by Rena George
But neither of these things had happened to Flossie. They found her crouched by the cliff edge, whimpering. Lawrence scampered over a rocky outcrop to reach her and as he bent to pick her up, the cove below came into view. He pulled back, his face ashen.
‘Stay back, Loveday!’
His hand went out to stop her going to the edge, but it was too late. She was already there and peering down. Someone was on the beach, the white body rigid and motionless. He was lying at a curious angle, arms and legs stretched out in different directions. Then she froze, the bile rising in her throat as she realised she was staring down at a dead body!
Hardly aware of what she was doing, her hand sought out the camera and she began clicking.
‘Oh my God,’ the voice behind them cried, and they turned to see that the others had followed. Netta’s hand was covering her mouth. ‘It’s a body, isn’t it?...There’s a dead body down there.’
Loveday raised her arm, warning the woman not to advance further. No one noticed that Kit Armitage, who had been standing behind Netta, had begun to sway until Loveday let out a warning shout. But it was too late to save her. They all heard the thud as she fell and they rushed forward to help.
Lawrence and Jacob managed to get her to her feet and supported her between them as they walked her back to Abbie’s car. Loveday hurried after them, punching triple nines into her mobile phone as she went. All around her voices were raised in confusion. When she got a response she shouted over the mêlée. ‘Police please! We need the police!’
Abbie ran ahead and opened the car’s back door so Kit, conscious now, but still deathly pale, could be lowered gently inside. ‘She’ll be fine now. I’ll look after her,’ she said.
‘Well we can’t leave her like this. She needs to see a doctor,’ Loveday was rummaging in her bag for the unopened bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and offered it to Kit, who was now struggling to sit up.
‘I’m fine, really I am,’ she protested. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’ She sipped at the water then offered the bottle back. But Loveday smiled. ‘No, you keep it.’
‘She’s not ill,’ said Abbie. ‘Kit’s grieving.’ She gave her friend an understanding smile. ‘Her sister, Margaret, died two weeks ago.’ She broke off and looked out across the cliffs to where Lawrence was striding back with the Vincents. ‘…And now this - ’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Loveday said, ‘That must have been terrible for you down there.’
Kit began to sniffle and Abbie produced a tissue from her bag as she said, ‘I think I’ll get her back to the hotel.’
‘I think we should all wait here for the police.’ Loveday said.
They both stared at her. ‘But we don’t know anything about this. We never even looked down the cliffs,’ Abbie said.
‘It’s my first time in a situation like this, too,’ Loveday said gently, ‘But whoever that is down there, he didn’t get there by himself.’
‘You mean he was murdered?’ Kit said numbly.
Loveday nodded. ‘Maybe. At any rate, I think we should all stick around until the police arrive.’
‘Sorry, boss,’ Detective Constable Amanda Fox spoke into her mobile phone as she pushed open the back door of the Truro police station and headed for her car. ‘But something’s come up.’ She grimaced, anticipating Sam Kitto’s reaction at the other end of the line. ‘I told the Super that it was your weekend off…but he insisted on my calling you.’
Detective Inspector Sam Kitto, of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary, glanced at the fishing rod propped up against the back door and a taunting image of the river bank, where he’d planned to spend the day, flashed through his mind. He ran a hand through his springy dark brown hair and sighed. ‘OK, Amanda. What is it this time?’
‘It’s a body, boss…out at Borlase Cove.’
Sam frowned. Bodies washing ashore were not exactly uncommon in a county bounded on three sides by the sea. They usually turned out to be suicides, or some ill-fated foreign crewman lost overboard from a passing ship. He searched his mind, but couldn’t recall any recent reports of missing people.
‘What’s so special about this one?’
‘It looks suspicious, boss.’
‘Suspicious?’
Amanda had reached her car and was clicking to unlock the doors. ‘It looks like he was tied down to the beach. Sergeant Tregellis and DC Rowe are already there. Want me to pick you up, boss?’
Visions of a recent journey in the passenger seat of his young detective constable’s car as she sped along the busy A30, negotiating traffic like an obstacle race, flashed into his mind.
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet you there.’ From his cottage in Stithians he’d have a head start on his DC, assuming she was speaking from the station in Truro.
Blue and white incident tape fluttered across the road as Sam approached, shaking his head and giving a wry smile at the valiant efforts of two zealous young officers to preserve a possible crime scene. Several police vehicles, and various other unmarked cars, were already in the parking area. As he pulled alongside them, he spotted Amanda’s car speeding over the bumps behind him. He waited for her to park and get out and they walked together across the springy turf, making for the trodden path that wound its way to the figures grouped about the cliff edge.
‘What do we know?’ he called over his shoulder, as they moved in single file past warning notices highlighting the dangers of underground shafts and tunnels.
‘It’s weird, this one.’ Her voice reached him in snatches as she shouted over the wind. ‘…Looks like he was tied down to the shingle…and just left to drown.’
‘He?’
‘Seems so.’
Tregellis and Rowe were already taking witness statements. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the horizon. Another sheet of rain was making its way ashore. Sam and Amanda moved to the edge and looked down into the cove. The familiar rotund shape of Home Office pathologist, Dr Robert Bartholomew, clad in the necessary police issue white overalls, was crouched by the body. Two similarly dressed Scene of Crime Officers were on their knees amongst the shingle, collecting whatever scraps of evidence were around. Sam was holding out little hope for that. The police photographer was pacing the cove, recording the scene from every angle.
Sam instructed Amanda to take over from Sergeant Tregellis. Will joined him on the cliff edge, following his boss’s gaze out to sea.
‘Not a lot they can do down there, boss. Doc reckons the tide’s been over him a couple of times already.’
‘How did the team get down there?’
Will Tregellis nodded towards a lifeboat and two larger fishing vessels that were waiting just offshore ready to offer what help they could. ‘The RNLI’s inshore boat,’ he said. ‘It’s just about the only vessel that could get into that cove. They’re waiting to recover the body and bring the others ashore.’
‘Where will they land?’ Sam asked.
‘There’s a beach of sorts just along the coast. We have vehicles waiting there.’
Sam was noting the speed of the waves. ‘How long have they got down there?’
‘We think about fifteen minutes…ten to be on the safe side, before the tide -.’
‘I don’t think we should hang about for another ten minutes. Let’s get these people out of there now,’ Sam said.
‘But what if they haven’t finished?’
Sam’s eyebrows descended into a frown. ‘Now, Will,’ he growled.
Lawrence had joined Loveday, watching the latest arrivals. The woman, in a well-cut dark suit and green wellies, was a good six inches shorter than her male companion. She’d made an attempt to tame her mass of crinkly auburn hair by securing it with a butterfly clip at the back of her head, but the wind was tearing at it, giving her a dishevelled appearance.
The man had a definite air of authority, despite the casual tweed jacket and dark, open necked shirt. He’d glanced briefly in their direction as he passed but showed no inclination to s
peak to them. Loveday studied him, guessing he was in his mid to late thirties, at least six feet tall, with strong wide shoulders. His dark hair was brushed back, revealing a high forehead. Even from this distance she could tell his eyes were dark. Not bad looking, she thought, if you liked that serious, rugged type.
He suddenly glanced up and met her eyes. Had that been the trace of a smile? She didn’t wait to find out, turning away, embarrassed at having been caught staring at him. It was the woman officer who came over. The other young detective was still having his ear bent by the Vincents.
‘DC Fox.’ She introduced herself. It was a West Country accent, but not Cornish. She fixed Lawrence with a look. ‘And you are -?’
Lawrence gave his details and described how they found the body. DC Fox jotted the information into her notebook and turned to face Loveday. ‘And you -?’ she asked.
The woman’s apparent inability to finish a sentence was beginning to irritate Loveday. She smiled at the unreceptive face. ‘I’m Loveday Ross,’ she said. ‘…A journalist.’ The information had the desired effect and Loveday had to stifle a victorious grin as she watched the woman's bored expression change to one of suspicion.
DC Fox looked up from her scribbling. Loveday had her full attention now. ‘Can I ask why you’re here, Miss Ross?’
Already feeling guilty at her blatant attempt to antagonise the woman, Loveday smiled. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not a newspaper. I work for a local magazine – Cornish Folk.’ She had allowed her voice to rise questioningly at the end of the sentence, but the woman gave no indication she had ever heard of the magazine, which was strange considering it was in every newsagents’ shop in the county.
‘Stop hiding your light under a bushel, Loveday,’ Lawrence cut in. ‘Loveday’s the editor of Cornish Folk.’
Loveday frowned at Lawrence’s well-meaning attempt to establish her professional status. ‘Assistant editor, actually’ she corrected. ‘And I’m here today because we will be running a feature about Lawrence’s art school in the next issue.’
DC Fox clipped the cap back on her pen and Loveday thought she had glimpsed the trace of a smirk. ‘You might have to postpone that,’ the detective said.
Loveday watched Amanda Fox retreat in search of the Vincents who had been standing apart, totally engrossed in the activities around them. Until now, she hadn’t given a thought to the problems this would cause at the magazine when they no longer had Lawrence’s vital article to fill those two empty pages. But as soon as the realisation dawned, Loveday chastised herself. How could she be so callous? What did a magazine article matter when a man lay dead only a hundred feet below? He’d have a family somewhere…parents…a wife…perhaps children. Nobody deserved to be staked out like a trapped animal waiting to die. The thought made her shiver.
Sam had been keeping an eye on his DC’s progress with the witnesses. He liked to stand back like this, watch people’s body language. It often told more about a witness than what they actually said. And the body language he had witnessed between the two women just now had been interesting. Amanda had riled the other one. He’d seen the same thing so many times before. The young detective’s abrasive attitude put people’s backs up. Despite the macabre scene below, he had to smile. He could tell by the way Amanda’s back straightened, her shoulders stiffened, and her chin came up, that she had met her match.
He turned to Will. ‘Just these four witnesses?’
‘No,’ Will said. ‘There’s another couple of women over there.’ He flicked a thumb in the direction of the car park. ‘One of them felt queasy so they asked if they could stay in their car.’ He looked up to catch the attention of one of the uniformed officers. ‘I’ll get them down here now, boss.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Don’t bother. I take it you’ve got their statements?’
‘We have. They’re visitors, staying along the road at the pub in Polmarth. They’ve been asked to hang on another day or so just in case we need to speak to them again. The couple over there…’ he nodded towards the Vincents, now deep in conversation with DC Fox. ‘They’re visitors as well…staying in the same place as the women.’
‘And the other two?’
‘Both local. The man’s an artist, Lawrence Kemp. Runs some kind of an art school. The others are his students – oh, all except her.’ he nodded towards Loveday. ‘She’s a journalist.’
Sam’s brows knitted together. ‘That’s all we needed. What’s she doing here?’
Will shrugged. ‘Some kind of magazine article, I think. It was DC Rowe who spoke to her.’
Below them the lifeboat had moved in to recover the body. Sam knew Dr Bartholomew would accompany it ashore. The crew had already collected the Scene of Crime Officers and transferred the group to one of the fishing boats, which was now on its way to deposit them at St Ives harbour.
‘I want a word with the pathologist,’ Sam said. ‘How do I get to the landing site?’
Will gave directions and Sam called over this shoulder as he left. ‘Make sure none of the witnesses discuss this with anybody – especially the journalist. What was her name?’
CHAPTER TWO
A steady drizzle was falling by the time Loveday got back to her cottage in Marazion, The bleakness matched her mood. The morning’s events had upset her more than she’d realised. Dumping her bag on the kitchen table she turned to fill the kettle, but thought better of it and reached into the fridge for the half full bottle of Chardonnay, and poured herself a large glass.
Taking it through to her tiny sitting room, she stood by the window, looking out. Through the haze of rain she could just make out the towering mass of St Michael’s Mount. She’d noticed while driving along the Penzance seafront that the tide was high. From here she had no view of the causeway linking the Mount to the mainland, but she knew that it would be well under water. She frowned. The police would have recovered the poor man’s body by now.
Her mobile rang. It was Kit Armitage. For a moment she was surprised, then she remembered giving the women her business card.
‘Loveday? Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but you did say I could call if there was something…Well, the thing is…I don’t suppose you could come over?’
‘To Polmarth?’
Loveday could hear another voice in the background. Abbie was giving instructions again.
‘There’s a pub near here called the Miner’s Lamp. Abbie’s heard the food is quite good.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you would fancy joining us there for a meal?’
‘Well…er, yes…why not,’ Loveday said.
‘About six then?’
‘Fine by me.’ Loveday was thoughtful as she clicked off the connection. She hadn’t been expecting that, and wasn’t even sure she wanted to meet up with the women again, but she’d agreed to it now.
Kit and Abbie had found one of the long tables by the crackling log fire, and they were deep in conversation when Loveday walked in. They didn’t notice her at first, and for a moment she stood watching them. Something about their demeanour suggested a disagreement. The last thing she wanted was to walk in on a row. But the smile Abbie flashed, when she looked up and spotted her, made her doubt that first impression.
‘We got the best seats in the house,’ she called, waving Loveday over.
‘So you have,’ she grinned, throwing her bag down on the bench.
Kit still had that haunted look, and Loveday’s heart went out to her. The poor woman was obviously not coping well with the loss of her sister.
Loveday had already decided not to talk about the day’s events, guessing Kit needed to distance herself from them…they all did. But Abbie had other ideas.
‘Shame about your little article,’ she said, as Loveday slid in beside them, giving Abbie a surprised look.
‘Well, you can hardly write about it now, can you?’
Loveday tried not to frown. ‘The article has only been postponed. It will be used eventually,’ she said struggling to keep the stiffness from h
er voice.
‘Without any mention of the body on the beach, I hope?’ Abbie persisted.
‘Well of course I won’t be mentioning that. Cornish Folk is not that kind of magazine.’ Loveday looked from one to the other. Was the woman seriously trying to provoke her? Or was it her imagination that they both appeared to visibly relax when she said that?
Into the awkward silence, Kit cleared her throat, and said, ‘I made such a fuss today. I feel so embarrassed about it now. I mean…fainting. I’ve never done that before.’
She attempted a weak smile.
‘Can’t be easy getting over a shock like that…not on top of everything else,’ Loveday said quietly.
‘That’s really why we asked you to join us,’ Abbie cut in. ‘Thanks by the way for coming. You were so kind back there. We just wanted to thank you properly. So the meal is on us.’
‘It’s very generous, but you really don’t have to - ’
But Abbie was holding up a hand. ‘We insist.’
Menus were produced and they made their choices. Abbie asked for the wine list and ran her eye down it.
‘Hmm, I’m impressed,’ she said, ordering a South African Sauvignon Blanc.
It was icy cold and delicious, and Loveday made a mental note to look for it next time she was in the supermarket. She said. ‘I suppose you two will be heading back to London now?’
Abbie swirled the wine her glass. ‘Actually, no. The police…’ She paused, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘The big, handsome one wants us to hang around for a few days.’ She glanced across at Kit. ‘…And that’s fine by us. Cornwall without the tourists…what could be better?’
Loveday felt her shoulders stiffened. She knew exactly who Abbie meant, and for some reason her reference to the senior detective annoyed her. She forced a smile as she changed the subject. ‘I take it you know this area?’
