Page 93 of The Chapel of Bones

Jim Baker gave a bitter smile. ‘Maybe my luck will change when I go to London. They’ll appreciate my work there.’

‘Let’s hope,’ said Wesley.

When they returned to the station, Wesley spent the next few hours wrestling with forms and statements. After lunch, he felt he needed some fresh air, so he suggested to Rachel that they goand tell Helen Jones that the killer of the man in her wall had been caught.

As they turned into the drive at Sycamore House, Wesley saw Neil’s car parked beside the university archaeology department’s muddy minibus, a vehicle nobody had ever seemed inclined to clean even during Wesley’s own student days.

Helen Jones opened the front door, looking pleased to see them. The first thing she told them was that Chaz and his mate were working hard putting in the new kitchen, and as she led them into the drawing room, they could hear hammering and drilling in the distance.

‘Are you still selling the house?’ Wesley asked, puzzled.

‘Not if I can help it,’ she replied, folding her arms defiantly. ‘I’ve told the estate agent to take it off the market. Ralph’s away on business half the time so he’s hardly here, and once Chaz has finished, you won’t recognise the place. I’m working with a local interior designer to get it exactly how I want it. And I’ve told Neil and his friends that they can come and dig here any time they like.’ A triumphant smile spread across her face. The smile of the victor.

After breaking the news of the arrest, Wesley left Helen in Rachel’s more than capable hands, saying he was going to see how the dig was progressing. He made his way over towards the site of the chapel, where they’d found the male skeleton, not far from the spot where Jon Gadson had buried his hated stepmother, Tina.

So much death. In the unlikely event of Wesley and Pam having sufficient funds to purchase Sycamore House, it wasn’t somewhere they would ever want to call home, however large and luxurious Helen’s renovations would make it. It was a house of murder, and who knew what sad ghosts might linger there. But Helen Jones obviously saw things differently.

His thoughts were interrupted by Neil’s voice shouting a greeting from the direction of the ruined chapel.

‘Wes. Just the man I wanted to see. I’ve solved the mystery of our male skeleton. Well, Annabel has.’

Neil was still holding his trowel, but he put it in one of his many trouser pockets, took off the hard hat he was wearing and scratched his head.

‘She’s been spending a lot of time with her ex,’ he said quietly after a short silence.

‘Who do you mean?’

‘Miles Fontescue. She’s been searching through the archives at Fontescue Hall for material about the chapel.’

‘I interviewed Miles at the start of the inquiry.’

‘He’s married, and Annabel told me his wife was away. But reading between the lines, I think she might have walked out on him.’

Wesley mouthed an ‘oh’, lost for words. His friend looked forlorn, and he couldn’t find any words of reassurance. He thought it wise to change the subject. ‘You say she’s solved the mystery of your male skeleton. What did she find?’

‘It was in the Fontescue Hall muniment room in an old oak chest. Documents written in the late fifteenth century by a Brother Anselm, who Annabel thinks was a younger son of the Fontescue family. He joined the Augustinian monastery in Neston – the one connected with this chapel. In those days, they often sent younger sons into the Church. Anselm, whose real name was Richard Fontescue, acted as a sort of secret agent, taking messages between Lancastrian supporters in the south-west and the man who later became Henry VII when he defeated Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth. Henry was in exile in Brittany, gathering supporters and waiting for the right moment, while his tiger mum, Margaret Beaufort, schemed and plotted at Richard’s court. It’s quite a story.’

The light of enthusiasm had reignited in Neil’s eyes. It seemed that history had taken his mind off any doubts he was having about his romantic life.

‘Well, you’ll be pleased to hear we’ve charged someone with the murder of the woman you found buried in the clearing. Along with other murders, past and present.’

‘Aleric Donnal?’

‘Yes. As well as that poor woman in Belsham. And the owner of the zoo in East Burrington.’ Wesley paused. ‘Plus his own sister.’

‘Bloody hell. You’ve caught a serial killer?’ Neil slapped Wesley on the back. ‘You should get a medal.’

‘It was a team effort,’ said Wesley modestly. ‘I’m not sure whether I should tell you this yet before the name’s been released, but our man is one of the tree surgeons who uncovered your chapel wall.’

‘Not Darren?’ Neil said in sheer disbelief.

‘No, the other one. George.’

‘I always thought there was something dodgy about him. Darren said he wanted to sell our grotesques to a garden centre. And he made it quite clear he couldn’t stand archaeologists.’

Wesley began to laugh. ‘A sure sign. Should be in every police manual.’

When they returned to the station, Gerry seemed positively jubilant. There was a huge grin on his chubby face that widened when he saw Wesley walk in.