The Mechanical Devil

by Kate Ellis

  He sat in the incident room staring at the notes he’d made. If Ian Evans was the killer’s intended target all along and Andrea Jameson had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, they needed to start concentrating on Evans’s life, which meant another trip to Dorchester to speak to his family and colleagues.

  Gerry was on the phone and Wesley could tell that the conversation was annoying him. He saw him slam the receiver down and mutter something under his breath.

  ‘Something the matter?’ Wesley said, strolling over to join him.

  ‘Jeremy Ovorard wants us to arrest Luke Wellings for abduction. I told him Jocasta went with him of her own accord but he’s trying to make out Luke put pressure on her. If you ask me, he wants the lad to suffer for screwing his wife and running off with his daughter.’

  ‘I take it there’ll be no charges?’

  ‘Aunty Noreen says we should consider passing it on to the CPS but that’s only ’cause she doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of an MP, especially one who’s tipped to be a future home secretary with power over her precious budget.’ Gerry leaned back in his seat. ‘Anything new?’

  ‘After hearing what Jocasta and Luke had to say about the shots I think we have to start looking at things from a different angle. I think Ian Evans might have been the killer’s intended target all along.’

  Gerry nodded in agreement.

  ‘We should go over to Dorchester to ask more questions.’ He checked the time. ‘It’s four thirty now so we’d better make it first thing tomorrow morning.’ He thought for a moment. ‘In the meantime I’ll give Evans’s employers a call. There’s something I want to ask them.’

  Gerry made his way over to the wall where the crime-scene pictures were displayed and stood gazing at the images. There were scrawled comments on the huge whiteboard they’d brought over from Tradmouth and Gerry took a felt-tip pen from his pocket to add something beneath the picture of Ian Evans: ‘Possible target’.

  A couple of minutes later Wesley called Rowberry, Rowberry and Barrow and when he was put through to the senior partner he asked the questions that had been on his mind since Jocasta Ovorard had made her statement.

  ‘What can you tell me about Ian Evans’s background? And who has he worked for in the past?’

  35

  They’d have an early start in the morning so, on Gerry’s suggestion, Wesley decided to call it a day. He arrived home at six to find Neil waiting for him in the living room.

  Pam seemed relaxed as she and the children listened to Neil’s account of the mystery of the Little Monk and his mysterious bigger counterpart. She’d received no more calls that day and Wesley hoped this meant their tormentor was growing tired of whatever sick game he was playing.

  When he’d parked on the drive he’d taken time to check the close but he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary. It had been confirmed that all the anonymous calls had been made from an unregistered mobile and, even though the crime prevention officer had visited and a panic button had been installed by the front door, the insidious presence of their faceless enemy gave him a restless night.

  In his sleepless hours he went over the case in his head. How was Nathan Rowyard, petty criminal, conman and blackmailer, connected to Ian Evans, an apparently blameless small-town solicitor, and Andrea Jameson? Try as he might, he couldn’t think what the connection could be.

  The next morning he departed with a backward glance at the house, just to make sure the persecutor didn’t emerge from the bushes as soon as his car pulled off. Pam had told him not to worry and sometimes he thought she was braver than he was, especially when he remembered how she’d dealt with her cancer diagnosis.

  When he arrived at the station Gerry greeted him at the door of the CID office, rubbing his hands in anticipation. ‘Are we off to Dorchester then?’

  ‘Yes. When I spoke to Evans’s boss yesterday he gave me the name of the solicitors he used to work for in Honiton. We’ll pay them a visit later but first I want to speak to his current colleagues in Dorchester. Last time they spouted the usual platitudes but I want to dig a bit deeper. We should speak to his family again too. He lived at home with his mum so she might have known if he had any enemies.’ He thought for a moment. ‘There was absolutely nothing on his computer, apart from that stuff about Lower Torworthy and the death of Alcuin Garrard. Perhaps that’s why Evans was in that field – but is it that why he was killed?’

  ‘Have we found any link between Evans and Garrard?’

  Wesley shook his head.

  ‘There’s one possibility we’re ignoring, Wes. What if it is some random nutcase like you said the other day? You get these mass shootings sometimes; no reason behind it apart from a general hatred of the human race.’

  This was a theory Wesley had considered briefly and then dismissed. The calculated nature of the crime had convinced him that it was no random act of violence.

  He shook his head again. ‘It’s beginning to look as if Ian was targeted and Andrea stumbled on the scene by accident.’

  ‘What about Nathan Rowyard?’ asked Gerry.

  ‘Probably picked the wrong person to blackmail. We still haven’t found the source of that four grand in his account. I’ve asked someone to trace his movements. We need to find out who he met during the last weeks of his life.’

  ‘We know about the vicar – Oliver Grayling. But I can’t see him shooting Ian and Andrea, can you?’

  ‘Who knows what people are capable of when they’re desperate?’

  Gerry didn’t reply and as they drove to Dorchester he relaxed and admired the countryside flashing past the window.

  They reached the offices of Rowberry, Rowberry and Barrow at exactly ten o’clock and were shown into the office of James Barrow, the senior partner Wesley had spoken to the previous day. He was a large, amiable man who reminded Wesley of a benevolent gorilla.

  ‘I’ve got Ian’s HR records out for you,’ he began, handing Gerry a thin file. ‘He came with excellent references and his work’s been exemplary. Ian was an unambitious man, quite content to beaver away at routine conveyancing and wills until retirement. Don’t get me wrong, he was well qualified and highly intelligent but he didn’t seem to crave anything more… challenging.’

  ‘Have you any idea why that was?’

  This was a question Barrow clearly hadn’t expected. He picked up the fountain pen lying on his desk blotter and turned it over and over in his fingers.

  Eventually he looked up. ‘Ian worked here for twelve years and never put a foot wrong. Same with his previous employer, Bach and Whitcombe in Honiton. Look at his references.’

  Gerry handed the file to Wesley, who did as he suggested. The reference from Mr Paul Whitcombe glowed with praise. Ian Evans was a reliable and trustworthy employee who worked to the highest standard. Whitcombe was very sorry to lose his services but quite understood the personal reasons he’d given when he’d handed in his notice and wished him well in the future. However, the final sentence struck Wesley as odd: I have never for one moment had reason to doubt Ian Evans’s integrity.

  James Barrow frowned. ‘I did ask Mr Whitcombe why he’d added that particular sentence but all he’d say was that any rumours we might hear regarding Ian’s past would be completely false. He wouldn’t elaborate. Said it wouldn’t be fair on Ian.’

  ‘According to this he was with Bach and Whitcombe for eight years. Where did he work before that?’

  Mr Barrow dropped his pen. ‘The file doesn’t say. I believe Bach and Whitcombe’s still going strong in Honiton so perhaps you should pay them a visit.’

  Gerry grunted. Wesley knew he didn’t like to be told how to do his job.

  ‘Thank you for your help,’ Wesley said politely, ushering his boss out of the office.

  He’d just caught the whiff of something out of the ordinary; the first indication that Ian Evans’s life had been anything other than faultlessly boring. He was keen to get on the trail; but first they needed to speak to the dead
man’s mother.

  Wesley was pleased to find that Mrs Evans had company in the form of one of her daughters; a chubby woman with short brown hair who introduced herself as Shirley. There was a strong resemblance between her and her late brother and for a few moments he found this disconcerting.

  ‘Is there any news?’ Shirley asked as she showed them into the lounge where her mother was sitting, a tissue clutched in her hand. There were used tissues scattered around her on the settee like the shed plumage of some large white bird.

  ‘We’re following a few new leads,’ Wesley replied before turning his attention to her mother. ‘We’re sorry to bother you again, Mrs Evans,’ he said, sitting down opposite her.

  She looked at Gerry. ‘You’ve not brought that nice girl with you.’

  ‘DS Tracey’s busy in the incident room. This is Detective Chief Inspector Gerry Heffernan. He’s in charge of the case.’

  As he’d hoped, Mrs Evans looked impressed, as though she was glad the senior officer was taking a personal interest.

  ‘We’d like to ask a few more questions if that’s OK,’ Wesley said, glancing at Shirley, who was hovering by the door. As soon as her mother nodded her assent she joined her on the settee and touched the older woman’s gnarled hand.

  ‘Anything that’ll help you find out who did this to Ian.’ Mrs Evans’s voice was weak but Wesley could tell the words came from the heart.

  ‘Ian worked at a firm of solicitors in Honiton called Bach and Whitcombe before he moved back to Dorchester twelve years ago.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What about before that – when he’d just left university.’

  ‘He went to Leeds, you know. Got an upper second. He was a clever boy. Then he went to law college in Chester. Did very well.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘He got a job in Exeter as a trainee solicitor. A girl he’d met in Chester was working in Exeter for another firm so he followed her down to Devon. I didn’t see much of him in those days. Young people don’t have much time for their parents when they’re just setting off in life, do they?’

  Wesley nodded. With luck, it was something he and Pam would have to face one day.

  He suddenly had an idea. ‘While Ian was in Exeter did he share a house with any other young men?’ If he’d known Alcuin Garrard at the time that would be link.

  But Mrs Evans shook her head. ‘No. He shared with his girlfriend.’

  ‘What was her name?’ Gerry asked the question that had been on Wesley’s lips.

  ‘Diana. Diana Ruffwood. He brought her home a few times. She was a very nice girl.’

  ‘I take it they broke up?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t tell me any details – just that she’d moved out of their flat.’ She paused, as though she was wondering how much to share. ‘After that he changed. He lost his… zest for life.’

  ‘Mum’s right,’ Shirley said. ‘I blamed Diana but Ian said it had nothing to do with her. He said they were still friends and that it was his fault.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘I wondered whether something had happened at work, because that was around the time he left his first firm and took the job in Honiton. He’d been very ambitious at first but the job in Honiton was just routine stuff. I asked him why but he refused to talk about it.’

  ‘What was the name of the Exeter firm?’ Wesley asked, his pen poised over his notebook.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ the mother said, casting a desperate look at her daughter.

  ‘I think it began with a J but it was around the time I got married so I had other things on my mind.’ Shirley hesitated. ‘I’ve been going through his things but I didn’t find any reference to it. Maybe he had a bad experience there. Maybe it was something he wanted to forget.’

  36

  Wesley and Gerry grabbed a sandwich in Honiton and ate in the car because they didn’t want to waste time. Gerry scoffed his quickly and when he’d finished he brushed the crumbs off his jacket and asked after Pam. He sounded concerned but Wesley assured him that she was safe at work that day and her mother would be there when she arrived home. All bases had been covered, including the panic button.

  ‘Anything more on Belinda Crillow?’

  Before Wesley could reply he heard his ringtone. It was Rob Carter and he had news – or rather he didn’t.

  He came straight to the point. ‘I’ve been through that CCTV footage from Crillow’s neighbour’s cottage and there’s nothing on it, apart from the postman. Certainly no intruder.’

  ‘He might have spotted the CCTV camera on an earlier recce and gone round the back,’ Gerry said when he heard the news.

  ‘Still seems odd.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s making it all up? Attention-seeking?’

  ‘Those injuries were real enough. And she’s terrified.’

  ‘Or says she is.’

  Wesley finished his sandwich, folding the wrapping neatly and stuffing it in the ashtray before climbing out of the car. They’d parked down the street from Bach and Whitcombe’s offices, just out of sight in case any of the employees happened to be looking out of the window.

  As luck would have it the receptionist who greeted them was the chatty type and as she walked with them down the corridor she explained that the senior partner, Paul Whitcombe, had been there for years, which was what Wesley wanted to hear.

  Whitcombe was a tall, distinguished-looking man with a good-humoured smile. Family photographs stood beside a selection of sporting trophies on the bookcase opposite the window and his desk was stacked with files which he shifted out of the way so he could see the two policemen sitting opposite. When he asked how he could help them his smile of greeting vanished and he assumed a solemn expression, as though they were bereaved relatives there to discuss a contentious will.

  ‘Just over a week ago the body of one of your former employees was discovered in a field on Dartmoor,’ Gerry said bluntly. ‘He’d been shot.’

  ‘I read about it. Terrible business. I wondered whether to send my condolences to his family but…’

  ‘You remember Ian Evans?’

  ‘Quite well as a matter of fact. He was a nice quiet chap, good at his job and very thorough, although he lacked ambition. I’m not sure whether that was because of what happened…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Whitcombe, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,’ Wesley said.

  ‘I thought it would be in your records.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell us your version?’ said Gerry, not wanting to admit to ignorance.

  ‘There’s not much to tell really. He’d been working for an Exeter firm and when he applied for a position here I was told that he’d been uncomfortable about certain things that were going on there and wanted to move. When I contacted his employer I found out that the partner he was working for had been arrested for fraud and there were hints – not solid accusations you understand; we are lawyers after all – but hints that Ian was aware of the irregularities. After the arrest Ian went off sick for a while; then he resigned, which made me cautious. His employer had no evidence to substantiate the veiled allegations but mud sticks, doesn’t it?’

  ‘If there was a question mark over his integrity I’m surprised you took him on,’ said Wesley.

  For a few seconds Paul Whitcombe said nothing, weighing up his answer carefully. When he finally spoke he lowered his voice.

  ‘One of my staff here had known him very well for a number of years and she assured me that the accusations were completely false. She begged me to meet him for myself and I must admit when I did I was impressed. He’d been badly shaken by events at his old firm and had suffered what I can only describe as some kind of breakdown, hence the sick leave. Anyway, I decided to trust my instincts and employ him on a trial basis. He worked very well with clients and colleagues but I think the episode in Exeter robbed him of his confidence and any ambition he had once had. He admitted to me much later that it had made him wary of people. When his
father died he moved to Dorchester to look after his mother and I had no hesitation in providing him with excellent references.’