Page 35 of The Chapel of Bones

This question seemed to be more to Baker’s liking. He looked Wesley up and down appraisingly before replying. ‘The animals in the zoo next door. The guy who runs it lets me in for free so I can study them. And I get ideas from old legends about weird beasts. Dragons and wisht hounds. Local folklore. They say the devil appeared around these parts in the guise of an animal and the wisht hounds were his dogs.’

‘Can’t really imagine the devil taking his dogs for walkies,’ said Gerry with a grin.

‘Don’t be facetious, Chief Inspector. You have no idea what the devil’s capable of.’

Gerry opened his mouth to make another witty comment, but thought better of it. Baker looked deadly serious.

It was Wesley who asked the next question. ‘Where were you last Friday night?’

‘I was here, working. And you can’t prove otherwise.’

‘Any witnesses?’

‘I work alone.’

‘Your former neighbours complained about noise you made. Loud music.’

‘I play music while I’m painting. So what?’

‘Maybe your present neighbours heard your music on Friday night.’

The artist suddenly looked unsure of himself. ‘Dunno. Why?’

‘You argued with Sue Potter.’

‘She kept complaining about my music and going on about petty things like bins. She annoyed me.’

‘She was murdered,’ said Wesley, hoping this might shock the man into a more co-operative mood.

But his efforts failed. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised, but it’s got nothing to do with me.’ Baker turned back to his painting and picked up a brush to add a few strokes to the strange creature’s tail.

‘Did you know a man called Timothy Fontescue-Burns? He died back in 2017.’

Baker’s hand froze. It was obvious the name meant something to him. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘He ran some sort of commune at a house just outside Neston. It’s now called Sycamore House, but I think it used to be known as Casa Mirabilis. Did you ever live there?’

The man shook his head and carried on painting. After a few seconds, he put his brush down and spoke again. ‘I’ve just remembered, Dale came round on Friday while I was working. We had a drink.’

‘Who’s Dale?’

‘Dale Gadson. He owns the zoo. He’s a good bloke.’ Baker grinned, showing a set of stained and uneven teeth. ‘Says his animals like my music. Tells me to turn it up louder.’

‘Ever heard of Dr Aleric Donnal?’

Baker shook his head again, picked up the brush and returned to his painting, Wesley and Gerry exchanged a glance. They knew they wouldn’t get any more out of him that day. But now they knew where he lived, they could find him again any time they wanted.

They decided to check out his alibi while they were there, so they left the car where it was and walked across the lane to the zoo.

It was time to find out whether Jim Baker had been telling the truth. Or, as they suspected, lying through his teeth.

23

Wesley and Gerry approached the zoo’s ticket kiosk, where a bored-looking girl with purple hair was sitting chewing gum. The zoo entrance itself was badly in need of a coat of paint and fresh signage. It didn’t look particularly inviting.

‘Two adults, is it?’

‘Two police officers,’ said Gerry, showing his ID.