by Kate Rhodes
‘Morning sickness. Michelle’s three months pregnant.’
‘Really? Congratulations.’
The width of his smile forces me to make adjustments. The kid is ten years younger than me, but clearly overjoyed about becoming a dad. Maybe I’m the one with arrested development. It feels wrong to spoil his moment by mentioning the knife left on my doorstep, but there’s no choice. He sets to work instantly, phoning the lab to arrange collection; I suspect that the killer’s smart enough to have sterilised it first, but a single DNA molecule is all we need.
We spend the rest of the morning poring over names; the list of suspects is shorter now alibis have been checked. Tom Horden’s doctor has confirmed that he’s registered blind, with just twenty per cent vision. It’s unlikely that a pensioner with failing sight could have found his way to the cliff and overpowered a fit young woman, without someone else’s help. Sam Austell is still unable to explain what sent him into hiding on the day of Laura’s death, and Danny Curnow has hardly been seen since her memorial. Matt Trescothick remains unwilling to discuss losing his daughter. It doesn’t surprise me that the three main suspects all lie close to home, when the majority of fatal stabbings are crimes of passion. But there are some contenders outside Laura’s immediate circle: Dean Miller and Jim Helyer. The rest of the names remain on the suspect list only because their alibis are unsubstantiated; Pete Moorcroft, Arthur Penwithick and my uncle, Ray Kitto. Instinct tells me to reject them out of hand, but no one can be presumed innocent without concrete proof. The ferryman and my uncle are both solitary, lifelong bachelors, the last people on earth I’d consider capable of violence, yet seemingly harmless lone males sometimes commit violent acts. It’s equally hard to believe that Pete Moorcroft could open his shop for business so soon after committing cold-blooded murder.
‘How come Pete’s still on the list?’ Eddie asks.
‘June stayed overnight with friends in Penzance. The shop didn’t open till ten the day Laura died; he says he overslept.’
Eddie looks sceptical. ‘Wouldn’t his wife have noticed changes in his behaviour?’
‘Not necessarily. People only see what they want to see.’
‘We still haven’t traced the cash in Laura’s room.’
‘Dean Miller paid her three hundred quid to model for him.’
‘Dirty bugger,’ Eddie mutters.
‘The bloke’s gay, so I’m guessing his motives were artistic. We need to find out about the other seventeen hundred. I’m still sure Sam Austell’s involved in small-scale dealing. It would help to know if Laura was connected with the drugs he’s been handling. Have the NCA got back to us yet?’
‘They’re patrolling the local waters at night, but no one’s been caught. There are hundreds of coves for the smugglers to hide their boats.’ He shunts another sheet of paper across the table. ‘The lab sent through the results on the banknotes. There are only two clear fingerprint matches.’
‘Sam Austell and Danny Curnow,’ I mutter, gazing at the printout. ‘Why would either of them give her that much cash?’
‘They only found prints on a couple of notes. Maybe the rest came from another source.’
We’re still ploughing through evidence when DCI Madron makes an unannounced visit. His grey eyes study me intently as I describe finding the knife on my doorstep.
‘Someone knows local folklore,’ he says. ‘Smugglers left daggers on their rivals’ doorsteps as death threats, in the old days.’
‘He seems to enjoy a bit of melodrama. At least this means we can cross Sam Austell off our suspect list.’
‘It may not be the murder weapon, but you should stay on St Mary’s till the case closes.’
‘Running away won’t help, sir. I can’t leave the islanders to fend for themselves.’
‘Top-level decisions are mine. Remember that, Inspector.’ The DCI’s tone cools by several degrees. ‘I told you to meet regularly with Laura’s family. You’ll get more from them if they feel supported. Make sure you see them today.’
‘I’ve already arranged a visit.’
Madron seems too measured for turf wars, but his message is clear. If I push too hard, he’ll remove me from the case, destroying my chance to protect the people I care about. It’s a relief when Eddie returns with the incident log. Even though my team consists of two men and a wayward dog, we’re sticking to protocols. The DCI compliments him on his evidence files, my deputy basking in well-earned praise.
Matt Trescothick says nothing when I arrive at his cottage after my boss leaves. It must be painful for his wife to watch him floating, silent and dangerous as an iceberg, threatening to capsize the whole family. Jenna seems to be compensating for her husband’s mood with unnatural calmness, her movements slow and deliberate. Matt remains standing, arms rigid at his sides, while she sits beside me at the kitchen table.
‘Any news from the hospital?’ she asks.
‘I’m afraid Sam Austell’s still too unwell to give us clear information.’
She stares at me again. ‘But it could be him, couldn’t it?’
‘He hasn’t been ruled out formally yet.’
It’s the wrong time to admit that Sam isn’t her daughter’s killer. Someone else is roaming the island at night, leaving calling cards. Matt’s jaw muscles tense when he faces me.
‘How long do we have to wait?’ he asks. ‘We can’t even give Laura her funeral.’
‘We’re making progress. But I still need to know where she got that cash.’
‘It was probably tips, from her hotel work.’
‘That’s big money for a young girl to earn.’
His head jerks up. ‘If you think she did something wrong to get it, that’s bollocks. She had too much self-respect.’
‘No one’s saying Laura broke any laws.’
‘That’s what you’re implying. You think she was some kind of tart.’ Suddenly he’s in front of me, face so rigid with anger it’s easy to imagine him hurting anyone that stood in his way. ‘Your investigation’s a fucking joke.’
He turns on his heel before I can reply. The door slams so hard it sounds like the hinges are about to break. Jenna seems smaller than before, hunched in her seat.
‘Forgive him, Ben. He’s hardly slept for days,’ she says quietly.
‘Has he ever been violent towards you?’
She flinches. ‘Matt struggles to control his feelings, that’s all.’
My alarm bells all sound at once. Trescothick’s descent has been steeper than most – from local hero to unemployed dad in a few short years. Domestic violence often starts like this: a man falls on hard times, then his whole family suffers. I check Jenna’s appearance for signs, but her high-necked jumper gives full camouflage. I’m almost certain her husband has hit her at least once, but I’d love to be proved wrong.
‘Anything else I should know, Jenna?’
She gulps down an extra breath. ‘We’re splitting up. It’s been on the cards for months, It’s harming Suzie to hear us arguing all the time. She’s too upset to go back to school yet, I’ll keep her here with me, till she’s stronger.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ Many couples separate after the pain of losing a child, but this is fast by anyone’s measurement. ‘Where’s Matt going to stay?’
‘At his mum’s, for the time being.’
‘Can I see Suzanne?’
‘She’s not in good shape. We only gave her the news last night.’
‘Let me sit with her for a bit. I’ll leave if she gets upset.’
The living room curtains have sealed most of the daylight outside. The girl is standing by the window, her tall, athletic build just like her mother’s, but she crumples onto the sofa when I arrive. There’s no response when I ask how she’s doing, which doesn’t surprise me; the kid must be reeling from watching her family fall apart. She was closer to Laura than anyone, and I’m still certain she’s got secrets to share. It was there in her face the first time I visited. After ten minutes, she p
ushes back her long fringe to study me.
‘Ask Danny about the money,’ she whispers. ‘They were saving, for Falmouth. He’ll know where she got it.’
‘Thanks, I was planning to see him soon. I talked to Dean Miller, too. You and Laura spent time in his studio, didn’t you?’
Her eyes blink rapidly. ‘She didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘I know, Suzie, it’s okay, you’re not in trouble. Did she mind posing for him like that?’
She shakes her head. ‘Laura said it was good practise for being an actor.’
‘It didn’t bother you either?’
‘She’d have done the same for me. I like Dean’s studio, but it was weird when he painted her, he just went quiet. He never let us talk.’
I can imagine the artist slipping into a fugue state, but it strikes me again that his intense nature could easily turn violent, under the wrong circumstances. I want to ask Suzanne more questions about Miller, but she’s already withdrawing. When her sleeve slips back, there’s a mark on her forearm, dark blue and big as a fist.
‘Where did you get that bruise, Suzie?’
Her gaze flits away. ‘I bumped into a door.’
‘It’s my job to keep you safe. I can’t just ignore it.’
She covers it with her hand. ‘I’m clumsy, that’s all. It was an accident.’
The girl presses her face to her knees again, body language impenetrable as a shield. There’s no way to prove Matt hurt her, but someone did. I weigh up whether to report her injury, but it’s clear the girl would never press charges against her dad, and there’s an outside chance that the injury was accidental. My best option is to keep a protective eye on her until she trusts me enough to tell the truth.
28
There’s no sign of Shadow when I leave the Trescothicks’ house. He seems to relish long spells of freedom; until hunger strikes. It’s only when I return home at lunchtime that he bounds up the steps, interrupting my train of thought.
‘No pride,’ I say as he nuzzles my hand. ‘You’d sweet-talk anyone for a free meal.’
I feed him, then nuke last night’s fish pie in the microwave, eating it straight from the container. It’s easy to imagine my mother’s ghost standing by the cooker, calling me a slob, with an amused look on her face. I dump the bowl in the sink before collecting Laura’s letters to Danny Curnow, pulling one from the pack at random. I’ve read them before, but I’m hoping for clues about the source of all that cash. She mentions the ‘monsters’ at home, without being specific, but after seeing the bruises on her sister’s arm, I’m guessing she means her dad. The rest of the letter could only have been written by a girl on the cusp of womanhood, reckless enough to burn all her bridges. I fold the paper back into the envelope then set off for the Curnows’ house.
Another drone is hovering on the northern horizon, despite Madron’s threat of injunctions and my efforts to quell press interest. It buzzes so low overhead, photographing every speck of island soil, that my hair stands on end. Laura’s death seems to have gripped the nation, with pages of guesswork still flooding the internet.
It’s 2 p.m. by the time I reach the Curnows’ house, to find it gleaming with winter sunlight. Majestic isolation and uninterrupted sea views explain why Jay campaigned so long to build here. I listen for the tap of Patty’s high heels on the parquet, but it’s Danny who greets me. Days after losing Laura, his expression is still blank with shock, his elaborate haircut collapsing round his ears.
‘My parents are out.’
‘That’s okay. It’s you I came to see.’
We sit in the kitchen in silence. Danny looks out of place in such a slick environment, wearing trainers and a faded tracksuit, his expensive watch the only sign of his moneyed background. The room has been designed for elegance, not comfort. The stools we perch on are made of metal, the marble counter polished to a high shine. This kind of minimalism doesn’t appeal to me at all. I’d rather have comfortable sofas for chilling out on rainy Sundays, but the space contains only a solid wall of glass and a huge industrial cooking range. When I hand the letters back to Danny, their splash of colour is the only cheerful thing in the room.
‘How did you and Laura plan to survive in Falmouth? Life must be expensive in such a popular town.’
‘We’d have worked part-time to cover the rent.’
‘Why not tell me about the money in her room, Danny?’
His hesitation lasts a fraction too long. ‘Laura did odd jobs sometimes. There was her babysitting, or maybe it was a gift.’
‘Your fingerprints are on it.’
‘We lent each other money sometimes.’ His eyes harden, a man’s gaze now, not a boy’s. ‘I don’t know who gave her the rest.’
‘Was Laura doing something you didn’t like, to get cash?’
‘She never said.’
‘Don’t you want to know who killed her?’
The question brings him to his feet at last, eyes burning as his fist flies at me, but my height advantage helps me to overpower him fast. The look in his face is a mix of teenage fury and undigested grief as I grip his shoulders.
‘Calm down, Danny. Punching a police officer isn’t the solution.’
‘You never believe what I say. Why would I lie? I loved her more than anyone.’
‘I know it’s hard, but it’s my job to find out why she died.’
The boy takes a long time to settle, still refusing to reveal the origin of Laura’s money. He remains determined to protect his girlfriend, even though it’s too late to matter. After twenty minutes of questioning he lapses into monosyllables. I could arrest him for attempted assault, but it would do neither of us any good: there’s no concrete proof that he killed his girlfriend. Right now, it’s hard to believe he could harm anyone. The boy seems broken by the weight of his grief, but I’m still convinced that it took the kind of passion he’s just displayed to drive a blade six inches into her chest. I urge him to call me if he remembers anything, then leave his parents’ glass-and-chrome palace behind.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur of tedious admin. When we close up for the day, I’m desperate for physical activity, before my brain implodes. I walk to the quay and find my uncle hauling wood from the steamer, watching me in silence as I pull on a pair of gloves.
‘Long time no see,’ he mutters as we lift the first piece.
‘Believe me, I’d rather be here.’
He gives a narrow smile. ‘You didn’t have to take the case on.’
‘I’ll help you more when it finishes, but I’ve got time now. What do you want me to do?’
‘Start the lapping, if you don’t mind getting your clothes dirty.’
We stand side by side, overlaying planks. I test each seam with my fingertip, making sure it’s properly sealed. When I straighten up again, the small of my back aches like fury, but my uncle seems immune to pain, kneeling down to wedge the next strake in place. It disturbs me that he’s still on my list of suspects. All lone males are potential threats, but anxiety makes me blurt out a question that’s bothered me for years.
‘How come you never married, Ray?’
His hand movements slow down. ‘I preferred my own company, I suppose.’
‘Dad said you were a heartbreaker. You had plenty of offers.’
‘Hardly.’ He hammers in another nail. ‘Your mother and I were together before college. When she came back, he swept her off her feet. He got the best girl.’
His expression doesn’t change as he pushes the sanding block. Forty years have passed since that act of betrayal, but my memories jar. Ray ate Christmas dinner at our house every year. What must it have cost him to sit at our table, the eternal bachelor, refusing to accept second best? I keep my mouth shut as I drive resin into another seam, amazed that I never figured it out for myself. That kind of loneliness could easily convert into violence, but Ray’s expression is calm when he finally turns round.
‘I’ve been thinking about Laura,’ he says. ‘That mone
y you found probably came from several people on the island. I gave her some myself.’
His sudden admission makes me look up. ‘Did you?’
‘The girl had talent, and she wanted to make something of herself. I’ve got more than I need.’
‘How much did you give her?’
He shrugs. ‘About four hundred. I’d just been paid for repairing a dinghy last time she called round.’
‘Jesus, Ray, why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘You’ve hardly been here.’
‘What did you get in return?’
‘How do you mean?’ His shoulders stiffen. ‘It was a gift.’
I grit my teeth but manage not to snap. Ray has always done things at his own pace, following no rules but his own. ‘That’s a lot of cash for a young girl.’
‘Not really. I helped you the same way, remember?’
The memory is crystal clear. He waited on the quay with my mother to say goodbye when I left for London, and pressed an envelope full of ten-pound notes into my hand. I realise that I never thanked him properly, but now it’s too late.
‘You’ll need to make a statement tomorrow morning, Ray.’
‘I’ve already told you what happened.’
‘It has to go on record. I’ll see you at the community centre.’
My thoughts whirl as I walk home. My uncle’s gift to Laura could have been no more than generosity, but the fact that he waited so long to reveal it makes the gesture look suspicious. I shove the thought to the back of my mind.
The person I want to see most is Nina, hoping her calm manner will put me at ease, but paperwork from the case delays me. It’s nine o’clock by the time I’m putting on my coat, Shadow insisting on tagging along.
‘You’ll be a gooseberry.’ The dog refuses to leave my side. ‘Have it your own way.’
I’m halfway down the path to the beach when footsteps race towards me, someone sprinting through the dark. A body barrels into me before I can switch on my torch, almost knocking me over.
‘Thank God. I called you, but the signal’s down.’
