Alice ran inside to see if anything had been damaged. The jackdaw was climbing up and down the bars of his cage. He was obviously very unsettled.
“It’s all right, boy,” Alice said. “It was probably nothing.”
Her hands were shaking. She opened a bottle of port and took a long swig straight from the bottle. She had not done that in a very long time.
Sirens sounded in the distance. The explosion must have caused a fire somewhere.
She took out a glass and filled it to the brim. The sirens were getting louder. She went into the living room and opened the curtains. A crowd of people had gathered outside the Old Boar, further up the road. She spotted DC Taylor. Her hair was drenched. She was talking to the old man who lived next door to Dennis Albarn.
Alice drained her glass and poured herself another. There was far too much commotion outside for her to even think of going to sleep. She turned on the television. The local news was on. There was no mention of the explosion.
Of course not. It’s only just happened.
The leading story focused on a possible shark attack a few miles off the coast. A fisherman had pulled up the body of a man in his nets. The report was rather vague. A so-called shark expert was trying to convince the woman interviewing him that shark attacks were extremely rare and there was little chance of another attack. The reporter did not seem convinced. The weather forecaster warned of more severe storms over the next few days. They were advising people to be vigilant.
“Vigilant?” Alice said out loud. “There’s nothing you can do where nature’s concerned.”
The port was going down well. There was only a drop left in the bottle so Alice emptied it into her glass. She was starting to feel quite drunk. She could still hear the drone of voices in the street outside. The smell of smoke drifted in through the open living-room window. Alice got up and closed it, catching a glimpse of the fire engine. It was parked directly outside Dennis Albarn’s house. She smiled, finished her drink and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
*
Harriet Taylor opened the door to her house, went inside and collapsed on the sofa in the living room. Her wet hair and clothes reeked of smoke. She opened her pillbox and downed two sleeping pills. They were the last ones — she’d have to get some more pretty quickly.
She made her way upstairs and climbed under the shower. The high-pressure jets stung her scalp but she needed to get rid of the reek of smoke. She still could not take in everything that had happened that evening. She had gone to Polgarrow to speak to Dennis Albarn and now his house was burned to the ground. It didn’t make sense, and yet it was surely connected in some way.
Taylor turned off the shower and dried herself. The smoky smell still lingered but her eyes were feeling heavy. She brushed her teeth and made it to the bedroom just in time. Her hair was still wet but she didn’t care. She collapsed on the bed and fell asleep straight away.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The two men from the fire department entered the burned-out house at first light. The sun was rising over the ocean in the distance. There were no clouds in the sky. It was as if the storm had never happened.
All that was left of Dennis Albarn’s house were the timber columns that supported the wooden roof and ceilings. Bits of charred furniture lay smouldering in the middle of what had been the living room. There was shattered glass everywhere. A metal box that only slightly resembled a cooker stood black in the corner next to one of the columns.
“There’s your culprit,” Geoff Harding, the station manager of the Trotterdown fire department, said to his colleague Peter Sole. “See how the stove is blacker than the surrounding floor?”
He went over to get a better look. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he walked. He picked up a small piece of jagged metal.
“I’d say this is what’s left of the gas bottle,” he said. ”There’ll be a full forensic, of course, but my guess is this. Stove left on. A spark ignites it, it travels through the pipe to the bottle — and boom, the whole place goes up. I just pray there was nobody inside when the place exploded.”
“Sir,” Peter Sole looked at his boss, “can you smell that?” He sounded worried. Every firefighter knew what that sweetish smell could be. “And see — that?” He pointed to something on the floor next to a smouldering armchair.
It looked like a burned pile of blankets. Sole moved closer, lifted up the edge of the cloth and retched.
The man’s hair had been incinerated and his scalp was black and crispy like a piece of burnt bacon. The eye sockets were empty and the flesh around the mouth was gone, revealing a set of large black teeth. Harding swallowed hard and looked away.
“Get some fresh air,” he said to Sole. “It looks like it’s going to be a long day.”
*
Taylor’s mobile phone buzzed on the bedside table. She opened her eyes and winced. She had forgotten to draw the curtains before she’d fallen into bed. She could still smell smoke on the duvet and pillow. She picked up the phone.
“Taylor,” said Killian’s voice “where are you?”
“I’m still in bed. It’s seven in the morning.”
“Two guys from the fire department found a body in the house that burned down. It’s not a pretty sight. I’ll meet you there.”
*
Forty-five minutes later, she parked outside Dennis Albarn’s house in Polgarrow. She stared at the smouldering ruins. Killian was talking to a uniformed firefighter.
“Morning,” she said. “Do we know what happened yet?”
“Looks like the gas stove blew up,” the firefighter replied.
“This is Geoff Harding,” Killian told her. “He’s the station chief in Trotterdown. Geoff, meet DC Harriet Taylor.”
“Please to meet you, Miss Taylor,” Harding said. “We think the gas stove was left on and something ignited it. It would explain why everything went up so quickly.”
“I heard the explosion. It was deafening. I was sitting in my car just down the road.”
Killian looked surprised. “What were you doing in Polgarrow last night?”
“I went to the Old Boar. I wanted to see if I could find out more about Peter Sugden.” She’d explain the full story to Killian another time.
“You work too hard.”
“Do we know who was inside the house?”
“There’s not much left of them,” said Harding. “I suppose it’ll rest on dental records. The teeth look intact.”
“The house belongs to Dennis Albarn,” Killian reminded her. “We actually spoke to him recently.”
“I remember. How soon before we find out if it’s him or not?”
“Later this morning. It turns out Albarn had some work done on his teeth when he was in prison. They’re sending over his dental records as we speak.”
“How’s your wife doing?” Taylor asked.
“Not good, I’m afraid. They’re going to keep her in for a few days to run some tests.”
“If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”
“Thanks. Anyway, we’ve got a lot to get through. If we don’t get anything out of Sugden I’m afraid we’re going to have to let him go.”
“What about the evidence?”
“All circumstantial. His lawyer knows we have nothing concrete.”
“Duncan reckons he can prise the truth out of him.”
“I’m not letting him near Sugden, in the mood he’s in,” Killian said. “Let’s get back and get it over with.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
PC Eric White pounced on Killian as soon as he and Taylor walked through the door.
“Sir, we’ve got a positive ID on the body they found in the house. It was Dennis Albarn. No doubt about it. The dental records don’t lie.”
“The poor man,” Taylor said. “Awful way to die.”
“It looks like he accidentally left the gas on,” Eric said, “and something set it off.”
“How’s the prisoner this morning?”
Killian asked.
“Irritable. Like a bear with a sore head. He keeps moaning about not being able to smoke in the holding cells.”
“Good. I want you to arrange for his solicitor to get here as soon as possible. Taylor and I are going to have another crack at him.”
“I’ll do it right away.” White walked off.
Taylor’s phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number on the screen. “Sorry to trouble you,” said Alice Green, “but you asked me to ring if I thought of anything else regarding Peter Sugden.”
“It’s no problem. What is it?”
“It didn’t strike me as odd at the time, but in light of everything that’s happened, I thought you might want to know.”
“What is it?”
“A while ago — two or three weeks, thereabouts — I saw Sugden acting strangely around Milly’s car. I didn’t pay it much attention at the time.”
“What do you mean by acting strangely?”
“He was lingering by it. It looked as if he was checking the doors and windows out, but he moved away quickly when he noticed me watching him. It might not mean anything but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thank you, Alice. We’ll be talking to him again this morning. I’ll be sure to ask him about it.”
“There’s something else I thought you might want to know,” Alice added. “Stanley phoned last night. He asked me if I wanted to meet him.”
“That’s great news.”
“I told him to bugger off,” Alice said and rang off.
*
Peter Sugden was led to the interview room an hour later. His solicitor was otherwise engaged but Sugden had agreed to do the interview without him.
“I trust you slept well,” Killian said.
“I hardly slept at all. I need a cigarette.” Sugden looked awful. His eyes were puffy and red, with huge bags, and his face was ash-grey.
“You can have a smoke when we’re finished in here,” Killian promised. “I’ll have one of the PCs escort you outside.”
“This is outrageous, the way I’ve been treated. It’s barbaric. I’m not a criminal.”
“That’s to be decided.” Killian turned on the recording device. “Interview with Peter Sugden commenced ten fifteen. Present, DI Jack Killian and DC Harriet Taylor. Mr Sugden, have you thought of anything else you’d like to tell us?”
“I didn’t lay a hand on Milly,” Sugden insisted. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone someone as nice as Milly.”
“We’ve already established that you were with Mrs Lancaster the night she disappeared,” Killian told him. “You lied about going to the pub that night and the tool that was used to jam the locks on her car was found at your house.”
“We’ve also had some new information come to light,” Taylor added. “A while ago, you were seen hanging around Milly Lancaster’s car. It looked as if you were examining the doors.”
“What? Who told you that?”
“That’s not important,” said Killian. “If I were to hazard a guess, I would say you were trying to figure out how you could jam the locks. Did you plan all of this in advance?”
“Plan what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let me tell you what I think, and you can stop me if I’m on the wrong track. I think Milly made you angry when she rejected your advances and you wanted to teach her a lesson. You confronted her and things got out of hand. You drove up to Merryhead and pushed Milly and her car over the cliff.”
“How did you get back that night?” Taylor asked.
“Back from where? I didn’t go anywhere near Merryhead that night. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I really need a cigarette.”
“Not yet,” Killian said. “How did you get back to Polgarrow from Merryhead after you’d dumped the car? It’s a five-mile hike.”
“I didn’t do it. I haven’t walked five miles in years.” He certainly didn’t look as if he could walk very far at all.
“If someone drove you back, we’ll find out,” Killian went on. “Why don’t you tell us what happened? We have enough evidence, but I want to know why you did it. You’ll feel better for it.”
Taylor knew he was clutching at straws.
“I’ll feel better when I’ve had a cigarette,” Sugden said. “I’m not confessing to something I haven’t done.”
“Interview with Peter Sugden over.” Killian switched off the machine. “You’re free to go.”
Sugden looked at Killian in disbelief. “I can go home?”
“Yes, but don’t get any ideas about going anywhere for a while. We’ll be keeping an eye on you. I’ll get someone to drop you off at your home.”
Sugden jammed an unlit cigarette between his lips and left the interview room.
“You don’t think he did it, do you?” Taylor asked Killian.
“No. He’s a repulsive specimen of a human being but I reckon he was telling the truth back there.”
“What about the evidence? The screwdriver?”
“I think someone was trying to frame him,” Killian said, “but I have no idea who.”
“What now?”
“Back to square one. We go through what we have once more and see if anything jumps out at us.”
“Three people have died in less than a week. Milly Lancaster, Dennis Albarn and the mystery man in the fishing net. We have no idea what really happened to any of them. If they’re not linked, then it’s even weirder. And it’s driving me crazy.”
“I have to get back to the hospital. Sorry. Megan will be expecting me.”
“I’m sorry,” Taylor told him. “I didn’t know till recently that she was ill.”
“It’s been more than ten years now. Some days are better than others. It makes me question everything we’re doing, you know. I’ve always believed everyone deserves a chance, but my Megan has never hurt anybody in her life and yet she’s made to suffer. And there are cold-blooded murderers out there living the life of Riley.”
Killian’s sudden outburst took Taylor by surprise. She had never heard her boss talk like that before.
“I’m just tired.” He gave her an unconvincing smile. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Anything you want me to do in the meantime?”
“Kill two birds with one stone. Head down to the mortuary and see what Jon Finch can tell you about Dennis Albarn and that poor bastard who ended up in the fishing net.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It was Taylor’s first time at the Trotterdown mortuary. In fact it was the first time she’d had to identify a body since Danny’s. She still remembered the feeling of utter nothingness as she gazed at his face. She’d felt precisely zero, and then when she did start feeling something she’d been more angry than sad. Angry that Danny had left her alone to deal with the damage he had caused while he was alive.
Dr Jon Finch turned out to be very thin and tall. He had black hair and the most piercing blue eyes Taylor had ever seen.
“DC Harriet Taylor?” he said. “Take a seat. I have some very interesting news for you.”
He smiled and his blue eyes looked even brighter. She could not help staring at them for slightly longer than was appropriate under the circumstances.
“I get them from my father,” Finch said. “The eyes. They’re a curse some times.”
She blushed. The faint smell of aftershave lingered in the air. Taylor recognised it — Danny had worn it.
“Let’s start with the man whose other half seems to have deserted him, shall we,” Finch said. “Please excuse my sense of humour. I’m afraid a rather black sense of humour goes with the job.”
You ought to spend some time with a certain paramedic I know, Taylor thought.
“This is certainly an interesting one,” the doctor went on. He tapped a few keys on the keyboard on the desk. “Identity unknown, I’m afraid — chopped in half. It wasn’t a shark attack like they’re saying on the news. Sharks leave a lot of uneven jagged lacerations. T
his poor bugger’s been sliced in half a lot more cleanly.”
“I know. I saw the body. Do you have any idea how it happened?”
“A sharp piece of metal, if I were to hazard a guess. Don’t quote me, though. But I do know roughly when it happened and I do know he’d been dead for quite some time before someone cut him up.”
“How long?”
“I’d say around a week. Maybe a bit less.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. If he’d been in the water that long, how did he get chopped in half?”
“Ah, there’s the rub.” Finch clapped his hands together. “Firstly, he was only in the water a matter of hours and, secondly, he was dead before he hit the water. There was no water in his lungs and he’s almost undamaged by the water. Believe me, if he’d been in the sea for that amount of time, he’d be looking very different.”
“Are you saying somebody killed him, waited almost a week, chopped him up and threw him in the sea?”
“Well, it looks like it. But that’s just my guess.”
“OK.” Taylor was finding it hard to take all of this in. “He was killed, chopped up and thrown in the sea. Do you know what killed him?”
“His brains were bashed in. Literally. He suffered a large number of heavy blows to the back of the head.”
“Murder?”
“Looks like it. Somebody bashed him over the head, kept him around for almost a week and then chopped him in two. His ring finger was severed too, whatever that signifies.”
“His ring finger?”
“Yes it doesn’t look like it was cut off accidentally.”
“What about Dennis Albarn? Surely that was an accident?”
“Mr Albarn is one of the worst burns cases I’ve ever come across. He had burns to over ninety percent of his body. It would have been an agonising death if he’d been alive before he was incinerated. But he wasn’t. Just as our half-man had no water in his lungs, there were no traces of smoke in Albarn’s. Fire and water. It’s like something out of an opera, isn’t it?”
THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist Page 10
