THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist

by Stewart Giles

  Alice started to laugh. She was beginning to see another side to her doddery next-door neighbour.

  By the time the bottle of port was finished, the sun was starting to set. It was Alice’s cue to make her excuses and leave.

  “Thank you, Eddie.” She stood up. “It was a lovely evening.”

  “We must do it again sometime,” Eddie said. “I promise I’ll cook next time.”

  Alice was about to go through to the kitchen to say her goodbyes to Barbara when there was an almighty scream. Eddie and Alice rushed through to the kitchen. Barbara Sedgwick was sitting at the table staring at the small television screen on the wall. She was very pale and her mouth was wide open. On the screen was a blown-up photograph of Milly Lancaster.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DC Taylor woke to the sound of the newspaper landing on the doormat downstairs. The letterbox was still rattling as she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She had barely slept. After the episode up on Merryhead she had decided to see if one sleeping pill would be enough. It had been a bad idea. She had spent the night drifting between periods of semi-slumber and consciousness. After a while, she wasn’t sure whether she was asleep or not.

  The only sleep she’d had, included a vivid nightmare. She was in the car with her husband Danny. A truck came towards them in slow motion and she heard Danny scream. Just before impact, the face of the woman who Taylor had only seen in the mortuary filled her vision. Danny’s bit on the side was smiling as she said, “You’ve been such a fool, Harriet Taylor.”

  Taylor went downstairs and picked up the newspaper. There was a photograph of Milly Lancaster on the front page. The details were rather vague — just that a car had gone over the cliff at Merryhead and an elderly woman was missing — but at the end there was the part she’d been dreading. The police were asking for “anybody who may have been in contact with Mrs Lancaster between Friday evening and Saturday night to come forward with any information they might have.” The phone number underneath was the number for the switchboard at Trotterdown police station.

  It was going to be a long day.

  *

  Half an hour later, when Taylor arrived at the station, a crowd of journalists was already gathered outside. She pushed through them, ignoring the shouting, and slammed the door with some difficulty. She made her way to her tiny office at the end of the corridor and sat down at her desk.

  “It’s going to be chaos for the next few days.” DI Killian stood in the doorway. “The phones are already going crazy.”

  He came inside and walked up to the window.

  “Look at them,” he said, “even the nationals have got someone out there. We’re going to have to be very careful with this one. Every move we make will be under the microscope.”

  “Has anybody reported anything useful?” Taylor asked.

  “Mostly time-wasters, but that’s to be expected, I’m afraid. Eric White thought he was onto something, but that one fizzled out. You look tired.”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night. Too much on my mind. What’s the plan for today?”

  “We wait, we wait some more, and we see what comes in. Someone must have seen something. A car doesn’t go over a cliff without someone noticing.”

  Killian was about to say something else when a very red-faced PC Thomas White barged in.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but a man’s just phoned in. A Peter Sugden. He reckons he spoke to Milly Lancaster on Friday night around eight.”

  “Where is he now?” Killian asked.

  “At home. I got his address and contact number. I told him to expect us some time this morning.”

  “Taylor,” Killian said, “You and I are going to have a word with Mr Sugden.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Peter Sugden lived opposite the pub in Polgarrow. Taylor shivered as they drove past Milly Lancaster’s house and parked outside his bungalow.

  He answered the door straight away. He was a rotund man with an extremely bulbous nose. From the blotches caused by burst blood vessels on his face, Taylor suspected he liked a drink or two.

  “You must be the police,” Sugden said to DI Killian. “Come in, but you’ll have to excuse the mess. The cleaning girl only comes in on Wednesdays.”

  He led them inside to a musty-smelling living room. The stale smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

  “Take a seat.” He pointed to a three-seater sofa. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No thanks,” Killian said. “You phoned in to say you spoke to Milly Lancaster on Friday evening? Is that correct?”

  “Terrible business. If I’d known what was going to happen, I’d have stopped her from getting in the car.”

  “What do you mean?” Taylor asked.

  “You know. If I’d known she was about to drive off the cliff, of course I would’ve done something to stop her. I couldn’t believe it when I read the paper this morning. Do you mind if I smoke?”

  Killian shook his head. Sugden took out a crumpled packet of Camel Plain, lit one and coughed.

  “Terrible habit, I know,” he said, “but after forty years, it’s a bit late to stop now.”

  “Can you tell us about when you spoke to Milly Lancaster?” Killian said.

  “It was Friday evening.” Sugden inhaled deeply and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Around eight, I think. I always go to the Boar around that time. Four pints and I’m home by nine thirty. Milly was about to get into her car. She parks it by the pub — there’s no space to park it by her house.”

  “What did you talk about?” Taylor asked.

  “Nothing. I barely know Milly. Just enough to say hello, if you know what I mean.”

  “So you didn’t speak to Mrs Lancaster?” Killian said.

  “I just said hello, I made some comment about the weather and went inside the pub.”

  “How did Milly seem to you?” Taylor asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did she appear anxious at all? Did she look like something was bothering her?”

  “No, but then again, I’m not the most observant bloke in the world. My late wife, God rest her soul, used to moan like hell about it. Said I never noticed a thing. Milly seemed fine to me.”

  “So she got in her car,” Killian said. “Did you see which direction she went in?”

  “Up towards Bodgarth. It’s on the way to Merryhead.”

  “I know where it is,” Killian said.

  “Did you see anybody else hanging around?” Taylor asked. “Did anybody follow Mrs Lancaster?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but, like I said, I don’t notice much. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  The room was now so full of smoke that Taylor’s eyes were stinging.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr Sugden,” Killian said. “If you think of anything else, please phone me on my mobile.” He handed Sugden one of his cards. “We’ll see ourselves out,” he added.

  “Any use, do you think?” Taylor asked as they walked back to Killian’s car.

  “Might be, if something else turns up. Sugden might have given us something that just makes everything fall into place.”

  Taylor had worked with Killian for six months now and his optimism still amazed her. She had never come across somebody so positive about everything. She was about to get into the car when she spotted the curtains in Alice Green’s house moving. “Sir, there’s something I need to talk to Alice Green about. She’s Milly’s best friend.” She pointed to Alice’s house.

  Alice was waiting for them at the front door. “Morning, love,” she said to Taylor, eyeing Killian with obvious suspicion.

  “Good morning, Mrs Green,” Taylor said. “This is Detective Inspector Killian. Can we have a quick word?”

  “Detective Inspector?” Alice seemed impressed. “Come in. It’s not every day I have a police inspector in my house.”

  They went inside to the kitchen. The jackdaw cawed loudly when they sat down at the table.

>   “Please excuse him,” Alice said. “He’s got the manners of a pig sometimes.”

  “Jackdaws are amazing birds,” said Killian. He looked at the bird. “I rescued one when I was a kid. Kept it for three years.”

  “Do you know Peter Sugden?” Taylor asked.

  “Oh, I know Sugden very well. Real creep, that one. Thinks he’s God’s gift. I mean, have you seen the state of him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Uglier than a warthog in drag, he is. Just because he’s got a bit of money, he thinks he’s hot property. He took a fancy to poor Milly a while back.”

  “Did he now?” Killian said.

  “He wouldn’t leave her alone. He’d come calling day and night. Milly wasn’t interested, but men like Sugden don’t seem to get the hint.”

  “Men like Sugden?” Taylor repeated.

  “Perverts, for want of a better word. I can tell you it was borderline stalking. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Why are you so interested in Peter Sugden?”

  “He claims he spoke to Milly the evening she disappeared,” Killian said, “and he said he saw her drive off in the direction of Merryhead.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “Why would he lie?” Taylor asked her.

  “Milly never mentioned anything to me about going up to Merryhead. And Milly told me everything. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you. We have to be going. We have a lot to get through today.”

  “It was lovely to see you again,” Alice said to Taylor. “And it was nice to meet you, Detective Inspector.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “What did you make of that?” Taylor asked Killian as they drove back to Trotterdown.

  “Somebody’s lying to us,” Killian said, “and I don’t think it’s the beekeeper. Peter Sugden said he hardly knew Milly Lancaster, but Alice Green told us a different story.”

  “Aren’t we going to speak with Sugden again? There’s something odd about him. Why phone in with information and then lie to us?” Taylor said.

  “You know what it’s like. People have all sorts of reasons for being cagey with the police. But yes, I’ve got my eye on Mr Sugden. He’s hiding something. I can feel it,” Killian replied.

  “Why don’t we go back?”

  “Not yet. At this moment, Sugden believes he’s done his civic duty and that’s the end of it. I’m going to give it a few hours and wait until the pub opens. Then I’ll send one of the Whites to check out Sugden’s story. Did he really go to the pub that night or was he up on Merryhead too?”

  A suspect at last, thought Taylor. Finally they were getting somewhere. They drove in silence the rest of the way to Trotterdown, where the newspaper reporters were still waiting round.

  “DC Taylor!” A woman approached them. “Do you have any more information for us?”

  Taylor wondered how she knew her name.

  “DC Taylor?”

  “No comment.” Taylor pushed past her and followed Killian into the station, then to the canteen. DS Duncan was sitting at the same table with PC Eric White.

  “Where’ve you been hiding?” Killian asked Duncan.

  “Flu.” Duncan sniffed. “I should be in bed.”

  “Flu in summer?” Taylor sat down next to Killian.

  “Since most of us are here,” Killian said, “we can go through what we have so far. Eric, I’ve got a job for you.”

  He filled Eric and Duncan in on the Sugden interview. “Do you think he killed Milly Lancaster?” White asked.

  “We don’t know yet. That’s why I need you to check out his story. Sugden claims he spoke to Mrs Lancaster on Friday evening. He watched her drive off and then went inside the pub. It’s the Old Boar in Polgarrow. They should be opening soon. I want you to find out if Sugden’s story checks out. If it does, we’re right back to square one.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Duncan said.

  “Then we’ll bring Sugden in. Apparently, he had a bit of a thing for Milly Lancaster a while ago.”

  “That’s no reason to kill her.” Duncan took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

  “Stranger things have happened. Maybe she spurned his advances and he got angry.”

  “I don’t know,” said Taylor, “something doesn’t seem right. Sugden might be a bit weird, but I can’t imagine him killing anybody.”

  “Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing,” Eric suggested. “A crime of passion.”

  “Rubbish,” Duncan said. “There’s no such thing.”

  “For once I’m inclined to agree with DS Duncan,” said Killian. “The evidence we have so far suggests this was planned. The doors in the car were jammed closed. You don’t do that on the spur of the moment.”

  “So you’re saying someone planned it beforehand and just waited for the right moment?” Eric asked.

  “I don’t know, but Sugden’s all we have at the moment. We’ll see if his story checks out and take it from there.”

  Duncan sneezed so hard that his knee shot up and hit the bottom of the table. “Go home,” Killian told him. “You’re no good to anybody in this state.”

  PC Thomas White came in and took Duncan’s place, looking exhausted. “We’ve had over two hundred phone calls this morning.”

  “And?” Killian said.

  “I’ve devised a system. A kind of sliding scale. The obvious time-wasters are at the bottom, followed by the probable attention-seekers. Then there are the maybes and the ones to definitely follow up are at the top. So far we have three people who might be able to help us.”

  “Only three?” Taylor asked. “Who are they?”

  “There’s Peter Sugden to start with.”

  “We’re onto him already,” Killian said. “Who are the other two?”

  “A woman walking her dog thinks she saw a car like Milly Lancaster’s up near Merryhead on Friday evening, and a hiker also claims to have seen the car up there. He walked straight past it and he thinks there were two people inside.”

  “Good. That’s a start. Taylor, you can talk to the hiker and I’ll leave it up to the Whites to decide between the dog walker and Peter Sugden.”

  “I’ll take the pub in Polgarrow,” Eric said.

  “Let’s get onto it, then. I’m going to keep our friends in the press up-to-date on what’s going on.”

  “Why are you so friendly with them?” Taylor asked him.

  “They’re a necessary evil,” Killian told her, “and whether we like it or not, they’re not going anywhere.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Taylor parked outside the youth hostel in Trotterdown. She had never seen the attraction of youth hostels — sweaty student types cramped into tiny dormitories, swapping identical stories of “unique” travel experiences and thinking the world was theirs for the taking. She opened the door and approached the reception area. A young woman with blonde dreadlocks was staring at a computer screen behind the desk. She had piercings in her nose, ears and top lip.

  “Morning,” the girl said. She had an Australian accent. “Welcome to the Trotterdown Backpackers.”

  “I’m looking for Michael Newton. I believe he’s staying here. Do you know where I can find him?” Taylor took out her ID and showed it to the woman.

  “Mike? What’s he done?”

  “He phoned in with some information. I just need to ask him a few questions.”

  “Is this about the old woman?”

  “Do you know where I can find him?” Taylor asked as politely as she could manage.

  “He’ll be in the courtyard. He sits there most of the day reading. It’s out there.” The woman pointed to a door to the right of the reception area.

  Michael Newton was not at all what Taylor was expecting to find in a youth hostel. He was at least twice her age, balding with a thin pencil moustache. He was also wearing the thickest pair of glasses she had ever seen.

  “Michael Newton?” Taylor said.

  “Call me Mike. Dr Livingsto
ne, I presume? Sorry, that’s just my pathetic excuse for a joke. You must be from the police. Please take a seat.”

  Taylor sat opposite him on a stone bench. Mike set his book down on the table next to it. It was Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

  “Third time lucky,” Mike told her. “I’m determined to get to the end this time. I don’t know anybody who’s ever managed to get to the end. Have you tried it?”

  “No,” said Taylor. “You called us this morning with some information about the car that went over the cliff at Merryhead.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I read about it. That poor old woman.”

  “What were you doing up on Merryhead on Friday evening?”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” Mike’s tone turned serious, but then his face broke into a wry smile. “I’m just kidding. I’m a lawyer myself. When I say that, I mean I’m qualified but I don’t practise the dark art. I do a bit of lecturing when the need arises. Those that can’t and all that. I was out hiking and I got a bit lost, I’m afraid. My sense of direction isn’t exactly GPS standard. I was worried I might have to camp out for the night. Somehow I came across the road that leads down from Merryhead.”

  “What time was this?”

  “It was starting to get dark. So around nine? I didn’t get back here until after midnight.”

  “And you saw the car parked up there?”

  “I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just assumed it was a couple of young love-birds up there for the atmosphere.”

  “So there were two people in the car?”

  “It was quite dark, but there were definitely two people in there. No mistake.”

  “Can you describe them?”

  “Not really. Like I said, it was dark and I gave them a wide berth. I didn’t think they’d appreciate being disturbed.”

  “Was it a man and a woman?”

  “I think so, but they both had short hair. I’m certain of that.”

  “So you left Merryhead and walked all the way back to Trotterdown?”

  “Yes. I didn’t realise how long it was going to take.”