COVER THE LIES: A TREGUNNA CORNISH CRIME NOVEL

by Carla Vermaat

  ‘Yes, Tregunna, I see your point,’ Maloney says thoughtfully, but I can see that he is more focused on finding the godfather rather than spending time trying to find Trevor Bennett.

  ‘I’m sure Bennett will show up sooner rather than later,’ he says.

  ‘May I remind you that he is an adult and that we have two murders to investigate?’ Guthrie strokes his chin as if he is wondering if he forgot to shave that morning. ‘Maybe he got depressed about the death of his ex-wife and he thought …’ He pauses to interrupt himself. ‘Does his new wife think he may be suicidal?’

  I hesitate. With a missing child, the police respond immediately, but with adults, the police first determine the level of risk as there is usually a reason. In some cases, a serious search is speeded up when the missing person is vulnerable or depressed and, possibly a danger to themselves or to other people. I can’t see Trevor Bennett as someone who would take his own life but we do need to find him because I am certain that he knows the identity of the killer, possibly even without being aware of it.

  ‘I haven’t asked her that,’ I say truthfully. ‘But Mrs Bennett thinks that something has happened to him.’

  He scoffs. ‘Did she check if his passport is still there? Did he take any clothes? Money?’

  I shrug. Penrose picks up the phone and, after a brief conversation, putts it down again. ‘I’ve just spoken to Mrs Bennett. She has checked, but her husband’s passport is still there. As far as she can tell he hasn’t taken any clothes with him. They have a little money box with some extra cash, and he didn’t take any of that either.’

  Maloney casts me a glance. ‘What do you think, Tregunna? Has he done a runner?’

  ‘Not in the sense that he is guilty of a crime, but I do believe that there is something odd about his disappearance. That’s why I think that we should at least send an FLO to his home,’ I say, careful not to tread on his toes. ‘We can send Sally Walker. She’s been with the Poole’s for a couple of days and she knows everything about the case, which might be useful.’

  He nods. ‘Okay. Sally Walker. Anyone knows where she is? Get in touch with her and send her up there.’

  ‘Do we declare him a missing person, sir?’ Penrose asks, her hand on the phone again.

  ‘Not yet.’ His eyes scan our faces. ‘Anything else on this subject? No? Alright. Let’s move on folks. Tregunna,’ he looks at me, still not entirely convinced that this new lead won’t send us on a wild goose chase. ‘This godfather. You’re sure the girl didn’t make it up?’

  ‘She told me herself. I didn’t ask her anything. She seemed an intelligent girl and I can’t see why she would lie about it. She recognised this godfather immediately. Not only him, but she also recognised Chris Eyre. She remembered that he came to their house one day when Kenneth was away for the weekend. And she pointed out Ollie Reed who had been at their home to get Kenneth Poole’s statement. She didn’t recognise Wilbur Torrington, or Eddie Rowse, Warren or Bristow. We showed her photos of everyone that we know of who was at Swan Lake that night.’

  I suppress a snigger. When I showed Briony all the photos, she had picked out Guthrie’s face as one of a pair of Jehovah’s witnesses who had appeared on the doorstep on a Saturday afternoon, a couple of weeks ago. I’m glad I have withheld this information; Guthrie would go mental if he knew that I used his picture in an unofficial line-up.

  But Guthrie isn’t impressed with our reasoning, or with the way Maloney proposed to deal with the new information. He is still convinced that the murderer will be found amongst Alicia’s closest relatives or friends. As far as Guthrie is concerned, the disappearance of Trevor Bennett fits perfectly well with this theory, proving his guilt.

  ‘Philip, I would like to have a word with you right now, all the others, get out and find our man.’ His eyes rest on me. ‘Tregunna, you have been assigned as the intelligence officer here. I don’t want you to go out. I want you here, collating information that comes in from your colleagues.’

  Most times, I know when to grit my teeth and keep quiet, but this time I can’t stop myself. ‘I’m only working part-time, sir. And I have already worked more hours than I am strictly allowed to this week.’

  His eyes are like daggers, but he says nothing and turns on his heels and stamps out of the incident room, duly followed by a worried looking Maloney.

  ‘I’m not sure if that was a very wise move,’ Penrose murmurs from behind her hand.

  ‘We’re dealing with a serious crime, Jennette. I don’t care if I have stepped on someone’s precious toes.’

  She shrugs but I see her wink also, a tiny smile on her rosebud lips. She looks at the slices of cold pizza left behind in the boxes.

  ‘Why are you more focused on Bennett than the godfather?’ she asks.

  ‘Looking for him is like searching for a needle in a haystack but, if I am right, Bennett can help us find the godfather. I think he will be able to tell us his identity, so I think we could kill two birds with one stone.’ I grin at her and, stretching my back and shoulders, I add, ‘All we need is someone to call us with a sighting of Trevor Bennett.’

  She nods and she is about to leave the room, when, as if on cue, the phone rings.

  33

  The couple are nervous and fidgety. I guess there has been a dispute between them about whether it was right to come to the police station or not. They are sitting in the reception area: the woman is staring at her hands, the man is looking away towards the door as if he is seriously considering leaving before it’s too late.

  I stand in the doorway. The desk officer stopped me as I came in, asking me to deal with the couple. She is offering them coffee or tea and they stare at her as if they hadn’t expected any kindness in a police station.

  ‘Annie,’ I say softly, ‘I’m supposed to be in the incident room. I’m sure you can find someone else.’

  She looks at me clearly annoyed. ‘I know,’ she says, ‘ but Maloney isn’t here yet and …’ She stops with a vague gesture, her body language telling me that she would have called someone else if there had been anyone available.

  ‘By the way, it’s Anita.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  She shrugs as if it isn’t important to her any more, as if she has already decided that I am so ignorant that reminding me what her name is, is a complete waste of time. ‘I will intercept all incoming calls and make notes for you.’

  ‘Oh.’ I stare at her in surprise. ‘Thank you, Annie.’

  She shakes her head, turns and sticks a yellow post-it note on the back of my hand. 'You’re welcome, Billy,’ she replies before turning back to the desk where the phone is ringing again.

  I open my mouth to remind her that my name is Andy. Then it dawns on me. She seems to have a sense of humour after all.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Jennings?’ I read the name from the note on my hand.

  ‘Huh?’ Mr Jennings says reluctantly. He is as nervous as you might expect of a guilty person.

  ‘Yes,’ his wife says firmly, pressing a black shoulder bag to her chest. ‘We are.’

  They are both in their mid thirties, with hair that is prematurely greying and lines on their face that suggest a troubled life. On second thoughts, they might be younger than I think.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘It was more hassle to call you than to come here, as we were passing anyway,’ she says, grabbing at her husband’s arm as if she wants to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. ‘We have come forward because we have seen the man you’re looking for. The murderer of that poor woman.’

  Behind me, the desk officer takes in a sharp breath. Perhaps now she regrets that she didn’t insist that Maloney speak to them.

  Mr Jennings shakes his head. ‘El, we don’t know for sure.’

  'That is for the police to find out,’ his wife says unwaveringly. She rises to her feet, swinging her bag over her shoulders as if she is going into battle. ‘I’m Ellen and this is my husband Alan.’ She shakes my hand, adding nervo
usly, ‘which can be confusing if someone doesn’t pronounce our names correctly.’

  ‘Shall we find an interview room?’ I say lightly. ‘No need for anyone, at this stage, to overhear our conversation.’

  Alan Jennings seems to relax a bit at the thought of more privacy than the entrance hall where the phone is ringing almost constantly and the desk officer and an apprentice seem to be sharing jokes between the calls.

  'I shall need to take down your details,’ I say, grabbing an A4-sheet from the printer and taking a pen from the breast pocket of my shirt as I open the interview room.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘Alan, please, we have to help if we know something, don’t we?’

  ‘I suppose, but why is it …’

  She interrupts him with a warning glance and they sit on one side of the table.

  ‘Perhaps you can tell me first what you know,’ I say gently. ‘Then we can decide afterwards how to handle the official side of it.’

  Ellen Jennings picks up her shoulder bag from the floor and retrieves a folded newspaper. As she flicks it open, I see a photo of Trevor Bennett. She pushes the paper across the table and I pick it up, reading the headline in horror: ‘Murderer on the run: Police get it wrong AGAIN.’

  With a sinking feeling, I scan, rather than read, the article. As usual in these cases, there isn’t much information, but the reporter has managed to fill the column by padding out what little he has got. In short, it says that Trevor B., former husband of the murdered Alicia Poole, has escaped from the police and is now on the run, probably on his way to Europe. The public are asked to contact an address at the newspaper if anyone knows where Trevor B. is and any information will be treated as strictly confidential.

  ‘That man,’ Ellen Jennings says, with a voice that holds no room for doubt. ‘We saw him, didn’t we, Alan?’

  He nods, apprehensively. ‘Yesterday.’

  I take a deep breath. When someone is missing, the majority of reported sightings are wrong. Although that may be the case here, I have a feeling that this couple is different.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask, not able to conceal the mixture of doubt and excitement from them.

  ‘Yes, we are sure, inspector.’

  ‘Where did you see him?’

  They exchange worried looks, still in disagreement. Alan is not willing to give any more information than necessary. Neither is Ellen but, nevertheless, she sees it as her duty to tell me what she knows.

  ‘I hope you can keep the information to yourself,’ Alan says eventually. ‘Obviously we don’t want people to know who we are.’

  ‘I will do my best, but this is a serious murder investigation and I can’t promise you anything.’

  Once more they exchange glances. Ellen decides to continue.

  ‘We were … visiting someone who is … an acquaintance of ours. We were nervous, as it was a rather … personal matter. So we sat in the car for a while. We were a bit early. Our appointment was at half past two, but we got there already just after two.’

  ‘What was the nature of your visit?’

  ‘Uhm, we’d rather not say. As I said, it was very … personal. Private.’

  ‘Alright. Go on, please.’

  ‘We sat in the car and we … talked. We were still not sure … well, I was, but Alan wasn’t. He wasn’t convinced that this … acquaintance would be able to help us and … well, I’d better not say any more. The bottom line is that we were in the car, talking, and deciding if we wanted to go through with this or not. As we sat there, still discussing the matter, a car parked on the other side of the road and … a man got out. It was him.’

  The way she manages to avoid the actual reason for the appointment is intriguing and for some reason it makes me feel determined to find out what it was.

  ‘You saw the man you were supposed to meet?’

  ‘Well, we’re not sure. We had met him before, but that was close up in a café in Truro and this time he had his back to us most of the time.’

  She pauses and looks at her husband to check she should carry on.

  ‘He got out of the car and … well, at first we thought he was alone and we were about to get out of our car and check it was him, but then he went to the rear door and he helped another man out of the car. It looked like the other man was drunk, or hurt, or drugged. He had difficulty trying to get his balance and … our acquaintance … ehm, the man we were meeting, had to keep him steady on his feet.

  Ellen Jennings pauses and glances at her husband again. ‘We still weren’t sure and we didn’t … I said to Alan that the man might need our help, but we didn’t want to interfere in anyone else’s business, same as we didn’t want the other man to know about ours.’ She shrugs and gives a small smile. ‘We decided to wait until the two men were gone. We watched them go inside a block of flats and then we saw them appear again on the walkway on the first floor, which was where we were also going.’

  Shifting on his seat, Alan takes over. ‘But we’re not here about the man we were meeting, inspector. We’re here about the man the police are looking for. We recognised him. The drunken man.’

  ‘Both of us,’ Ellen nods quickly as if she’s afraid that I am about to call her husband a liar. ‘Alan said it at the same time as I did. That’s why we are so sure it was him.’

  I point at the photo in the newspaper. ‘Was this the man you saw? Trevor Bennett?’

  ‘That’s him. We saw him in the paper. The man who is suspected of having killed his wife and who seems to be on the run from the police.’

  I scribble something in my notebook, hoping they won’t notice my excitement. What I don’t want to happen now is that my reaction will encourage them to make up a lot more than they actually saw.

  ‘You both saw man on the walkway on the first floor. What happened next?’

  Alan nods. ‘We waited until we saw both of them disappear into one of the flats. By then, it was time for our meeting. At two minutes before half past two, we got out of the car and went into the building for our meeting.’

  ’And Bennett?’

  ‘He wasn’t there,’ Alan says quickly. ‘Only the man we were meeting.’

  Ellen nods. ‘It was a rather small flat, with only one or two bedrooms, I believe. When Alan asked him if his friend was okay, as we thought he had looked rather unstable, he said he didn’t know what we were talking about.’

  They are speaking freely now, adding information when the other pauses for breath.

  ‘I told him that we had seen them both arriving in his car and walk to the building. He seemed shocked at first, but then he laughed and said it must have been someone else. There was, he said, someone living in the building who looked a bit like him.’

  ‘But you didn’t believe him?’

  ‘No. we thought it was all a bit strange, but … we were not there to get involved in any of his personal matters, so we … sort of got on with our business.’ She blushes and looks down at her hands that are nervously fiddling in her lap.

  ‘We … I don’t really want to explain what we were doing there, inspector, so what we will tell you next, I hope you don’t need to ask any further more questions about it.’

  ‘I hope that you understand that this man might be a suspect in a double murder, Mrs Jennings,’ I say gently. ‘Therefore this information might be important.’

  ‘Oh.’ They look at each other, concern in their eyes about what the implications for them may be.

  ‘Go on, El,’ Alan says weakly. ‘It was you who wanted to tell them this. Not me.’

  ‘Okay.’ She spreads her fingers and scrutinises her fingertips for damaged nails. ‘We were in the living room to talk things through with him and … he left us alone for a while so that we could discuss the matter before we made our final decision.’

  Again, their secret mission intrigues me, but one look at their faces tells me that they won’t say any more about it.

  ‘We were alone for about ten minutes,�
�� Alan continues, not meeting my eyes. ‘It didn’t take as long as we’d anticipated and …’

  ‘That was when we heard it.’

  ‘You heard what?’

  ‘We heard voices and swearing and … we didn’t know what to think or what to do.‘

  ‘We thought it was best to wait until he came back.’

  ‘He’d made us a cup of tea, but we didn’t feel like staying there much longer. It was all a bit … embarrassing.’

  ‘So you think the man who, according to the newspapers, is hiding for the police, is still in that flat?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he was there when we left. We heard … there was a door in the hall. It looked like there was another bedroom; smaller than the other one, but nevertheless, it was a room because we heard someone snoring.’

  ‘So you believe that the man, Trevor Bennett, was there, drunk?’

  ‘Drunk or he might have been drugged,’ Ellen Jennings says, rolling her eyes.

  I pick up my pen and roll it between my thumb and index finger. ‘What is the address?’

  Once more, they exchange glances. ‘Inspector, if you find something about us … I mean, our private life …’

  ‘I will do my best to be discrete, but I can’t promise you that.’

  They glare at each other, realising that they have said too much to withhold information now.

  ‘8 Penmar Road,’ Alan Jennings says grimly. ‘First floor, the last flat on the walkway.’