Page 64 of The Chapel of Bones

‘Come up to the house. I’ll make a coffee.’

‘Sorry, I haven’t really got time today.’

‘Your friend the police inspector wanted to know if there was anything in the house that might be connected to the previous owners. Would you come up and have a look at what I’ve found? Please.’

The mention of Wesley made Neil feel that he couldn’t really refuse. After all, there had been a body in the house, a murder from a decade and a half ago, and he knew Wesley was desperate to find the solution. If he could help his friend, he would, in spite of the faint warning signals he was beginning to experience.

‘I’m not really dressed for it,’ he said, looking down at his soil-stained clothes and muddy boots.

‘Don’t worry about that. The place is still a building site.’

‘Have you managed to get a new builder yet?’

‘Chaz has agreed to come back and finish the job. I played the maiden in distress and told him that my husband has abandoned me and gone back to London.’

‘Has he?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s half true. He’s still staying at the Marina Hotel in Tradmouth, because he’s busy with the new business in Plymouth. But I wasn’t going to tell Chaz that.’

‘Is the house on the market yet?’

‘I told Ralph I’d contacted the estate agent but they hadn’t got round to putting a board up yet. But I haven’t called them. I lied.’

‘What will he say when he finds out?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t give up that easily.’

They’d reached the front door. There was no sign of Chaz’s van and no sound of work from inside the building. ‘Is Chaz here?’ Neil asked.

‘He’ll be back later. We’ve got the place to ourselves for a few hours.’

‘So what have you found?’ He was trying his best to sound businesslike, hoping she’d get the hint.

‘It’s in the bedroom. Come up.’

Alarm bells began to ring in Neil’s head. This woman was at loggerheads with her husband and he feared she might be trying to involve him in some way. If this was the case, he was determined not to play her games. ‘Can’t you bring whatever it is down here?’

‘That might be difficult. It’s an old chest – and I mean really old. And heavy. Chaz found it in the attic and I asked him to bring it down. I thought it would fit nicely at the end of my bed if it was polished up. It’s got some interesting carvings. And there’s something inside. Come and have a look.’

Neil was torn, tempted by the possibility of seeing the antique. Eventually he made a decision. ‘OK. Show me. But I mustn’t be long.’

She led him up the wide oak staircase, looking back every now and then to make sure he was following. Once on the landing, she opened a door to her right. Her bedroom. At the end of the super-king-size bed stood a carved oak chest. He’d half suspected she’d been using the prospect of an intriguing antique as some sort of bait, but it did look very old.

He squatted down to examine the carvings. Figures in medieval dress along with animals and birds. The chest seemed original and he guessed it dated to Tudor times, or maybe even to the century before. When he opened the lid, noting that it pivoted back on iron rings in place of hinges, he saw several tiles inside: medieval encaustic floor tiles, the type often found on the floors of ancient churches and monasteries.

He turned to Helen. ‘Mind if I take these to show my colleagues? We found similar ones in the chapel, but these are well preserved. Quite exciting. I can’t wait to tell my fiancée.’ He emphasised the last word again, just to make the situation quite clear.

‘Help yourself.’ She sounded mildly disappointed.

Neil picked one of the tiles up carefully. He needed to put them somewhere safe, but he supposed his car would do.

‘When Chaz brought the chest down, I was half afraid I’d find another body inside,’ she said unexpectedly.

‘Glad you didn’t.’ He gazed down into its dark depths. There was something else in there: a stained piece of rag in the corner that had been concealed by some of the tiles. He leaned in and pulled it out. To his surprise, something fell to the bottom of the chest with a metallic clatter. When he peered down, he saw that it was a fairly modern kitchen knife, the blade stained with what he took at first for rust. ‘Got a plastic bag?’ He tried to soundcasual. Helen had received one shock recently and he didn’t want her to have another.

She hurried away and returned a few minutes later with a supermarket carrier. Neil picked up the knife gingerly with the bag, taking care not to touch it.

‘What is it?’