Serpent's Point

Book 26: DI Wesley Peterson

by Kate Ellis

Genres: Historical Mysteries; Police Procedurals

Synopsis

Serpent's Point in South Devon is the focus of local legends. The large house on the headland is shrouded in an ancient tale of evil, and when a woman is found strangled on the coastal path nearby, DI Wesley Peterson is called in to investigate. The woman had been house-sitting at Serpent's Point and Wesley is surprised to discover that she was conducting an investigation of her own into unsolved missing persons cases. Could these enquires have led to her murder? While the case takes Wesley to Yorkshire and the Cotswolds, his friend, archaeologist Neil Watson, is making a dramatic discovery of his own in the fields nearby. Then, when a skeleton is uncovered, the pressure rises to find a killer - and Wesley and Neil find out that Serpent's Point holds more secrets than anyone could have imagined.

Release date: August 4, 2022

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 90000

Sample

The bridegroom had strangler’s hands. Strong hands. Restless hands. Hands that could squeeze the life out of some unsuspecting victim. Susan didn’t like the bridegroom.

Not being invited to her best friend’s wedding hurt like a knife twisted in the stomach. Susan had known Avril since primary school. They had played together, laughed together, cried together. But not any more. Not since Avril had met him. Not since he’d set about separating her from her friends and family.

Susan had decided to stand outside the register office. If Avril saw her, at least she’d know she was there for her.

But when the moment came and they emerged from the building, her courage failed her and she darted into a shop doorway. It was just the two of them, bride and groom, Avril wearing a floral dress and her new husband in an expensive suit. No bouquet. No buttonhole. A couple of strangers Susan didn’t recognise followed behind sheepishly, muttered awkward congratulations then walked off together. Witnesses dragged in off the street, perhaps? There were no family members at the wedding – and no friends either. Just Avril and Ian alone. Avril gazed adoringly at her new husband as he bent to give her a half-hearted kiss.

As Susan watched them walk off together, she was afraid for her friend. But there was nothing she could do about it. Some people were their own worst enemies.

Five years later

The story of Serpent’s Point featured in all the books of local legends for sale in the tourist shops of south Devon, but Susan knew it was just a fanciful tale that had grown up over the years. A painted devil to scare foolish children. Evil came from people, not places.

It was said that many centuries ago, a huge serpent, guided by his master, Satan, stole the promontory from the sea, and that the creature still lived there beneath the ground, surfacing every now and then to make mischief. In centuries gone by, superstitious farmers claimed the land was cursed, but that had never stopped them grazing their livestock there. Economics beat the devil any day.

With the coast path so close to her new temporary home, she liked to begin each day with a walk to clear her head. That morning she followed the now familiar route, pausing every now and then, as she always did, to take in the wide vista of the sea spread out before her, its ripples sparkling like jewels as they caught the sun. Sometimes a large cargo vessel crawled lazily across the horizon, but today there were only yachts with gleaming sails. And whenever she saw one, she couldn’t help wondering whether he was aboard.

As the day was young and the schools hadn’t yet started their summer break, she found herself alone on the path with all that beauty to herself. She breathed in the sea air and closed her eyes for a few seconds, listening to the cries of the gulls wheeling overhead and the buzz of the bees in the hedgerow. With the rolling green landscape to one side and the calm sea to the other, this was the nearest thing to heaven she’d ever experienced. But she knew she mustn’t forget why she was there. She was so close to finding the evidence she needed, and only when she’d accomplished her mission would she resume her normal life. Justice would roll down from the mountains eventually – but not quite yet.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her turn, bracing herself for the walkers’ ritual of bidding each other good morning with a suitably friendly smile.

But a few minutes later, she was lying beside the path, her dead eyes staring up at the summer sky.

Olivia Stanley, known to her friends as Livy, had never imagined that her unusual Christmas present would give her so many hours of entertainment – along with the added possibility that it might one day change her life. Once her friend Sophie had bought one too, using her birthday money, they hunted as a pair. Two metal detectors were better than one because they could cover twice the area. Twice the area, double the chances of making their fortune. The other girls at school were into make-up and clothes, but it would be Livy and Sophie who’d have the best of everything one day – once they’d hit the jackpot.

Livy’s dad owned the field, so they didn’t need permission, although he had told her that when they found treasure, he wanted his share. She couldn’t tell whether he was serious, but she’d agreed. Of course he’d get his cut.

To Sophie’s relief, Livy’s dad had moved the cows into another field. Unlike her friend, she hadn’t been raised on a farm and didn’t care for the way the big reddish-brown beasts watched her with their knowing, hostile eyes, as though they were planning something nasty. And sheep were almost as bad, with their beady-eyed, insolent stares. Livy, who was used to livestock, told her she was a wimp.

The field sloped gently towards a high hedge, beyond which lay the coast path and the wide area of scrubland leading to the clifftop. A few hundred yards away to the left, the girls could see the grey slate roof and tall chimneys of a large house, half hidden behind a row of trees. Sophie didn’t know who lived there, but on the way to call for Livy she’d seen a lot of activity on the lane. Huge vans standing in front of the house and people milling about in strange clothes. She told Livy she’d heard in the village that they were making a film there, and suggested they should go and take a look. But Livy pointed out that they were on a quest that might make them rich one day, so they could do without distractions.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready,’ Sophie replied.

They walked slowly forward, a little apart but keeping to a straight line as they swept their machines from side to side. Their faces were set in concentration, listening for any telltale bleeps in their headphones.

Sophie came to a sudden halt and Livy looked round. ‘Got a signal?’

Without a word, Sophie took her trowel from her pocket and handed it to her friend. She’d borrowed the trowel from her mum’s garden shed without asking, but she knew it wouldn’t be missed. Her mum wasn’t much of a gardener.

As Livy squatted down and started to dig, Sophie watched with growing excitement. It might be a ring pull from a can, a length of barbed wire or a rusty old nail. Or it could be long-lost treasure: gold coins or a priceless jewel. She watched her friend heaping the soil to one side of the hole, feeling like a gambler in the casino at Monte Carlo, waiting for the roulette wheel’s rattling ball to land on her chosen number. Would this be the big win?

But one look at Livy’s face told her they hadn’t beaten the bank just yet. The object in her soil-stained hand was a large nail, coated with brown rust. But their luck was bound to change soon.

‘Early days,’ said Livy philosophically as she replaced the soil under the flap of turf. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ she added. She’d heard the phrase once and it seemed an appropriate thing to say.

Half an hour later, the girls had found three rusty bolts, possibly from some ancient farm machinery, five pieces of barbed wire and a small toy car that had lost its paintwork – their best find so far.

It was coming up to midday and they were grateful to their mums for providing sandwiches, crisps and cans of fizzy drink in case they were hungry. Their school friends would probably scoff at the way they were spending their free post-exam time, so they’d made an unspoken pact never to mention it – and nobody was likely to see them there.

‘Let’s do a bit more before we have something to eat,’ Sophie suggested when she saw Livy looking longingly at the rucksacks abandoned next to the boundary hedge.

Livy didn’t argue. They began walking again, their optimism flagging along with their energy levels. They could hear voices drifting over on the breeze, possibly coming from the big house with the huge vans outside. When they’d finished in the field, they might sneak over there to see what was going on. But in the meantime, they needed to focus.

Sweep, sweep. They trudged on. Still nothing.

Then Livy heard an urgent screaming in her headphones. She’d got a signal. And it sounded strong. She tapped Sophie on the shoulder and pointed to a patch of ground.

Sophie watched as her friend started to dig again. She clenched her fists with excitement. Was this the big one they’d been waiting for? Or was it just another rusty nail?

After a minute or so, Livy pulled something from the clinging earth, holding it up in triumph like the Lady of the Lake wielding Excalibur.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a coin.’

Sophie felt a stab of disappointment. An old penny, perhaps, with Queen Victoria’s head on if they were lucky. But when Livy passed her the trophy, her heart lifted. It was dull, but it could be silver, and she didn’t recognise the roughly embossed face on the front.

‘What do you think?’ Livy asked.

‘Looks really old. Could be worth a fortune.’

Livy passed the metal detector over the earth again and got another signal, even stronger this time. Her heart pounded as she enlarged the hole and saw another coin lying there against the red soil, shining and undimmed by its long burial. She knew that meant it was gold. This was it! This was what they’d dreamed of. They were going to be rich.

Sophie fell to her knees. She was wearing her oldest jeans, so a bit of dirt didn’t matter, not under the circumstances.

‘We should tell my dad,’ Livy said. ‘And maybe a museum.’

‘Or we could flog ’em on eBay.’

The girls sat side by side, torn between the devil of greed whispering in one ear and the angel of the Portable Antiquities Scheme in the other.

But later on, when the police arrived, the decision was made for them.

May 1921

I have left Exeter and taken the house at Serpent’s Point on a five-year lease, which should allow me sufficient time to conduct my investigations. The elderly widow who owns the property has gone to live with her sister in Axminster, and according to her solicitor, she no longer has use for the large house, which has become a burden to her in recent years. However, it is a burden I am happy to assume because of an interesting fact that has come to my attention.

I first heard of the strange discovery when I dined with Professor Fredericks, a former colleague from the British Museum. It seems the small sheet of lead was unearthed by a farmer in a south Devon field just before the war, and he gave it into the care of his local vicar because he thought it might interest him. The vicar, being familiar with Latin, had little difficulty making the translation, and when he discovered that it appeared to be a curse of some kind, he thought it a curiosity that might intrigue anybody who had a particular interest in the history of the Roman occupation of Britannia. That was when a friend put the reverend gentleman in touch with Professor Fredericks, who contacted me, knowing my passion for the subject.

There was, however, something the farmer failed to mention to the vicar, something I learned when I paid the man a visit six months ago to enquire as to the exact location of his strange find. At first he was reluctant to share the information with me, but when I assured him that my sole interest was the history of the site and promised not to alert the authorities, he confessed that the object in question wasn’t his only discovery. He had also found bones, but had stayed silent about this because, in his own words, he didn’t want all those policemen in their size twelve boots trampling over his field frightening his livestock. I told him I understood perfectly, and so it was that I gained his permission to investigate.

I have been made aware that the farmer has an unwritten arrangement with my new landlady to use that particular field to graze his cattle, as she has no use for it. I will consult my solicitor, but I suspect this means that, as the tenant of Serpent’s Point, I am free to use the land as I wish, with or without the farmer’s permission.

There is a fear at the back of my mind that the human remains the farmer found might belong to a victim of violent death – and yet the possibility that the bones might be connected with the curse excites me greatly. I must know the truth behind the strange discovery, for should my suspicions be proved correct, my standing in the world of antiquarian study will be greatly enhanced.

My wife looks pale and I tell her that she must get more fresh air. The countryside around here is most conducive to walking. Perhaps I will persuade her, although I have discovered since our marriage that she possesses an unfortunately stubborn nature.

DCI Gerry Heffernan stood at the entrance of the crime scene tent, newly erected beside the dusty path, and stared at the body. She was lying face up, limbs at an awkward angle as though she’d been felled by an unexpected blow and crumpled suddenly to the ground.

‘Have we got an ID for her yet?’

The dead woman was probably in her mid thirties, dressed in shorts, sensible walking boots and a T-shirt apparently extolling the virtues of a brand of real ale. She was petite, and her fair hair was swept back into an untidy bun. She must have been an attractive woman in life, but now her face was contorted and her eyes bulged in amazement.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the tall young CSI, who was dressed in what Gerry always referred to as a snowman suit. ‘There’s no bag and nothing in her pockets apart from this.’ Lying in his plastic-gloved palm was a small and unremarkable Yale key. ‘It was wedged inside the pocket of her shorts. House key?’

‘Possibly,’ said Gerry as he took the key and glanced at the man standing to his left. He’d always acknowledged that DI Wesley Peterson was the brains of the team, and now he watched as Wesley studied the body in front of them as though he was willing it to give up its secrets.

‘First impressions, Wes?’

‘From the marks on her neck, I’d say the cause of death was strangulation. Her clothing appears undisturbed, which suggests the motive wasn’t sexual.’ Wesley checked his watch. ‘Colin should be here by now.’

‘It’s not Colin. He’s on holiday.’ Gerry grunted in disapproval, as though taking a holiday was a gross misdemeanour.

‘We can’t keep him locked up in the mortuary just in case we need him, Gerry.’

‘More’s the pity.’

Wesley couldn’t help smiling. Over the years, Gerry had become used to Dr Colin Bowman’s genial presence whenever there was a suspicious death to deal with. And Gerry didn’t like change.

‘So who’s his replacement?’

‘Me.’

The two men turned their heads and saw a young man standing a few feet outside the tent’s open entrance. He was tall, with short dark hair and a pleasant freckled face, and he was already wearing his crime-scene suit in preparation for what was to come.

‘Dr Cornell Stamoran at your service.’ He grinned, raising a plastic-gloved hand in salute. ‘Colin’s on holiday. Vienna.’

‘We know,’ said Wesley. ‘I’m DI Wesley Peterson and this is DCI Gerry Heffernan, the SIO.’

‘Your name’s familiar,’ said Gerry accusingly.

‘Cornell’s a family name. I share it with a cousin who lives in Lyme Regis.’ The doctor paused for a moment, as though he was trying to retrieve something from his memory. ‘I remember my cousin saying he had a visit from the police a few years ago, in connection with a murder case, I think. That wasn’t you, was it?’

Wesley smiled. ‘It was. Small world. He’s a writer, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right. The artistic side of the family.’ Stamoran suddenly assumed a businesslike expression. ‘Well, what have we got?’

‘The dead woman was found an hour ago by a couple out walking the coast path. Tourists – retired teachers staying in a holiday cottage in Stoke Beeching. They’ve been interviewed and told to go home – they seemed pretty upset.’

‘I’d better take a look.’ The doctor picked up the bag he’d put down at his feet and Wesley lifted the crime-scene tape to admit him into the inner cordon, announcing his arrival to the sergeant whose job it was to record the comings and goings. Wesley followed him, with Gerry trailing reluctantly behind.

‘Do we know who she is yet?’ Stamoran asked as he squatted down beside the body.

‘No ID apparently,’ Wesley answered. ‘I’ve ordered a search of the lane nearby for a vehicle she might have arrived in, but nothing’s been found yet. We don’t know how far she walked, so if she parked some distance away, it might take a while to find her car. Or she might be local and didn’t need a car to get here.’

‘Think her killer might have been walking with her?’ Gerry asked.

‘There are no car keys on the body, so that’s as good a theory as any. If her companion took the keys and returned to the car … ’

‘In which case, he could be anywhere by now.’

‘Not like you to be so pessimistic, Gerry.’

The DCI didn’t reply, and they watched in silence as the doctor conducted his examination. Unlike Colin, Cornell Stamoran didn’t chat while he worked. Instead he concentrated on the task in hand, and Wesley was content to wait in the sunshine for him to finish, listening to the soft swish of the waves below and the cries of the gulls wheeling around the headland. Gerry, however, wasn’t blessed with the same patience.

‘Well?’ the DCI said as soon as the doctor stood up.

‘She hasn’t been dead for long – two or three hours probably, but I might be able to tell you more once I’ve done the post-mortem.’ He shifted to one side. ‘Can you see those marks on her neck?’

‘Strangulation?’

‘Got it in one, Detective Inspector.’

‘Call me Wesley, please.’

‘Very well, Wesley, you’re probably spot on – unless the post-mortem throws up some surprises. He didn’t use his bare hands. She was killed with a ligature of some kind. A scarf, perhaps, or an item of clothing. Something soft that didn’t leave a distinctive mark; not a rope.’

‘You said he.’

‘Well, Detective Chief Inspector, I wouldn’t rule out a strong woman. They are capable of murder, you know.’

‘Too right. The female of the species and all that. And my name’s Gerry.’

Wesley looked down at the body. The T-shirt the dead woman was wearing showed a wide-eyed sheep holding a brimming pint glass. ‘This T-shirt might provide a clue. Ritter’s Sheep Shocker. Heard of it, Gerry?’

‘Are you suggesting that I’m the authority on all things beer?’

‘I know you like your real ale.’

‘The name’s not familiar. It could be a micro brewery limited to a few outlets – which might make our job a bit easier.’

‘I’ll get someone onto it,’ said Wesley, thinking of his old friend from university; in his experience, archaeologists tended to know about that sort of thing. ‘Neil and his colleagues might be able to help us.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Gerry muttered under his breath. ‘When can you do the PM, Doc?’

‘How about four thirty today?’

‘Perfect. We’ll be there, won’t we, Wes?’ Gerry’s eyes focused on the dead woman. ‘Bet she didn’t expect to end up like this when she set off for her morning walk.’

Wesley stayed silent as he watched the doctor pack up his things.

‘Sir,’ said a young uniformed constable who was standing outside the cordon, shifting from foot to foot like a child asking to be excused. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘Have as many as you like,’ said Gerry wearily. ‘What can I do you for?’

Wesley followed the DCI to the barrier of blue and white tape, eager to hear what the constable had to say.

‘A couple of girls were metal-detecting over there.’ He waved his hand vaguely towards the fields inland from the path. ‘They heard the commotion and came over to see what was going on. They’ve been there most of the morning, so they might have seen something. Do you want a word?’

‘Metal-detecting. Sounds like your department, Wes. I’d better get back and organise an incident room.’

‘Right,’ said Wesley to the constable. ‘Let’s have a word with our treasure hunters.’

Wesley left the shelter of the crime-scene tent and strolled over to the girls. The chances of them having anything to do with the woman’s death were slim to say the least. But they might have seen something, and he knew that the best way to put them at ease was to talk about their hobby.

Sitting on the grass verge like a pair of prisoners awaiting sentencing, they looked very young: one small and slight with dark hair, the other taller and plumper with a blonde ponytail. Their youthful faces were marred by the occasional pimple, and they appeared almost puzzled, as though they’d stumbled into an unfamiliar situation and found themselves out of their depth. Their adventure had now turned serious.

‘Morning,’ Wesley said, trying to put them at their ease.

‘Morning,’ they mumbled warily, as though they were wondering what this good-looking, smartly dressed black man with the friendly smile was up to.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Wesley Peterson. What are your names?’

‘Olivia Stanley and Sophie Carter. We’re not in trouble, are we?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. I see you’ve been metal-detecting.’

He saw the girls exchange a sly look. They were hiding something. Perhaps he’d have to revise his initial impression.

‘I studied archaeology at university, so I know a bit about it. Find anything interesting?’

There was a long silence. Then Olivia delved into the pocket of her jeans and brought out a coin, holding it out like an offering.

Wesley took it from her and examined it closely. ‘Where exactly did you find this?’ he asked, trying not to sound too excited.

‘We didn’t do anything wrong,’ Sophie piped up. ‘It’s Livy’s dad’s field and he said it was OK. You can ask him.’

‘I’m sure you did everything properly.’ He wanted their co-operation, and the best way to get it was to appear to be on their side. ‘It’s just that it’s unusual to find this sort of thing around here, so it might be important. Find anything else?’

The girls looked at each other again, then Olivia put her hand back in her pocket and pulled out another coin. It had the telltale glint of gold, and Wesley’s heart began to beat a little faster.

‘I expect the constable told you there’s been an incident on the coast path?’ he said. Even though his inner voice was screaming at him that he might have stumbled on something of archaeological importance, murder took priority.

‘She didn’t say what had happened. Has someone had an accident, or—’

‘They wouldn’t make this much fuss for an accident,’ Sophie butted in.

‘You’re right,’ said Wesley. ‘A woman’s body has been found, and we’re treating her death as suspicious. Have you been metal-detecting in the field all morning?’

Both girls nodded their heads.

‘Did you see or hear anything unusual?’

‘We had our headphones on most of the time, and you can’t see the path from where we were because of the hedgerow.’ Livy glanced at her friend, who nodded in agreement.

‘What time did you arrive this morning?’

It was Sophie who answered. ‘I called at Livy’s about ten.’ She waved her hand in the vague direction of the stone-built farmhouse nestling on the hillside a few fields away. ‘We asked her dad if it was OK, then we walked down here.’

‘You did everything properly,’ said Wesley with an approving smile. ‘Where do you live, Sophie?’

‘In Bereton. We finished our exams last week, so we’ve got time off.’

‘How did the exams go?’

Livy looked surprised and rather gratified that the detective was taking an interest. ‘OK.’

Wesley was about to say that it was good to see the girls out enjoying the fresh air instead of being hunched in front of screens in their bedrooms, but he stopped himself just in time. He didn’t want to sound like a critical dad.

‘Did you happen to see a woman? Fair-haired, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with a picture of a sheep on the front?’

The girls shook their heads. ‘We didn’t see anybody. It was dead quiet until we heard someone screaming, then all the police arrived, and the helicopter.’

‘What time did you hear the screams?’

‘About half eleven, and then we heard the sirens soon afterwards. We thought someone had had an accident.’

Wesley nodded. The walkers had found the body around 11.30. ‘You didn’t hear or see anything unusual before then?’

They looked at each other again before Sophie answered. ‘When I was walking to Livy’s, I saw a lot of people at the big house over there.’ She pointed towards a distant dark grey roof, just visible between the tall surrounding trees.

‘What can you tell me about them?’

‘They were wearing old-fashioned costumes, and there were big vans there.’

‘I think they’re making a film, or it could be TV,’ said Livy.

‘Maybe they’ll be looking for extras,’ Sophie added hopefully. ‘Might be worth a try.’

Wesley smiled again. ‘It won’t do any harm to ask.’

He was coming to the conclusion that talking to the girls hadn’t been a waste of time. If the woman had been killed before they arrived in the field at around 10.30, this fitted with Dr Stamoran’s initial assessment. And he now knew there was a film set just half a mile from the murder scene. Could the woman have been associated . . .