What every body is saying: DI Tregunna Cornish Crime novel

by Carla Vermaat

  ‘I’d go mad if I could understand them!’

  I don’t answer, but let the silence speak for itself instead. She seems to relax, her shoulders are less tense, the knuckles of her hands on the steering wheel are no longer white.

  ‘It’ll help if we know the victim’s identity,’ I say casually. ‘We can make more progress as soon as we know more about his life. I’m sure it will lead us to the person who did this to him.’

  ‘Man,’ she corrects, angry again. ‘Not a person. A man. I can’t think of any woman who could do such a thing to anyone.’

  22

  The street outside the school is cluttered with cars lining up on both sides. I manage to park behind a tattered red car with a surfboard tied on its roof with pieces of rope that look so weathered I wouldn’t trust any of my precious property to be held by it. Before getting out I check for messages and missed calls, but none is important enough for a reply.

  I find Gerald Davey in a large room on the first floor. Windows overlook the playground and entrance way. His smile is friendly, his eyes alert.

  ‘I’m still not convinced if this is the right thing to do, inspector.’ He’s in blinking mode again.

  I don’t respond. We’ve had a long conversation on the phone. Eventually, I persuaded him to let me come to the school and have a word with Leanne. He isn’t quite convinced that speaking to Siobhan is a desirable option from his point of view. Her father is an influential man. Bold. Someone who won't hold back when something angers him. Acknowledging his point of view, I have postponed to come to the school. Until now. My earlier attempts to have a word with Leanne have failed. Her claim that she didn’t feel well enough to talk to me were confirmed by her parents, who don’t seem to be as cooperative any more either. Whereas Leanne, being the eldest of their five children, has led a reasonably free life, being treated more or less as a young adult, but they are now watching her with eagle eyes and treating her like a young bird that is too eager to fly before her wings are strong enough.

  ‘I appreciate your help, Mr Davey.’

  ‘I guess there is no other way,’ he says, shrugging.

  ‘If you have second thoughts?’ I query, hoping he hasn’t changed his mind. Allowing me into the school to talk to Leanne Lobb whilst knowing that her parents are, for some reason, reluctant to let me speak to her in private, might well cause him trouble. But he doesn’t really believe in the latest code of conduct, and thinks that some government rules regarding safety and privacy have gone way too far.

  ‘If I stuck to the rules, I wouldn’t be able to teach them anything,’ he complained to me earlier, when he brought up the subject. ‘Oh well, all right, inspector. But let’s make sure that we keep it indoors.’

  I’m not all that sure Leanne will agree to see me, but it doesn’t seem to occur to him that she may be the weak link in our little conspiracy.

  He rises from behind one of two desks with a small table in between, on which are a printer copier and a tray with a pile of blank paper. His laptop is open and I see a familiar logo on the screen.

  ‘Are you on Facebook?’

  My question catches him off balance. He blinks. Caught using social media in working hours. Who doesn’t nowadays? Everyone lives with a mobile phone glued to their hand, convinced that without being digitally connected life will come to complete standstill. When you drive past road workers, you sometimes wonder who is actually working and when the multiple potholes will be filled. And customers go through the aisles of supermarkets with one eye on their phone as if they are checking their shopping lists.

  ‘Part of the job,’ Davey says with a sheepish grin.

  ‘How’s that?’

  He looks around him as though he expects his colleagues to pop out from a hiding place shouting ‘Boo!’ Lowering his voice, he continues, without blinking, ‘You’re not supposed to know this, inspector, but I use an alias. I need to know what my pupils are up to.’

  ‘That’s illegal.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He shrugs, meaning that he won’t change his mind, whatever I say.

  ‘You are not who you pretend to be. A peeping Tom?’

  ‘I don’t do any harm, inspector. I just want to know what goes on in my pupils’ minds. I want to protect them from other people on the internet who are less trustworthy than me. We both know how vulnerable young people in that age group can be. Think of radicalism, drugs, suicide.’

  ‘If you find our something … what do you do with that information?’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘Have you ever seen such information? Do you have examples?’

  His mobile vibrates on his desk, moving towards the edge. He frowns, blinks and picks it up looking at the screen. 'Excuse me, inspector, I'll have to take this call.'

  'Of course.'

  He turns his back to me as if to let me know that the conversation is strictly personal, yet his voice is loud enough for anyone to hear him.

  His responses are curt and sharp, cutting the other person off as he or she, apparently, wants to say something.

  'No, no, please listen to me. - It's going to be all right. - Just leave it to me. - No, Simon, just go to bed and sleep. – Everything will look better once you've done that. - No, listen mate.’ He waits several seconds, minutes, listening. ‘So you're considering it now, are you? Good for you, mate. - I love you. - Yes, of course I will support you. No problem mate, but please don't do anything foolish. – Do nothing you will regret once you're ...'

  Once again he is quiet for a long time, then turns to me with a sheepish grin. 'Hung up on me.'

  'Is everything all right?'

  'I hope so.' He blinks and slides his phone into his pocket. 'My cousin. He drinks. A lot, these days. I kind of try to keep him on the right track, but it doesn't always work. Sad story really. He’s the eldest of my Nan's grandchildren. He used to bully me and our other cousins. Hard to believe as it's quite the opposite now. He married the most beautiful girl in our town. She has a better job, earns more money, popular with everyone. Basically, she’s superior to him in many ways.’ He pauses. Thoughtful. ‘He started drinking because he got depressed about it. Lost his job. Now, his wife despises him, thinks even less of him. I guess she would rather be rid of him but since he hasn't been able to find a new job, it’s now up to him to look after their children. I presume it’s much cheaper than paying for child-care. Catch-22 really. He's in a downward spiral and calls me every so often when his wife has kicked him out - and I mean literary kicked him out. He stays at ours for a while to sober up until she’s full of regret and apologies and begs him to come back.' He smiles ruefully. 'The classic situation, if you ask me.'

  'It's good of you to help.'

  ‘We all do what we can, inspector. Now. You were saying?'

  ‘I wondered if you can disclose further information about the use of drugs and alcohol, or other irregularities related to the school.’

  ‘No. Well, yes inspector, but let’s say it is a hypothetical case, shall we?’ I don’t respond but he continues anyway. ‘I’m a member of a student Facebook group and they believe I’m one of them. One day I noticed a post from someone offering drugs in the school playground. We caught him red-handed.’

  ‘You can say that, Mr Davey, but how can I be sure that you to catch those students? You could be buying and selling those drugs yourself.’

  ‘I’m not a user.’ His eyes are wide open. Not blinking. Eyelids not even fluttering.

  ‘Most drugs dealers aren’t.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I deal in drugs?’

  ‘No. I’m saying that what you do is not right. It’s illegal. And it can bring you trouble.’

  ‘I’m protecting my pupils.’

  He looks sincere enough to believe him, but you can never tell whether someone is telling the truth. There are scientists studying body language and they can be ninety-five per cent right, but the other five per cent is all the more worrying.

  ‘Suppose I knew about
Leanne’s secret trip to that pop concert,’ he argues. ‘What would you say I should have done? Say nothing and let it happen? Or step in?’

  ‘Step in,’ I say, too quickly.

  He grins. ‘There you are, inspector.’

  ‘Leanne is under age. She isn’t even allowed to miss a day at school. Her parents can be fined for that.’ I look at him. ‘Mr Davey, did you know about their plans?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He looks genuinely offended. ‘I would have told you the first time you were here!’

  ‘Did you find any … suspicious messages afterwards?’

  ‘No.’ He hesitates, making up his mind. ‘Okay. There is something, inspector. Not from Facebook or Twitter or what have you. Something happened today and I don’t really know what to make of it.’

  ‘Try me.’

  He nods, his face serious. ‘Girls like Leanne are not likely to be bullied. My view is that, in a way, some people are almost asking to be bullied.’

  ‘That’s quite an observation.’

  ‘Maybe. I know I’m generalising. I know it’s not in all cases, but I strongly believe that people sometimes allow others to bully them. Anyway, that’s a by-the-by. Leanne is not the type, not to be a bully or a victim, although she is vulnerable in a certain way, with her being a bit overweight. Siobhan Carter might be an easier target because her parents are quite well off. Bitterness, jealousy, things like that. Yes, I know, it sounds unbelievable, and awful, when it comes out of the mouth of a teacher, but believe you me, inspector, these things happen here at school more often than you wish to know.’ He stops to inhale. ‘Anyway, this morning I noticed something that made me think. Most pupils have their own lockers. I saw Leanne and her friend as Leanne was opening hers. Two older boys were next to her. Nothing out of the ordinary. I believe the boys were only teasing each other, possibly even unaware of Leanne and Siobhan. Anyway, somehow the two girls got separated and Leanne was moved into the corner. One boy pushed his mate and he was slightly off balance and half fell towards Leanne. He didn’t touch her, inspector, nothing like that. But there was something in her face. Fear. Panic. I’m very sure that she felt trapped in that corner and I could see how scared she was. And I mean really scared. In normal circumstances, she would simply have pushed the boys away, but not this time.’

  ‘What are you saying, Mr Davey?’

  He hesitates too long. Five blinks. ‘I believe that Leanne is not the same girl she was before she went to that pop concert, inspector.’

  I stare at him, trying to read his thoughts. ‘What are you not telling me?’

  'I have the feeling that there is something wrong here.’

  ‘What about her friend? Siobhan Carter?’

  ‘I haven’t noticed anything different in her.’

  He points at his laptop. ‘When I saw Leanne like that … I thought you may be right in wanting to see her, Mr Tregunna. It was also the reason that I was signed in on Facebook when you came in.’

  ‘Have you found anything?’

  ‘No, but I can only see messages that are classified as public. I can’t see the private messages the girls are exchanging.’

  ‘So you think I should talk to her again?’

  He nods seriously. ‘That was my thinking, inspector. And I know I’m completely out of order, but that’s the reason why I agreed you come here. I believe you need to talk to her alone.’

  I nod, seeing in his eyes what he doesn’t want to say: without the presence of her parents.’

  23

  The desk officer has a wealth of information. He absorbs and stores everything he hears and sees, whether along official lines or from gossip or eavesdropping, intentional or not, retrieving every snippet for everyone’s purposes whenever it’s needed. His name is Rob, but someone rightfully renamed him Sponge-Rob.

  Behind the glass partition, he’s just making a phone call when I enter the police station, his eyes fixed on someone who has turned his back to the entrance. Maloney is leaning on the desk with one elbow, making sure that Sponge-Bob will notice his annoyance and finish the conversation abruptly. When he becomes aware that Rob’s eyes drift automatically towards me, he turns and his brain shifts into a different gear immediately. By the look on his face, I will soon regret that I didn’t come in a few minutes later. Or not at all.

  ‘Tregunna! Just the man I want to see.’ Maloney intercepts me as I cross the entrance hall. I halt obligingly, staring at him and hope no one has whispered in his ear that I had an illicit meeting with an underage schoolgirl behind the sheds of the school. In hindsight, a very bad decision to meet her there if you think about the possible consequences it could have. Besides, Leanne, albeit in my view a young and vulnerable teenager, stuck to her story and wouldn’t tell me anything about the boys behind her in the queue at the pop concert, barely admitting that Siobhan had been with her. Which she could hardly deny because I showed her a photo of the two of them in the queue with the sign of BarZz clearly visible in the window behind them.

  ‘Yes?’ Reluctantly, I stop.

  ‘I have to tell you something.’ Maloney sounds severe. Adding to the fact that his hand has landed on my shoulder, it makes me seriously wonder if I’m going to be made redundant. After all, I’m only adding weight to the pay roll and however much I try to help out by doing odd, boring jobs, it doesn't necessarily mean I’m an asset to the force.

  ‘Shall we find a bit of privacy?’

  Even Sponge-Rob’s eyebrows rise and I see concern in his eyes when Maloney indicates one of the interview rooms. I glance up at the windowless, bare grey walls and almost feel like a suspect in the process of being interrogated by powerful men who are convinced I’m guilty and will turn over every stone to prove it.

  ‘Well, I know this is still a … sensitive subject for you,’ he begins, sitting down opposite me. He leans his elbows on the table as if he wants to bury his face in his hands. Or perhaps he’s just tired.

  Maloney has never struck me as a man who can read between the lines. When I don’t immediately ask what he means, he becomes shifty and restless.

  ‘Err, about that shooting a while ago, I mean.’

  ‘Are you talking about the day Dorothy Trewoon shot her daughter because she was having a go at me?’ I say bluntly.

  ‘Or her sister. Yes.’ He is taken aback, avoiding my eyes. Instead, his eyes focus on the bulge on my stomach and as he becomes aware of it, he is even more uncomfortable. I feel sorry for him. Almost.

  ‘What about it?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, I am aware that Dorothy Trewoon has made a request to visit her daughter in the hospital. Next week. You declined.’

  ‘I did.’ I say slowly, my body stiffening as I search his face for signs that he’s trying to wind me up.

  ‘Is there a specific reason that …’

  ‘It wouldn’t be safe,’ I interrupt brusquely. ‘After all, Dorothy shot Becca in her head. The bullet almost killed her.’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘So she says.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘No but. It is a fact.’

  ‘She was attempting to shoot you. Not her daughter.’

  ‘Nevertheless, her intention was to kill. And I wouldn’t be her first victim. Dorothy Trewoon is a dangerous woman, Maloney. She can appear to be nice and friendly, but deep down she is nothing more, or less, than a psychopath. She’s killed several times.’

  He shrugs. ‘She hasn’t been convicted yet.’

  ‘You give her the benefit of the doubt?’

  ‘In criminal law, each person is innocent until proven guilty. The burden of proof is on the prosecution and as police officers, it’s our job to provide evidence to the prosecution and make sure that the suspect is sentenced accordingly.’

  ‘Nicely said, Maloney, but does that make her innocent?’

  ‘I can’t …’

  ‘Neither can I.’ I interrupt, getting annoyed. ‘What is your point?’

  ‘Well, after you declined her
request, she has sent in another one.’

  ‘Another request?’ I ask, with a sinking feeling.

  ‘Apparently it’s her daughter’s birthday next week. Dorothy Trewoon has put in a second request to be allowed to visit her in hospital.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’ I say through gritted teeth.

  He shrugs, avoiding my eyes.

  ‘Obviously, this second request shouldn’t be granted,’ I say, but my voice doesn’t sound very convincing.

  He shifts in his seat, casting a glance at his watch as though hoping the scheduled time is over. ‘Guthrie asked me to tell you that he has agreed to her request.’ Clearly, Maloney has fallen victim to Guthrie’s ability to size men up and get them to do his dirty work.

  It’s like I’ve entered a cold fog and everyone around me is barely visible, their voices muted. Allow Dorothy to visit her daughter? How the hell could anyone grant that request? After Dorothy attempted to kill her? The doctor in the hospital had made similar suggestions in the beginning, perhaps for the benefit for Becca, his patient, and I could see his point that Becca might wake up from her coma hearing Dorothy’s voice, but the doctor’s request was refused by higher authorities because, after all, Dorothy is still charged with attempted murder. If I knew for certain that Becca would want her mother to visit her, I would agree to it.

  ‘So you are the messenger of bad news, Maloney?’ I say.

  He pauses, and with the first hint of humour, says, ‘You could say that. She’ll be escorted, of course. There will be no chance whatsoever for her to smother her daughter with a pillow or pull the lifelines out of her body, let alone poison her by inserting a needle into her veins.’

  ‘You watch too many TV-series.’

  ‘I’d thought I’d mention those things for that reason, Tregunna. It just won’t happen like it does on TV.’