COVER THE LIES: A TREGUNNA CORNISH CRIME NOVEL

by Carla Vermaat

  Maloney’s face is flushed. He is updating the whiteboard with the latest information. I can see him adding several red arrows, linking Bennett’s name to other added information and I feel my heart sink.

  ‘We’ve got him,’ Penrose whispers from the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Who?’ I find a seat between Penrose and PC Andrews for a moment staring as the whiteboard where the name of Maureen Bennett is underlined and some exclamation marks after it.

  ‘Bennett.’ PC Andrews replies. His jaws are chewing rapidly. Every so often I see a piece of pink gum moving from one side of his mouth to the other.

  ‘Where is he?’

  Penrose shakes her head, eyes fixed on Maloney, who seems to be expecting someone to come in with the news we’ve all been waiting for.

  ‘We haven’t found him yet. A warrant has been issued for his arrest.’

  I can’t believe my ears. ‘On what grounds?’

  She stares at me. ‘Haven’t you heard? His wife has changed her statement.’

  ‘Maureen? Why?’

  She shrugs, unsatisfied with my reaction. ‘Maloney sent Ollie and Watkins to see her again. Eventually, she admitted that Trevor hadn’t been with her all the time on Saturday night at the campsite. As we know, Briony was sick and the boy, Alfie, didn’t feel great either. Trevor suggested he’d sleep on the couch so Maureen could keep en eye on the children.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean that Bennett …’

  She cuts me off. ‘Briony and Alfie didn’t sleep very well so Maureen got up at about six thirty and made herself a cup of tea. She didn’t check on her husband as she didn’t want to wake him. But when she was in the kitchen making tea, he came in. He had been out. He said he’d just driven out to the nearest village to buy a newspaper.’

  I shake my head. ‘Does that make him guilty of murder?’

  ‘Not as such, of course, but Maureen didn’t really believe him. Their car was dirty, the wheels were clogged with mud. Anyway, we checked and he didn’t appear on the CCTV at the village where he claimed he’d bought the paper.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t know the area very well and he went to an other village.’

  I can see anger flaring up in her eyes. She’s annoyed by my scepticism and thinks I’m sulking because I kept saying that Bennett isn’t the murderer and now that it looks as if I’m wrong, I won’t admit it.

  ‘Well,’ she says defiantly, ‘… we know for certain that he did buy a paper and a few magazines for the children. One for Alfie about Formula-1 racing and one for each of the girls -horse stuff- because Maureen saw them. Later, she found the receipt stuck between the pages of the newspaper. It was not from some village store but from a petrol station further west, on the A30 in Cornwall.’

  She lowers her voice as Maloney taps the whiteboard wiper on the edge on the table. Guthrie is a few steps to one side of him, arms crossed in front of his chest and smirking as though he has personally solved the case. Everyone is quiet as Maloney more or less repeats Penrose’s whispered explanation.

  ‘We’ve asked the petrol station on the A30 to send us the images from their cameras,’ Maloney proceeds, not able to hide his excitement. ‘It was pretty easy to check because the time was also on the receipt. We’ve just got the confirmation that Bennett was seen on the images, paying for petrol and magazines and a newspaper.’ He pauses briefly for effect. ‘It was 6.08 am. The petrol station had just opened and he was the first customer. The woman at the till remembers him, because she has a daughter who reads the same horse magazines. The significance here though is that this petrol station is at least 30 minutes away from where they were staying in Devon. So he was clearly lying. Our next job is to trace his movements for the whole of that night. We’re looking at a time frame between one and six in the morning.’ He pauses and his eyes wander over our faces. ‘Unfortunately, we don’t know the exact time of her death. She didn’t have a watch on that conveniently stopped at the moment she was killed.’

  ‘But Torrington stumbled upon her just after midnight,’ I remind him.

  Maloney nods, this time more patiently. ‘That’s only what the clairvoyant told us. We can’t prove it because we have no other sightings of Torrington on that night except when he left work on Saturday night.’

  Maloney opens his mouth again, but stops midway, gazing over our heads. ‘Yes Ollie?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the clairvoyant again, sir,’ he starts, blushing when there is a low murmur and sniggering.

  ‘Quiet!’ Guthrie thunders. ‘This isn’t funny.’

  ‘She says that it might be possible that she had the time wrong,’ Ollie continues, trying to pull a serious face. ‘That night, we had to put the clocks forward for British Summer Time. She says she doesn’t remember exactly when she changed the clock in her bedroom.’

  ‘Okay. The bottom line is that Trevor Bennett has no alibi for that night,’ Maloney resumes. ‘And there is more. We have checked phone records from that night. He received a call from Alicia Poole at 11.31 pm and they spoke for about 6 minutes. About thirty minutes later, at 12.03 am, he received a call from a different number, which we know now was from Denise Shaw’s phone. He didn’t answer that call but Alicia had left an urgent message for him asking him to call her back on that number immediately because she was panicking and wanted him to come and help her. Which confirms that she was still alive at 12.03 am.’

  Casting his eyes over our faces, he stops at me. ’We need to check this with Denise Shaw. Perhaps you can do that, Tregunna. You seemed to be friendly with her.’

  I shrug and stare at Penrose, managing not to blush when I hear someone sniggering again behind me. I will have to ask Penrose to talk to Denise because I won’t be able to face her. Not after that disastrous night with her. And Penrose won’t ask me any awkward questions as to why I don’t want to do it myself.

  ‘All we have to do now is find Bennett,’ Maloney continues optimistically. ‘I’m sure he’ll see sense when we confront him with the evidence.’

  ‘Even if he was at the lake that night,’ I say slowly, ‘can we prove that he killed her?’

  ‘He’ll confess when he hears what we have on him.’ Confidently, Maloney turns and writes something on the whiteboard. ‘So far, we can place him on the A30 between Okehampton and Launceston. Unfortunately, he had no signal there, possibly because he turned off his phone. He knew we would be able to trace him.’

  He picks up a sheet and starts issuing orders to the officers. All leave is cancelled. Nobody objects.

  I can’t see Bennett as the killer, but I suppose I must be wrong. Even if all the evidence is only circumstantial at this stage, there is the fact that he lied about that night.

  ‘What about Torrington? Did Bennett kill him too?’

  ‘We’re currently concentrating on two things here,’ Maloney replies firmly. A, find more evidence that proves Bennett killed his ex-wife Alicia, and, B, find him and arrest him.’

  He pauses and there is a brief applause. Maloney bows his head, then smiles, and says that it was due to good team work. For the record, he adds that we still have a lot of work to do.

  ‘Let’s do this, ladies and gentlemen. The sooner we find Bennett and charge him the better.’ He pauses, his eyes meeting Guthrie’s. ‘And of course, not a word to anyone of the press. Do I make myself clear?’

  36

  Despite our bad start, I have a feeling that an invisible bond has grown between the new desk officer and me. Alert to all the on gossip and everything out of the ordinary that is going on in the police station, she seems to have taken my side against Guthrie. When I pass her on my way home, I can see warmth in her eyes, replacing the mockery that clouded them earlier.

  She puts her arms in a bright orange raincoat and fusses with the zipper, wishing the night duty officer a quiet evening and joins me in the hall.

  ‘Finished for today?’ she asks good-naturedly.

  ‘I hope so.’ When Maloney found out that she had taken the c
alls for me when Penrose and I went to the address Jennings had given me, he became unusually angry with me and he literally ordered me to stay by the phone until further notice. Seeing his mouth twitch nervously, the tired look in his eyes, I could understand his frustration and I did as I was told. The search for Trevor Bennett hadn’t got us anywhere and when, eventually, the calls became less frequent, Maloney released me off my duty and found someone else to spend the night listening to useless calls from time wasters.

  ‘Uhm, thanks for your help earlier, Annie.’

  ‘It’s Anita.’ She stops and reaches out her hand. ‘Anita Barron. And it was no trouble, Andy.’

  I feel myself blush. ‘Thanks, Anita.’

  ‘No worries.’ She smiles. ‘I could see how stressed you were.’

  ‘Hm.’ I hope she’s not going to enquire why I am stressed. That will immediately dilute the first cautious steps to a better understanding between us.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t. ‘No news about Bennett, I presume?’

  ‘No.’

  Ollie Reed and his partner have been watching the block of flats on Penmar Road, but even I am now inclined to admit that Alan and Ellen Jennings must have made a mistake when they thought they recognised Bennett.

  ’Shame.’

  With her free hand, Anita Barron forces open the door against the wind, using her body to keep it open. The sky has blackened and jagged clouds are chasing across the sky. The distant hills and clay pits are obscured by a dark blanket of rain. But in the other direction, over the sea, the sky is almost a clear pale blue with a single slice of purple as if someone has glued it there.

  ‘Hm. We’ll get him eventually.’

  She hears the tiredness in my voice. ‘Can I offer you a lift?’ she says, pointing at the sky as we feel the first drops of rain on our faces.

  ‘Only if you are going my way.’

  ‘I am,’ she says, not offering any further information.

  We drive in silence, each in our own thoughts, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. There is a smell in her car that reminds me vaguely of Lauren and the thought of it now fills me with a pain I have tried to ignore for too long.

  Anita drives along the coast road where we can see huge waves crashing onto the beaches below us, white foam gathering along the harbour walls and against the rocks. Fishing vessels in the harbour pull at the chains and ropes.

  All of a sudden, we are in a heavy shower with water streaming across the road. Each time we hit a puddle, water spouts out like a fountain from the tarmac. She hunches forward in her seat, concentrating hard to as the sodden windscreen is sporadically cleared by the wipers. Her lips are pursed and her hands are tight around the steering wheel.

  ‘Not in a good mood?’ she asks, keeping her eyes on the road.

  Although I hate it being pointed out when I’m in a bad mood, I admire her for her sensitivity.

  ‘If I’m honest, no. We thought we had a serious lead when the Jennings came to the station yesterday,’ I say, irritably. ‘Penrose and I went to the address where the Jennings said they’d seen Trevor Bennett. I suppose they meant well, but we found it was a dead end. There was no one in the flat. The neighbour was there almost all day, apparently spying on everything that was going on but he insisted he hadn’t seen Bennett.’

  ‘His word against that of Mr and Mrs Jennings?’ Anita says encouragingly.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘They are two pairs of eyes.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘What if the neighbour lied?’

  ‘Why would he?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  She flashes her headlights, annoyed as she sees a car with no lights on at all. ‘I understand there’s been a breakthrough.’

  I shrug, wondering if she realises this is exactly the reason why I’m not in a good mood. I don’t feel satisfied about my day at work. It is as if I’ve been wasting my time and everything I achieved has been wiped away.

  ‘Trevor Bennett is now the prime suspect.’

  She casts me a quick glance. ‘I hear a but in your voice.’

  ‘I’m not convinced he did it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I shrug. ‘A hunch, that’s all.’

  ‘Hunches don’t come from nowhere.’

  ‘True.’ But I know Maloney wasn’t impressed by my logic. ‘It’s because of the milk.’

  I still can’t believe that Bennett would have bought the milk for his wife. Why would he have bothered if he knew he was going to leave his family?

  ‘And your hunch is based on … milk?’

  ‘More or less.’

  She stops behind a small white car, tutting when it doesn’t move when the traffic light changes to green.

  I nod. ‘He brought the milk home. Why didn’t he take his car? Or his passport? He hasn’t been to a cash machine to take out an abnormal sum of money.’

  ‘But is there evidence against him?’

  ‘All circumstantial.’

  Not taking her eyes off the road, I can see a smile on her lips. ‘When I come home from work and I’m tired, or grumpy, or moaning about everyone and everything, my fifteen-year-old daughter asks me if I want to talk about it. It has become an expression in our house. But really, it helps. I moan and groan and she listens and we laugh about it afterwards.’

  ‘Does she also moan?’

  ‘Of course. School. Teachers. Friends. Disputes.’

  ‘I live alone.’

  ‘Hm.’ We drive in silence again. Every so often she taps a rhythm on the steering wheel with a finger. I sense her looking at me and she changes the subject completely.

  ‘It was PC Beth Andrews who is responsible for the leak to the press. She’s friends with Hill’s wife. They go to the same hairdresser or something like that.’ She pauses. When I don’t respond, she adds, ‘You know, that reporter. Hill.’

  ‘Gerald Hill? I wasn’t aware that he has a wife.’

  ‘You are cynical, Andy Tregunna.’

  ‘Realistic.’ I hesitate. ‘Does Guthrie know?’

  ‘Uhm … no.’ She blushes. ‘I was advised to tell you.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘You’d know what to do.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Uhm … Champion.’

  She’s referring to PC Danielle Champion. One of the youngest recruits on the force. She is as thin as a rake, with hunched shoulders and so short she barely reaches to my chest. In the beginning, I wondered what went on in her head or what she expected when she chose a career with the police. But she’s proven me wrong. She’ll be a good officer, probably one of the best.

  ‘Are you going to tell the DCI about PC Andrews?’ Anita Barron asks, frowning uncertainly, probably already regretting that she’s told me.

  The increasing wind is making the car rock and she has to hold the wheel firmly in both hands. I look at the torrential rain crashing on the windscreen as we approach the double roundabout.

  ‘It will blow over.’

  ‘Maybe, but it isn’t right that …’

  ‘I’ll have a word with PC Andrews. Gerald Hill will find another way to get his information, or he’ll simply make things up.’

  ‘Oh.’ She slows down as we drive alongside the park. Leaves are blown across the road and the trees are shaking. ‘Where is your flat? Tell me where to stop.’

  ‘It’s fine if you stop here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.’

  ‘Not in this weather, you don’t ...’ She shakes her head. ‘For what it’s worth, I overheard the Jennings talking to one another as they were leaving the police station,’ she continues. ‘It didn’t really make sense to me, but it seemed important to them. That’s why I’m telling you.’

  I have my hand already on the door handle waiting for her to stop the car. ‘What was important?’

  ‘Mr Jennings was angry with his wife after they were interviewed …’ She pauses and curses a bicycle rider in front of us dodging puddles and slowing dow
n the traffic on the road. The flashing red light on the back of his bike is barely visible through the rain splashing up off his tyres. When he has moved onto the pavement, Anita seems to have lost her train of thought.

  ‘You were telling me what you overheard the Jennings say.’

  ‘Oh sorry. Well, Mrs Jennings was in tears when her husband announced that he didn’t want to go on with the whole process because he wasn’t sure about the man’s background.’

  ‘What did he mean by that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Whose background?’

  ‘I thought you would know that.’

  I’m puzzled. The wipers make a sucking sound. I can’t concentrate. I have the frustrating feeling that I am missing something here. Something small, but very important. It’s at the back of my mind, I can almost grab it, but it disappears when I reach for it. I need to be alone silence, I need quietness, I need to think.

  ‘What else did they say?’

  ‘Not much.’ She frowns. ‘Only that they’d come so far already. They’ve paid and it has now gone too far to stop.’

  ‘Can you stop here, please, uhm … Anita?’ I say abruptly.

  ‘Is it something I said?’ she jokes, not hiding her surprise as she obediently stops beside the kerb, ignoring the hoot of an impatient driver behind us.

  ‘Yes, it is something you said but not in the way you think. Thank you, Anita!’ Climbing out, I let go of the car door which almost blows out of my hand.

  ‘Get back in,’ she insists. ‘Just tell me where you live.’

  ‘No, but thanks anyway.’ I lift my head and feel the rain pouring down my hair and face. I almost welcome the wet coldness. An idea is beginning to form in my head. Absurd and totally at odds with everything I know and experienced in my life. I can barely believe what I’m thinking but things are starting to make sense. Slowly.

  ‘I need to think.’

  Anita waves goodbye, then she’s gone. I pull up the collar of my coat, brace myself against the lashing rain and instead of going home walk back to the police station.