It was two o’clock in the afternoon when they had returned but another four hours elapsed before the police seemed satisfied and they were allowed to enter their own home.
Melanie began to unpack. She wondered if they would ever be able to pick up the pieces and why she had not told him her news when they were away. Now hardly seemed the ideal time. But perhaps it was better to wait, there were other matters to sort out first.
She sat on the end of their king-size bed, suddenly exhausted. It was time she made more of an effort. They had both, in different ways, sublimated their grief and, later, their bitter disappointment. She had turned to other men, Roger had begun collecting works of art. Both were substitutes for what they really wanted. It was not Roger’s fault their baby had died and she had been unable to conceive again even though the experts had claimed there was nothing wrong with either of them. He had been patient, more than patient, and she had continued to punish him. And then, when her body began to signal that her menopause was imminent, she had finally accepted that she would never bear a child. This knowledge, this certainty, had mellowed her and she started to forgive him for something which had never warranted her forgiveness.
‘But it might be too late,’ she whispered as she stared at the lighter patch of wallpaper where a Marc Chagall had hung. She had broken their marriage vows often. The sex had meant nothing. The men had meant even less. It was escapism, nothing more. But if Roger was seeing another woman it was more than sex. She suddenly knew that she did not want to lose him. She now had the means to keep him but she did not have the heart to use them. If Roger stayed it must be because he wanted to.
The car radio crackled into life. ‘We think we’ve located the place where the Chynoweth girl might be, sir. We’ve found a hut and there’s a car parked to the side of it, although the officers who reported it can’t get a registration mark. They’re staying put, out of sight, until the rest of the team gets there. We’re going to look pretty daft if the pair of them are just having a romp in the hay, so to speak.’
‘Quite. But we can’t take that chance. I’ll join them there. Can you give me directions?’ Jack had left the Forbeses only minutes earlier. Even though he was off duty he had intended going to Camborne to see what he could do to help in the search for Sarah and to instigate a search for Rose. He had wanted to be there because no one would take seriously his report of a middle-aged woman who had only been missing hours. He accelerated, anxious to arrive at the scene at the same time as the rest of the team. He prayed that no one had been hurt, and that no one would be.
Leaving Penzance he negotiated the roundabouts, cursing at the amount of traffic hot weather engendered, the dawdling tourists and the drivers who needed a half-mile gap before slotting out between cars. He indicated and took the Helston road. It was not a long journey, no more than a few miles – his destination wasn’t even as far as Porthleven. He had taken Rose there in the days when they had been seeing each other regularly. It had been at the end of the season, when there were fewer tourists and it was a pleasure to wander around the fishing village without tripping over someone every few yards. They had smiled when they overheard people say how much they would love to live there. They did not see the other side, the unemployment in the county, the lack of facilities in the winter when West Cornwall seemed to close, nor did they witness the gales which swept walls of water over the high-sided harbour, where a freak wave could wash you out to sea. He could remember her smile of pleasure when, after a drink in one of the pubs, he had told her he had booked a table at a fish restaurant. After they had eaten they had walked back to the car hand in hand. I must not think of Rose, he told himself. I must remain detached.
To the right grassy slopes ran down to the edge of low cliffs beyond which was nothing but the sea. The turning was no more than a track; he had noticed it before but he had not realised there was a hut lower down. One officer, at least, was deserving of praise to have found it and, hopefully, the people they were looking for. This was supposedly private land, or so the weatherbeaten sign at the entrance declared, but he had heard over the radio that no one had yet discovered who it belonged to or what it was used for. Much of the coastline around there was owned by the National Trust; this area, however, was not.
Jack took the turning and drove slowly across the bumpy tufts of grass whose roots had managed to survive in the sun-baked earth. The remaining flowers on the gorse bushes were dark yellow, almost orange, as the last of them died. Later they would bloom again. Below, shimmering in the heat of the evening, lay the bay. Surface ripples danced like a million silver fish. Sunlight glinted off the police vehicles which had been parked high up and to the left of the wooden building where they could not be seen. To the right of it the bonnet and radiator grille of a car was visible, but its number plate was plastered with mud. The hut was in surprisingly good repair considering what the elements must have thrown at it. Half a dozen men stood around, but well back and out of view. Another sat sideways in the front of a squad car, his feet resting on the grass as he listened to a message over the radio. He stood up and waved a hand. Another officer raised his in response to the signal then turned to face the shed.
The breeze was coming off the land but Jack was still able to hear what was said through a loud-hailer, some of the words louder than others as the wind briefly changed direction. ‘Police. We’d like to talk to you. Please come out and identify yourselves.’ There was no response. No one had approached the door and knocked. Jack assumed that this was because they did not know if whoever was inside was armed. If there was any connection between Sarah’s disappearance, Joe’s death and drugs they might well have a gun.
Jack parked and went to join the group of men. They might be wasting their time. The hut might be empty, the car abandoned. Even so he had a feeling that this was not the case. Please let Rose and Sarah be safe, he prayed.
‘What’s happening?’ Jack asked in a whisper.
‘We saw a movement. There’s definitely someone in there.’
The man with the loud-hailer tried again. For the second time his request met with no response. It was a stand-off. They might have to take the place by force eventually, something they tried to avoid unless there was no alternative.
They waited. After what seemed like an eternity, the window opened a fraction and someone inside the hut spoke.
‘Keep away if you don’t want anyone to get hurt.’ The voice travelled thinly towards them as the wind snatched at it greedily.
The figure moved swiftly back from the window, visible only because there must have been another source of light on the other side of the structure. The silhouette had been backlit. If you don’t want anyone to be hurt, he had said. It had been the voice of a male. But the word ‘anyone’ gave no indication as to how many people were inside, or it could have meant one of themselves.
Jack looked at his watch. It was almost seven fifteen. The sun was lower in the sky now, sinking down behind the mound of the coastline to his right and painting the sky in pastel shades. But it would be some time before it set completely when the purple clouds of night would rise from the horizon and the red streaks of a dying day would inflame them. It was better to have daylight on their side. Rose loved sunsets. And sunrises, and everything to do with nature. The thought of her, frightened and in danger, was enough of a spur for him to make a decision. The wrong decision. He had assumed, without checking, that Rose was inside and that it would fall upon him to rescue her. Aching and dizzy with flu, in his fear for Rose’s safety he had forgotten his own position. ‘All right, that’s enough, let’s get on with it,’ he said.
‘But, sir, we don’t know –’
Jack snatched the loud-hailer and held it to his lips. ‘You’ve got five minutes then we’re coming in.’
The team stared at him as if he was mad. The inspector was a professional and he wasn’t even on duty. They were dealing with a hostage here. He knew, as they all did, that you negotiated, no matter how long
it took, and only when there was finally no other course of action or someone’s life was in danger did you go in. Amongst them were men experienced in this sort of situation, trained to deal with it, the ones who should be making any such decisions. And when you did take the place, you did it with stealth, with the element of surprise and with as little risk to all parties as was possible.
Jack’s shirt stuck to his back. He felt their eyes on him and knew what he had done. If things went wrong he would never be able to forgive himself. I shouldn’t be here at all, he realised. He wasn’t even part of the team. A combination of events had made him irrational, had made him over-react. He knew the rules and he had broken them. And you did not lie to hostage-takers. He had said what he had said and now they would have to stick to it. He felt a firm hand on his arm.
‘Jack, go home.’ Andy Peters, a trained negotiator, was speaking to him. He saw by Jack’s grey and sweating face that he was ill.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t. Not now. I’m sorry.’ His apology was general. He was sorry for more than what he had done.
Andy sighed. ‘Okay, but keep out of things. You’ve done enough damage already.’
They waited until the five minutes were up then the men fanned out around the building. They had no idea how many people were inside or whether their quarry was armed. The only certainty was that there was one man who had issued a threat, but to whom it had been directed they did not know.
Jack stood back and watched. There would be questions to answer when all this was over, possibly even disciplinary action would be taken, but that was in the future. Sick with shame he watched his fellow officers whose lives he may have endangered. What he had done must never happen again. His feelings for Rose had overcome his training and his professionalism. At that moment he both loved and hated her, hated her because his love for her had prompted him to make a stupid mistake.
And what of Douggie? What had he to do with any of this? Douggie must have been mistaken, he had misconstrued whatever he might have overheard. The man in the shed had threatened violence, he might even be armed. Something this big, something which possibly involved firearms would not have been discussed casually over a few pints. But Douggie had been right to tell him.
‘Christ!’
Jack thought he heard the exclamation before the flash of light and the report of a single gunshot registered. His legs buckled and he fell to the ground but he could not understand why. He felt no pain, only a numbness in his left thigh. The sky swooped above him but all he could think of was that Rose was supposed to be the one at risk, not himself. He did not know if she was in there, or if the gunman would now kill his hostages. If she died there wouldn’t be an awful lot left to live for. He finally admitted what he had always known, that he loved her.
There was shouting as blurred shapes moved past him. Through the sun-baked earth beneath his body he felt the vibration of running footsteps. Blood pounded in his ears and a face swayed in and out of focus above him. The world started to spin, kaleidoscope-fashion. There was a noise in his head like hundreds of gongs.
‘Rose?’ he muttered, before he lost consciousness.
9
‘It’s all right, love, forget it. We were worried, that’s all.’ Arthur touched his daughter’s cheek. Since her return she had not been able to stop apologising and he could not bear to see her so crestfallen, especially as Evelyn still had what he called her pinched-lip expression; she had been angry, so had he initially but when Rose stepped out of the taxi relief had washed away his anger.
Rose smiled weakly. ‘Well, I am sorry. It was thoughtless of me, not to say rude.’
‘For goodness’ sake, will you two stop it and eat something?’ Evelyn was on her feet, filling their wineglasses. Rose had bought a special burgundy to go with the steak. ‘Now, let’s hear all about it,’ she continued, once she had sat down. Her anger had, as always, once expressed, evaporated. ‘What have you been up to this time, young lady?’
Rose turned to her with surprise. ‘What do you mean by this time?’
‘Ah, your good friend, Barry Rowe, hinted that you have, over the course of the last couple of years, developed a tendency to court disaster.’
‘Did he now? Well, pay no attention to that man. He fusses over me like a mother hen. He’s simply over-protective. He and Jack have a lot in … What is it?’
‘Oh, heavens.’ Evelyn’s hand covered her mouth and a flush spread across her prominent cheekbones. ‘Arthur, we didn’t let Jack know.’
‘Jack?’ Rose turned from one to the other. ‘Let him know what?’
‘That you were safe. You see, your mother and I panicked and started ringing your friends to see if anyone knew where you were,’ Arthur admitted, rather shamefacedly.
‘And you rang Jack?’ She would never live this down and he would lecture her for weeks about consideration for others. And he would be right.
‘It was Barry’s idea to contact him.’
‘Yes. It would be.’
‘Excuse me.’ Arthur stood up. ‘I’d better give him a quick ring now and let him know you’re safe.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Rose patted her father’s shoulder and hurried to the telephone knowing what Jack was likely to say to her parents. He would be furious and mention things she would rather not have them know. There was no answer from the flat and when she tried his number at Camborne she was told that he wasn’t there either. ‘Would you give Inspector Pearce a message, please? Would you let him know I’m at home,’ she said without further explanation.
‘Certainly, Mrs Trevelyan, if – I mean, as soon as it’s possible we’ll pass on the message.’ The officer’s reply was hesitant.
Well, he can’t have been that bothered if he’s gone out for the evening, she decided after she’d hung up.
Rose paused, her hand still on the receiver, only then realising how guarded Constable Harris had sounded. What had he meant? If it was possible? He had corrected himself quickly enough but there was obviously something wrong. It had not struck her at the time because she had been so relieved that she had the means of letting Jack know she was safe without having to endure a tongue-lashing. She recalled vaguely a conversation when Jack had mentioned that he would like to take her and her parents out but that he wasn’t sure of his movements over the next few days. Presumably he was involved in a big case which he could not discuss, even with her. Maybe that’s where he was, working on it right now.
Well, she had done her duty by him, now she must explain to her parents the reason for her delay. She rejoined them and began to relate the events of the day. They had already given her their version.
‘As you know, I went to see Geoff Carter. When he told me he’d sold two more of my paintings I was over the moon. It gave me a real boost and I intended coming straight home and looking over some sketches, but when I reached the end of Etta’s road I knew I couldn’t ignore her, not with Sarah missing on top of everything else. Although, I have to admit, I thought Sarah might have been home by then.
‘I know Etta’s got her family with her but I thought she might be grateful to talk to someone outside of it, someone not quite so involved, and I thought I might be able to help with shopping or something. As it happened, she was by herself. Her parents were out doing the shopping.’ Rose paused to cut another cube of steak. Evelyn had cooked it exactly as she liked it, crisp and dark on the outside, pink and tender in the middle.
‘And there was something else. Sarah told me that her mother was having an affair with a married man. It was news to me and I had no idea how she found out until this afternoon. On and off I kept thinking that Sarah’s disappearance might have had something to do with this man.’
‘How come?’ Arthur asked, his fork half-way to his mouth.
‘Joe’s dead, the house is in turmoil and Sarah and Etta haven’t been getting on lately. Sarah’s got it into her head that her mother only cared about Joe – no doubt the fact that Etta doesn’t approve of Sarah’s f
riends added to her belief. And I suspect Etta had good reason to think as she did, now that I’ve met them.’
‘Oh?’ Evelyn looked up. She no longer doubted what Barry had said about her daughter. Whatever was going on with the Chynoweth family, Rose was determined to get to the bottom of it. She’d already made several discoveries of which the police seemed unaware. Rose’s wineglass was empty. Evelyn refilled it, wondering how she managed to drink without ever seeming to have lifted the glass.
‘I’ll come to that later. Anyway, I began to think that Sarah was going through some teenage crisis. She’s also got a boyfriend but Etta didn’t know that until Saturday night. Sarah’s never mentioned him, let alone introduced him to her mother. Maybe she thought she would disapprove of him too. Anyway, she arranged to meet him on Sunday, with Etta’s approval.
‘I think Sarah, wrongly, came to the conclusion that her mother put everyone, including her married boyfriend, before her, and that’s why I wanted to talk to Etta, to make sure this wasn’t simply some scheme of Sarah’s. I wondered if she’d stayed out on purpose either to punish Etta or to gain her attention.’
‘I see,’ Arthur said. ‘So if her mother called in the police Sarah would know she was worried and that she cared. Sort of pitting herself against this married man for her mother’s love. It would be a very cruel thing to do under the circumstances.’
‘Yes. But you know what teenage girls can be like.’
‘No,’ Arthur said quickly. ‘And I’m not sure that we ever did, not where you were concerned.’
Rose smiled and patted his hand as he reached for a slice of French bread. ‘But you thought I was wonderful anyway.’
Evelyn snorted. ‘Not always, my dear. Go on, you can’t just stop there. You were gone ages.’
Point taken, Mother dear, Rose thought. ‘Etta was in a daze. I asked her if she had been in touch with the police, which she had, and she told me they were taking it seriously. She’d already tried all her friends – yes, all right.’ She had not missed the look which passed between her parents in recognition of the similar situation in which they had found themselves earlier. ‘I asked her if she could think of any reason why Sarah hadn’t come home, but she couldn’t. “I only knew of Mark’s existence on Saturday,” she told me.’ Rose took a sip of her wine, so much talking was making her thirsty, then she continued relating the events of the rest of the afternoon.
Betrayed in Cornwall Page 10
