Page 75 of The Chapel of Bones

‘You never mentioned that,’ Barnaby said with a hint of accusation.

‘I’m sure it was only someone who looked a bit like him. He’s probably on the other side of the world by now.’

‘But your gut instinct told you it was him?’ said Gerry. ‘If we sent someone up here, would you be willing to help us make a photofit image of him?’

Barnaby suddenly looked worried. ‘There’s no evidence he’s done anything wrong. I wouldn’t want to get an innocent man into trouble.’

‘We only want to speak to him, that’s all,’ Wesley said quickly, noting the sceptical look on Barnaby’s face.

Gerry stood up, impatient to get on with the search. ‘We’ll send someone to make that photofit,’ he said as he made for the door. It sounded like a threat.

The dogs looked up as they left the room, the collie giving a little bark of farewell.

Up until now, they’d been working in the dark, but now they knew that Carlo Lanzani had been a student at Morbay University, possibly in Aleric Donnal’s department. Wesley felt they’d found an important connection. And they needed to follow it up.

Thomas de Fontescue, his confession

the 15th day of September 1493

I left the house, careful not to be seen as I passed the kitchen, where I heard the servants chattering.

I had tethered my horse some way off, and I mounted and rode away, wondering whether the terrible deed I had just committed had been a nightmare or an illusion. Yet I knew that unless I had imagined it all, Garnet would find his wife’s body. It was then I realised that as a justice of the peace, I would be expected to raise the hue and cry for her killer, so I galloped for home. I needed to be there before the tragedy was made known. I must act the innocent. Nobody knew of my lust for Isabella Garnet. It was a secret I had nursed since before the days of my marriage, known only to my confessor. And now I had ended her life. I knew I should have been weeping, shuffling on my knees on some arduous pilgrimage, tearing my garments in atonement for my great sin, but at that time I felt nothing but a desire to escape justice.

The hue and cry was raised and word went around that brigands had been responsible. I ordered them to be found. Then, while I was in my bed that night, pondering my next move, an evil notion came into my mind unbidden. I felt proud of my cleverness, pride being another deadly sin to add to my tally. If indeed Garnet had discovered his wife’s strangled body, was it not likely that he was the killer? He had ever been a thorn in my side, a rival in business and love and a bitter opponent in the struggle of the House of Lancaster against the tyrannical reign of the House of York. Would it not be a neat solution to the problem if he was to hang for his wife’s murder? And whenHenry Tudor finally triumphed, I could request that Garnet’s estates be confiscated and given to me, his loyal neighbour, who had been such a staunch supporter of Lancaster’s cause.

So it was that all I planned came to pass. Garnet was tried and convicted of the heinous crime of murder, and despite his pleas of innocence, he was hanged and buried at the crossroads above the town. When the new king, Henry Tudor, gained the throne, I was given Garnet’s property as a reward for my loyalty. At that time I rejoiced. Yet now I acknowledge that I am a murderer, not only of the woman who lost her life because she rejected my unwelcome advances, but of Garnet too, who died on the gallows and was denied Christian burial.

My brother Richard – I find it hard to think of him as Brother Anselm – visited me yesterday. I made my full confession to him at the time I committed the dark deed, and although he was overcome with horror at what I told him, he kept my secret under the seal of the confessional. But now I fear for my immortal soul.

The wife I betrayed by lusting after my neighbour’s wife died in childbed a year after I committed my great sin, and at the time I feared this was a punishment from God, although He did leave me a fine son to carry on the Fontescue name.

When I first confessed to my brother, he instructed me to make penance, so I caused a chapel to be built near the well of St Catherine, and I have ordered that after my death, Garnet’s poor hanged corpse should be unearthed and reburied within its confines, with a priest to say requiems for his innocent soul.

My will also bequeaths money to several churches round about so they may have misericords for the comfort of those who sing during mass, for my brother tells me that the elderly in particular suffer as they stand during the long services. He also told me that his house longs to create a Book of Beasts for the instruction of the brothers in the wonders of God’s creation and as a warning against evil. I have also bequeathed the cost for this. And I requested that figures of such beasts were to be placed around my chapel to remind all of man’s base bestial nature.

I have requested that the chapel and well be renamed and dedicated to St Julian the Hospitaller – the patron saint of murderers – in the hope that that saint will intercede for me in heaven.

43

The first thing Wesley did when they returned to Tradmouth was to call Penny Worksop. She reiterated that she was sure that no building work was carried out at St Julian’s while her father owned the property, adding that she’d found no record of it among his papers. In the end, Wesley concluded that unless Bingley himself had killed Aleric Donnal, which seemed unlikely, any work done must have been carried out by one or more of the tenants without the landlord’s permission or knowledge. He thought Betsy and Barnaby Chalmers could be ruled out, which left two people: Jim Baker and Carlo Lanzani. And they didn’t even know the latter’s real name. He’d been sure that Baker had been holding something back, but was it the fact that he’d killed Donnal? Or knew who had?

When Wesley approached Rob Carter’s desk, the DC was gazing out of the window. Wesley couldn’t blame him; it was a great view, especially now that a cruise ship had moored in the centre of the river and was disgorging its passengers via a number of small tenders, which were buzzing to and from the embankment like insects on the water.

‘Rob, I need a list of students who were registered in Aleric Donnal’s department at Morbay University at the time he was working there.’

Rob jumped, and Wesley couldn’t help smiling inwardly at the guilty expression on the young man’s open freckled face.

‘Yes, sir. I’ll get onto it right away.’

Wesley walked to Gerry’s office to let him know about Rob’s quest, emphasising that it might take some time. Patience wasn’t one of Gerry’s principal virtues.

‘Sit down, Wes. I want to go over the case before my meeting with Auntie Noreen.’ Wesley smiled at his use of the nickname for the chief super. ‘She’s nagging me about progress. Says the media’s getting jumpy about the possibility that there’s a serial killer about.’

‘Serial killer? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?’

‘Well, there’ve been three murders. One back in 2011 and two recently. Isn’t the definition of serial killings three or more murders?’

There was a knock on the door and Rob burst in. ‘I’ve got that list.’ He handed a printout to Gerry with the eager pride of a small child giving his mother a treasured piece of artwork.