hour. He
wants a word about the Hobson case. He reckons it might be best if someone has a look through the evidence before the lawyers
and the miscarriage of justice industry get wind of it. They’ll be circling like a load of ruddy vultures if they think Hobson’s
got a chance of getting his conviction overturned and a hefty wad of compensation. I still can’t think why that Janet Powell
didn’t come forward at the time.’
‘She claims she’d left the country by the time Hobson was arrested and she knew nothing about it. If she hadn’t, I’d be tempted
to think it was a case of aggravated snobbery. Keeping quiet would have disposed of her embarrassing bit of rough while making
sure she held on to the big house, swimming pool and Mercedes.’
‘What makes you think she was rich?’
‘I’ve been checking. Her husband, Derek Powell, was one of these high-powered executives. He lived here and commuted to London
until he was sent to the States to run the company’s New York office. Who’d want to be Chris Hobson’s bit on the side living
in a squalid Morbay bed-sit off the fruits of love and petty crime when you’ve got all that?’
‘Who indeed?’ Heffernan took another long drink.
‘Janet Powell claims that when she went off to live in the States she cut off all contact with Hobson and put her past behind
her. Apparently she didn’t know about Hobson’s conviction until she saw him on that TV documentary,
Nick
. She says she had the shock of her life when she discovered he’d been done for Shipborne’s murder.’
‘But she still didn’t come forward right away?’
‘No. She waited a few weeks. She says her husband’s just run off with a barmaid at his golf club so she feels she’s got nothing
to lose now by confessing to a bit ofhow’s-your-father with a petty crook back in 1991.’
‘Do you believe all this?’
‘Her story seems to check out so far.’
The steaming hotpot arrived, and the tempting aroma made Wesley realise that he was hungry. His mind had been on other things.
An hour later they returned to the station and went their separate ways; Heffernan to the well-furnished splendour of the
Chief Superintendent’s retreat on the top floor and Wesley back to the more utilitarian surroundings of the CID office.
As soon as Wesley entered the office Rachel Tracey walked briskly up to him, her face serious as though she had some momentous
news to impart. ‘Huntings supermarket in Morbay has received another letter. It came by hand this time, left on the customer
services desk.’
‘What did it say?’
Rachel lifted up her notebook. She glanced at Wesley and began to read. ‘“So someone died yesterday in Morbay Hospital after
eating something bought at Huntings. That’ll look good in the papers, won’t it? It’s so easy to add new products to your stock
… with a little added botulism for flavour. There’s one dead so far. What’s the final score to be? Happy hunting, Huntings.”’
Rachel looked up. ‘That’s it. No demand for money, just threats. What are they after?’
Wesley pondered the question for a few moments. ‘To create a climate of terror? The killing is probably a means to an end.
For some reason they want to get at Huntings. I suppose they might be preparing the ground; letting Huntings know that they
mean business and their demands might come later.’ He thought for a moment. ‘We’d better pay the manager a visit. I wonder
if it’s just the Morbay branch they’ve got it in for or is it Huntings in general?’
‘Did someone really die of botulism at Morbay Hospital?’
‘Yes. That’s what’s strange. The sister in charge of theward told us she thought it was botulism poisoning because she’s seen cases before, but the post-mortem hasn’t been carried
out yet so it’s not confirmed. There’s no way anybody outside the hospital could have got to know.’
‘It’s not been in the papers that there
wants a word about the Hobson case. He reckons it might be best if someone has a look through the evidence before the lawyers
and the miscarriage of justice industry get wind of it. They’ll be circling like a load of ruddy vultures if they think Hobson’s
got a chance of getting his conviction overturned and a hefty wad of compensation. I still can’t think why that Janet Powell
didn’t come forward at the time.’
‘She claims she’d left the country by the time Hobson was arrested and she knew nothing about it. If she hadn’t, I’d be tempted
to think it was a case of aggravated snobbery. Keeping quiet would have disposed of her embarrassing bit of rough while making
sure she held on to the big house, swimming pool and Mercedes.’
‘What makes you think she was rich?’
‘I’ve been checking. Her husband, Derek Powell, was one of these high-powered executives. He lived here and commuted to London
until he was sent to the States to run the company’s New York office. Who’d want to be Chris Hobson’s bit on the side living
in a squalid Morbay bed-sit off the fruits of love and petty crime when you’ve got all that?’
‘Who indeed?’ Heffernan took another long drink.
‘Janet Powell claims that when she went off to live in the States she cut off all contact with Hobson and put her past behind
her. Apparently she didn’t know about Hobson’s conviction until she saw him on that TV documentary,
Nick
. She says she had the shock of her life when she discovered he’d been done for Shipborne’s murder.’
‘But she still didn’t come forward right away?’
‘No. She waited a few weeks. She says her husband’s just run off with a barmaid at his golf club so she feels she’s got nothing
to lose now by confessing to a bit ofhow’s-your-father with a petty crook back in 1991.’
‘Do you believe all this?’
‘Her story seems to check out so far.’
The steaming hotpot arrived, and the tempting aroma made Wesley realise that he was hungry. His mind had been on other things.
An hour later they returned to the station and went their separate ways; Heffernan to the well-furnished splendour of the
Chief Superintendent’s retreat on the top floor and Wesley back to the more utilitarian surroundings of the CID office.
As soon as Wesley entered the office Rachel Tracey walked briskly up to him, her face serious as though she had some momentous
news to impart. ‘Huntings supermarket in Morbay has received another letter. It came by hand this time, left on the customer
services desk.’
‘What did it say?’
Rachel lifted up her notebook. She glanced at Wesley and began to read. ‘“So someone died yesterday in Morbay Hospital after
eating something bought at Huntings. That’ll look good in the papers, won’t it? It’s so easy to add new products to your stock
… with a little added botulism for flavour. There’s one dead so far. What’s the final score to be? Happy hunting, Huntings.”’
Rachel looked up. ‘That’s it. No demand for money, just threats. What are they after?’
Wesley pondered the question for a few moments. ‘To create a climate of terror? The killing is probably a means to an end.
For some reason they want to get at Huntings. I suppose they might be preparing the ground; letting Huntings know that they
mean business and their demands might come later.’ He thought for a moment. ‘We’d better pay the manager a visit. I wonder
if it’s just the Morbay branch they’ve got it in for or is it Huntings in general?’
‘Did someone really die of botulism at Morbay Hospital?’
‘Yes. That’s what’s strange. The sister in charge of theward told us she thought it was botulism poisoning because she’s seen cases before, but the post-mortem hasn’t been carried
out yet so it’s not confirmed. There’s no way anybody outside the hospital could have got to know.’
‘It’s not been in the papers that there
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