Page 82 of The Chapel of Bones

Neil was gabbling. ‘They’re wrapped in a bin bag.’

‘Slow down. Where did you find them?’

‘I asked someone to run a metal detector over a clearing near the spring we haven’t examined yet. He got a strong signal, and when we dug down, we came across some black plastic and investigated further. Then a hand fell out and I called you.’

‘A hand?’

‘Almost rotted to the bone, but definitely human.’

Wesley looked round. Gerry was on the phone and everyone in the CID office, including Rachel, looked busy. ‘I’ll be right over.’

But Neil hadn’t finished. ‘It’s a woman. The signal we got came from some jewellery: a wedding ring and a diamond engagement ring. Probably worth a bit. And a modern watch. Gold. I haven’t touched it, of course, but we might be lucky and find an inscription on the back. We’ve fenced off the site and I’ve sent Helen back to the house. I thought she was going to be sick.’

‘See you in half an hour.’

Aleric Donnal’s notebook

10 May 2011

My dilemma is whether to share my discovery with Mr Fontescue. As it turns out, he is the descendant of a murderer, and worse still, his ancestor allowed an innocent man, Simon Garnet, to go to the gallows in his place. It was, I suppose, a crime of passion. He had an obsessive love for Garnet’s wife and lost all control when she rejected his advances, for he had long felt a passion for her and wished to make her his mistress.

As for Simon Garnet, our killer had good reason to want him out of the way, and blaming him for his wife’s death solved two problems – or killed two birds with one stone, as the popular saying goes.

I was delighted when I found the evidence I was looking for in the Fontescue archives. Thomas’s full confession was in the muniment room, where I had found Anselm’s account, but it was hidden away in an ancient carved box pushed to the back of a dusty shelf. I drew out the parchment with great care and my excitement reached fever pitch as I read.

I have Mr Fontescue’s permission to return tomorrow and copy the contents of the confession. Copying such an important document is something that cannot be rushed. And I wish to savour my discovery. I have solved an intriguing medieval murder mystery and experienced the satisfaction every detective must feel when a culprit is brought to justice.

I am concerned for one of my students, a bright lad with potential but a troubled soul, I think. He sought me out after a tutorial to tell me that he shares my interest in animal imagery. The trouble is, he seems most drawn to creatures said to have an evil nature. There is something quite unhealthy about his fascination. Obsessive rather than scholarly. And his intense nature reminds me of Thomas Fontescue. But perhaps I am being uncharitable. Perhaps it is the impending end-of-term exams. I should advise him to seek help, but that sort of thing is out of my comfort zone, as I’ve heard people say.

46

Gerry sat in the passenger seat looking stunned, shaking his head as though he could hardly believe what was happening. ‘You’re not killing ’em yourself, are you, Wes ? New job creation scheme for CID?’

In spite of the grim prospect ahead of them, Wesley had to laugh. ‘Not guilty, your honour. And before you ask, I don’t think Neil’s taken up a new career as a serial killer either. Medieval skeletons are one thing, but half-rotted corpses in bin bags are another. The CSIs should already be there. And I called Colin as soon as I heard the news.’

Gerry gave an approving grunt. ‘All sorted, then. Wonder if this has anything to do with Aleric Donnal.’

‘It’s hard to believe that two bodies on the same premises aren’t connected in some way. There’s one person involved in the case we haven’t found yet. Tina Gadson.’

‘Trish hasn’t found any trace of her. But if she went abroad . . .’

‘That’s what everyone believed. But what if it wasn’t true? If only we knew where to find Jon Gadson, we might get some answers.’

‘Africa?’

‘That was fifteen years ago. There’s no trace of him on any official records here, so either he’s still abroad . . .’

‘Or he’s come back using a new identity.’

Both men fell silent as Wesley steered between the crumbling stone gateposts of the house once known as St Julian’s. Heturned off before they got anywhere near the house and parked beside the CSI van.

They were greeted by Neil. Wesley knew he was bound to be annoyed at this new hold-up to his dig, and he saw that the other archaeologists had been sent over to the chapel to continue the excavation there. They were scraping away at the ground, but their efforts looked half-hearted and they kept glancing over as though they were more interested in the new development than in the remnants of the fifteenth-century building.

‘I’ve offered my services to your team,’ Neil announced. ‘I’d better get the correct overalls on.’ He sounded positively enthusiastic.

Wesley and Gerry were handed their crime-scene suits, and a few minutes later, the three white-clad men were being waved through by the crime-scene manager and admitted to the inner cordon. At last Wesley could see what they were dealing with. Sure enough, the bony hand that had flopped out of the dirt-coated black bin bag was adorned with two gold rings: a wedding ring and a diamond solitaire. A dainty gold watch dangled from the skeletal wrist.

Neil gently removed the watch and dropped it into an evidence bag, which he passed to Wesley. ‘Looks like something’s engraved on the back.’