In the end it seemed there was nothing more they could do at Belsinger School. Rachel Tracey had to acknowledge that it was hardly worth getting a search warrant and tearing the place apart just to satisfy her prejudices. If there had ever been any evidence on the premises, it would have disappeared years ago. But there was one thing she wanted.

She asked the fearsome secretary as sweetly as she could, for a list of all the pupils who'd been at Belsinger at the same time as the victims. Fortunately in this at least, Belsinger seemed to have bowed to the twenty-first century and Rachel was presented with a computer printout. The secretary said proudly that she'd given herself the task of putting all the school records on her database and she'd got back as far as the 1950s. Rachel allowed her a grateful smile. The woman's single-minded industriousness had made her job much easier.

It wasn't until she returned to Tradmouth police station that Rachel bothered examining the list she'd been given. And when she read it, she noticed one name in particular in the year above Marrick and his contemporaries. Bartholomew Carter.

Barty Carter had never once mentioned that he'd known Simon Tench from his school days. And Rachel wondered why.

'I hope we get coffee. I had a look at the menu last time we were there do you realise a small cup of coffee costs three quid?'

'So Darren Collins hasn't given up robbery after all,' Wesley grinned.

Gerry Heffernan stayed silent for the rest of the journey. Whether he was antic.i.p.ating the coffee at Le Pet.i.t Poisson or planning what he was going to ask the Great Chef about his trip to Chester, Wesley wasn't sure.

Normally, Wesley would have suggested walking to the restaurant but there was drizzle in the air and time was tight. Besides, they were due at Neil's dig straight afterwards to speak to Norman Hedge, the victims' old history teacher.

The restaurant was shut but they rang the bell. Jean-Claude Montfort greeted them like old friends, which Wesley thought rather surprising as they'd brought nothing but trouble to Le Pet.i.t Poisson. Perhaps he was just doing his bit for Anglo-French relations.

The chef was in his kitchen. It was remarkable, Wesley thought, how he kept up the French accent, even under the severest pressure. But then the new ident.i.ty had probably become second nature. As far as he was concerned Darren Collins no longer existed.

He ushered them into his office. Coffee wasn't offered.

'I thought you'd finished with me,' he said, rather peeved. 'I've told you everything I know. And I never knew that other bloke ... the vet.'

'You were in Chester on the sixteenth of June,' Wesley said, watching his face.

'That's right. I was up there for The Best Food Show. Did a TV recording there. What's that got to do with ... ?'

'Another man was murdered on that day.' He paused for effect. 'He was killed in exactly the same way as the others. And he lived in the centre of Chester.'

He let the implication sink in.

Darren Collins better known as Fabrice Colbert shook his head vigorously. 'I don't know anyone up there. And I was never on my own. It was b.l.o.o.d.y hard work. We stayed in a hotel near the venue a couple of my chefs here and the TV crew. Ask them they'll all tell you the same thing. When I went into the city centre I was with someone all the time. We were a team.' He sounded anxious, eager to be believed. But then anybody would if they were suspected of murder.

'Have you ever had any connections with a public school near Littlebury called Belsinger?'

Collins snorted. 'Public school. Do me a favour. I was a failing comp man.'

'Charles Marrick went there. And the other victims.'

'That figures. So who was murdered in Chester? I never read anything in the papers about a murder up there.'

'We're keeping it low key. We don't want to start a panic. You sure you've no connection to Belsinger School?'

'None whatsoever.'

'We'll check and double check,' Heffernan said, a slight threat in his voice.

'Check then. But you'll be wasting your time.'

Either Darren Collins was a remarkably good actor or he had nothing to hide. But Wesley couldn't help remembering how he'd fooled the entire country with his change of ident.i.ty he himself would never have realised Fabrice Colbert wasn't French unless he'd seen the evidence. Which meant Collins' acting ability was second to none.

'How's Annette?' Collins asked. He sounded genuinely concerned. But that might have been an act too.

'As far as we know she's okay. I was wondering if you'd decide to visit her ... now she's on her own.'

Collins shook his head. 'I've gone back to the straight and narrow Marie never knew about Annette, by the way, and I'd like it to stay like that. I don't think it'll take Annette long to get someone else to keep her warm at night. And whoever it is, he has to be an improvement on Charlie.'

Wesley sensed the man was in the mood to talk. And he might as well make the most of it. 'You've met Annette's daughter, Petronella Blackwell?'

'No. I never met her.'

'Did Annette talk about her?'

The chef shrugged. 'A bit. She said she had this thing about finding her real mother about blood being thicker than water. And Annette said she was very clingy ... needy, which seems a bit odd at her age. If you ask me, she sounded a bit unbalanced.'

'She claims Charles Marrick raped her,' he said, watching Collins's reaction carefully.

Collins swore under his breath. 'That's sick ... his own stepdaughter.'

'I reckon Marrick and Petronella must be nearly the same age.'

'Even so. Look, Charlie was a devious, vicious b.a.s.t.a.r.d and a bully and those were his good points. But I never imagined he'd do anything like that.' He looked Wesley in the eye. 'There won't be many tears at Charlie's funeral, I reckon.'

'As far as we know, the other victims didn't share Charlie's tastes. Simon Tench was happily married and well liked. And the victim up in Chester, Christopher Grisham, seemed an ordinary sort of man no vices that we know of. The only thing they appeared to have in common was Belsinger School. They were all in the same house, in fact.'

Collins shrugged. 'Then if I were you, I'd take a closer look at the place.'

Gerry Heffernan stood up. He didn't like being told his job but his instinct told him that Darren Collins was probably right.

'You'll give us the details of the people you were with in Chester?'

Darren Collins obliged without a word of protest. Meek as a lamb.

Neil Watson stood beside trench three and watched as Norman and Muriel sc.r.a.ped away. From time to time Muriel would straighten herself up and place her hand in the small of her back. Digging was hard physical work most beginners didn't realise that.

He looked down at the mobile phone in his hand. He'd just received a call from Annabel that puzzled him a little. She had just found some more material about Veland Abbey's seyney house in the cathedral archives accounts for building alterations and various mentions of the place in contemporary records. But one promising book a journal the last abbot had written before the abbey's closure was missing. It was catalogued all right but it wasn't where it was supposed to be. Either it had been put elsewhere which was possible but unlikely or someone had taken it. Neil, sensing Annabel's frustration, had made sympathetic noises and told her to keep up the good work. But he couldn't get the journal out of his mind. He wanted to see it; to know what the abbot had written all those centuries ago ... and whether he'd mentioned Brother William.

He stood there watching as Diane sc.r.a.ped away in trench one, a faraway look in her eyes. They had arrived at the site early that morning to remove any evidence of the strange ritual they had witnessed the previous night. But they'd been too late. There was no trace of any candles apart from a few splashes of wax. Lenny they were still a.s.suming it was Lenny must have returned after they'd gone and taken the stuff away himself.

Lenny seemed subdued today, digging silently in trench four where they were uncovering a midden containing animal bones, broken pottery and oyster sh.e.l.ls. The monks had eaten and drank well here at the Seyney House and they'd left the evidence behind.

The sound of Wesley's voice made Neil look round. His friend was striding towards him and Gerry Heffernan followed behind, watching the diggers with a bemused look on his face.

'Don't suppose you've had any more letters?' Wesley asked quietly once greetings had been exchanged.

Neil shook his head and when Wesley asked where they could find Norman Hedge, he pointed to trench three, rather surprised as the retired history teacher wasn't his idea of a man who could help the police with their enquiries. He said as much to Wesley who gave him a meaningful wink before whispering that it was always the quiet ones and approaching Norman Hedge, warrant card to the ready.

Neil was right. Norman Hedge hardly looked like public enemy number one more like a retired schoolmaster who'd never had dealings with the police before ... and certainly not on the wrong side of the law. He looked nervous and it fell to Wesley to put him at his ease and a.s.sure him that they needed his help, not his wrists in handcuffs.

Wesley suggested they visit a pub they'd pa.s.sed on the main road for a coffee and a chat. This seemed to rea.s.sure Norman, as had Wesley's casual mention that he'd studied archaeology at university and that he was a friend of Dr Watson, the director of the dig. By the time Wesley had brought the car to a halt in the pub's car park, they were getting on like a house on fire and Gerry Heffernan was feeling a little left out.

As it was coming up to lunchtime they decided to have a sandwich and Norman joined them. While Heffernan was at the bar ordering their food and drinks, Wesley began the questioning gently so that Norman had no idea that he was being interrogated.

'I expect you've heard about the recent murders of Charles Marrick and Simon Tench. And a man called Christopher Grisham was found dead up in Chester a few weeks ago.'

The man's mouth fell open for a second. 'I ... I hadn't heard about Christopher. That's awful. I can't believe anyone would want to ...'

'You knew all the victims?'

'Yes. I taught them all. They were at Belsinger School. All in Tavistock House. You don't think ... ?'

'Think what?' It was Heffernan who spoke, impatient with Wesley's kid glove approach.

'That their deaths are connected with the school in some way. But I don't see how they could be. I mean ...'

'We're keeping an open mind at the moment. However, Belsinger School appears to be the only thing the victims had in common. As far as we know they didn't remain friends after they'd left school. In fact they lived very different lives.'

Norman sighed. 'That's hardly surprising. They certainly had nothing in common at school. Simon Tench was a nice lad. Highly intelligent. Chris Grisham might not have been as bright as Simon but he was a pleasant, quiet boy very good at art if I remember rightly. No trouble to anyone.'

'What about Charles Marrick?'

There was a long silence. Then Hedge looked Wesley in the eye.

'In my opinion, Inspector, Charles Marrick was evil. I suppose these psychiatrists would have a fancy name for it but I'm old fas.h.i.+oned. I taught a lot of boys during my time at Belsinger but I've only come across one who could be described as truly wicked and that was Marrick. He had no empathy for the feelings of others, you see. It wasn't that he didn't realise he was hurting people, he just didn't care if it gave him pleasure or advantage. He was completely amoral his only creed was if I want it, it's mine and d.a.m.n the consequences. And he was manipulative. He used people, Inspector. And somehow he always ended up getting away with it. He could be very charming when he wanted something. But I saw through him even if others didn't.'

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. This time it looked as if they were getting somewhere.

'You're the second person to describe Marrick as evil, Mr Hedge,' Wesley said. 'We've spoken to the boys' housemaster, Mr Dean. He runs a bookshop in Morbay now.'

'Indeed.' His expression gave nothing away.

Wesley decided it was time to tackle the subject that was foremost in his mind. He took a deep breath. 'Mr Dean told us that you and the late headmaster of Belsinger, Mr Hadderson, were close friends.' He watched the man intently. His face was impa.s.sive but he sensed that he was hiding deep emotions putting on a familiar mask to conceal his feelings. Just as he had done for so many years at Belsinger. He was used to the charade.

'Did he?' Hedge took a sip of coffee.

'I can a.s.sure you, Mr Hedge, that whatever you tell us will be treated in confidence. If we're to catch whoever killed your former pupils, we need to know everything.'

Hedge took another sip from his cup, something to do with his hands while he thought. Then suddenly he seemed to come to a decision. 'If you must know, Stanley and I were lovers,' he said suddenly, looking at the two policemen to see if their faces had registered shock. When he saw that they were both looking at him with polite interest he carried on. 'We came from a generation that treated our kind of relations.h.i.+p as a crime, Inspector. In fact you could go to prison for it. We had to be very discreet. We knew that if our relations.h.i.+p came to the ears of the pupils' parents ...'

'They might not be as tolerant and understanding as ...'

'Quite, quite. As you can imagine we went to great pains to hide our ...'

'But Marrick found out?' It was a pure guess on Wesley's part. But it was worth a try to see if the question hit its target.

Hedge's face turned red. 'How did you know?'

'Did he blackmail you?'

'He was far more subtle than that. He goaded Stanley. He knew that he was in a position to ruin him. Nothing was ever said openly, of course. Just hints, insinuations. And he implied that he'd think nothing of making false allegations concerning our dealings with the boys in our care. It would have been complete rubbish of course but filth sticks, Inspector, as I'm sure you'll know. It would have finished Stanley's career and mine. Ruined the school. And the school was Stanley's life so he adopted a policy of appeas.e.m.e.nt which, in my opinion, is always a mistake. Poor Stanley thought it was his only option. I told him to call Marrick's bluff but ...'

'You and Stanley must have been very relieved when Marrick left the school.'

Hedge nodded.

'I understand that Mr Hadderson took his own life,' Wesley said gently.

A shadow of pain pa.s.sed across Hedge's face. 'Yes. But that had nothing to do with Marrick. He discovered he was ill. A brain tumour. He was a proud man. He couldn't face the indignity of a slow death ... of losing his faculties and being dependent on ...'

'I'm sorry,' said Wesley and Gerry Heffernan muttered something that sounded sympathetic a split second after like an echo.

'Did you, er ...' Wesley searched for the right words. 'Did you ever suspect that his death might not have been suicide?'

Hedge looked shocked. 'No, not at all. But ...'

'But what?' Heffernan leaped on the moment of doubt too eagerly in Wesley's opinion.

'No. Of course he killed himself.'

'He didn't leave a note?'

Hedge shook his head, still shocked.

Wesley decided to change the subject. The man obviously believed there'd been nothing suspicious about the death of his partner in life. But Mortimer Dean had spoken of a cut throat. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Or perhaps it was worth investigating further.

'Can you tell us anything else about Charles Marrick? Anything at all.'

Hedge frowned. 'There was something shortly before he left. But Stanley never told me what it was, which was unusual. We didn't usually have secrets from each other.'

'You've no idea what it could have been?'

Hedge shook his head. 'Whatever it was was kept very hush hush. I suppose Marrick's housemaster might have known Mortimer Dean.'

'When exactly was this?'

'I think it must have been towards the end of term after the exams when things were a bit more relaxed than usual. I can't be sure, of course, but that was the week Marrick disappeared. Nothing was said, of course, but I sensed it. Things weren't right.'

'So Marrick disappeared before the end of the term?'

'Most of the teachers were glad to see the back of him if the truth were known. There was a strange atmosphere in the school during those couple of weeks till the summer term ended. I asked Stanley if something was wrong but he said he couldn't tell me. It was a confidential matter.'

'And he never mentioned it again?'

'Never. I had the impression it was something he'd rather forget.'

'And the other victims Simon Tench and Christopher Grisham?'

'It was after they'd taken their GCSEs, Inspector. The boys were demob happy, filling in time. Then Simon transferred to a sixth form elsewhere and Chris didn't take history A level so I had little to do with either of them from then on.'