Her dreams were troubled. Barry was offering her drugs and Jack was insisting she took them. David appeared but turned into Joe. The married man Etta was seeing was Geoff Carter who, in real life, was single. Rose woke to feel Geoff’s lips on her face. She smiled with pleasure, then grinned when she realised that the lips belonged to her mother who had placed a cup of steaming coffee on the bedside table. She would have to think about that dream later.
Jack could never understand why he and Rose rubbed each other up the wrong way but accepted it as part of life.
When he reached home on Sunday evening he was relieved to see there were no messages on his machine. To ensure none came he unplugged both it and the telephone. Slipping off his shoes he poured a measure of whisky and sank into the settee from where he could watch the comings and goings in Morrab Road. The road led down to the Promenade where the long, glass-fronted façade of the Queen’s Hotel stood at right angles to it, but there was no sea view from his ground-floor flat.
It was quiet now, almost dark. Only the occasional car passed or the odd couple of tourists returning to one or other of the large granite properties which offered bed and breakfast. Some buildings, like his own, had been converted into flats and the rest housed the offices of professional people.
Douggie had said ‘within the next couple of days’. Was it tonight that a boat was landing an illegal cargo? If his story was true, that is. At least Jack was satisfied that the coastguards, Customs and Excise and any other interested agency was aware of the tip-off. There was little more he could do as far as that side of things went.
He sat straighter, as if this would enable him to think more logically. According to everyone to whom he had spoken, Joe Chynoweth was almost a candidate for beatification. Accepted, people often spoke in such terms when someone died young or unexpectedly. Why, then, was that plastic bag of heroin found near his body? Had he been killed because he had refused to take part in something unlawful which involved his boat? No, it was highly unlikely – Billy Cadogan was the skipper, not Joe. However, he wondered if there was a connection between what Douggie had hinted at and Joe’s death. Perhaps he should speak to Joe’s sister tomorrow. Tonight all he wanted to do was to sleep and, hopefully, shake off whatever it was he felt he was coming down with …
When he opened his eyes it was totally dark and the empty tumbler had rolled on to the floor. This is happening too often, he reprimanded himself as he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. I fall asleep in the chair then wake up in the night. I really do need a proper holiday, Rose or no Rose, he thought as he got into bed.
As soon as he woke he plugged in the phone. It rang immediately. He was startled and knocked the receiver off its cradle, groaning when he noticed the time. It was already after nine. His throat was raw and his limbs ached. No wonder he had been so tired over the past couple of days – he was suffering the first symptoms of the summer flu which had hit many people. He wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. ‘Hello,’ he croaked into the mouthpiece.
‘Jack? Is that you?’ Rose did not recognise his voice.
‘The very same. Only suffering.’
‘Hungover?’ she asked sweetly, hoping to get her own back for the times he had caught her in the act of opening a bottle of wine and made her feel guilty about it.
‘No. Flu.’
‘Oh. Then you won’t be going into work.’ She sounded disappointed.
‘I have to. Why?’
Overnight Rose had come to a decision. Despite her promise to Sarah, she realised she would not be able to keep her name out of it, especially as the girl had not returned home last night. It was better to be honest from the start. She had spoken to Etta a few minutes earlier and she had still received no word from Sarah. ‘Sarah Chynoweth came to see me yesterday and –’
‘Rose, stop it right there. The case is as good as closed. The coroner’ll probably give a verdict of death by misadventure later in the week and the family can then go ahead and arrange the funeral.’
‘Do you want to hear what I’ve got to say, or not, Jack?’
‘I doubt if I’ve much choice. And there’s no need to snap.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m worried about her. Sarah told me that she saw two men near where Joe died on that night and that she knew one of them.’
‘Come off it, Rose. Sarah’s – what? Seventeen. Put it down to a teenage girl’s imagination. She probably hasn’t encountered death at first hand before, she just needs something to hold on to, some reason to explain it.’
‘I knew you’d say that. Sarah’s an intelligent young woman and she has every reason to be correct. She went to meet one of these men and now she’s disappeared. His name’s Mark.’
‘What?’ He had planned to speak to the girl today. This sounded serious and Rose was already one step ahead of him. He could never fathom why everyone poured their secrets into her ears.
Rose chewed her lower lip. Jack didn’t know. Did that mean Etta hadn’t reported it? Accepted, the police didn’t search immediately for every missing teenager, especially if they’d gone off with a young man, but as she was Joe’s sister, and Joe was dead, it was a different matter. ‘Etta phoned me. Sarah didn’t come home last night and she isn’t there this morning.’
‘Well, she’s probably there as we speak. You know what seventeen-year-olds can be like.’ Jack did not want her to know how concerned he was. He was terrified she’d get in the way – or worse, get hurt.
‘For God’s sake, Jack. Her brother’s just died, she wouldn’t go off for the night with someone and leave her mother and two sets of grandparents worried sick. Look, forget I called. And when something bad happens I hope your conscience can stand it.’
‘Rose? What do you mean …?’ but it was too late. She had already hung up. ‘What the hell’s she going to do next?’ he asked himself as he rubbed a hand over his bristly chin. That she would do something he was in no doubt. He cursed himself. He could at least have asked for the man’s full name. But when he rang back the line was engaged. He tried Penzance and Camborne police stations but neither had received a report of a missing girl. That puzzled him even more.
Only later that morning did Etta decide to telephone the police. At first she told herself that Sarah was entitled to a life of her own, that from now on she would try to treat her as an adult and, hopefully, such consideration would be reciprocated. But gradually she had to accept what she had tried to close her eyes to, that however sullen and uncooperative Sarah may have been, she had never stayed out overnight without letting her know exactly where she was.
She was transferred to Inspector Pearce’s number but could give him no information other than that she thought Sarah must be with the man who had telephoned and whose name, she believed, was Mark. This was no more than Rose had told him. Neither woman knew his surname.
‘Can you give me the names of any of her other friends?’ Jack asked.
‘She doesn’t actually have that many. There’s Roz Merrydown and Amy Hurte, they’re her main ones.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Chynoweth. We’ll start looking right away. Try not to worry. Maybe she fell out with her boyfriend and stayed with one of them.’ Jack shook his head as he hung up. Was Rose right? Was there more to Joe’s death than they had imagined? He had been thinking over what Rose had said. She had to be right, Sarah’s disappearance was more than a coincidence.
‘Your relationship with that nice Inspector Pearce seems a little tempestuous,’ Evelyn Forbes commented drily. She had been standing in the doorway and could not help overhearing the last part of the conversation. ‘It seems to me you’re ideally suited. It needs a man like that to keep you in order.’ Despite the heat she looked cool and elegant in linen trousers and a striped cotton blouse.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Honestly, Mother, I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’
‘That’s not quite what I meant, dear. Now your father and I have decided to leave you in peace for a while. There’s something
we’d both like to do, but we’ll be back by tea-time. No, don’t argue, and it’ll be one less meal for you to have to think about if we’re not here for lunch.’ She hesitated. ‘Rose, I take it you’ll be going to the funeral. Will it be this week, do you think?’
‘I couldn’t not go. But I don’t know when it’ll be. There isn’t a date for the inquest yet, but if Jack’s right, it’ll be cut and dried so I expect they’ll arrange it quickly.’
When Evelyn and Arthur had departed Rose refilled her mug with coffee and took it out to the garden. Sitting on the bench she tried to plan her next piece of work but her mind kept reverting to the Chynoweths. Why was Jack so stubborn? Why wouldn’t he listen to her? She knew the family, he didn’t. Surely he must take some action now. But did she know the family? Etta was a friend, nowhere near as close as Laura, but still a friend, and Rose had had no idea that she was conducting an affair with a married man. Still, she thought, in Etta’s place, it’s hardly the sort of information I’d be broadcasting even to someone I knew well. Rose’s curiosity was once more aroused. She would love to have known who the man was.
The sun rose higher, warming the bare flesh of her limbs as she went over all she knew. Joe was dead, drugs found on or near his body. The police thought they were his, she knew they were not. Joe had been murdered, he had not fallen over the cliff by accident. Sarah had seen two men on the night Joe died, near where he died. She knew one of them, a twenty-three-year-old man named Mark. Sarah was now missing. What did it all add up to? That Sarah knew too much, which meant her life might be in danger. But who had wanted Joe out of the way and why? And there was the unexplained heroin. It suggested to Rose that someone was trying to set him up or trying to divert attention away from another crime. If Sarah knew Mark, then maybe Joe did too and had tried to persuade him to keep away from his sister. And where did Etta’s married man come into it? If he did.
Jack and Barry were right, she really ought to keep her nose out of things. But Sarah’s fear and her refusal to speak to the police were real enough. Rose knew there had to be something she could do.
‘Yes,’ she said with such conviction that coffee slopped over the rim of her mug and a dark, damp patch spread over her denim skirt. Rose ignored it. Of course. There was one place where Sarah might be and Jack ought to know.
‘I apologise for snapping earlier,’ Rose said as soon as he answered.
He had made it into work but was feeling worse than when he had woken originally. He was alert instantly. If Rose was apologising he needed his wits about him.
‘And?’ he asked.
‘And I’ve remembered something else she told me.’ She felt vaguely disloyal but it could hardly matter with so much at stake. ‘Firstly I know that Mark’s twenty-three.’ She did not add that Sarah believed Mark to be her boyfriend because Jack would simply scoff and suggest the obvious.
‘Yes, Mark Hurte. We spoke to his sister, Amy, although we didn’t know she was his sister until this morning.’
‘Oh.’ Rose kicked herself mentally. One up to Jack. Sarah had mentioned a friend called Amy, she had also said that Mark was the brother of one of her friends, but Rose had not made the connection.
‘She went out with Mark on Sunday, according to her mother. Etta didn’t meet him, but we have to assume this was the case as he’d telephoned her the day before. On Saturday, that is.’
‘Yes, so don’t you see –’
‘See what? Sarah claimed that Mark and another man were on the Mousehole road on the same night that Joe died. If this was true why did she confide in you and not come straight to us? And why go out with him if she really believed he was somehow involved?’
‘Quite, as you would say. But think about it, Jack. Grief does strange things to people. Sarah’s feeling lonely and unloved right now, she needs someone nearer her own age to talk to. Perhaps she’s in love and can forgive him anything, or maybe she wants to ask him outright what he was doing there.’
‘Don’t you ever let up, Rose?’
‘Not when I know I’m right. Pardon?’ He had muttered something which sounded remarkably close to ‘smug bitch’.
‘Nothing. I’ve got to go. Don’t worry, we are looking for her.’
‘Do you know where to look?’
Jack groaned inwardly. ‘Everywhere we can think of. Her friends weren’t much help. In fact, they hardly seemed interested.’ And they had something to hide, he added silently.
‘Sarah told me they sometimes used an old hut.’
‘Used? What for? Do they go there to take drugs, is that what you’re saying?’
Rose could not answer that. Etta had suspected her of doing so, but as far as Rose could tell, if she did there were no outward signs of it. ‘The obvious, Jack.’ She was not going to spell it out for him.
‘And where is this hut?’
‘I don’t know. Hang on, if you’re looking everywhere you must already know she’s not at Mark’s place.’
‘I’m not supposed to discuss –’
‘It’s never stopped you before, Jack. And you know perfectly well nothing you say goes any further, not to my parents, Etta, no one.’
Jack did know. ‘He hasn’t been seen since Saturday evening. Neighbours confirmed he was often with another man but we can’t get a half-way decent description of him.’
‘She’s in danger, Jack. You’ve got to find her. Oh God, what’s this going to do to Etta?’
‘Try not to worry,’ he said, echoing the words he had spoken to Sarah’s mother. ‘We’re doing our best.’
I hope it’s good enough, Rose thought once she had cleared the line.
Rose was making tea, still annoyed with Jack when she looked up, surprised to see Barry Rowe in the kitchen doorway. ‘Any chance of a cup?’ he asked, shoving his glasses into place.
‘Yes, sit down.’ Barry would not sit outside, he was not a sun lover and was already suffering from yesterday’s boat trip. His nose was redder still and showing early signs of peeling.
‘I’ve left one of the girls in charge for an hour or so. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You know, because of Joe. I know you put on a brave front yesterday in Falmouth, but I realised that was because your parents were there. That was also the reason I hardly mentioned it.’
Rose nodded. Barry had whispered a few words of sympathy and had left it at that. He had said nothing at all when he issued his invitation, which was odd because he must have known by then. Maybe he was afraid to encourage her by talking about it.
‘I saw them earlier, by the way – your parents, that is. They were strolling past the shop so I knew you’d be alone. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. Are you really all right?’
‘Yes. And thank you, Barry.’ She leaned forward, about to touch his hand then thought better of it in case he misconstrued her gesture of friendship. She had to be so careful with him.
She began telling him what she had worked out but did not meet his eyes because she knew what she would read there. But, for once, Barry surprised her completely, just as he had intended to do.
‘You think they’ve taken her to this hut?’
‘Maybe not both of them. Maybe the other man is quite innocent. Maybe Sarah made the whole thing up. One thing’s certain, Mark did ring her, because Etta took the call. I’m sure he and Sarah are together and I believe Jack is too, now.’
‘Yes. Jack.’ He paused. ‘We could drive around, have a look ourselves.’
‘What? Play the detectives?’ After all the times he had chastised her, nagged her, warned her about how dangerous such actions were, Barry Rowe was now suggesting them.
‘It won’t be the first time,’ he replied rather acidly. ‘And if I’m with you …’ but he did not complete the sentence. Rose might take offence if he suggested she attracted trouble when left to her own devices. ‘What time are you expecting your parents back?’
‘Tea-time, whatever that means. Thanks, Barry, but it’s too dangerous, we’d better leave i
t to the police.’
He hid his grin. Rose did not know how well he knew her. Had it been her suggestion to go looking, nothing would have held her back. He must remember to resort to the tactics of double-bluff in future.
Satisfied that he had achieved his aim, discouraging Rose from further involvement, Barry left to go back to the shop.
Rose felt at a loss, her emotions mixed. She had expected to spend every minute in her parents’ company but they had gone out. It left her too free to worry about her friend. Even though she could have telephoned she decided to go down to the gallery and see if any more of her work had been sold. The walk would help to clear her head. She needed to put Jack Pearce and everything else out of her mind and start planning her next canvas. Before she left she changed into clean jeans and a bright, white T-shirt.
Not one, but two more paintings had red stickers on their corners and Geoff Carter seemed as thrilled as Rose was. ‘You must let me take you out to dinner to celebrate when your parents have gone back,’ he said.
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
Strolling back along the Promenade she tried to control the smirk on her face. I’d really like to ring Jack up and tell him about the invitation, she thought spitefully. But her grin disappeared when she recalled Sarah’s plight.
There were lots of people about and none of the seats along the front was empty. Rose leant on the railings, they were always rusted with salt no matter how many times they were painted, and gazed out across the bay. Although Penzance did not boast a proper beach there were bodies in various states of undress enjoying the sun and many others in the water. Beneath the sea wall were banks of pebbles; further down below the tide-line the sand was coarse and always damp. Holidaymakers usually went to Hayle or St Ives or Marazion if they desired a proper beach. The feel of the sun on her head was soothing and although Rose had half decided to try to forget the Chynoweths for the time being she found herself crossing the road and walking up the hill towards Etta house.
The Joint Intelligence Cell in Plymouth were delighted with the information Detective Inspector Pearce had given them and were ready to act upon it. They were now aware of a beam trawler which had, ostensibly, been going about its business until the early hours of Monday morning. As far as its owner was concerned it was due to land on Tuesday morning. So why, then, had it been anchored five miles off the coast for the last twelve hours?
Betrayed in Cornwall Page 7
