JT01 - In The Blood

by Steve Robinson

  Tayte came now to the verdict and read how the jury had taken no time in their deliberations, retiring only to huddle in the corner of the courtroom briefly before returning their verdict of guilty as charged. Tayte pictured Jowan and Davy standing before the judge to receive their sentence, their wrists and ankles bound in chains. In his mind he saw the judge place a nine inch square of black silk on his head: the black cap. The court would then all rise and the judge presiding would pronounce their sentence. The text was reproduced in full as it was spoken.

  ‘Jowan Penhale and Davy Fenton, you stand convicted of the horrid and unnatural crime of murdering Mawgan Hendry. This Court doth adjudge that you be taken back to the place from whence you came and there to be fed on bread and water till Wednesday next, when you are to be taken to the common place of execution and there hanged by the neck until you are dead; after which your body is to be publicly dissected and anatomised, agreeable to an Act of Parliament in that case made and provided; and may God almighty have mercy on your souls.’

  The forced cough Tayte heard at the entrance told him it was time to go. He stretched as he stepped away from the display. Then as he collected his notebook he noticed the further reading that was hidden beneath it. The passage heading read ‘Beyond reasonable doubt?’ The question mark at the end drew him in.

  ‘Three days after Jowan Penhale and Davy Fenton were hanged for the murder of Mawgan Hendry, a woman came forward proclaiming their innocence. Tamsyn Brown, a lady’s maid from Maenporth, further claimed that she had been sent to Helford Passage on the evening of Mawgan Hendry’s murder by her mistress to recover a box that her mistress had given to Mawgan Hendry earlier that day. She had said that her mistress was detained and that she had beseeched her to tell Mr Hendry that he was in danger.

  When asked why she did not come forward sooner, either before or during the trial, when her testimony might have made a difference to the outcome, she had said that her cowardly silence was out of fear for her own life, until her great shame and guilt had become too heavy a burden to bear. A post trial hearing of her evidence was scheduled for the following day, but the woman failed to show. As no account was given during the trial to suggest that Mawgan Hendry was carrying any such box, and as no accusation or evidence had been formerly presented, the matter was dismissed. Justice had rightly been served?’

  There was that question mark again. It left Tayte wondering, as it was supposed to, but it would have to wait. This time he clearly saw the woman in the mint-green cardigan approaching. He was on his feet before she arrived, already aware that he’d outstayed his welcome.

  “I really do need to close up now,” she said.

  There was a smile there somewhere, but Tayte had to look for it. “Sure,” he offered. “I’m just leaving. Thanks for your patience.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Outside, the sky was leaden. Tayte was pleased to see that the rain had stopped though as he made his way across the courtyard in the shadow of the towering granite jail. His thoughts returned to the anecdote he’d just read. It excited him to think that the box that had brought Amy Fallon to Bodmin might be the same box he’d just read about; the box Tamsyn Brown had been sent to recover from Mawgan Hendry the night he was murdered. It could corroborate the maid’s story.

  Tayte knew he had to see Amy again. She’d mentioned that she ran the Helford ferry service so he figured he could ask around in the village tomorrow to find out where she lived. He passed beneath the gatehouse archway and out into the car park. There was just one other car there now; a cream Volkswagen Beetle next to his, which he supposed belonged to the woman in the museum. It wasn’t until he was in his car and the engine was running that he noticed the folded slip of paper beneath his wiper blade. He killed the engine and retrieved what he supposed was an advertisement. Opening it, he knew at once that it was not. The paper was dry; it can’t have been there long. He pushed his door open again and launched himself from his seat, standing with one foot in the car and an elbow on the roof. He looked around, hoping to see who had left it, but it was quiet. A young couple with a dog passed by on the path next to the car park. They looked over then back to the pavement. A few cars drove anonymously past. Whoever put it there didn’t hang around.

  Tayte unfolded the paper. It was a photocopy of an old newspaper page. A section, circled in green highlighter pen, carried the heading, ‘Horrid murder! Missing woman found’.

  ‘The body of Tamsyn Brown of Maenporth was yesterday discovered in woods near the village of Constantine. The coroner’s report so declared that the deceased, a maid formerly in service at Rosemullion Hall, died at the hands of some inhuman monster after suffering repeated and barbarous attacks to her person, causing massive haemorrhaging of her internal organs. The deceased’s neck was also found to have been crushed post mortem.’

  Tayte checked the date at the top of the article. It read, ‘Thursday, June 9th, 1803’ - little more than two weeks after the hanging. He was puzzled as to why the note had been put on his windscreen, and by whom. The lump on the back of his head told him he had few friends where this assignment was concerned. He thought about the late arrival at the museum and easily convinced himself that the man’s behaviour was odd. Whoever left this was clearly dropping him a lead, though, a firm connection to the Fairborne family through this maid, Tamsyn Brown, who worked at Rosemullion Hall. Someone out there seemed to believe, or know, that the maid’s story was true.

  Lowenna’s maid. It fitted well enough. He recalled Emily Forbes’s story about Lowenna and remembered that she’d said Lowenna had arrived without her maid. Back then, a lady travelling without one was unusual and, according to Emily, the maid Lowenna grew up with hadn’t followed on later. She hadn’t arrived at all. But then, if Lowenna’s maid was Tamsyn Brown, how could she? She was dead.

  And if the maid’s story was true, Tayte considered, then the box Amy found had to be the same box that Tamsyn Brown was sent to recover; no other box could have led her to Mawgan Hendry. Lowenna’s box, Tayte thought. Another connection to the Fairbornes. And this was a connection that people were prepared to kill for. He felt the back of his head again and reminded himself of the death threat that had been sent to his cellphone after he’d been attacked. He considered then that if Amy was looking in the same places he was then she was in harm’s way too. This could no longer wait until morning. He had to find Amy and warn her.

  On the A39, south of Truro, an electric-blue Mazda 323 was being pushed to its limits. The driver was in a hurry to be somewhere and he gave little consideration to the rush hour traffic that was building around him. As he swerved off the A39, heading for Helston, his excitement grew. He knew who Amy Fallon was. He’d been watching her long enough now, knowing all along how important Ferryman Cottage was to his final goal. He knew the box had to be there at the cottage somewhere.

  He cursed himself again for not managing to secure the sale of the Helford ferry business when it came onto the market. If he had then it would all have been so much easier. He could have turned Ferryman Cottage inside out and no one would have been any the wiser. He would have found the box a long time ago, well before the American took an interest in the Fairbornes.

  Fairborne. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. He knew he had more right to that name than any of them.

  I must get that box! he thought. He was confident that it had surfaced at last. Amy turning up at the record office looking for a house history search had excited him. And the American… If the box had been found, then he was sure he’d given him enough information to lead him to it and hopefully bring it into the open.

  But he knew he had to be careful. He had to watch and wait just a while longer. He didn’t mind. He liked to watch Amy; liked to see what she was wearing and what book she was into. He thought she looked so peaceful when she was reading - like an angel with her head gently bowed in prayer. He was looking forward to seeing her again tonight.

  Chapter Thirty

&n
bsp; Tayte made good time getting to Helford Passage. He’d parked along from the Ferryboat Inn and was standing on the shingle beach beside the ferry pontoon, wondering what to do next. The empty ferry boat beside the pontoon looked tied off for the day. He checked the time: ‘18:22’. The notice-board in front of him told him he’d missed the last ferry by almost an hour and a half. There was no one around.

  His briefcase began to feel heavy. He stepped away from the water and looked back at the Ferryboat Inn. It was quiet, but there were several cars nearby. Someone inside might know Amy. He was about to head across the shingle and go inside when a last glance at the river stopped him. He was looking at the ferry boat. Beyond the canopy at the bow, a scattered plume of smoke drifted like chalk dust into the grey backdrop of low cloud. Tayte was up onto the pontoon in a second, looking down into the boat at someone he supposed was in his mid-twenties.

  The kid was lying on the moulded seats on the opposite side of the boat, nodding his head to whatever he was listening to on the iPod resting on his chest. He wore blue-and-white shorts detailed with a swirling sea foam pattern, and a navy sweatshirt that had ‘Southwest Airborne’ printed on the front in mixed fluorescent colours. Beneath the logo was an arty wire-line drawing of a hanglider. It made Tayte cringe just looking at it. The smoke was coming from something the kid no doubt knew he shouldn’t be smoking which, Tayte supposed, was why he was hiding out here where he thought no one could see him. His eyes were shut tight, away with his tunes in whatever place the substance he was smoking had taken him.

  Tayte put a foot on the boat and started rocking it to get his attention, but it only seemed to mimic the swell on the river. He slapped a hand on the canopy over the wheel. “Excuse me,” he called. He slapped the canopy again, a little harder. “Hello… Hey!” Nothing.

  Tayte stepped into the boat and it tipped under his weight, upsetting his balance, causing him to slip and fall the rest of the way, dropping his briefcase as his hands threw out to break his fall. Fortunately for Tayte, the kid took most of his weight. He shoved Tayte away as he sprang up, looking confused and acting defensive. His iPod was swinging from the strap around his neck, his in-ear headphones were out and dangling, and his spliff was floating in the river.

  “Eh, what’s your game, pal? The ferry’s closed.”

  Tayte got up and raised his hands in the air like he’d just been arrested. “Sorry. I slipped,” he said. “I was just trying to get your attention.”

  “Well you’ve got it all right. Jesus!”

  Tayte sat down. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped the damp grit from his hands.

  “What do you want?” the kid asked. “I already told you the ferry’s not running.”

  “I know. I just need some information.”

  The kid in the navy sweatshirt looked suspiciously at Tayte. “What sort of information?”

  “I met this woman today. Her name’s Amy Fallon and she said she had something to do with the ferry business.”

  “Amy? Yeah, I know her. She owns it.”

  “Well, I need to know where she lives,” Tayte said.

  The kid laughed. “And you expect me to tell you? Just like that? I don’t even know who you are.”

  “It’s very important,” Tayte said. He took out his wallet and pulled the largest bill he could find. “It’s worth a twenty.”

  The kid laughed again. “This might only be a summer job, but it’s worth more to me than that.”

  Tayte took out another twenty and he could see the kid was starting to look interested.

  “What do you want to see her for?”

  “This might sound a little crazy,” Tayte said. “But I think she’s in danger.”

  The kid came closer. He eyed Tayte up and down like he was about to measure him for new suit. “S’pose you look harmless enough for a foreigner,” he said. “Tell you what. Double what’s in your hand and I’ll take you to her.”

  Tayte smiled. He liked the kid’s eye for business, but he was no match. “Take me to her for forty,” he said. “And I won’t tell her what you do on her boat after-hours.”

  The kid looked beat. “Deal,” he said. He extended his hand and Tayte shook it, folding two twenties into his palm.

  “I’m Simon,” the kid said. He slipped past Tayte and untied the boat. “You’d better be on the level.”

  As they moved off, Simon handed Tayte a pole with a net attached to one end. “Hook my smoke out of there when we pass it, will you? That shit’s expensive.”

  Simon rammed the ferry boat into the shoreline at Treath like he was landing an amphibious assault craft on a beach under heavy fire. Tayte steadied himself as the catamaran’s hulls cut into the shingle then lurched to a full stop.

  Simon dropped the bow access ramp. “It’s that house there,” he said, pointing to the only house Tayte could see. There was a light on downstairs, repelling the onset of dusk.

  Tayte disembarked, jumping to clear the water, sinking his loafers into the damp shingle beyond a thin tide-line of river silt and vegetation debris. “Thanks,” he said. He slipped the kid another tenner. The fare seemed reasonable under the circumstances.

  Simon smiled as he stuffed the cash into his pocket with the rest. “How you getting back? I could wait.”

  Tayte could see the pound signs glinting in Simon’s eyes. “That’s okay, he said. “I’ve no idea how long I’ll be. I’ll get a cab.”

  He started off, admiring the teak motor launch moored up at the bottom of the garden. Behind him, he heard the catamaran’s access ramp rattle.

  “I’d rather the boss didn’t know about this,” Simon called. “Or about … well, you know.”

  Tayte threw him a grin. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe.”

  Tayte felt uneasy as he pushed the gate open. He stepped through beneath a full rose arbour that came alive in a breeze that had arrived without introduction. She’ll think I’m stalking her, he thought, but he knew there was no other way to handle this. He had to tell her what he knew. He walked the scything path that ran up to Amy’s front door and flicked at the letter box a couple of times; there was no bell push or knocker. His palms began to slip on the handle of his briefcase.

  The smile that greeted Tayte when the door opened put him back at ease, though Amy’s eyes were inquisitive. Settled into her faded jeans, oversized shirt and a pair of loose-fitting grey marl socks that could keep a fisherman warm on a rough night, she looked very different from when Tayte last saw her.

  “Hi,” he said. “Remember me?”

  Amy’s puzzled expression asked all kinds of questions. “Of course,” she said.

  Where to start? Tayte thought, but there was no easy way to say it, so he just rushed it out. “Look, I know this might be hard to believe, but I think you’re in danger.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  On a wide mahogany stool in front of a cold inglenook fireplace, a book rested on an oval wooden tray. The book was open, face down to keep the page, and beside it a glass of red wine waited. Amy settled back into the settee and tucked her legs up beneath her, wrapping a cushion in her arms as Tayte sat in the wing chair left of the fireplace. His briefcase was on the floor beside him.

  “Did you read the maid’s tale at the end?” Tayte asked.

  “I did.”

  Tayte reached into his jacket pocket and took out a folded slip of paper. “Someone left this for me,” he said, passing it to Amy. “It was pinned under my wiper blade.”

  Amy scanned the article. “Horrid murder! Missing woman found,” she said. She was nodding thoughtfully as she read the rest of the article, as though confirming some previous supposition. When she looked up again, Tayte could see that it troubled her.

  “My husband, Gabriel, disappeared during a storm on the river two years ago,” Amy said. “He told me he’d found something - said it was a secret and that he’d show me in the morning. He went out early that day and never came back. I think his
secret was that he’d already found the box.”

  A gust of wind rattled the windows and Tayte followed the sound, looking past Amy to a grey and dusky vista. His eyes were distant, somewhere on the river. “Secrets…” he said as the first spray of rain streaked the glass.

  Turning back to Amy, he said, “You should know that I was attacked yesterday. Whoever it was left a note telling me to go home. Another message threatened my life if I didn’t. Then I get this newspaper article pinned to my car, like someone’s trying to help. If you’re looking under the same rocks as me, you need to be careful. That’s largely why I came over.”

  He turned the conversation to the other reason he was there. “I don’t mean to be pushy,” he said. “But I’d really like to see that box?”

  “The box, of course,” Amy said. She got up and went to the back of the room, and Tayte watched with barely controlled anticipation as she opened the drawer beneath a tall display cabinet. He felt himself rising out of his seat to get an early peek as Amy lifted something out and pushed the drawer back with her socked foot.

  “It’s in good condition, considering,” Amy said. She sat on the settee with the box on her knees.

  “Touchdown!”

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh, you know. A defining moment, like wow - there it is!”

  Amy looked sympathetic.

  “It’s bigger than I’d imagined,” Tayte said, moving on. He sat next to Amy and she slid the box across. He read the initials and wondered whose name they belonged to.

  “Open it,” Amy said. “There’s a note inside.”

  Tayte finished admiring the carving on the lid and lifted it open to reveal the silk heart and the note beneath.

  “See what you make of it,” Amy said.

  Tayte unfolded the note and read it aloud. “Though we cannot be together, you will always have my heart.” He read Lowenna’s signature and smiled. “So this was Lowenna’s box.” All the pieces fell into place. “And her maid saw the real killer at work and was silenced for it. I never did like the convenience of the anonymous tip-off that led to the ferrymen’s arrest. It was an easy framing tool.”