by N. C. Lewis
Pearl stood, walked to the gas cooker, opened the door, and pulled out a frying pan. She fiddled with it for a long moment and seemed flustered. At last, she said, "I ain't denying that, guess you've seen the letters. Yes, I wrote to him, but I stopped with that over a year back."
"Come and sit down, luv," Fenella said. "Tell us all about it. I'm listening."
Pearl hesitated. She walked back to the table, sat, and half closed her eyes.
"It began at the trial; I wrote to Harry to ask if he was guilty. To my shock, he replied… a long letter about when he was a child and all the bad things that went wrong. I wept as I read." Pearl stared at Fenella with a saddest eyes she'd ever seen. "Well, I wrote back to him, said what happened to him as a child was wrong, but I understood. Our letters went back and forth for years. It was romantic, you see, writing to a man behind bars."
Fenella said, "Why did you stop?"
"He got angry with me."
"Why?"
Pearl looked away. "I don't know."
"Yes you do." Fenella reached out, touched her arm. "Come on, pet. You'll feel better if you talk."
Pearl stared back through narrowed eyes. "I… I told him I was moving on. That our friendship was over. Finished."
There was a silence, and Fenella said, "Don't suppose you've kept any of the letters he wrote you?"
"Oh yes! Harry told me I was the first woman he'd met who understood him."
Fenella folded her arms. "Where do you keep the letters, pet?"
"In a box in my bedroom."
Dexter was on his feet. "Mind if I take a look, ma'am?"
"No." Pearl was at the kitchen door. "I'll go get them. Wait here."
She stood, glanced at the two detectives, and left the kitchen. They heard her feet shuffle up the stairs.
Fenella said, "What do you make of that?"
"Got something to hide," Dexter replied. "I'd bet a jar of fine ale on that."
He got to his feet, went to the sofa, and put on a pair of latex gloves. He glanced at the door, then grabbed the burnt-orange handbag and searched. They heard banging in the room above them, too loud for someone opening and closing dresser draws. What was she doing up there?
After a few seconds, they heard footfalls, heavy, and her feet shuffling back down the stairs. Dexter dropped the bag on the sofa, and they met Pearl in the hall with a cardboard box in her hand.
"Hey, I told you to wait in the kitchen!" Pearl yelled. "Why are you creeping about in my hall?"
"With all that banging, we thought something was wrong," Fenella replied. "Is everything all right upstairs?"
Pearl muttered something under her breath and handed over the box. "You can borrow them, but they belong to me. I want them back; do you hear?"
"Okay," Fenella said. "Dexter, can you give her a receipt?"
A tense silence fell over the hall. Dexter wrote out the details. Pearl opened the door to let them out. Upstairs, there was movement. A shuffling of feet. Dexter shoved by Pearl and bounded up the stairs.
"Hey," she yelled. "Come back!"
But Fenella darted after Dexter.
In the bedroom, a ratty-faced man struggled to pull on his trousers. Fenella stared in disbelief. She knew him well. Rodney Rawlings, reporter for the Westmorland News. The local paper sold in towns across Cumbria.
"Oi, Fenella, ain't no crime in having a bit on the side," Rodney Rawlings said. He zipped up his fly, narrowed his eyes, and added, "What you working on, then?"
Chapter twenty-nine
Chad Tate was in the storeroom when the doorbell tinkled. He wondered if it was the police again. They'd stop by to ask questions—the local bobby PC Hoon and a woman officer called PC Finn. He'd told them he hadn't seen anything and sent them on their way. Now, nerves jangled, he wondered, Why were they back?
He crept back into the store. What had they found? What would he say? But it wasn't the police standing by the checkout. It was Mrs Pearl Smith from Oak Grove Lane. She carried a canvas shopping bag with a burnt-orange handbag slung across her shoulder.
Chad froze.
He peered from between the shelves at the back of the store, uncertain what he would say.
"How do, Chad," Pearl said, her voice warm but tense. "Come out of the shadows so I can see you."
"What can I get for you, Mrs Smith?" He carefully kept his face a blank.
"Please, call me Pearl. There is no need to be stiff and formal, now, is there?"
Chad hesitated, felt a vein pulse in his neck.
"What do you want, Pearl?"
"Thought you'd like to know the police have been snooping around, asking questions about Harry."
"Why would that be of interest to me?"
"Because…" Pearl walked to where he stood and placed a hand on his chest.
"Don't," Chad said. "Your policeman friend won't like it."
"PC Hoon?" Pearl moved closer and put her arms around him. "He is yesterday's news. There is still something special between us, Chad. I only want to help."
Chad sniffed her floral scent, remembering. It was a sunny day and they were on the cliff trail. He’d carried a picnic basket while Pearl giggled like a teen. Their first date. The only one out in the daylight. She had worn a long, floral skirt with sandals, and they'd drunk wine and made love while the waves crashed against the rocks below. He was petrol to her hungry blaze.
In the following months they met like clockwork at Pearl's house when Chad locked up the store over lunch. Their relationship flickered like a flame in the breeze. Briefly. It ended six months ago, when they'd got drunk and shared secrets.
Pearl eased him away and opened her canvas bag. "I'm here for my weekly shop. Do you have any of those Alston pork sausages?"
"Cash only," he said.
"Come off it, Chad. Put it on the slate. I need a little credit cos it ain't been easy."
"I have bills to pay," Chad said. He watched her face. He'd never been able to tell what she was thinking. That made him uneasy.
Pearl turned and headed back to the checkout, swaying her hips as she walked. She placed the canvas bag on the counter.
"Fill it up, honey. My usual, and don't forget those Alston pork sausages."
Chad felt heat rise in his face. It wasn't right she still came in asking for free stuff. It wasn't right that he still gave it to her.
"I'll be back in an hour," Pearl said.
The door tinkled. He hurried to the window and watched. Pearl strolled across the lane to St Bees Priory. Chad couldn't take his gaze off her swinging hips, couldn't stop remembering.
A plume of grey smoke drifted out of the shadows. Vicar Briar stepped from the entrance, cigar hanging loosely between his lips. Pearl looped her hand around his arm. They chatted. Chad thought he heard Pearl's laughter ringing high and throaty like the peal of the church bell.
Chapter thirty
Don's Café was PC Sid Hoon's favourite place in St Bees to sit and waste away the work hours. His favourite place used to be his living room, where he'd lie on the sofa and watch the afternoon television shows.
That was before Maude moved in.
This morning, he sat with PC Beth Finn in his usual spot at the back of the café where he couldn't be seen from the lane. It was dark and dingy but away from prying eyes. Especially the watchful stare of the village shopkeeper who ate here too. PC Hoon made a point of avoiding the place at those times. He didn’t want to be reminded of the past. It was easy. Chad Tate was as regular as clockwork. He came to the café on Thursdays at two in the afternoon.
But today the café was empty. That's how PC Hoon liked it.
PC Beth Finn glanced at her watch. "About time we got on with the door to door, and let's look around some empty properties while we're at it."
"Righto, sounds like a plan," PC Hoon replied. "A bacon roll to go for me, Don, and while you're at it, you might as well top up our coffee."
"Coming up, my friend," Don replied. He was a short, middle-aged man with a greasy ta
ngle of curly brown hair, who waved his arms about as he spoke as though he were Italian. "How about a side of chips to go with it, seeing as it's nearly lunchtime?"
"Aye, that'd be lovely, mate," PC Hoon replied. "Throw in some baked beans to round it off."
PC Finn closed her notebook and sighed. "Come on Sid, it's nearly eleven a.m. We'll have to make fast progress now, else Moss will tear us apart."
"Relax. It don't take long to get around; it's only a small village." He winked. "We can stay here till lunch if you like; just don't let on to Moss."
"Come on, we've been here half the morning already. Let's go. We've got a job to do."
PC Hoon didn't think there was any point asking the locals questions. No one had seen anything. He thanked God for that. Viv Gill was dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Best leave well enough alone. But as a police officer, he knew it didn't work that way. With Moss on the scent, there'd be no end to it. The man was like a rat at a bone, wouldn't stop until he'd gnawed it through. And then there was Maude; she'd been acting funny over the past few days. That made his stomach uneasy.
"There you go," Don said, wiping his hands on his once white apron. He glanced at PC Finn and smiled. "It's a priceless thing of beauty, my bacon butty. Are you sure I can't tempt you with one?" he asked Finn.
"No, thank you."
"What about my famous King Kong fry-up? That would bring a smile to your lips."
"Coffee is fine, thank you," PC Finn replied. "Can you put it in a paper cup so I can take it with me?"
"For you, darling, anything." Don whistled as he strolled back to the counter.
"I'll wait in the car," PC Finn hissed. "Eat your food here. Don't want that grease to stink out the vehicle. And don't be long."
Chapter thirty-one
PC Hoon lazily wiped up the last of the beans with a slice of bread when the café door opened. Mrs Pearl Smith walked in, burnt-orange handbag slung over her shoulder. She sat at a table by the window and called out for Don.
"King Kong fry-up for one over here, honey."
"Righto," Don replied from somewhere in the back of the kitchen.
Without being completely conscious of his actions, PC Hoon stared across the tables. His eyes settled on Mrs Pearl Smith's handbag. It reminded him of something he'd seen in one of Maude's high-fashion magazines. He wanted a closer look.
For several minutes he watched as Pearl stared idly out into the street. Piece of cake, he told himself, then popped the last bit of bread into his mouth, munched, wiped his hands on the tablecloth, and ambled across the café.
"Nice morning for it," he said as he stood at Pearl's table.
Pearl looked up and smiled, her pale-dough face, like an undercooked doughnut. "How do, PC Hoon. Why don't you join me? Go on, luv. Grab a chair. It has been a hard morning, and I could do with a nice chat with an old friend."
He sat opposite Pearl with his back to the window, so he wouldn't be seen from the street and, in turn, could get a good look at her new handbag. It was a fancy design with a little brass plate above the latch: French or Italian. Expensive. Had she had a sudden cash windfall?
He said, "What's been going on in your world, Pearl?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Two of your lot came over this morning. Detectives Dexter and Sallow, do you know them?"
PC Hoon sat up straight. What were those two doing in St Bees? This was his village. The thought they were poking about, asking questions, sent alarm bells ringing in his head. His heart raced, and sweat oozed from his palms. Were they onto him?
"What was that about, then?" He tried to sound casual but felt the blood rushing to his head.
She peered at him with big, innocent eyes. "I've no idea what they wanted with me, but I answered their questions as best I could."
PC Hoon wanted to find out more, but Don appeared at the table with a large, greasy plate of his King Kong fry-up.
"There you go, luv," he said. "That'll put hairs on your chest. Are you having a nice chat with PC Hoon?"
"Aye," she said, patting her handbag. "And bring me a coffee in one of those paper cups, large. PC Hoon's a gentleman: he's paying, aren't you, honey?"
PC Hoon felt his chest compress. Another damn woman's hand taking money from his purse, but before he could protest, Don said, "Right you are," then wandered to the counter where the coffee pot gurgled.
Pearl flashed a puppy-dog face. "Ain't been easy these past few months. Cash is so tight. Seeing as you are paying, I'll save the coffee for later and order another King Kong to go. Why don't you get one for your supper tonight? They heat up real nice in the microwave."
PC Hoon looked at Mrs Smith, and he looked at her burnt-orange handbag. Now that he'd relish what he planned to do, he'd enjoy it to the max. Like a dog that tastes human blood, there was no going back.
Chapter thirty-two
It was a little before 3:30 p.m. when Inspector Moss and Dr Joy Hall met in the superintendent's office. A quiet talk to go over what they had found at the Seafields Bed & Breakfast and plan the next steps.
Dr Joy Hall felt a pang of sadness as she looked at her close friend. Veronica Jeffery seemed tired and tense. The death in St Bees weighed heavy, and there was pressure from the top brass to get a quick result. It showed on Inspector Moss too. His eyes were puffy with the stare of a man who'd already run out of ideas. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"Thought I'd better put you in the picture," Jeffery said. "Carlisle are asking for an update, twice a day. The good news is we have kept the media at bay, but I don't think that will last more than another day or two. Still, tell the troops if there is a leak, I will have their head." She turned to Inspector Moss. "Any news?"
"I'm sorry to say we have made no progress at the bed and breakfast. Our officers have swept the grounds and worked through the house, but they have found nothing."
Moss spoke in a flat voice that made Joy wonder if he had already given up hope of a breakthrough. It felt as if they were one step behind and losing ground fast. Would they catch Hamilton Perkins?
Moss was speaking. "The team have worked hard, but I'm not hopeful they'll find anything new. The man is long gone."
Joy said, "What about the envelope? I heard it was addressed to Low Marsh Prison. Was there a letter inside?"
Moss shook his head. "Just a return address on the back. A Mrs Pearl Smith, who lives in St Bees."
Joy stood, walked to the window, and began to pace.
"What is it?" Jeffery asked.
"A Mrs Pearl Smith wrote to Perkins when he was in prison. He talked about her all the time, and told me her first letter showed up at the start of his trial." Joy paused, remembering. "Over time, the letters became quite intimate but stopped a year or so ago. Perkins never said why."
Moss said, "That's also been confirmed by Sallow and Dexter, ma'am. I sent them to St Bees to have a word with her."
Jeffery thought about that for a moment and said, "Any chance she is hiding Perkins in the house?"
Moss shook his head. "Not a chance. It appears she is in a relationship with another gentleman, local reporter by the name of Rodney Rawlings, and hasn't spoken with Mr Perkins in quite some time."
"Do we only have her word on that?" Jeffery asked, a sharp edge to her voice.
Again, Moss shook his head. "Dexter and Sallow caught her new fella with his pants down, as it were. It is quite clear that Mrs Pearl Smith has moved on."
They fell into an uneasy silence. Joy thought about her job in the prison service, the regular hours, the certainty of it all. This was very different; the police never knew what would come at them next. It made her mind dizzy. There were so many possibilities, with only one thin path to the truth. How could she help?
Moss said, "Here's an idea, ma'am, that you might want to float to Carlisle, give us a little bit of time, ease the pressure."
"Go on," Jeffery said. "Please go on."
Inspector Moss steepled his hands, and his eyes darted to Jeffe
ry and Dr Joy Hall. "Okay, let's try this for size. We know Mr Perkins is in the area, know he killed Viv Gill, and according to Dr Hall, we know he will strike again."
"An adult, this time," Joy said. "I'm absolutely convinced of that fact."
Moss rubbed his hands and spoke in a low whisper. "So we wait."
"For what?" The question came from Joy.
"For him to attack some poor bugger. Adults ain't as easy as children. He'll slip up, and we'll nab him. All we have to do now is wait."
Joy was on her feet, shouting. "That is totally irresponsible, Inspector Moss. We can't leave it like that. Hamilton Perkins must be caught and put back behind bars before he kills again." She couldn't help herself, had to tell them what was on her mind. "It's time to go to the news media; tell them what we know; get them on board; make an appeal to the public. Someone saw something. Someone can help."
Chapter thirty-three
Jeffery said, "Please sit down, Joy, and let's walk through this, see what is possible."
Joy felt embarrassed by her outburst, thought she saw Moss sneering, slumped back into her chair, her head spinning. She'd made a fool of herself by letting her emotions show through. But they were the police, and their job was to track down and capture and put bad people away. She'd never have imagined that the police would just wait and do nothing, not in a million years. If she ran Moss through a psychological assessment, she was sure he would fail. How could he suggest doing nothing? Nothing wouldn’t look good as the last chapter of her book. Her stomach churned.
Jeffery drummed her fingers on the desk. "Carlisle wants a quick result. They know they'll be under immense pressure when this leaks out. To sit on our hands for Perkins to make the next move won't cut it. I'm sorry, Moss, but to wait is out of the question."
Joy said, "So we go to the press?"
Jeffery didn't answer for two heartbeats, then said, "Anyone got a better idea?"
Moss spoke first. "We know Perkins is still in the county, right?"
