‘I could do with a change of scene. What time does it start?’
‘Early. Half six. You know Cyril and Doreen, they’re up before sunrise.’
‘Were you thinking of driving?’
‘Not really. We can get the bus over and a taxi home.’ Few trains stopped at Hayle.
They arranged a time to meet but before Jack could hang up, Rose asked what had happened to Dave Fox.
‘How did you know we questioned him?’
‘I saw Eva.’
There was a few seconds silence. ‘Look, Rose, I’d rather, oh, blast it.’ He could hardly tell her who she could socialise with. And this time he was sure she wasn’t in danger, the man they were looking for liked teenage girls. He knew she wouldn’t stop asking questions, it was the way she was made and if he said as much she would become more stubborn than ever. ‘We’ve let him go. For the moment. It’s just too much of a coincidence that he’s been involved, however obliquely, in two investigations.’
‘Jack, I …’ but Rose thought better of voicing her suspicions of Lucy Chandler over the telephone. What she had to say could wait. Jack finding Nichola Rolland’s killer was far more important.
‘Rose?’
‘It’s nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She sat down to finish her glass of wine and picked up a new library book from the pile. Underneath was one she had finished. She frowned, trying to recall what it was about the plot that had set her thinking. It can’t have been important, she decided as she opened a biography of Charlotte Brontë. But whatever it was kept niggling at the back of her mind and prevented her from concentrating on what she was reading. She went to find the list of names. Once more she studied it. Something was wrong, something didn’t quite fit, but she just couldn’t decide what it was.
Doreen Clarke went off to do her Saturday morning shopping wearing a plain cotton skirt and blouse. She had never taken to wearing jeans or trousers which would not have flattered her dumpy shape, not even for work. She would be home in plenty of time to prepare some snacks and shower and change. Cyril would spend the day in the garden, leaving it until the last minute before showering.
At six o’clock all was ready. Doreen looked with pleasure at the plates of food set out in the kitchen and the bowls of flowers in the
living-room, flowers which Cyril had chosen carefully. The scent of roses filled the room.
It had been a muggy start to the day. The mist, thick enough to wet the skin, had hung low and heavy until mid-morning when the pale lemon globe of the sun had shown thinly through the moisture and fingers of sunlight had penetrated its layers. Now the sky was a clear blue. Doreen stood in the kitchen doorway enjoying the earthy smell of the garden and the piquancy of the tomato plants which Cyril had just watered. She had changed into a summer dress of pale blue cotton with sprigs of pink flowers. It suited her, enhancing her clear complexion and bringing out the blueness of her eyes. A car stopped outside. She heard voices and realised the first of her guests had arrived. She walked down the side of the bungalow to the front.
‘Good to see ’e, maid,’ she said, kissing Rose on the cheek. Beside her stood the tall, handsome Inspector Pearce who Doreen hoped would marry her friend one day. ‘Come on in and have a drink. Cyril will be with us in a moment.’ From the bathroom next to the main bedroom the sound of running water had finally stopped.
Rose placed the bottle she had bought alongside others on the work surface. ‘My
goodness, how many people are you expecting?’ Rose asked, wide-eyed, when she saw the amount of food that had been prepared.
‘Just a few. Excuse me.’ Someone was ringing the doorbell.
At that moment Cyril appeared, freshly shaved and smartly dressed although the ingrained soil would never wash from his hands no matter how hard he scrubbed.
‘This is for you.’ She handed Cyril the card and present. ‘You shouldn’t have,’ he said as he opened the card. It contained a simple birthday greeting. Rose knew he would not have appreciated a humorous or lewd card. His pleasure was evident as he unwrapped the small watercolour. ‘That’s real ’ansome,’ he said, unsure whether to kiss her. ‘We’ll hang that in the living-room.’
Rose smiled. He would see more of it if he hung it in his potting shed.
By seven o’clock all of the guests had arrived. There were eleven people in total, which was about as many as the bungalow could comfortably hold. Rose knew only the Clarkes, Jack and Nathan Brown. It was Jack who raised his glass and proposed a toast to Cyril, who blushed and looked embarrassed. ‘Here’s to the next decade,’ he added, smiling at the surprise on Rose’s face.
She had had no idea it was his sixtieth birthday; she had imagined him to be the same age as Doreen. His face was lived-in and weatherbeaten but he moved and walked like a much younger man. Perhaps all those years in the mine and now the gardening had kept him fit. She and Jack made conversation with Cyril’s friends, most of whom had also been miners. Later, when Rose went outside to get some fresh air and to smoke a cigarette, Doreen joined her. ‘I heard about Dave Fox. I didn’t like to say anything to Jack, but why are they persecuting him?’
Rose never understood just how Doreen managed to know everything that went on within the area. ‘I think it’s a case of bad luck, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘He’d never hurt a fly, that one. And they haven’t found who strangled that poor chile yet. It’s a disgrace, that’s what I call it. I know what I’d do to ’en if I got my hands on ’im.’
‘What would you do?’
Neither of them had heard Nathan approach. He looked better than the last time Rose has seen him but it would be a very long time before he adjusted to living alone.
‘It wouldn’t be ladylike to tell you,’ Doreen said. ‘Now, you have a chat with Rose while I
make sure everyone’s got enough to eat and drink.’
Rose, for once lost for words, had no idea how to initiate a conversation with Nathan. Out of desperation she asked ‘What do you make of it all?’
Nathan looked at his highly polished shoes. ‘Girls shouldn’t be out on their own at night. It isn’t safe.’
‘But it was daylight, at least when the first two were attacked.’ She was shocked at his attitude. His views might have been expected from a much older male but Nathan was barely forty. But Doreen had told her of the strong religious views his mother had held. No doubt her influence was strong. ‘How are you managing?’ she asked, to change the subject and cover her own reaction.
‘As well as possible. I’ve got to find something to do, I’ve got too much time on my hands now. I didn’t realise how much of the day was spent running around after Mother.’
She sensed belated resentment in his tone. Had he realised he had wasted most of his life? Or was the resentment for what his mother had made him?
Jack came out to rescue her. ‘You haven’t eaten,’ he said handing her a plate filled with
food. ‘And your glass is empty. Nathan, can I get you another beer?’
‘Thank you.’ He handed Jack his glass and they both followed him back into the kitchen.
‘He doesn’t have a lot in the way of social graces,’ Jack commented when Nathan left, the first to go home.
‘I know, but it’s hardly surprising given the life he’s led. At least he came. Do you think we should make a move?’
‘Yes. Let’s walk up to the Cornish Arms and order a taxi from there.’
‘We’re off now, Doreen. Thank you for a lovely evening.’ Rose turned to wish Cyril all the best then picked up her handbag.
‘Oh, Rose, dear, I forgot. You wouldn’t drop this in to Nathan on your way, would you.’ Doreen had packed up some of the food which had been left, which was almost as much as had been consumed. ‘He can have it for his croust tomorrow.’
‘Of course.’ They had to pass the house on their way to the pub.
‘You know the number?’
‘Yes.’
Jack carried the bag and they walked the short distance to what had once been Phyllis Brown’s
house. Rose lifted the plaited bronze knocker and let it fall. It was more than a minute before Nathan answered the door. He looked puzzled, as if, for a second, he did not recognise them.
‘Doreen asked us to come.’
‘There’s some bits and pieces left over,’ Jack added, handing him the bag of food.
‘I’ll thank her in the morning.’ The door was closed before they could say anything else.
Jack raised his eyebrows and smiled at Rose. ‘That’s the first man I’ve encountered who hasn’t fallen for either your charm or your beauty. I like that painting of the estuary, by the way. It’s not one I’ve seen before.’
‘I did it ages ago.’
‘What’s up?’ Jack asked as they made their way to the pub.
‘Nothing.’ But Rose was thinking Nathan hadn’t wasted time since his mother’s death. There had been no television in the house when Phyllis was alive, she had considered it to be a corrupting influence although, for some reason, the radio held no such dangers. Rose had seen through the net curtains the flickering of a screen although the volume must have been turned down because the windows were not double-glazed and no sound had been heard from the doorstep even
when Nathan opened the door. Odd, though, that ghostly flickering.
They had time for one drink before their taxi arrived. To Jack’s surprise Rose gave her address. Normally he would have been dropped off first.
They went into the house together. ‘Put the kettle on, Jack, I just want to look at something.’
He did so then went to the sitting-room. ‘We’re going to watch television?’ She was studying the relevant page of the
Western Morning News
.
‘No, of course not.’ But her question had been answered. There were no black and white films on television that evening. ‘I was curious about something.’
‘When aren’t you? And you know what curiosity did.’
Before she could come out with a suitable retort, Jack kissed her. I hope you’re wrong, Jack, she thought as she kissed him back.
Jack had left Rose’s house early on Sunday morning. Even though she usually took Sundays off she had hinted, quite strongly, that she didn’t want to waste the excellent light. He also sensed something was troubling her, something which he knew she would refuse to discuss with him, because he could read her moods. There had been a slight coolness between them when he left. ‘I ought to be used to it by now,’ he told himself as he drove to Camborne on Monday morning. He had spent Sunday lunchtime in the pub then gone home for a doze in front of the television regretting his stupidity in wasting the day.
There were two things which puzzled him.
Why did Dave Fox’s name keep cropping up and what, if anything, did Rod Hill have to do with things? There was no proof he had had an affair with an under-age girl, only her say-so and that had been retracted. It could, however, still be true. I’ll speak to him myself, he decided. Both Fox and Hill were relative newcomers to the area and the crimes had taken place since their arrival.
The officers from Plymouth were still working alongside them on the case but it was only a matter of time before another murder required their presence elsewhere. The attacks seemed to have been planned, each taking place where there were no houses and, in the latter two incidents, where there was no road to allow a witness to pass. Would Fox or Hill have this local knowledge? But whoever was guilty must have followed the girls, they surely couldn’t have happened across three females on their own by chance.
He completed a few bits of outstanding paperwork then rang Rod Hill to see if he was at home. A few minutes later Jack was back in his car.
Laura Penfold bitterly regretted her decision to look after a neighbour’s dog for the weekend. It
was a large, shaggy mongrel which seemed to fill her cottage and which also seemed determined to trip Trevor up every time he moved.
‘Can’t you do something with that bloody thing?’ he’d demanded on Sunday morning when the dog, whose name, for some reason, was Petesy, rested its paws on the kitchen table and tried to take a slice of Cornish hog’s pudding from Trevor’s breakfast plate. He tapped it on the nose with his knife and continued to eat.
‘It’s only until tomorrow,’ Laura told him. ‘It’s the first break they’ve had for ages, and they could hardly miss their son’s wedding. He’ll be gone by lunchtime then we can do something together.’ Trevor was right, she should have refused. Petesy was loveable but had never been disciplined. And he needed walking twice a day. Laura hadn’t been able to go out with Trevor the previous evening because she had no idea what Petesy might do in her absence. This had led to one of the numerous arguments which had punctuated their marriage since the days of their honeymoon.
‘This is the very last time,’ she told Petesy as she fastened his lead on Monday morning. In jeans and a striped top she set off to walk him. Her hair was held high on her head in a towelling band. Trevor, watching from the doorway of
their home, could not help smiling at Laura’s bouncing corkscrew curls as she tried to keep up with the dog who was pulling at its lead. He knew she would not let it off the lead in case it failed to return when she called. That’ll teach her, he thought as he went in to study the sports pages of the Sunday paper, a treat he kept until he could be sure of no interruptions.
Laura reached the Promenade for the third morning in succession. There she encountered other dog walkers who were up and about early. Some had started speaking to her, imagining she was as enamoured of the shaggy dog as they were of their own pets. To avoid them she turned into Morrab Road and then went through the gate to the gardens. Ahead was a figure she recognised. ‘Lucy,’ she called.
Lucy turned around. Her face was pale but her eyes had lost their dull, lifeless expression. Within seconds Laura had caught her up as she was half-dragged up the slope by Petesy. ‘Sit,’ she ordered firmly.
Petesy stared at her, tongue lolling and then, surprisingly, did as he was told. ‘How are you?’
‘Not too bad really. I’m going back to work today. I can’t avoid it for ever, and Mum’s gone back, too. I just wish they’d find him, Laura. I’m looking over my shoulder all the time.’
‘I know. I’m sure there’re doing all they can.’ They began to walk side by side. ‘I just wish I could have given the police more help.’
‘Don’t think about it now.’
‘I went out with some friends on Friday.’
‘Did you?’ Lucy had sounded proud, as if she had achieved something special. Laura realised that she probably had.
‘Yes. I didn’t stay late but it was a start. And I’ve made it up with Sam. I don’t know why I was such a bitch to her. I’m seeing her tonight.’
‘That’s good news.’ They had reached the gate at the top of the park. Lucy would continue on towards the hairdresser’s where she worked while Laura would turn back and retrace her route. ‘And I saw Jason. Well, not to speak to. He was with another girl so that’s obviously over. She’s someone down on holiday so that won’t last either. She’s called Liz, apparently. I know all this because one of my friends went over to speak to him.’ She smiled wanly. ‘She has to know everything that’s going on.’
‘You don’t sound too upset about it.’
‘I’m not. It’s for the best really. And Sam was pleased.’
Laura nodded, not quite sure why that might be. Maybe Sam had been jealous of the
relationship. Anyway, she would relay the good news to Rose as soon as she got rid of the dog. ‘Take care, Lucy,’ she said, realising too late how her words must sound after what had happened to her. ‘Look, why don’t you and your mum come over tomorrow evening. Trevor’s sailing, we can have a drink and some supper.’
‘Thanks. I’ll check with Mum and let you know.’
Laura began the walk home. Her neighbours had said they would be back by twelve. If Trevor took himself off to the pub she would ring Rose for a gossip and join him later.
Rose’s face was browner than ever. All of Sunday and most of Monday had been out spent of doors. As soon as Jack had left she had thrown on her painting clothes and set off in the car. Already an idea had formed in her mind for her next piece of work.
She had parked in a lay-by on the Lizard Peninsular and clambered down to the shoreline. There, facing Poldhu Point, she had set up her easel. There was no one in sight, she had had the place to herself. To her right was the glistening sea with a few small breakers near the shore. Ahead was a cliff, rising steeply and covered with
wind-toughened grass at the top and, at her feet and spreading into the distance, were smooth boulders, their surfaces treacherous with hanks of bladder wrack and bright green slime which Rose thought might be called dulce. In the rock-pools the tendrils of anemones floated and shrimp-like creatures darted for cover. This she would capture in oils, the colours predominantly greens.
By Monday afternoon she had made a good start and returned home satisfied. The work would need to be completed quickly because the tide altered by roughly an hour each day and soon the water would cover the boulders during the hours when the light was right.
She showered away the heat and grains of sand and wrapped herself in her towelling robe. Feeling virtuous she went down to open some wine. ‘I should’ve known,’ she said no more than five minutes later when Laura appeared, her face also flushed from the sun.
‘Known what?’
‘That I couldn’t have an hour to myself.’
‘What on earth are you talking about? You’ve been out all day, I’ve kept trying to ring you.’ Without asking, Laura took a glass from the cupboard and held it out to Rose with a fake girlish smile.
Rose laughed. ‘Go on, help yourself. I thought Trevor was home.’
‘He is. He’s gone fishing.’
Rose nodded. She knew that Laura meant with rod and line and bait in the bay. A strange hobby for a deep sea fisherman but Trevor was not the only one who enjoyed it. ‘So you’re bored and decided to come and annoy me.’
Laura grinned. ‘Yes, that’s about right. Oh, I saw Lucy this morning, she’s gone back to work.’
‘Good. It’ll help take her mind off it all.’
‘I suppose so. And her boyfriend’s now out of the picture.’
‘What? Because of what happened?’ Rose was indignant on Lucy’s behalf.
‘Not exactly. I got the impression that it was more Lucy’s decision than his. Gwen told me she hadn’t been returning his calls. Anyway, she saw him with someone else and she says that’s fine by her.’
‘He didn’t waste time.’ Rose sipped her wine and reached for her cigarettes.
‘I don’t suppose he’s got much time. The girl’s down here on holiday.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘You’re not the only one with too much
curiosity. Lucy’s friend spoke to Jason and Lucy related the gist of the conversation to me.’
Down on holiday. Another teenage girl. ‘Where does she live?’
Laura laughed. ‘You’ve got me there. I didn’t get as far as finding that out, only that her name’s Liz. Why?’
‘I just wondered.’
‘Come on, Rose, I can see by your face there’s more to it than that.’
‘All right, there is. And I’m going to have to tell Jack.’ She paused. If her suspicions were correct then Lucy Chandler might be in trouble. ‘Dave Fox was taken in for questioning again.’
‘Rose, you’ve lost me already.’
‘Dave, my gardener. He was working on someone’s garden at a time when no one was home and the place got broken into. Fortunately the police now seem satisfied that it happened some time after he left.’
‘Rose, what have you got yourself into now?’ Laura was frowning as she pushed her glass around the table. Her friend’s aptitude to land in trouble worried her.
Over a second glass of wine Rose explained her theory.
‘If that’s true, and I think you might be right
after what you told me before about Jason, there’s unhappiness in store for several people. And, yes, you do have to tell Jack. But can any of this be connected to what’s happened to those girls?’
Rose shook her head. ‘Impossible to guess. But there are just too many connections for it to be coincidence.’
‘Look, I’m going now. Trevor promised he wouldn’t be late, which is no guarantee he won’t be, but I’d rather be there when he gets back.’ Laura stood and picked up her keys which lay on the table. ‘Ring Jack the minute I’ve gone.’
‘I will.’ Rose watched from the doorway until Laura was out of sight then went straight to the telephone. I should’ve mentioned this on Saturday, she thought, or even on Sunday morning. If I’d done so then I might have prevented this robbery and the anguish Dave and Eva have been through.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s me, Rose.’ She was surprised at the abruptness of Jack’s tone when he answered his telephone.
‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Well, I won’t keep you. It’s just that, well, there’s something I think you ought to know. It’s all guesswork, really, and it mightn’t be the same girl …’
‘For God’s sake, Rose, what are you talking about?’
‘There’s no need to snap.’ She waited.
‘All right, I apologise. Start from the beginning.’
‘Lucy Chandler’s ex-boyfriend, Jason Evans, is seeing a girl called Liz. I don’t know her surname or her address, only the fact that she’s down here on holiday. I also happen to know that the granddaughter of the family who were burgled is called Liz and that she’s staying with them.’
‘So?’
‘Come on, Jack, think about it. Perhaps she told Jason that no one would be in that day.’
‘So Jason’s our thief. Just like that you’ve solved several cases on the assumption of a girl’s first name.’
I don’t know why I bother, she thought as she inhaled deeply. ‘On a bit more than that, actually. Jason is unemployed yet he gave Lucy a very expensive looking watch.’
‘Perhaps he’s got savings, perhaps his parents give him hand outs.’
‘Okay, Jack. Goodbye. I’ll speak to you another time.’ She hung up. Of course Jack was right, she had next to nothing to go on but it did all seem to fit. He could at least have
listened politely instead of biting her head off. And then she felt guilty. He’s tired, probably very tired and these burglaries are nothing in comparison to rape and murder. Her hand was on the receiver to ring him back when her own phone rang.
‘I’ll send someone round to speak to Jason Evans. I’m sorry, Rose, I’m tired and hungry and the lack of progress in the Nicky Rolland case is getting to us all. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I thought when we had Dave Fox in again we might be getting somewhere and I’ve also had another word with Rod Hill. Witnesses prove he was in the pub all of that Sunday evening and he was seen in his garden around the time of Helen Trehearne was attacked. It looks as if he’s in the clear.’ He sighed. ‘Rose Trevelyan, you’re a very trying woman but I love you.’
Rose’s grip on the receiver tightened. It was rarely that Jack voiced his emotions and it always took her by surprise. Do I love him, she wondered. Yes, I do, in a way. In lots of ways. She had known that for some time but to admit it would lead Jack to expect more than she could offer him.
‘Friends?’ he asked, half guessing at what was going through her mind.
‘Yes, friends. Will you let me know the outcome?’
‘If I can. I’ll be in touch. And, thanks, Rose.’
She, too, was tired and hungry, but nicely tired, from a surfeit of sunshine and fresh air and satisfying work. It was time to make something to eat.
Later, she was thinking there was something almost decadent about going to bed early, when the sun was still shining, and lying in bed with the curtains undrawn, reading until darkness made it impossible to continue. But this is what she did. And then she closed her eyes and tried to decide what to do about the one thing she had not mentioned to Jack.