by N. C. Lewis
"They asked nothing they haven't asked before." Chad tried to control his voice, but he couldn’t hide his alarm. "The woman officer is from Port St Giles, sharp but young. She asked about the storeroom."
"What did you tell her?"
"The usual. It's a storeroom, not enough space to hide a five-year-old girl. What else could I say?"
Vicar Briar fished around in his cassock and pulled out a cigar. "I feel sorry for Pearl. She was born and bred in St Bees, wrong side of the street, though. Still, I hear she brought comfort to many in her brief life. One hopes the Lord will give her a little credit for that. God knows she'll need it."
Chad felt a pang of sadness and with it the need to talk. "We were close, once."
The vicar's puffy cheeks reddened and his deep-set, small, dark eyes stared. "You were in a relationship with Pearl Smith?"
"I get lonely. I thought it would be good to have a woman in my life again. I thought it would help."
"Did it?"
"No."
"You still have the anger?"
"I control it."
The two men fell into silence.
Vicar Briar looked tired now, almost haunted. He lit the cigar and took a long slow suck. A plume of white smoke hissed from between his lips. He stared through the window at the sharp turn in the lane where the officers went.
"That poster in the window should drum up a nice bit of business." The vicar grinned. "Everyone loves a church fête, don't they? And a Saturday at the end of the month is when folk are flush with cash—bank accounts brimming with their pay cheques."
Chad licked his dry lips. "Do you think there will be lots of little girls?"
"Hoards." Vicar Briar spread his arms wide. "Bring plenty of boxes of those lollipops. Kids can't get enough of them."
"Will do," Chad replied. "I'll have more than enough."
Once again, the vicar's eyes drifted to the sharp bend in the lane. "We can't expect much from the likes of PC Hoon. Pearl Smith and Viv Gill's deaths will end up in a file collecting dust in the cold-case archive in Carlisle."
"They asked a lot of questions," Chad said. "So many questions."
The vicar offered Chad a cigar. "It will help. Come, let us smoke awhile."
For several more minutes, the two men smoked and watched the lane. Each in their own thoughts. Each enjoying the savoury aroma and waiting for the tobacco to work its magic. The low clouds turned a shade darker.
Vicar Briar said, "So, did you… see anything?"
"No."
"What about the attack on Dr Joy Hall?"
"Nothing."
"Then it is God's will, my son."
"But the killing… it is not finished."
"No man knoweth the ways of the Lord."
Chad looked at his hands, and he looked at the fat cigar. Yes. It was God's will, and he shouldn’t feel any guilt for what happened. None. Rest in peace, Pearl Smith. Rest in bloody peace.
Chapter forty-four
PC Hoon had only nipped home for a quick cuppa and forty winks, but Maude was at him like a dog on a bone.
"What you doing back here?"
"Give me a chance to take my coat off, dear."
"Don't you 'dear' me."
He shook off his coat and hung it with care on the rack. "What's that smell?"
Maude looked at him coldly and said, "Fish pie."
PC Hoon loathed fish pie. The smell turned his stomach, and then there were the small bones that Maude always missed when she dished it onto his plate. He'd have to pick through it with care, while Maude ate giant forkfuls, bone free.
Maude nodded towards the kitchen. "Sit yourself down, and I'll dish out a plate."
"Can't, luv. PC Finn is at Don's Café. I said I'd join her in an hour." He planned on a large plate of fries with beans and two fried eggs with a mug or two of Don's strong tea. Maude's fish pie would end up in newspaper and very deep down in the dustbin. "I'll have some fish pie when I get back. Right now I need a quick kip."
"Sid, we need to talk."
There was something about Maude's tone that sent a chill along his spine. He followed her to the kitchen where he sat at the table and watched in morose silence as she scooped out a generous forkful of fish pie onto a platter-sized plate.
"There you go," she said. Her mud-brown eyes stared until he picked up a fork and toyed with the glutinous stodge. "What's the matter; don't you like it?"
"Well…"
"Sid, you went through my dresser, didn't you?"
PC Hoon wasn't sure how to respond. He thought he had thrown her off the trail, covered his tracks, but here she was again asking about that bloody dresser. He couldn't tell her he knew about the life insurance policy. Not until he'd worked out all the details of how to get rid of her. His mind went over his plan. It wasn't ready yet, so he smiled and said, "What you on about?"
"Don't lie to me." Her eyes locked with his, daring him to disagree.
The cold stare sent another chill along his spine. She knew. Somehow, she knew. This was it, he thought, the showdown. It had been years in the making, and now the day had arrived. Anger began to brew. The cow had sucked him dry. Even wanted to cash in that policy over his rotted bones. No! He'd outlive the witch. He wasn't going to stand for any more of her crap. Not for a second.
"Okay," he said. "I went through your dresser and saw the bloody life insurance policy."
"How could you?" Maude stared, her eyes mud-brown pinheads.
"How could I?" PC Hoon couldn’t believe his ears. "I'm the one whose been cheated here. When I croak, you'll be counting the cash over my bones. I know your game, now. I know what you are up to."
"Silly sod, did you actually read the bloody thing?" Maude stared as though he'd just dropped from the rear end of a pigeon. "The policy is for me. If I die you get the money."
She fell silent, but the air crackled with rage.
PC Hoon looked at his plate of glutenous fish pie goo, scooped up a forkful, then put the fork down and said, "Are you sick?" He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. They sounded like he was eager to know she was ill, on her last legs and ready to croak. "I mean, is something wrong?" But once again his voice came out with too much levity. He wasn’t a bloody actor. How could he hide his true feelings?
Maude was screaming now. "This is the final straw. It is over. I want a divorce."
PC Hoon had dreamt of this moment, prayed for it. Still, he couldn't believe she would agree. But she said the words, hadn't she?
He said, "Well, that's—"
"Don't bother. We both know it has not worked."
This was mad; she'd agreed to a split, and he'd soon be free. Now all he needed was to make sure the witch didn’t snatch more than her fair share of his cash. He'd give her ten percent and call it quits. A wave of joy washed over him, a lightness as though heavy weights had been lifted from his shoulders. Unable to quell the excitement, he blurted, "When will you move out?"
"That's what we need to talk about." Maude waved a hand as if she were swatting a fly. "I need you to sign the cottage over to me."
"What!"
"You can't stay here tonight." She gazed towards the door. There was a suitcase packed—his.
"Hey!" PC Hoon jumped to his feet. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I don't want to fall out with you, Sid. I want our break-up to be on good terms. It is what you need. A fresh start with no strings. Me too. Come on, let's not argue." Maude reached under the table, pulled out a box, and tipped it onto the floor. Handbags. All sizes and shapes—an expensive one made of burnt-orange leather with straps, another, small and gold.
PC Hoon stared, eyes wide.
"You'll leave now and not come back, or I'll have a nice chat with your friends in the police." Maude grinned. "You get five hundred pounds. It is in the zip section of the suitcase. Now, finish your fish pie and get the hell out of my house."
Chapter forty-five
Dr Joy Hall opened her eyes, felt the pull of the IV line i
n her arm and realised two things. First, the room was awash with flowers, and there were cards in bright colours lined up on the windowsill. Second, she was being watched.
"Are you all right?" Jeffery walked to the flowers, sniffed, picked up a card, read silently, and put it back. "From PC Beth Finn. She'll go far."
Joy gave a weak smile.
Jeffery said, "And you, how goes it?"
"The drugs took my mind for a while, but I'm back now."
"It'd take more than drugs to kill that sharp brain of yours." Jeffery sat in the chair by the bed and touched her friend's arm. "But you do look like crap."
"Wish I could say I feel like crap, but I don't." Joy felt a pang of… she didn’t know what. "In truth, I feel worse."
"I'll not stay long, then. The nurse told me they'll bring your dinner at five. I see the team sent their best wishes." Jeffery fell quiet.
"I don't blame you for what happened," Joy said. "I don't blame anyone."
"Moss made a right balls-up of it." Jeffery's words came out in a rush. "Can't understand why they sent him to lead the case. I told the top brass as much this morning. Leave it to the local team; they'll clear it up. Not my fault if you sent a dud."
Joy said, "Did any of the crap hit you?"
"Nah. But if we don't get a result, that might change."
"And Moss?"
"Carlisle have unleashed the dogs."
"It wasn't his fault. I should have—"
"He'll be nowt but a bloody pile of fat and gristle when they are through. I gave him a good kicking, damn fool. I just hope they—"
Joy raised her hand. She wasn’t in the blame game. "I'm just trying to make sense of it. Weighing up what happened. What it means. I've worked with men like Perkins all my life. I get a kick from climbing inside their heads, figuring out what makes them tick wrong, and putting it right as best I can."
Jeffery said, "You are not to blame for this in any way."
Joy didn’t reply.
"Do you hear me?"
"Hmmm, I dunno. I could have—"
"Moss is carrying the can, and that is that." Jeffery paused a beat. "You need to focus on getting well."
"There'll be others."
"We've got that covered. Hamilton Perkins will not come near St Bees again for fear of getting snared in our net. We'll get him."
"I want to help."
"Don't let yourself get obsessed, Joy. You need to heal. What you went through is not just physical."
"I want to get out of here and help."
"Joy, no!"
"I can't just lie here for days on end. They'll need the bed soon, and if the doctor says I can convalesce at home, well, why not?"
There was a very long pause.
Jeffery said, "And is that what the doctor has said?"
"It would make me feel better to be at home." Joy knew how Jeffery's mind worked. Knew if she could spin it to her friend's benefit, she'd have an in. "Look, I know Perkins, know what he'll do. He'll be back and I can help."
Jeffery went quiet for two beats, then said, "I don't like it… but if in a few days the doctor says you can go home, well, I won't stand in your way if you still want to help. But you'll not be allowed near any night-time surveillance. Understood?"
Chapter forty-six
Fenella placed a log on the fire. She was in the lounge where they'd gathered after Nan's Sunday meal. They only used it when Nan had one of her fancy do's. The room was large with wide bay windows which looked onto the lawn. It was not yet dark, although dusk was creeping across the hedged fields which sloped away to the cliffs and sea. She loved this cottage on Cleaton Bluff. It was home sweet home. Always.
She turned from the fireplace to watch the room. Dexter gnawed on a chicken bone with a plate full to the brim of rice and peas, with sides of fried okra and plantain. His third. He'd been in a jovial mood since the visit with Nellie Cook. There was a mysterious gleam in his eyes. Not that most would notice, but Fenella had worked with him for years. Once, years back, when they first worked together, she'd seen that look. It took her a week to wheedle it out of him. His great-aunt had left him land in Tobago which he'd sold for a handsome sum. This time she'd not wait a week to get at his news. What was he over the moon about?
Nan and Malc Buckham sat in wing-back armchairs in a quiet corner by the floor lamp. Malc's mop of white hair gave him the look of a statesman, and he wore a pinstripe suit. Old school, Fenella thought. He grew up at a time when "Sunday best" was a thing. Nan, too, had changed into a floral dress, all floaty and frills, which matched the grin still stuck to her face after Fenella had first introduced them.
"So that's Dexter, eh?" Gail Stubbs stood at Fenella's side, holding a bowl crammed full of pie and cream. She wore a mauve blouse, stretch jeans with heeled clogs, and looked ten years younger out of her nurse uniform. She kept her voice low. "Likes his food."
"Aye." Fenella couldn’t help herself; her matchmaking brain was full on. "He's a touch gnarled and grizzled, but I think he looks a lot like Leo, if you squint."
"Nothing like," Gail snorted. "Leo is water under the bridge. Like I said, if he didn’t leave me, I would have left him. It was over a long time ago." She took a spoonful of pie, then nodded towards Jones, who had Lisa Levon on one side and PC Beth Finn on the other. "Your young detective is in demand. There'll be sparks with him for sure."
Fenella watched out of the corner of her eye. They were flitting around Jones like butterflies showing their colours. She'd not interfere in the private lives of her team, but she'd have a think about Jones, see if she couldn’t find him a match. Neither Lisa Levon nor PC Beth Finn were a good fit. Too close to the job.
She thought about PC Hoon. He'd not shown up. Shame. She'd hoped to meet his wife, Maude. Not that she wanted to pry, but the wives always talked, didn’t they? At some point she'd pop over to St Bees to say hello. You could never have too many friends, and being the spouse of a police officer wasn’t easy. It wouldn’t take her long to find out all about Sid Hoon. She touched Gail on the elbow. "And what do you think of Dexter?"
"How come you never introduced us before?"
"I thought you were happy with Leo."
Nan got to her feet and began to wander over.
Fenella leaned in close and whispered, "Come on, Gail, what do you think?"
"Might be sparks."
"Enjoying the pie?" Nan asked.
"The best." Gail took a large mouthful. "Might have thirds. Nice tang."
"That'd be Mr Bray's apples. He runs an organic farm not too far from here. I added them in with the blackberry for a change. Glad you like it."
Eduardo came into the room. He, too, held a bowl in his hand, glanced around, and went to sit next to Dexter.
Gail said, "Looks like Eduardo is a fan of your pie too."
"That sod will eat anything," Nan replied. "Had to keep the bugger away from the pot whilst it was still cooking. He's supposed to be on a diet."
Eduardo looked over, raised his spoon, and grinned.
"The man's got ears like radar," Nan said, then went over to sit next to him.
"And you," Gail said, "how goes the job?"
Fenella had long mastered the switch between work and home and dodged the question. She'd think about work later. This was her family time. She needed it to recharge, and said, "Work is as work does. How do you like life in the hospital?"
Gail paused for half a beat. "Nice. I've signed up for agency work a couple of evenings a week. I need the cash. The split with Leo came at a cost and I've got to rebuild." She took another spoonful of pie. "Think I'll have a natter with Nan's new fancy man."
She went to sit next to Malc. His rich, smooth voice boomed across the room as she told him something that made him laugh. Dexter, Nan, and Eduardo were all laughing too, and Jones grinned like a man in a jewellery store who'd been offered his choice of diamond rings. A pleasant time had by all, Fenella thought as she watched the room. Much better than the past few days and, she susp
ected, better than the week to come.
Chapter forty-seven
PC Hoon sat on the single bed in Mrs Lenz's spare room and shivered.
It was Sunday evening and so cold that his breath curled in the air like puffs of white smoke. Not exactly the lap of luxury. The card in the village shop window mentioned mod cons. He wondered if this referred to the electric light which gloomed a dim glow from a low-wattage bulb. There was nothing else modern in the room—a giant, grey-coin gas meter, yellowed net curtains, and a faint trace of mould. And he saw the shopkeeper staring at him through the glass as he read the card. Why couldn’t Chad Tate leave the past where it belonged?
He swore.
It was dark outside, and he'd no coins to feed the meter. Who the hell had coin gas meters these days?
A knock came at the door.
"Only me," Mrs Lenz said. She carried a tray with a plate covered by a silver dome. "Sunday meal included. I'm not a fancy cook, but it'll warm you up."
PC Hoon glanced about the narrow room. Mrs Lenz understood his concern. There was no desk or chair. The bed filled the space and even she had to sidle in with elbows pressed flat to her side.
"Not to worry, PC Hoon. You sit on your bed and enjoy. Sunday is the one time I let guests have food in their room." Mrs Lenz placed the tray on his lap and lifted the lid with a flourish. "Fish pie! My Alf's favourite. Leave the tray outside your door when you are done."
PC Hoon stared at the food. Bloody fish pie! He wanted to fling the plate at the wall and wrap his hands around Mrs Lenz's scrawny throat.
"Go on, then, take a bite," Mrs Lenz said. "It's my grandmother's eel recipe."
"Lovely," he said as he lifted a forkful to his mouth and sniffed. He nibbled. He would have to do without food tonight. What he really needed was warmth and that meant a few coins to drop in the meter. He'd known Mrs Lenz for years and decided to use his charm. Piece of cake, he thought, and gave a broad smile. "And that gas heater…"
