What every body is saying: DI Tregunna Cornish Crime novel

by Carla Vermaat

  Eventually, he left her. He couldn’t take it any more after she’d beaten him so hard that his ribs were broken but she wouldn’t let him out to go and see a doctor. After ten days of agony and having difficulty breathing properly, he managed to escape and went straight to the hospital. He attempted to lie about his injuries, but one of the nurses gave him the number of a safe house for abused men. He knew there were homes like that for women but it had never occurred to him that there were other abused men like him. It gave him the courage to make the call and he stayed there for eighteen months. They helped him get back on track, find him a job and a roof over his head. He was happy, thinking he was safe, escaped from the evil woman, until he met her coincidentally. She followed him, found out where he was living. Three months later, she visited him. Needed his help. Forced him to go with her on the pretext that she needed his help with the children. He went with her and found Hugo in a pool of blood in her kitchen. The scariest thing, he thought at that moment, was the fact that the knife that she’d used to slit Hugo’s throat was simply lying on his chest.

  I interrupt him to ask what date it was and he doesn’t need to think about it. 7th May, 10 past 12.

  She was panicking, in tears, she was desperate for his help. And his love. He was under her spell again. He went and bought strong plastic sheets from B&Q and they wrapped Hugo's corpse in them. Cleaned the kitchen, burned their clothes. Together, they stored the body in a wardrobe and she insisted he went with her to fetch the children from the school. Coming back, she sent him to buy a big freezer, which was delivered the next day and was installed in the shed. She took the children to the nursery and they dumped the body in the freezer. She wanted him to come back to her, but he knew what she was capable of. He'd become even more scared of her after she'd killed Hugo during one of her outbursts of uncontrolled rage. He tried to hide from her, find a new address, a new job, but she knew very well what he was trying to do and she threatened him that he was guilty of being an accomplice to the murder. Then, to his horror, she made him buy a chain saw to chop firewood – they didn’t even have a fireplace – and she cut ... it ... Hugo’s body in pieces.

  ‘She did that?’ I interrupt.

  ‘Oh yes. She may be a woman, and not a big one, but she is very strong.

  ‘Go on please, Mr Whittaker.’

  She had quite a shock when there was a big storm and we had a power cut that lasted twenty hours. She knew then that they had to dispose of the contents of the freezer. It was her that dumped the hand when she went for a bike ride from Wadebridge to Padstow. She was intrigued by the idea of what would happen if someone found the hand. She followed every article in the press and was furious when she couldn't find anything about it in the papers. A week later she dumped two parts of the leg. One in Newquay, one in Port Gaverne.

  Then she met Jonathan. He lived in Tregony and she managed to persuade him to let her and her children move in with him. Obviously, she couldn't get rid of the freezer at that point as part of Hugo's corpse was still in it.

  Bernie stops, recalling the sight of the torso and the head, still in the freezer which had been bought in his name. The horror is etched on his face and in less than ten words he finishes how she made him dispose of the last and most difficult parts. He was so scared, he didn't have her ruthlessness and, he just got rid of the remaining parts as quickly as possible.

  Then he sobs and Jonathan taps his shoulder comfortingly, supportively.

  ‘Why did she kill Hugo?' I ask when after a while Bernie has calmed down. 'What was her motive?'

  They look at each other. A conversation unspoken. Eventually Bernie answers. ‘Hugo was about to leave her. He’d spoken to friends and they had advised him to start proceedings for divorce. She was furious. She didn’t want that. But most of all, the fact that he had spoken to a friend, or friends about her, people she didn’t know, that was a threat to her as well.’

  I nod. Turn towards Jonathan, whose face has grown a few shades paler. He is probably realising what a narrow escape he had.

  ‘She forced you to take those pills did she, Jonathan?’ I say gently. ‘She left with the children and set things up like you had committed suicide because she’d left you.’

  ‘I was sick.' He nods miserably. 'As soon as she left, I managed to throw up. Get the pills out.’

  Bernie is shifting nervously on his seat. ‘Will you charge us, inspector?’

  ‘I have to abide by the law, I’m afraid, Mr Whittaker, but I’m sure there are certain circumstances that will work in your favour.’

  ‘Like what?’

  I offer a vague smile. Jump in the deep end. ‘Like you came forward voluntarily to make a statement.’

  ‘But I didn’t …’

  ‘I intercepted you, remember? We saved Jonathan from drowning in his own vomit.’

  ‘Oh. Did we?’

  I nod seriously. ‘We did.’

  They both look relieved. I feel a lump in my throat as I see them exchanging glances, wiping tears from their eyes.

  ‘Inspector.’ Bernie touches my arm. ‘I have to tell you … it was us, sir. Jonathan and me. We kidnapped you. She wanted to get you out of the way, but it all happened so quickly. I think she never thought Hugo’s body would be found. And so quickly! We’d barely disposed of those … parts. And then you came along and asked her all those questions. She panicked. She tried to … seduce you. She wanted to control you as she had controlled us. But you were not interested. Which infuriated her even more. That night she sent us to kidnap you. You had treated her badly, she told Jonathan and me and she needed to teach you a lesson. It was on the spur of the moment, I suppose. She knew it wouldn't take long before you got on her tail. She needed time to think of a way to kill you and … well, maybe Jonathan and I were supposed to do it. But I wouldn’t have done it, inspector, honestly. I am guilty because I helped her with Hugo’s body but I have never killed anyone and I never will, I promise.’

  ‘You came back the next morning. I saw you from where I was hiding.’

  His eyes widen in surprise. ‘You knew it was us?’

  ‘I didn’t recognise Jonathan when you kidnapped me. It happened too fast, I guess. I only saw you, Bernie, but I didn’t know who you were.’

  ‘I’m glad it’s over,’ Bernie says, patting Jonathan’s arm.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ I say slowly, ‘is why you went into my flat and put a rather loud porn DVD on. Why did you do that?’

  Once more they exchange looks. The surprise on their faces I genuine: they don’t know anything about a DVD that caused Mr Curtis a sleepless night.

  If it wasn’t them, I can only think of one person. Bee Robson. I find it unnerving that she Robson is still out there somewhere. A mad woman. An invisible adversary who will certainly have plans to return and take revenge.

  48

  My phone bleeps. It’s time to collect Lauren from the café at the entrance and go to the all-too-familiar waiting room and wait for my results from Mr Cole.

  I never thought I would have Lauren by my side today.

  As I make my way to Treliskes’ busy entrance, I recall the last part of my meeting with Victor Carter. Strangely enough, we settled for a preliminary stage of friendship. It was him who saw through me, saying without thinking, ‘I know about your stoma. And your cancer. I made enquiries about you when I suspected you of kidnapping my daughter.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Are you going back to work soon?’

  ‘I hope so,’ I replied slowly and, meeting his eyes, I felt my defences crumbling. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself telling him about this morning’s appointment with Mr Cole.

  ‘When is the appointment?’

  ‘Quarter to twelve.’

  ‘And you’re going on your own? Don’t you have … someone? A girlfriend?’

  ‘There are … some issues, complications she isn’t aware off.’

  ‘And you'd rather not tell her.’ A bald statement. N
ot a question. It makes me wonder what else he knows about my condition, but I daren’t ask.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s never good to keep these things to yourself, you know.’

  Keen to escape, I excused myself and went to the toilet. I rested my forehead against the door. Squeezed my eyes shut as they were brimming with tears.

  When I returned, he had ordered another double espresso and a cappuccino for me.

  ‘Your phone,’ he said, stretching out an arm with a stubbornness that couldn't be ignored.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your phone. Make that call. Be as brave as my 13-year-old daughter. Call that woman of yours. Ask her the question.’

  I blinked at him, knowing he wouldn’t let me go until I’d made the call.

  She answered before the second ring, as though she’d been waiting.

  ‘Lauren. Err … ‘ I started, then blurted, ‘I have an appointment in Treliske. The results of the new scan. They’ve had a meeting about me.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘My appointment is today. At 11.45.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘Err ...please.’

  ‘Okay.’ No fuss. ‘I’ll arrange for the boys to go home with a friend.’

  ‘You don’t have to …’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted quickly, cutting me off before I could refuse her offer. ‘But I’d like to. I’m glad you called, Andy.’

  ‘Yes. Me too.’ My voice cracked. A tear escaped. The very act of admitting that I needed her company today, more than ever, was releasing some of the tension in me.

  I stared at Carter. He stared back. I couldn’t find the words to thank him.

  We walk through the corridors. Lauren’s heels click-clack on the floor. Somehow, it is a reassuring sound. I don't have to look to know that she is by my side.

  We enter the waiting room. Lauren accepts a cup of tea from the volunteer trolley ladies while I tell the woman at the desk that I have arrived. It is too late to turn and walk away.

  Ten minutes later, I can barely look him in the eye when Mr Cole motions us into an examination room, shaking my hand and smiling vaguely at Lauren, He doesn’t ask to be introduced to her. He only nods by way of acknowledgement. He is interested in my file. In me.

  ‘Good news, Mr Tregunna.' He looks up, the point of his pen resting at where he's just written down today’s date. 'The tumour hasn’t spread and we found no signs that we hadn’t been able to remove the whole thing.’

  His voice echoes in my head. I find it difficult to concentrate on his words and understand what he is saying. He talks about the prognosis and future management of my condition. About regular check-ups and blood tests and scans. Lauren asks questions and I stare at his lips as they move. Answering. Explaining. Then the consultation is over. My knees wobble when he rises and I try to follow his cue. Time to go. Time for his next patient.

  He shakes my hand and, this time, Lauren's too. ‘We’ll see you in three months time, Mr Tregunna. Of course, we can’t be certain at this point, but …. It’s a start.’

  Lauren is quiet, squeezing my hand, gently leading me away from the hospital, back to where we parked the car.

  I can't see through a mist of tears.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This is a work of fiction. The idea for this book is remotely based on the true story of The Girl from Nulde, a little girl who was murdered, her body parts scattered around the countryside in The Netherlands, a few decades ago. If it wasn’t for her former teacher, the Dutch police would probably never have found out her identity – and those responsible for her death.

  I could not have achieved this without the help of Magda Pieta and Hannah Vaughan of TJ Ink, Jeff Bell for sharing his memories and anecdotes of his work for the police, Sue Black for explaining some specific forensic issues, Neil Harding for help on police procedure, Margot Coleman for legal expertise, Wendy Wilson and her ‘Alistair’ and last but not least my editor Mollie Goodman. A big thank you also to the group of Cornish authors, the wonderful lunches and tips and do’s or don’t’s. Mike for listening to my crazy ideas and supplying me with enough black coffee and Cornish sandwiches to keep me going,

  All mistakes are mine.