Free A Perfect Death by Kate Ellis Page B

show him the ropes,’ said Rachel with
     a wink before returning to her desk.
    Half an hour later Wesley was driving to the council estate on the fringe of Tradmouth with Gerry Heffernan lolling in the
     passenger seat. The DCI looked completely relaxed and there was a small beatific smile on his chubby face.
    ‘You look pleased with yourself, Gerry,’ Wesley commented. ‘How’s Joyce?’
    ‘Fine, fine. I’m thinking of telling our Rosie about her this weekend.’
    Wesley suppressed a smile. He’d never known a man before who was so terrified of his daughter that he’d omitted to mention
     the fact that he’d been seeing a lady friend for the past year or so. He reckoned Rosie would interpret it as a betrayal of
     her late mother’s memory. Wesley, however, wasn’t so sure. Gerry’s son, Sam, had taken the news well. But Sam was an easygoing
     young man, unlike the talented and musical Rosie.
    ‘Good luck. I’m sure she’ll be fine about it. Joyce is a hard woman to dislike, isn’t she?’
    Gerry said nothing as Wesley brought the car to a halt in front of Chas Ventisard’s front door. The house was freshly painted
     with clean net curtains and a neatly trimmed front garden. Something told Wesley that Chas lived with his mother.
    And it was his mother who opened the door to them. Wesley had expected a show of defiance when they introduced themselves
     but Mrs Ventisard looked worried and stepped aside to let them in. Wesley found himself feeling a little sorry for her.
    Chas was in. He did the evening shift at the poultry factory and he’d only just woken up, the anxious mother told them breathlessly.
     She wheezed a little; anxiety was never good for asthmatics.
    ‘Did your son go out last night?’ Gerry Heffernan asked, making the question sound innocent. ‘Only someone said they saw him
     down the Shipwright’s Arms.’ Wesley knew it was a lie, of course, but they had to begin somewhere.
    ‘They can’t have done. He finished his shift at ten thirty and he came straight home. Got in around eleven.’ There was an
     honesty about her swift answer that made it sound convincing. Now all they had to do was to see if Chas came up with the same
     story.
    Mrs Ventisard stood at the foot of the narrow stairs and called her son’s name. A couple of minutes later the man himself
     appeared, dressed in boxer shorts and a grubby T-shirt, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
    ‘What is it? You found Donna?’ he said, suddenlyalert. ‘Is she all right?’ As far as Wesley could tell there was genuine concern in his voice.
    ‘Sorry,’ Wesley answered. ‘We haven’t come about Donna. Have you heard about the fire last night. Holiday cottage near Whitely?’
    A wariness appeared in Chas’s eyes. ‘It was on the radio. Late night news.’
    ‘Someone died.’
    Chas looked up, worried. ‘I didn’t know that. It’s got nothing to do with me.’
    ‘I believe you belong to an organisation known as the Pure Sons of the West.’
    ‘So what? It’s not illegal.’
    ‘It is if you’re going round burning down houses and killing people. Did you know they planned to burn down the cottage last
     night?’
    Chas looked as though he was torn between denial and a desire to be seen to be in the know, at the centre of things. But eventually
     he seemed to plump for the first option. ‘We didn’t do nothing.’
    ‘Your website talks about taking action. There’s even a mention of last night’s fire. How’s that for justice, it said.’
    ‘So? It doesn’t say we had anything to do with starting it, does it?’
    ‘Perhaps your mates decided to act without you.’ Wesley watched Chas’s face. He’d been right – Chas looked a little hurt at
     his last words. If there was action going, he wanted to belong. ‘Can you tell us your movements last night?’
    He replied without hesitation and his story was thesame as his mother’s. He had worked until ten thirty and he’d driven straight home and gone to bed. If he