Page 23 of The Chapel of Bones

Why was the sinner uppermost in his thoughts at the time of such seismic political problems? This is something I am determined to discover.

16

The dead woman lying on the kitchen floor was wearing a voluminous russet-coloured dress in some sort of homespun material with a corseted bodice. Over the dress she wore a white apron, and her grey hair was covered by a white linen cap. At first Wesley was surprised to find a corpse wearing what appeared to be medieval dress. Then he remembered what Miles Fontescue had said the previous day about a medieval festival at Fontescue Hall. Surely, he thought, there had to be a connection.

‘Do we know who she is?’ Gerry asked.

‘Her name’s Sue Potter. She’s one of Mark’s parishioners. She did the church flowers, apparently.’

Gerry, already wearing what he always referred to as his ‘snowman suit’, stood beside Wesley, staring at the body. ‘Well I’m sure she wasn’t doing them dressed like that, but you never know.’

‘I think she might have something to do with that medieval festival at Fontescue Hall today. In which case, that might be a good place to begin.’

Gerry nodded. ‘Any sign of a break-in?’

‘No, but my brother-in-law found the back door unlocked. Which means either she admitted the killer herself or she left it open and he sneaked in. Hopefully the house-to-house enquiries will produce some answers.’

At that moment they heard Colin’s voice. ‘Hello, Gerry, Wesley. Keeping me busy again, I see. What have you got for me this time?’

‘My brother-in-law, the vicar, found her an hour ago. Definitely suspicious. A neighbour of the dead woman suspected something was wrong and went to fetch him. They’ve both gone back to the vicarage and someone’s taking their statements as we speak.’ Wesley suspected his sister wouldn’t be delighted about the dramatic disruption to her Saturday, her sole day of relaxation, but he was sure she’d cope. Even when they were children Maritia had always been the organised one; the one who’d taken charge.

Colin’s amiable smile faded as he donned his crime-scene suit and began his examination. Wesley and Gerry stood watching while the CSIs worked around them, taking samples, photographing and videoing the scene, while others searched the rest of the house and the garden. Gertrude, the Siamese cat, was confined to a cat carrier, making angry noises in the hall. Finding a safe place for her was something else they’d need to deal with.

‘Well?’ said Gerry once Colin started putting away his equipment.

‘I’d say she’s been dead roughly twelve hours. Probably attacked from behind. See the marks on her neck? She’s been strangled with some sort of ligature.’

Wesley looked around. ‘Anything in here fit the bill?’

‘I can’t say for certain until the post-mortem, of course, but I think it was something soft. A scarf, for instance.’

‘If she turned her back on her killer, she must have trusted him – or could it be her?’

Colin nodded. ‘A strong woman could have done it if she took the victim by surprise, certainly.’

‘When can you do the PM?’

‘I’ve got a lot on today, so would tomorrow suit you? I know it’s Sunday, but otherwise it’ll have to wait until after the weekend.’

‘Tomorrow will be fine, Colin. With this latest murder we’ll be working all weekend anyway, so it makes no difference to us.’

‘Ten o’clock then?’

‘That’ll do nicely.’

They left Colin and the CSIs to go about their work and the investigation team to their house-to-house enquiries.

‘Hope your sister’s got the kettle on,’ said Gerry as they headed for the vicarage. ‘I’m spitting feathers here.’

Wesley rang the doorbell and Maritia answered, with Dominic following close behind clutching a Lego model he wanted to show Uncle Wesley.

After the strange creature the boy had created out of tiny coloured bricks had been duly admired by both Wesley and Gerry, Maritia led them through to the large vicarage kitchen, where Mark was sitting nursing a cup of tea at the stripped-pine table. He looked shocked, as though he’d only just begun to take in the events of that morning.

‘Hi, Wes. I suppose you need a statement from me.’

‘Yes, but that can wait. Must have been a bit of a shock.’

‘You can say that again. I’ve often been with dying parishioners, but such a violent death . . . I saw marks on her neck, and her face was all . . . contorted. I presume she was strangled.’