had been bashed into the wall there.

What they saw made Wesley catch his breath, and he heard Gerry swear softly behind him. Chaz had been right. The half-rotted face staring out at them did look like something out of a horror film.

3

It turned out that Helen Jones had persuaded her husband, Ralph, a London businessman, to agree to make her lifetime dream of moving to the West Country a reality, while keeping a pied-à-terre in the capital. Ralph had just acquired business interests in the area in the form of an IT company in Plymouth, but at first he’d been reluctant to begin a house search, claiming he was too busy for distractions. It had been Helen who’d found Sycamore House, which had lain empty for several years following the death of the previous owner. There had been some legal dispute about inheritance that had taken a long time to untangle before the place could be sold on, and it had been in a neglected state, ripe for renovation. A scruffy home-made plaque by the front door had borne a Latin name,Casa Mirabilis, but Helen had decided to rename the place after the two sycamores flanking the entrance to the drive. Sycamore House seemed far more dignified and suitable.

The condition of the house didn’t bother her and she was staying in one of the four spacious bedrooms, making the excuse that she wanted to supervise the builders and get a feel for her new home so she could put her own stamp on it once the essential structural work was finished. Ralph, however, had different priorities and had booked into the Marina Hotel in Tradmouth, guaranteeing himself some luxury while the renovations were taking place.

Wesley wondered fleetingly whether Chaz, the muscular builder, was the reason Helen had opted to stay in the houserather than enjoying the comforts of a four-star hotel but he dismissed the thought, telling himself that his career as a detective had given him a suspicious mind.

Once she’d shown Wesley and Gerry into the dining room, she told them that she needed to return to the traumatised builder, who was demanding more refreshment to help him recover from his shock.

‘You must have had a shock yourself,’ said Wesley.

Helen took a deep breath. ‘That’s true, but someone’s got to keep calm and carry on,’ she said bravely. ‘Keeping busy and making the tea helps to take my mind off it, I suppose. Better get on.’

As she left, the CSIs arrived, and Wesley and Gerry watched as they carefully removed the rest of the wall. Jenny, one of the forensic team, had already checked with Chaz, who’d assured her that it was safe to dismantle the sealed-off alcove. He’d added that he couldn’t lend a hand because he’d been so upset by what he’d seen, muttering something she couldn’t quite make out but which sounded very much likecompensation. She told the detectives that she’d tried her best to appear understanding, but Wesley suspected sympathy had been in short supply.

‘He should have your job,’ he whispered to her as she walked past.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘Yes, I’ve had to deal with some nasty sights in my time.’

‘Anything to report on this one?’