Caught Out in Cornwall

by Janie Bolitho

  On the opposite side of the road she saw Susan and Katy. Katy was holding her mother’s hand. For once the child looked relaxed as she pointed to something amongst the reeds. Doreen waved but they didn’t see her. I wonder if Rose has said anything to Jack, she thought as she made her way towards the baker’s where she now bought her bread. Once, she had made it herself, but that was in the days when Cyril was in full-time employment and she didn’t have to go out to work. Fortunately his redundancy hadn’t come until after her boys had left home.

  At least Katy’s with her parents, not like that poor little Beth, Doreen told herself as she waited to cross the road. She decided she would telephone Rose later to see if there had been any developments on either count.

  Jack spent Saturday afternoon at home. He had done all he could at the station and was satisfied that a tactful, fatherly officer would be despatched to the local schools on Monday morning. He had had to have his decision endorsed from above but when he explained that there might be a connection between the two, possibly three children the hesitation had only been brief. Anything was worth a try at this stage.

  He had rung Rose’s number. There was no reply but he decided not to leave a message. Sitting in his armchair he wondered if the rain would ever stop. With a beer in his hand he watched some sport but it wasn’t long before he realised he was bored. He picked up the telephone and got someone at Camborne to check the computer to see if the name Overton appeared for any reason. ‘Call me back at home, please,’ he said. ‘I’ll be here for an hour or so.’

  And then what? He really ought to go and visit his mother. It was over a fortnight since he had seen her. She was a proud and independent woman and wouldn’t dream of asking him to come and he knew he should make more of an effort. When he did visit he never stayed long. As much as she loved her son, Amelia Pearce only endured short visits. But she always takes an interest in my job, Jack thought. Perhaps he could see if she had any suggestions.

  Twenty minutes later the telephone rang. ‘There’s nothing on anyone named Overton, sir,’ he was told.

  Jack put on a jacket and picked up his car keys and drove to Newlyn then up to the village of Paul where his mother lived in a cottage which was badly in need of decoration – although she refused to have anyone in to do it, even though Jack had offered to pay the bill. ‘I like it as it is,’ she’d told him. ‘And it’s not as if it’s dirty. At my age people don’t want change. You’ll find that out for yourself one day, young man.’ Jack had smiled at that. He was fifty; to his mother, now seventy-seven, he probably did seem young.

  Amelia was frowning when she answered the door. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Her expression changed. She was always pleased to see Jack. ‘You haven’t brought your lady friend to see me for some time. Is everything all right between you?’ she asked as he followed her to the kitchen. His mother drank more tea than anyone he had ever met.

  ‘Yes. Everything’s fine. She’s been busy lately so I haven’t seen much of her myself.’

  ‘Still doing your job for you, is she?’

  Jack grinned. His mother didn’t miss much. ‘Hopefully, this time, she’s not.’

  ‘The missing child?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah.’ Amelia turned her attention to the tea things.

  Jack noticed that although she was smartly dressed and her hair pinned up neatly, there was more of a stoop in her shoulders than he recalled being there before. ‘Ah, what?’

  ‘She won’t be found alive, will she?’

  ‘That’s what we’re beginning to think.’

  ‘I spoke to Norma Penhalligon about it only this morning. She told me the child’s father turned up last night.’

  Norma Penhalligon? That was a name Rose had come out with, too. Mrs Penhalligon was Sally’s landlady. He knew what Rose was like when it came to knowing people, but he hadn’t expected the same of his mother. ‘You know her?’

  ‘We went to school together. You must’ve heard me mention her name.’

  Jack couldn’t recall her doing so, probably because until the case had started he had never met the woman. He had not met many of his mother’s friends for some time now because she discouraged them from visiting her. He did know, however, that her telephone bill was higher than most because this was the way in which she preferred to keep in touch with the outside world. ‘What’s Norma like?’

  ‘What an odd question,’ she said as she handed him his tea. ‘A normal old lady, like me.’

  Jack smiled to himself. He did not see his mother as normal. ‘I mean, is she trustworthy?’ He was thinking about the visit to Carol Harte’s house she had made with Rose and if there was more to it than concern for the sister.

  Why would the pair of them have put themselves out? In Rose’s case it was probably due to her innate curiosity but Norma Penhalligon may have had ulterior motives.

  ‘As much as anyone can be. She would never do anyone any harm and she’s not one to gossip, and that, as you know, is damn unusual round here. You can’t possibly think she’s got anything to do with it.’

  Not until this minute, Jack thought. The woman obviously hadn’t taken the child herself but she knew the family and might have a reason for wishing Beth or her mother harm. ‘No, of course not,’ he answered. His mother was discreet but he could not risk her ringing her old friend and hinting that she might be a suspect.

  ‘You don’t know where you’re going with this,’ Amelia stated, seeing in her only child’s face what was going through his mind.

  ‘No, we really don’t. Rose claims the child went willingly. It has to be someone that knows them.’

  ‘Rose?’ Amelia smiled. ‘I might have guessed. I suppose you’re not best pleased that she’s involved, however peripherally’

  ‘You’re dead right I’m not.’

  ‘Is that the time? My favourite radio programme’s on in a minute.’ Amelia stood and walked over to the worktop where her old but reliable radio was placed.

  Hint taken, Jack thought as he, too, stood. He kissed his mother’s wrinkled, powdery cheek. ‘I’ll be off then.’

  ‘Jack, dear, look to her relatives. If you ask me, someone’s not talking, or, at least not telling the whole truth.’

  He nodded and let himself out, as his mother was busy fiddling with the volume control.

  It had stopped raining. He started to make his way home, driving past the church in the village of Paul where the last woman to speak Cornish as her natural language was buried. The roads were wet and droplets of rain sparkled in the hedgerows but a drying wind was picking up. Jack no longer cared whether or not it was wet; his frustration was building up and he was beginning to feel useless. The empty evening stretched ahead of him with no Rose to share it. She had told him she was having dinner with her father. He wished that he had also been invited. Maybe Barry Rowe fancied a drink or something to eat. He was far more sociable in recent months.

  But when he got home and dialled Barry’s number there was no reply. The man hadn’t even got an answering machine for the flat although there was one for the shop line. Quite who he expected to ring the shop after closing time was beyond Jack, but he supposed Barry had his own reasons for this.

  After a makeshift meal he washed up then read for a while. At ten thirty feeling exhausted even though he had done nothing, he went to bed and tossed restlessly until sleep finally overtook him. But not for long.

  He woke at three and went to the kitchen to make tea. The cushioned floor covering was cold beneath his bare feet. The flat had become chilly since the heating had switched itself off.

  A dream had woken him; one of those endless, meaningless dreams in which numerous people appear who bear no resemblance to anyone in real life. Jack could not understand why such a harmless dream had woken him for it had no nightmare quality, only that it had left him feeling exhausted.

  Shivering, he took the tea back to bed. It was still warm from the heat of his body beneath the duvet. He wished that Rose was
beside him. It seemed an age since he had spent some proper time with her. She would have woken when he did, she always sensed his first movements almost before he made them. Was she sleeping now, he wondered. Her nights were occasionally disturbed, and Beth would be very much on her mind. Odd that she hadn’t mentioned her, or shown signs of becoming more involved with the family. More likely, she had done so and was keeping the fact from him.

  He began to think back over the day. The sense of frustration returned. The schools thing was all set up but he had not been able to contact Michael Poole who had rung the station that morning whilst Jack was engaged on a long telephone conversation concerning another case. Twice the man had tried to get through but he had not left a number. Jack, assuming he was at his Looe address, had tried to get hold of him there. Only when he had left the station and called in to see his mother did he learn that Poole, contrary to what he had been advised, was in the area. Consequently, he had not previously thought of ringing Sally’s number. He did so after leaving his mother’s house. By then he was too late.

  ‘Yes, he was here earlier but he’s gone now,’ Alice Jones had told him. ‘He drove down last night. He couldn’t not come, he said, and I don’t blame him.’

  Jack understood that. No matter that their presence would make no difference, people always wanted to be on the spot. ‘Do you know where I can reach him?’ he had asked.

  ‘No. We only know that he’s found some accommodation in Marazion.’

  ‘Does he have a mobile phone?’

  ‘If he does, we don’t have the number and he asked to use this phone earlier. Oh,’ Alice stopped speaking. It sounded as though she had placed her hand over the mouthpiece and was talking to someone else. ‘Sorry. That was Sally. I made her lie down for a while but she heard the phone.’

  Jack knew the effect it would have had on her. Initially, each time it rang she would have been expecting good news. By now her expectations would have swung the other way. ‘Have you any idea why he wanted to speak to me, Mrs Jones?’

  ‘All I know was that he was upset about the search being called off, but if there was anything else, he didn’t say.’ She paused. ‘I’m glad he’s here, he’s a good man, Inspector Pearce, and he’s never missed making payments for little Beth.’

  So he was making payments for the child. He must look into that aspect further. ‘The search hasn’t been called off altogether. We’ve still got plenty of officers out looking for Beth.’ But not as many as there were, and not as many as I would like, he had thought. ‘If Mr Poole should contact you again would you ask him to give me a ring at Camborne or on this number.’ He recited his mobile number, the one supplied with the job. The private numbers of police officers were always unlisted for safety reasons.

  Alice had promised to pass on the message but no call had come. It wouldn’t now, not at three thirty in the morning.

  Jack turned off the light and managed to fall asleep again some time later.

  Carol knew the real reason for her distress and she hated herself for it; that and her cowardice. It was all based on guilt of course. What a weight of it she had had to bear and it would never end now. How pointless her actions had become, and how very, very selfish. But she had always been selfish. What was amazing was that the whole plan had been accepted, although not by everyone because there were people who had been left in the dark.

  Even though she was used to being alone a lot of the time, the bungalow had an empty, lifeless feel to it that evening. As it grew dark she put on all the lights and pulled the curtains. How strange it had been to see Michael again after such a long time. Now and then they spoke over the telephone but never for long. Carol was too afraid that the truth might come out.

  She paced the immaculate lounge, listening to the wind rattling the bare branches of the trees and the faint creak of the shed door which told her that the wind was westerly; a kind wind, usually a mild one which often brought rain. If only someone would be kind to me, she thought, ashamed of the self-pity when she had brought it all on herself.

  She walked to the window and drew aside one of the curtains. Leaning her hot head against the cool glass she saw nothing but the blackness outside. ‘Beth, oh, Beth, what I did was so very wrong,’ she whispered.

  No one would ever forgive her for what she had done to the child. And how much of the truth Marcus had guessed at she couldn’t bear to think about.

  Marcus realised that the days he had taken off to be with Carol had been wasted. Her husband and children were away, as arranged, yet he had hardly seen her.

  He had not really meant what he had said about telling her husband. He loved her but he didn’t want her on those terms, and if she had decided that she didn’t want him, then he would have been hurting the man unnecessarily. What he really wanted was a straight answer and he’d hoped to shock her into making one.

  Carol had refused to see him again until Sunday. ‘I’ll call in on the way to collect the children,’ she had promised.

  Naturally, Marcus had to assume her answer would be no. If she needed time to think about it there was no point in continuing.

  Of course, part of the reason for her state of mind was the disappearance of her niece. She loved the little girl. But he also gathered, from unguarded comments, that the same feelings were not extended to her sister, Sally.

  With no other plans for a Saturday night, Marcus took himself to the cinema. Anything was better than sitting at home alone and he did not feel like socialising. The Savoy, in Causewayhead, now had three screens and a plaque which proudly announced the fact that films had been shown continuously ever since it had opened, despite the war. It was the only cinema to have done so. Marcus was aware of this but as he sat through a film, the plot of which only vaguely registered, he couldn’t have cared less.

  Was it a coincidence that Carol’s family were all away at the time Beth was taken from that beach? But why would she wish to harm a child she claimed to love so much, he asked himself as the credits finally rolled and people were getting up, ready to leave.

  He put on his coat and followed them out into the night. He had watched an early performance, it was only just after eight. If he hadn’t met Carol he would have been anticipating a night out with friends, not about to return home alone. I’ll ring her, he decided as, hands in his pockets against the chill, he headed towards his flat which was situated up a side street just past the railway station.

  A train was pulling out, a 125, brightly lit, the passengers clearly visible. Marcus wished he were on it, wherever it was going. But I’d not get an answer from Carol then, he realised. Deep down he knew that solution would probably be for the best, but the idea of it happening was unbearable.

  Walking past a plate glass window of an unlit shop, Marcus realised that the hunch shouldered man reflected there was himself. If it hadn’t been for his height and his close cropped blond hair he would have thought it was a stranger.

  Back at his modern, purpose built flat he felt glad of the warmth and familiar surroundings. He had never married because he had never found anyone he wanted to share his life with, not until he met Carol. He would have taken on her children, too, if that was what she wanted.

  But he had no idea what she did want. He picked up his cordless phone and carried it out to the kitchen where he pulled down the blind because the people in the building opposite could see straight in when the light was on. There was some beer in the fridge. He might as well have one. In his anxiety he poured it too fast and it frothed up over the edge of the glass and left a pool on the worktop surface. Disregarding this, he took a sip, wiped the foam from his mouth and dialled Carol’s number. It rang for a long time. There was no reply, nor did the answering machine click on. She had told him that she was staying in, that she needed time alone to think.

  So where, exactly, is she? he wondered as he made another call, this time to order an Indian takeaway. He was told it would be ready in forty minutes. Going to collect it would give him someth
ing to do, for which he was grateful.

  Admitting that showed the state of his own mind. Never before had he felt so restless and so in need of Carol’s company.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Michael Poole was unable to face the meal placed in front of him. There was nothing wrong with the food: it was a perfectly cooked Cornish breakfast with a generous helping of the local Hog’s Pudding. He had no appetite since the police had first visited him and everything he ate tasted the same. However, he knew that he must eat something if he were not to become ill. He had sat drinking cups of the strong tea until his eggs had gone cold, feeling it wrong to be sitting in front of a full plate whilst his daughter might be starving, or worse. If she was even alive, he amended grimly.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really can’t finish this,’ he said when the landlady came to clear the table.

  ‘I understand, dear. No one feels like eating when they’ve got problems. Can I get you some toast?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ He went back up to his room and tried the number for the Camborne police station again. This time he was in luck; Inspector Pearce was available.

  ‘Thank you for getting back to me. What can I do for you, Mr Poole?’ Jack asked. Several cups of black coffee had not repaired the damages of a disturbed night but his mood improved because there might be a lead here.

  ‘I want to know why you’ve called off the search. You can’t just give up like that.’

  Jack explained, as patiently as he was able, that this was not strictly the case. ‘What it actually means is that some of the men have been stood down. We still have a large number of people out there looking for Beth.’