“If you don’t mind me asking,” Taylor said, “isn’t it a bit odd for a man like you to be staying in a place like this?”
“They’re cheap, simple and I like the vibe in these places. All the best people are travellers. Look at Dr Livingstone, searching for the source of the Nile, eh?”
“Thank you for your time.” Taylor stood up. “I’ll let you get back to War and Peace.”
“You should give it a go some time,” Mike said.
“I doubt I’ll ever have time.”
*
Killian rang as she got in her car. “Where are you?” he asked.
“I’ve just finished at the Backpackers. The hiker didn’t give us much to go on beyond the fact he reckons it was a man and a woman in Milly Lancaster’s car that evening. He’s a bit weird, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason to doubt him.”
“That is corroborated by what the woman walking the dog said. But Eric found out something interesting at the pub.”
“What?”
“Nobody remembers seeing Sugden in the pub that night. It might not mean much — the barman was new and a lot of the people there were tourists — but White talked to some of the locals and none of them saw him either. Sugden’s story is starting to sound a bit dodgy.”
“What do we do now?”
“PC White is bringing Sugden in as we speak, and as DS Duncan is man down, I want you to sit in on the interview with me. It’ll be good experience for you.”
“I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Peter Sugden sat slumped in the chair in one of the two interview rooms at Trotterdown police station, opposite Killian and Taylor.
“Mr Sugden, are you sure you don’t want a solicitor with you?” Killian said.
“I’ve done nothing wrong. Why the hell would I need one?” Sugden’s eye twitched.
“Because it’s your legal right.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Sugden repeated.
“Let’s get started, then.” Killian pressed the green button on the recording device. “Interview with Peter Sugden commenced 13:46. Present, DI Killian and DC Taylor. For the record, legal representation has been offered to Mr Sugden, but he has refused it. Mr Sugden, when we spoke to you earlier today you told us you spoke to Milly Lancaster last Friday evening. Is this correct?”
“Yes,” Sugden scratched his twitching eye. “I mean, it could’ve been a bit earlier.”
“What did you talk about?” Taylor asked.
“Not much. This and that. The weather. That kind of thing. Nothing important.”
“Then what happened?” Killian said.
“She left. She drove off and I went to the pub.”
“The Old Boar?”
“That’s right.”
“Did Mrs Lancaster say where she was going?” Taylor asked.
“No, and I didn’t ask. It’s none of my business. I’ve already told you all of this.”
“We appreciate that,” said Killian, “but we need it on the record.”
“Can I smoke in here?”
“I’m afraid not. This is a non-smoking station. So Mrs Lancaster drove off and you went inside the pub? And this was around eight?”
“Round about. I had a few pints and then I left about nine thirty.”
“Which direction did Mrs Lancaster go in?” Taylor asked.
“Up past the general store.”
“In the direction of Merryhead, then?”
“I suppose so.”
“So you stood and watched her drive up the road before entering the pub?”
“I don’t know. I need a cigarette.”
“We’ll take a break in a minute,” Killian said. “Did you speak to anybody in the pub? Somebody who might be able to corroborate your story?”
“I might have. I don’t know. I think it was mostly tourists in there that night and there was a new barman working there. I hadn’t seen him before.”
“Boss,” Taylor said to Killian, “can I have a word?”
“Very well,” Killian said, “interview paused at 13:51.” He paused the machine. “You can have a smoke outside. You’ve got ten minutes.” Thomas White took Sugden out.
“What is it?” Killian said.
“I think he may be telling the truth,” Taylor replied.
“What do you mean?”
“If there was a new barman in the Boar that night and the place was full of tourists, none of them would have noticed Sugden. He’s hardly that memorable.”
“You’ll soon learn how things are in Cornwall. I know for a fact the pub wasn’t just full of tourists. There’ll have been locals in there too. Sugden’s lived here for a long time. If he was in there, someone would have noticed. That man’s not telling us everything. Let’s see what he has to say about harassing Mrs Lancaster.”
“Interview with Peter Sugden recommenced 14:10,” Killian said when Sugden was brought back in. He looked more relaxed. The cigarette had obviously calmed his nerves a bit.
“You said earlier that you barely knew Mrs Lancaster,” Killian started.
“That’s right.” Sugden nodded.
“How long have you lived in Polgarrow?” Taylor asked him.
“Coming up for thirty years. I was lucky enough to take very early retirement. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Milly Lancaster lived there for almost as long,” said Killian. “She lived down the road from you, and yet you claim you hardly knew her.”
“I knew her enough to say hello. Milly kept herself to herself. She didn’t get out much. What’s going on here? Surely you don’t think I had something to do with what happened?”
“Do you own a car?” Taylor asked.
“No, I can’t see the point. I stay around Polgarrow mostly and if I do need to go into Trotterdown, there’s the bus. Not owning a car isn’t against the law, is it? This is ridiculous.” Sugden stood up. “I don’t have to put up with this. I know my rights.”
“Sit down please, Mr Sugden,” Killian said.
Sugden did as he was told. His forehead was sweaty.
“Mr Sugden,” Taylor said, “you claim not to have known Mrs Lancaster very well, but we have reason to believe you were pestering her for some time. Is this true?”
Sugden opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. “I was lonely,” he admitted eventually. “It was nothing sinister. I just thought that seeing as though we were both on our own, it might be good for us. I’m not a monster.”
“And how did Mrs Lancaster react?” Killian asked.
“The stuck-up cow wasn’t interested.”
“And you persisted in harassing her?” Taylor pushed the point.
“I didn’t harass her. I’d call it perseverance. Women are like that, aren’t they?”
“Like what, Mr Sugden?” Taylor glared at him.
“You know what I mean. They say no, but they want you to carry on. In my day we used to call it playing hard to get.”
“How long did you pursue Mrs Lancaster?” Killian said.
“A couple of months. Not more than that. Where did you hear all this?”
“That’s not important.”
“It was that crazy beekeeper, wasn’t it? That friend of Milly’s. She’s not right in the head, that one. Who the hell keeps a jackdaw for a pet?” His face was getting redder and redder. “I didn’t push her over the cliff,” he added, “and if I’m under arrest, I think it’s time I phoned my lawyer.”
“You’re not under arrest,” Killian told him. “For the time being, you’re merely helping us with our enquiries. We will, of course, need your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA but in the meantime you’re free to go. Interview concluded at 14:20.”
He switched off the machine.
“Mr Sugden,” Taylor had one last question, “how did you feel when Milly Lancaster rejected you? Were you angry?”
“That stuck-up cow. Always thought she was better than me. Well, look what happ
ened to her. Who’s better off now? And I’m sure you’re both aware you won’t be able to use what I just said as that machine’s off. Like I said, I know my rights. I’ll see myself out, if you don’t mind.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“What do you think?” Taylor asked Killian in the canteen.
“I think you need to work on your interview technique. You came across as rather aggressive in there.”
“Aggressive?” Taylor had left the interview room feeling quite pleased with herself. She thought she had done a good job.
“I don’t like the man much myself,” Killian said, “but there are ways to conduct an interview. You mustn’t let personal feelings get in the way.”
Taylor scowled.
“Don’t look so hard done by,” Killian added. “It was just an observation. I remember one of my first interviews. I got so frustrated with the suspect I ended up shouting at him that everyone knew he’d done it.”
“Do you think Sugden was involved?”
“It’s hard to tell. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. If he was, he’s a pretty good liar.”
“Well, right now all we’ve got is a pub full of people who don’t remember seeing Sugden there on Friday night, and the fact that he once made a play for the dead woman. Neither of which is enough to charge him with anything. We’ll have to wait and see if forensics can tie him to Milly Lancaster’s car.”
“So we just leave him alone?”
“We do the opposite. We’ll keep an even closer eye on him. If he’s hiding something, he’s bound to slip up sooner or later. They always do.”
“I wonder what went through her mind when she went over the cliff.”
“Don’t go there. Don’t even think about it. Our job is to figure out what happened in the hours before that happened.”
“Do you think her body will ever be found?”
“I doubt it. The tide will have taken her right out and ocean life will have done the rest.”
Taylor shivered. What a terrible way to end up, she thought.
A huge raindrop hit the window, breaking her horrid thoughts. It was followed by another and then the heavens opened up.
“Summer rain shower,” Killian said. “It’ll all be over in an hour. Let’s get going, anyway.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s been an hour since we let Sugden go, so let’s do something useful while we wait to see what forensics can come up with. We’ll go and find out what makes Peter Sugden tick.”
*
The Old Boar was surprisingly full for a Tuesday afternoon. An equal number of tourists and locals were eating at tables or drinking at the bar. Killian propelled Harriet towards a man in his sixties having a pint in the corner by the bar.
“Dennis Albarn,” he whispered. “We’re in luck. Dennis and Peter Sugden go way back.” He sat down next to Albarn. “Dennis, can we have a word?”
Albarn shrugged. “Talk away,” he said. He looked Taylor up and down and smiled. “Things are definitely looking up. In my day, police women were all big hips and hairy legs.”
“Dennis and I are old acquaintances,” Killian said, “and I’m sure this won’t be the last time you meet him on your travels either.”
“I did my time.” Albarn looked at Harriet. “And I’m a changed man. What can I help you with? A drink, perhaps?”
“No thanks,” Taylor said. “We’d actually like to speak to you about Peter Sugden.”
“Scottish accent as well. It just gets better and better. What’s old Sugden done? Exposed himself to the dinner ladies at the school?”
“Excuse me?”
“It was a joke, love. Relax. Sugden’s a bit of a seed that’s all.”
“A seed?”
“Seedy. A bit of a perv, if you know what I mean. Everybody knows he’s harmless really. Hasn’t got it in him.”
“So you know Mr Sugden quite well?”
“Not that well.” Albarn finished the beer in his glass. “We exchange a few words when we’re in here. We both like the horses. What’s he done?”
“Nothing we’re aware of,” Killian said. “Were you in here last Friday night?”
“Probably.” Albarn frowned. He was lost in thought for a moment. “The old memory’s not what it was. I’ll have to check my diary for you.”
“This is serious,” Killian said. “Think.”
“Is this about Milly? What a terrible thing to happen.”
“Did you know Mrs Lancaster?” Taylor asked him.
“For over forty years. She was Alice’s best friend. I was the best man at Stanley and Alice’s wedding.”
“Were you in here on Friday night or not?” Killian sounded impatient.
“Guilty as charged,” Albarn said. “I’m in here most nights. I’m retired now. It’s not against the law, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. Can you remember if Peter Sugden was here?”
“Not as far as I can remember.” Albarn leaned across the bar.
“Another pint,” he said to the barman.
“Are you sure?” Killian said.
“Sugden wasn’t here.” Albarn handed the barman a five pound note. “The place was full of tourists, mostly. Poncey types asking for craft beers and mojitos and what-have-you.”
“What time were you here?” Taylor asked.
“Around six. I left about nine. I was supposed to meet Stan but he never showed up.”
“Stanley Green?” Taylor was surprised. “Alice’s husband? I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”
“He doesn’t, but he visits from time to time. I bumped into him in Trotterdown last Wednesday. He’s been living in Spain for a few years. Lucky bugger.”
“So Sugden definitely didn’t come in last Friday night?” Killian repeated.
“No. Why are you so interested in old Sugden?”
“Just curious,” Killian said. “Thank you for your help.”
“You know me, Jack. Always happy to help the police.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sun and the moon were in the sky together for a brief moment and then the sun disappeared behind the distant sea. The wind had picked up and the hollyhock bushes in Alice Green’s back garden were swaying in the cool breeze. She looked over the hedge into the Sedgwicks’ garden. The lights were on in the house, but Alice knew Eddie and Barbara were not at home. Eddie had told her they were going to watch a film in Trotterdown. She knew they would be gone for a good few hours but she still wanted to get what she was about to do over with as quickly as possible.
She got to work with her green shovel, digging up the soil under the hollyhocks. She carefully removed the earth around her husband’s body, making sure not to dig too close to the corpse. It was hard work. After twenty minutes, Alice had only managed to dig a small hole. She wiped the sweat from her brow and carried on.
Two hours later, Stanley’s body was lying on the grass. Alice had managed to drag him from under the bushes, but it had used up most of her energy. She looked at the dead body of the man she had married forty years ago. The skin on his face was grey in the moonlight. One of his eyes was missing. Where his ring finger had been was now just a black stump.
It had taken a huge amount of effort to drag the body the few metres from the bushes, and there was no way she was going to be able to get him to the road to where she’d parked her van. There was only one thing for it, even though the very idea made her want to vomit. She was running out of time and she couldn’t leave the body lying on her back lawn. She went to the shed and grabbed her wheelbarrow and two industrial-strength refuse bags.
The moon vanished behind a large cloud and Alice could barely see what she was doing. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The wind pushed the clouds away and the moon reappeared, lighting up Stanley’s face. Alice wondered what had happened to his eye. It was odd seeing him so dirty. Stanley had always been neat and smartly dressed. It was one of the things she liked about him.
Alice put the shovel on the spot where the shirt and trousers met and suddenly thought of the day Stanley had come home wearing that shirt, over ten years ago. She’d told him it made him look like a man in the grip of a midlife crisis, but Stanley hadn’t cared. He wore the shirt for years afterwards.
Alice closed her eyes and brought the shovel down with all her strength. The shovel didn’t make any headway — the edge wasn’t sharp enough. Alice started to panic. What now? She lifted the shovel up and examined it closely. Why not? She went into the house and returned with the whetstone she used to sharpen her kitchen knives.
Twenty minutes later, the shovel was ready. The sharpened edge glinted in the moonlight. Alice raised it up in the air, took a deep breath and brought it down with everything she had. There was a sickening crunch as the sharp edge of the shovel sliced through Stanley’s pelvis and wedged in the grass underneath. She managed to prise the shovel loose and moved it into position for another go.
She paused for a moment to give herself a breather and thought about life with Stanley Green.
It hadn’t always been bad. The first few years had been pretty good, in fact. Stanley was the perfect gentleman and he’d treated her like a princess. Then Alice thought about the first time she’d found out she was not the only princess in Stanley’s life and brought the shovel down so hard it nearly sliced his body in half.
Emily Bright, Alice thought, that was her name. A most inappropriate name. Legs that went on forever and a brain whose only purpose was to fill in the gap between her ears. Emily Bright had been the first. Alice had lost count of exactly how many others had followed.
She lifted the shovel high in the air and slammed it down with all her might. Stanley Green’s body separated into two parts, like an earthworm cut in half.
Alice wrapped the legs up first, put them in one of the refuse sacks and tied the opening with duct tape. She lifted the sack into the wheelbarrow and trundled it down towards her van. The road was deserted as she opened the back and bundled her husband’s legs inside. It made her feel sick, but she went through the same thing with the other half of Stanley.
Driving the few miles up to Merryhead, Alice realised she was shaking. She could barely keep hold of the steering wheel. She slowed down and stopped by the side of the road. All sorts of memories were flooding her brain. Not just Stanley. Not just Emily and all the other little idiots who’d followed her. Other things she’d rather forget. Other things she had forgotten, till now.
THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist Page 6
