Page 17 of The Chapel of Bones

Gerry couldn’t disagree with Wesley’s logic. ‘OK, if we must.’

When they arrived at Sycamore House, Wesley parked in front of the house and rang the doorbell. It was only good manners to let Helen Jones know they were there. But today the door was answered by a tall, athletic-looking man in his forties. He had well-cut silver hair and wore casual chinos and a pink polo shirt. He had the appearance of a rich man off duty; a familiar look among Tradmouth’s yachting fraternity, although Wesley noticed a discreet tattooed snake peeping from his right sleeve.

‘Mr Jones?’ he said, producing his ID.

The irritation on the man’s face was plain to see. ‘I’m Ralph Jones. If this is about that thing the builder found in the dining room, I know as much about it as Helen, which is absolutely nothing.’ He looked as though he’d like to shut the door in their faces, but he was probably sensible enough to know that wouldn’t be a wise course of action. ‘This business has cost me my builder. He says he won’t set foot in the place again. Talking about compensation for the trauma. You’ve no idea how much trouble this has caused. I only agreed to buy somewhere in Devon because my wife insisted and I thought it would be a good investment. I told her I would have preferred Millicombe, but she found this place and bought it without even consulting me.’

Wesley could hear the anger behind the statement. He’d sensed that Helen Jones was an impulsive, headstrong woman and this seemed to confirm it.

‘Honestly, I thought the countryside would be quiet,’ Jones continued. ‘I hardly expected . . .’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said Gerry. ‘We are obliged to investigate any suspicious death, and the dead man didn’t seal himself up inside your wall, did he.’

Jones gave him a curious stare. ‘Look, I’ve hardly been here, so I don’t see how I can help you.’

‘May we speak to your wife?’ said Wesley, at his most polite.

‘She’s invited some archaeologists in to dig up the garden.’ Jones made no effort to hide his exasperation. ‘You’ll find her there.’

‘Thank you, sir. We’ll go and have a word with her.’

‘You do that,’ he said before slamming the door.

‘And a good day to you too,’ Gerry muttered.

Wesley led the way to where Neil and a couple of his fellow archaeologists were hard at work with spades and mattocks, clearing the ground by the wall uncovered by Darren and George. As soon as Neil spotted the two detectives, he stopped work and leaned on his spade. It was then that Wesley saw Helen Jones, dressed in old jogging bottoms and a T-shirt with gardening gloves protecting her hands. She was clearing away loose earth with a shovel and her cheeks were glowing. She looked as though she was enjoying herself.

Wesley’s eyes were drawn to a trio of carvings propped up against the section of wall that had already emerged from the soil.

‘We’ve only just started,’ Neil called over. ‘But have a look at our beasts. I thought they were gargoyles at first. But now that I’ve cleaned them up, on closer inspection I’ve found they’re grotesques. Carvings on a building to scare away evil spirits. Not many people know the difference.’

‘I do now,’ Helen Jones piped up. ‘Gargoyles are water spouts, grotesques are merely decorative. Neil’s been telling me all about it. He thinks this might have been a chapel.’

‘Really?’

‘Just a feeling,’ said Neil. ‘I’ve asked Annabel to find out what she can in the county archives. If it is a chapel, there’s bound to be some mention of it.’

Wesley squatted down to examine the carvings. A few moments later, he turned to Gerry. ‘Remember that list we found with the body? Bonnacon, griffin and ape. I think we’ve found them.’

‘You sure?’

‘It’s an ape all right. And a griffin. And a bonnacon’s a kind of legendary bull. Do you think these could be the reason Aleric Donnal came here?’

Gerry shrugged. ‘But are they so valuable that someone would kill to hide the fact that they’re here?’ He looked at Neil for an answer.

‘They’re certainly interesting historically. But I wouldn’t say their value was worth killing for.’ Neil turned to Wesley. ‘Annabel’s been asking after you. How’s Pam?’

‘Wondering why you haven’t been round. Michael’s been asking after you too.’

‘Is he OK?’

Wesley nodded.

‘Promise I’ll visit soon.’

‘Come on, Wes.’ Gerry sounded impatient. ‘We’d better get back to the station. Things to do. Killers to catch.’

Aleric Donnal’s notebook