The Shadow Collector (13 page)

Harriet led them out into the passageway and pushed open the door of the room opposite. Wesley was surprised to see that it
was a well-appointed modern office, furnished with a couple of pale wood desks, complete with computers
and the latest printing equipment. A pile of cardboard boxes stood against the far wall bearing the same Chinese supplier’s
label as had been found on the murder weapon.

‘Do you supply these things directly to customers?’

‘Yes. We sell them via the Internet and mail order.’

‘Sold any to anyone local?’

For a moment she looked uncertain, as though she was deciding whether to tell the truth. ‘I think so.’

‘I’ll need names and addresses.’

Without another word she typed something into one of the computers and the printer whirred into life.

When it had finished she handed a sheet of paper to Wesley. He examined it and handed it to Rachel. There was one name in
particular that had caught his eye. A few days ago Lilith Benley had purchased three athames by mail order and they’d been
delivered to Devil’s Tree Cottage shortly before Boo Flecker’s death.

Written by Alison Hadness, September 16th 1643

Dorcas has been quiet of late and when I asked her why she told me that she was afraid. I thought that her fear was of the
army camped out at Hilton Farm but she said it was a matter concerning my husband’s daughter
.

She had discovered certain strange items in Elizabeth’s chamber, hidden at the bottom of her linen press. Before I speak of
it to Elizabeth I must ascertain the truth of it
.

While Elizabeth was sewing in the parlour Dorcas showed me what she had found. My heart leapt when I saw the thing she held
within her hand. I imagined at first that it was merely a doll, something Elizabeth had fashioned out of candle wax for play,
but when I looked closely I saw it was dressed in a makeshift gown that resembled my own and the black hair upon its head
was also my own, filched, perhaps from my comb. The doll’s belly had been pierced with a nail, as had its head. I have of
late suffered cramps in my belly and sick headaches and I have no doubt that this is the cause
.

I told Dorcas I would speak with my stepdaughter and she went away mumbling prayers
.

There is much talk in the town that grain is scarce and we will want for bread
.

Rachel drove back to West Fretham with Wesley in the passenger seat. He hadn’t said a word and she guessed his mind was on
the horrible thing the builders had discovered behind the panelling, the little box she’d assumed belonged to a new-born baby,
hidden there to avoid bringing social shame upon its mother in a time less permissive than her own. When Wesley told her about
Neil’s discovery, the coffin with the wax doll inside, it had seemed more sinister to her than a set of sad little bones.

‘So we’re going to see Lilith Benley?’ Rachel asked when they arrived in West Fretham.

‘We need to ask her about these knives she ordered,’ Wesley answered.

‘Released back into the community and this is what happens. Almost makes you wish they’d bring back hanging.’ She saw Wesley
give her a shocked look.

‘You really think so?’

She hesitated. ‘Not really. It’s just when I think about those poor girls …’

‘You’re sure she killed Boo Flecker then?’

‘Aren’t you?’

Wesley didn’t reply. It annoyed her when he went silent like that and she didn’t know what he was thinking. She glanced in
his direction, taking her eyes off the road for a second. From the moment she’d met him she’d found him attractive with his
dark skin, delicate features and warm, watchful brown eyes. But he was married and, unlike many
men she’d come across, he showed no signs of straying. She wasn’t sure whether this disappointed her. She wasn’t sure of anything
any more … except that her wedding was approaching like an advancing juggernaut, crushing everything in its path.

As they passed Jessop’s Farm Wesley spoke. ‘Surely it’d be in Benley’s interests to keep her nose clean. She’s out on licence
so the first hint of trouble she’ll be back inside. She’d have to be stupid to draw attention to herself by killing so close
to home. I’ve spoken to her and she seems like an intelligent woman.’

Rachel snorted. ‘Maybe that’s how she reacts to anything she perceives as a threat. Maybe Boo discovered something about her
that’d put her away for good. No hope of parole. Perhaps it’s an unsolved case that nobody’s linked to her before.’

‘It’s the next turning,’ said Wesley.

‘I know.’

Rachel steered the car up the rutted driveway and Devil’s Tree Cottage came into view. She’d been thirteen at the time of
the murders, not much younger than the two victims, but she’d devoured every morsel of information from the TV news and the
local paper her parents had taken at the farm. First there’d been the girl Satan Death had abducted in Cornwall which had
been far too close to home for her parents’ comfort. She’d bridled against being accompanied everywhere by her parents or
one of her brothers but now she understood the reason for their caution. When the Benley case had come to light it had seemed
like a bad fairy tale – Hansel and Gretel in the Devon countryside. The tale of two innocents falling into the hands of witches.
She’d always identified with those two girls and the
powerful narrative had stayed in her head, preying on her imagination. And now she was here where they’d died, at the dilapidated
cottage with green moss staining the flaking pink walls. A place of evil. A place where bad things happened.

She turned off the engine, suddenly reluctant to leave the shelter of the car. Wesley was already out and making for the front
door, as if he was embarking on a routine visit. But Wesley hadn’t been in the area eighteen years ago – Wesley hadn’t believed
in those two devil women squatting in their lair like fat spiders in a web awaiting the arrival of the next blameless fly.
With a great effort of will she forced herself to get out of the car and follow him to the front door.

‘She’s not answering,’ he said after he’d knocked and waited a while. ‘I’ll look round the back.’

‘Be careful.’

He gave her a sceptical look, as though he thought she was over-dramatising the situation. She’d always prided herself on
her level-headedness so she felt a sudden stab of resentment. ‘Do you believe she was burgled or did she stage it herself
for some reason?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. But we need to find out whether that murder weapon belongs to her.’

‘It must do. She sent for those knives. She lied to us.’

‘Actually she didn’t lie. We didn’t know she’d sent for them when we spoke to her so we never asked. And if we didn’t ask
the question, there’s no reason she should have mentioned it.’

Rachel followed his logic but she wasn’t convinced. ‘Even if she was a white witch, why would she need to buy three lethal
knives?’

‘Maybe they need more than one for their ceremonies. I don’t know much about it. Perhaps I’ll ask my sister’s husband.’

‘Is a vicar likely to know the ins and outs of devil worship?’

‘It’s Wicca, not Satanism. They’re quite different.’

‘Even in Lilith Benley’s case?’ She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She was showing her prejudice. Even,
horror of horrors, being unprofessional.

She waited by the front door while Wesley walked round to the back of the cottage, unwilling to follow him because she knew
that was where Lilith and her mad mother had fed the girls’ bodies to the pigs. Being a farmer’s daughter, Rachel had always
been fond of pigs and the thought of what had happened somehow tainted the funny, intelligent creatures. As if an old and
well-loved family friend had turned out to be a serial killer.

Wesley returned after a few minutes. ‘No sign of her. And the glass in the back door hasn’t been mended yet. Looks a bit unsafe
if you ask me.’

‘Maybe she couldn’t get any local workmen to come out.’

Wesley didn’t reply.

Her phone rang and she took it from her jacket pocket. She saw Wesley watching her expectantly, as though he was hoping that
it was something that would lead to a breakthrough.

‘I asked for a routine check on all the names that have come up so far,’ she said when she ended the call. ‘Harriet Mumford
leases some studio premises in West Fretham. Apparently she’s a sculptor … probably a hobby,’ she added dismissively.

Wesley raised his eyebrows. ‘It might be worth having
another word with her to see whether she was in the village when Boo died.’

‘And there’s something else.’

‘What?’ He sounded slightly impatient.

‘Rupert Raybourn’s real name is Eric Bourne. Rupert’s his stage name.’

‘So?’

‘A woman called Vera Bourne was interviewed during our routine house to house visits in West Fretham after Boo Flecker’s murder
… and eighteen years ago a Vera Bourne at the same address gave a statement when the girls were killed. She saw them early
on the evening they disappeared. They were hanging around the bus stop, making a racket, and Vera went out and complained.
She got a mouthful for her trouble. Vera had a nephew called Eric and he was visiting from London at the time. He was there
at his aunt’s house that night.’

‘You sure it’s the same Eric Bourne?’

‘When she was interviewed at the time Vera made a great thing of her nephew being on the TV – very proud of it, she was.’

‘So why didn’t Raybourn mention this?’

‘That’s what I want to know,’ said Rachel.

‘Lilith Benley wasn’t answering her door,’ said Wesley.

Gerry looked up. ‘Maybe she’s avoiding us. How did you get on with the company who supplied the murder weapon?’

‘Lilith Benley bought three identical knives. Sent for them by mail order and they should have arrived on the day of Boo Flecker’s
murder. She sent a letter with cash enclosed.’

‘Unusual.’

‘That’s what I thought. But apparently it sometimes happens in the New Age community.’

‘Have they kept the letter?’

‘Afraid not. Once details of the purchase were put onto the computer, the original letter was destroyed.’

‘Lilith never mentioned it. But if she’d killed Boo Flecker she wouldn’t, would she?’ Gerry stretched himself out in his chair,
his shirt parting a little to give a glimpse of white vest beneath, and gave a loud yawn which rather took Wesley by surprise.
‘Any other familiar names come up as customers of this outfit?’

Wesley shook his head.

‘We need to speak to Lilith Benley. Top priority,’ Gerry said.

‘Rachel reckons she did it.’

‘Bit stupid of her to piss in her own back yard but she has to be top of our list. No fingerprints on the murder weapon, by
the way.’

‘Pity.’ Wesley sighed. A nice set of clear prints would have been too much to hope for. ‘The knife was supplied by a company
belonging to an Evan Mumford – and his wife, Harriet, has a sculpture studio in West Fretham. I’ve sent someone over to ask
if she was there at the time of the murder. She might have been missed by the house-to-house team.’

‘Think she’s in the frame? She had access to the murder weapon.’

‘We’ll have to see whether she can come up with an alibi,’ said Wesley. ‘You’ve heard about Rupert Raybourn’s link with the
original case?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know how relevant it is.’

‘He was around eighteen years ago at the exact time the girls were murdered and he was here when Boo Flecker died.’

‘So was Joe Jessop. And a fair chunk of the local population. But you’re right, Wes, we should have another word with our
Mr Raybourn to ask him why he didn’t mention his aunty. I don’t like it when people keep things from us.’

Wesley thought for a moment. ‘If the girls’ bodies were never found how can we be absolutely sure that they died in the same
way as our latest victim?’

‘Dorothy Benley’s statement described how she and Lilith went after the girls. She said Lilith stabbed them both in the stomach.’

‘Dorothy Benley was deranged.’

‘Doesn’t mean she wasn’t telling the truth.’

Before Wesley could say any more they were interrupted. ‘Excuse me, sir. I’ve just had a call from Uniform.’

Wesley turned his head and saw Paul Johnson standing there with a solemn look on his face. ‘Rupert Raybourn’s been arrested
at the Marina Hotel. He went berserk and punched a photographer. The barman who called us said he thought he was going to
kill him.’

Gerry assumed a martyred expression, as if Raybourn had done it just to try his patience and increase his workload.

‘He’s in the custody suite at Tradmouth. The photographer wants to press charges.’

‘His name’s not Dan Sericold is it?’

Paul looked surprised. ‘Yes. How did you know?’

Wesley looked at Gerry and raised his eyebrows. ‘Presumably this was the business he said he had to attend to,’ said Gerry.
‘Maybe this isn’t the first time Raybourn’s
lost control with a member of the press who’s been asking too many questions.’

At eight o’clock precisely Wesley received a call from Shane Gulliver. He’d just arrived home from London to find his message
waiting. Gulliver sounded positively eager to help the police with their enquiries. Somehow Wesley wouldn’t have expected
such enthusiasm from a man who liked to play up his criminal background at every opportunity. But people sometimes surprise
you.

When Wesley asked him if he’d seen Boo Flecker, neglecting to mention Alex’s accusation, Gulliver denied it. If she’d been
there, he hadn’t noticed. He’d been busy working on his next book and he’d been in London on the day of the murder so that
was that.

Wesley thanked him and ended the call. He’d get Gulliver’s alibi checked out, just in case. Alex hadn’t exactly spoken fondly
of his stepfather so maybe the prospect of causing trouble for him was more appealing than telling the truth to the police.

Gerry had decided that they wouldn’t talk to Rupert Raybourn till the next morning because he wanted to give him a chance
to cool down. He’d called Dan Sericold and been told that he wouldn’t be available till the following morning either. But
even with this small respite, Wesley didn’t manage to leave the incident room before nine o’clock, too late for visiting time
at the hospital. But he told himself that Dave would already have visited and told the invalid the exciting news about the
second little coffin to take his mind off his afflictions.

The thought of Neil reminded him that he’d promised to visit the police garage at Neston to pick up the strange
cargo his friend had been carrying when he’d had his accident. Pam wasn’t expecting him back till late so he decided to make
a detour on the way home and as he drove inland to Neston in the dark it began to rain heavily. He flicked his wipers onto
double speed, concentrating hard on steering down the winding main road, squinting each time he was dazzled by oncoming headlights.
In those conditions he suddenly regretted his decision and longed to get straight home. But he’d always believed in keeping
his promises.

He swept into the car park at Neston police station at nine-thirty, having called ahead to make sure there’d be someone there.
He was greeted by one of the mechanics who was working late, a big bald man in a blue overall who looked him up and down with
curiosity.