Cold Justice (18 page)

Willis called out, ‘Can I help you, sir?’

He stood up and stepped back as he held his palms up. ‘Just asking if this lady was waiting for my shop to open, that’s all. No sweat, lady.’

‘I’m Detective Constable Willis.’ She showed her badge. ‘And you are?’

‘Marky Raymonds.’

The side door opened and another man stood looking at her in the doorway. He sniffed loudly as he wiped his nose with his sleeve.

‘You’re working late,’ she said, holding her badge up for him to see. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Jago. I’m just inspecting my new surfboard.’ He called over to the man by the car: ‘Hey, Marky . . . you all finished in here? Can I lock up?’

‘Yeah. Let’s get a drink.’

‘Jago what?’ Willis held out her arm to stop him from going past her. He stopped, grinned and took an exaggerated step backwards.

‘Jago Trebethin.’ He gave a nod towards the car. ‘Is that the woman who lost her son? We heard you were down. You went to the Stokes farm today, didn’t you?’

Willis nodded. ‘Have you got any information about the missing child?’

‘No, I can’t tell you anything except how sorry I am for the family.’

‘I’ll pass that on. Did you know Jeremy Forbes-Wright personally?’ asked Willis.

‘I met him a few times over the years. He was pretty hard to miss – big character.’

‘You went up to the funeral on Monday, didn’t you?’

‘Yes I did, me and Marky there. We went up to pay our respects. Least we could do, such a great man, meant a lot to the villagers.’

‘Right. So I’ve heard,’ she said. ‘Where are you working tomorrow in case I need to ask you some more questions?’

‘I’ll be at home tomorrow unless the surf is good, then you can catch me down here in the water.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘I’m sharing a place with Marky here, a cottage on the Stokes farm. You must have passed my place on the lane to the farm.’

‘Were you there this afternoon?’

‘No, I was down here helping my mum; she owns the shop across the road.’

‘Were you anywhere near the Garra Cove area?’

He shook his head, looked perplexed. ‘I know it; I go there often. It’s a pretty beach away from the holidaymakers. Great for collecting mussels and good surfing sometimes. But I didn’t go there today, who would? The surf was blown out there. The rocks are dangerous then. Look, we’re just on the way across to the other side for a drink in the bar,’ he said. ‘If you’re off duty later you can come and find us.’

‘No thanks.’

Willis watched them walk away and disappear around the back of the Surfshack before she got in the car. She drove back to Kellis House and took Russell inside. The fire had gone out.

Willis picked up her bag. ‘Which of the rooms do you want?’ she asked Lauren.

‘Shall we go next to each other in the two front-facing bedrooms?’ Lauren replied.

‘Yes, that’s fine. I don’t think either of them have an en-suite.’

‘Are you going to bed now?’

‘No, don’t worry – just taking my bag up, that’s all, I’ll be straight back.’

‘Shall I make us some dinner?’ Lauren sounded like she wanted to and Willis was starving.

‘Yes, if you don’t mind – I’m always hungry. I’ll come and chop stuff for you in ten.’

By the time Willis got back down the smell of onion and garlic was all round the house. ‘Have I missed my chance?’ Willis said as she looked inside the saucepan at the pasta sauce. ‘I’m a lousy cook but a good chopper.’

‘Just a quick pasta sauce,’ Lauren said.

‘Great.’

As Lauren stirred the sauce she sighed continually. Her shoulders rose and fell with her exaggerated breathing.

‘You want me to do something for you, Lauren?’

‘A glass of wine, please.’

Willis went and got the bottle from the fridge and poured Lauren one.

‘Are you going to join me?’

‘Not tonight, thanks.’

Willis knew what she was in for. She hoped that they would make it to the end of dinner before Lauren broke down.

Carter sat at the bar with his bottle of beer and watched the bearded barman connect up the new barrel. There was an ‘aboard deck’ style about the bar that worked in summer but was cold-feeling in winter with albatross carvings and white sail cloth for curtains, ships’ portholes along the front of the bar. There was a game of bridge going on. This time of year it could have done with a wood-burner because there was a cold draught from the long thin main part of the bar; at the back and up a few steps were two pool tables and a few gaming machines. The sound of one being played was a constant noise in the background. Carter was thinking how people must be seriously short of somewhere to go to have to come to this place every night. He was going off the idea of owning a second home.

Raymonds had come in at the other entrance to the bar some five minutes ago and was working his way up towards him. He hadn’t missed Carter and looked amused by his presence. He walked in with what looked like his son and another man. The son was taller than his dad but had the same stretched skin over fine features. His face was smoothed out.

There was no music in the bar – just the sound of the pool table and the gambling machines. There was a hard-core set of local drinkers present.

‘She let you off your leash?’ The three men walked up to Carter’s end of the bar. Raymonds stopped to talk to him while the other two walked past to have a look at the pool table. Carter did his best to look as if he didn’t understand. ‘Have you had a good day playing with your gadgets: helicopters, dogs and search teams?’

‘It’s been interesting. We even saw you out at the old mine.’

‘Oh, I expect you’ll see me a lot before you’re through here. I like to keep a good eye on my flock.’ He laughed.

Carter took in the interest in him that Raymonds had generated with his question. Carter smiled, looked back at his beer and took a drink from the bottle.

‘You haven’t found him yet then?’ Raymonds said as he picked up his pint from the barman and moved along the bar next to Carter.

‘Not yet.’

‘Dead – no doubt about it. He’ll be lying in some ditch somewhere. In some dark place that you can’t see.’

‘Possible, but this case isn’t an easy one to call. I could do with a little help from you – ex-officer, you want to share some pearls of wisdom?’

‘I’ll share one for a start – the father, Toby, did you investigate him like I said?’

Carter gave a small shake of the head. ‘We’ve got nothing on him.’ He ordered another beer and offered Raymonds one. He accepted and downed the half-pint he had in his glass. ‘We can’t establish a motive at the moment.’

‘Some people don’t need a motive. Just an opportunity and a bucket-load of malice – bound to come out some day. Busy London streets. A baby could easily go missing from a buggy. Especially if the father was just plain careless with it.’

‘As I said, we don’t have any idea.’

‘Yet, something brings you down here.’

‘It’s just another line of enquiry.’

‘Is his estate tidied up yet?’

Carter shook his head. ‘It’s a lengthy process, as you know. I’m not the one looking into it – I leave that to the clever ones in London. If it had anything to do with his estate you’d think someone would have waited until it was settled and there was money in the bank.’

‘They have plenty of money – I’m sure the wife has a good job. It’s a big expense living where they do.’

Carter took a swig of his beer.

‘You went sightseeing the day of the funeral – did it include a tour of Toby’s apartment?’

‘I looked in the estate agents’ windows when I walked around Greenwich – colossal amount of money for a tiny place. They’ve got the house now. They’re sitting pretty – it’s a million-pound property.’ As Raymonds talked, Carter could see the hunger in his eyes.

‘Perhaps, but they can’t sell it yet. It’s part of his estate. Nothing’s settled yet. It can take a long time.’

‘Yeah. Hey, Marky – come and say hello.’ Raymonds pulled his son back as he was walking past. ‘Detective Inspector Carter, this is my son Marky who owns the Surfshack down there on the beach, and this is Jago who does very little at the moment, except cause trouble.’ He laughed.

Carter shook their hands.

‘We met your partner just now down at the beach,’ Jago said. He was well spoken with a groomed appearance about him, tailored shirt and jeans. He looked like he shopped in places that charged a hundred pounds for a polo shirt. He also looked like he worked out. He had too much gel in his hair and it was too long on top, it stuck up in the air like a cockerel’s comb.

‘Are you from here?’ asked Carter. He thought Jago’s aftershave was nice but there was too much on. Carter wasn’t quite sure whom Jago had come to impress. Marky was a surfer type, low-slung jeans, expensive polo shirt and beads around his neck. Marky was watching his father intently.

‘He doesn’t sound like it, does he?’ Raymonds laughed.

‘Oh, I can if I chooses,’ Jago said in a comical Cornish accent.

‘Jago’s just come back, isn’t that right, Jago?’

‘Yes, absolutely. Decided to see what Cornwall could offer me.’

‘Lots of people starting up small businesses in the West Country at the moment, I hear,’ said Carter.

‘Oh, we only want home-grown here, thanks,’ Raymonds said with a grin.

‘Doesn’t it get a bit inbred?’ Carter asked.

Marky’s laugh came out in a nervous giggle as Jago laughed longer than it was funny.

Raymonds waited for him to simmer down. ‘We allow a bit of new blood in the female form now and again, as long as she’s Cornish. That’s what we need to find for my Marky here – thirty-one years old and not even one wife under his belt.’ He slapped Marky on the back and his son smiled uneasily. ‘Too busy surfing. Oh well – you lads can scarper now you’ve said your hellos. You come by and see Mum tomorrow, Marky – she’s expecting you. If you go fishing, you make sure you bring back a few scallops.’ Marky nodded with a furtive glance towards Carter as he left.

Raymonds waited for Marky and Jago to find their place back at the pool table around the corner and then he looked into his drink. Apart from Raymonds and the two lads, no one had come in or left since Carter arrived; he felt as if he were on a stage, in a play.

Carter glanced at Raymonds’ profile as he sipped his beer. Behind Raymonds he saw the eyes flick up and look their way as if people were waiting and watching to see Raymonds’ judgement on the newcomer.

‘You staying here?’ Raymonds asked, as he perched on a barstool.

‘Yes, for tonight.’

Raymonds nodded, mock-impressed, as he took in the information. He picked up his pint, and Carter looked at Raymonds’ hands – delicate, feminine almost. The half-moon cuticles were white and clean, the nails perfectly filed. Carter could perceive the faintest whiff of what could have been aftershave; but it wasn’t pleasant. He hadn’t noticed the smell in Raymonds’ house when they’d gone there. Carter wondered whether Raymonds had a mistress. He looked around the bar and his eyes met those of Mawgan Stokes, clearing the tables at the far end. She looked away quickly.

Possible,
thought Carter. She moved among the tables clearing away the remnants of dinner. Not one of the men at the tables acknowledged her as she leaned across them to clear their glasses.

‘This is your local?’ Carter leaned one elbow on the bar.

‘More or less. It’s the only place to come.’

‘What about over at Penhaligon?’

Raymonds lifted his chin and smiled in a dismissive gesture.

‘Full of kids. The other way gets posher as you go towards Rockyhead. Not to the taste of most locals. Too rich for simple folk.’ He smiled and Carter knew he was taking the piss.

‘I thought you might have been on the way to Penhaligon when you decided to take a detour this afternoon. You were seen by the helicopter up on the Garra headland. I was at Garra Cove myself this afternoon.’

‘Really?’ Raymonds eyeballed Carter. ‘That’s a dangerous place to visit this time of year, when the tides are so high. You can be washed right off the rocks. Gone in a few seconds.’

‘Does that happen often?’

‘Has been known. We get the young kids coming down, getting drunk and off their heads. Just takes a slip or a little push and that’s the last we see of them till their body’s washed up.’

‘So, this afternoon. What were you doing?’

‘I was going to call on Cam up at the cottage but I changed my mind. I spent some time up there just enjoying the view. I never tire of it. You city folks can’t comprehend it, I expect.’

‘Have you lived here all your life?’ asked Carter.

‘Yes, and I’m Cornish through and through.’

Carter drank his beer. He watched Raymonds as he smirked into his glass. He was pleased with himself.
Arrogant git,
thought Carter. If it was Raymonds who had pushed him off the cliff he’d have had to run pretty fast to get to where Pascoe had seen him from the helicopter. It was a good mile over the cliffs, but he could have done it. Carter decided to change the subject. He wanted to keep Raymonds on the back foot if he could.

‘How do people feel about the lack of a police station here now? The nearest help is, what, twenty miles away?’

He shook his head. ‘Disgrace.’

‘Pisses you off?’

‘Yes, of course it does. You pay peanuts, you get monkeys. I want proper coppers here again, not specials. But . . . there’s no money, is there?’

‘Not like in the old days.’

‘Like in the days when people knew who the troublemakers were, policemen knew their locals; knew where to head at the first sign of mischief.’

‘Something you prided yourself on?’

‘You’re bloody right, I did, and why shouldn’t I? I took over as sergeant here and I knew everyone in this place. I knew the good, bad and the fucking ugly. All of them answered to me.’

‘Pretty impressive.’

‘Bloody right it was, and we never had any trouble here. Never had to call for help then. We sorted things out, kept it contained.’

‘Forgive me for saying, but Jeremy Forbes-Wright was a strange choice of friend for you as an outsider, a Londoner, coming down here and throwing his weight around.’