by Rena George
She was dressed casually, a suede tan jacket over a light sweater and slacks, but she looked expensive. Sam laid Paul’s photo on the table. ‘This is your husband?’
Magdalene nodded.
‘When did you last see him, Mrs Bentine?’
She shifted in her chair. ‘Friday.’
Sam had been watching the woman carefully. He thought she looked more frightened than worried, but there were dark smudges under her eyes that suggested she’d been crying.
‘That was four days ago, Mrs Bentine. Why have you left it so long to report him missing?
‘I’ve been away,’ she said.
‘Until today?’
Magdalene shook her head and her teeth caught her bottom lip. ‘I came back yesterday.’
Sam’s eyebrows rose. ‘Your husband didn’t come home last night and you weren’t worried? Why not, Mrs Bentine?’
Magdalene shrugged. ‘He often stays away. We have what is called…an open marriage, Inspector.’ She looked up, studying him for a reaction, but found none and continued, ‘It’s not unusual for him not to come home. His business you know. He often stays overnight somewhere without informing me. I told you, we don’t live in each other’s pockets.’
‘But surely you must have wondered where he was?’ Amanda asked.
‘Paul wouldn’t thank me for making a fuss. If I reported him missing and he walked in and found I’d been to the police he…well, his reaction would not be pretty.’ She put both hands to her face and held her head. ‘But you’re right. I am worried now. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ She was avoiding eye contact now. Were they believing her?
Sam and Amanda exchanged looks. ‘Haven’t you heard any local news bulletins?’ Sam asked, and saw her body stiffen.
‘No’
She was lying…but why? Sam drew in his breath and lowered his voice. ‘We might have some bad news for you, Mrs Bentine.’
Magdalene kept her gaze fixed on the table. She knew what was coming.
He spoke quietly. ‘We’ve found a body and it matches your husband’s description.’ He stood up. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to take a look at it?’
Magdalene’s legs felt like jelly and she trembled as she stood up. Sam nodded to Amanda to take her to the morgue.
The women stood together behind the glass window as the body was wheeled in, and Paul’s dead face was uncovered. Amanda’s hand flew to her mouth and she nodded.
‘Is this your husband, Mrs Bentine?’
‘That’s Paul,’ she whispered, as her legs gave way and she collapsed into Amanda’s arms.
The call to her DI was short and to the point. ‘Mrs Bentine has just identified her husband’s body, boss, it’s Paul Bentine.’
‘How is she?’ came the sombre response.
‘Much as you’d expect, I suppose.’
Sam nodded at the phone. ‘I’ve got her address. We’ll meet you up there.’
The grandeur of the Bentine’s villa took Amanda by surprise as she followed Magdalene’s instructions and parked at the front steps.
‘I’m really fine now, DC Fox. There’s no need for you to stay.’
‘Well, it’s not that simple,’ said Amanda, following her into the high-ceilinged hall, and trying not to gasp at the sweeping staircase…the paintings. ‘You haven’t asked how your husband died? Aren’t you curious?’
Magdalene pivoted round on her heel. ‘You said he drowned.’ Her voice was accusing.
‘We said his body was found in a cove.’ Amanda studied the woman’s
face. The colour had returned and she was being more assertive. ‘I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.’
‘Suicide?’ Magdalene said, her eyes full of horror. ‘You mean he committed suicide?’
Amanda pursed her lips, took Magdalene’s arm and walked with her into the opulent sitting room. ‘You’d better sit down,’ she said, leading Magdalene to a cream leather sofa and waiting until she was seated. ‘We’re still trying to establish the facts,’ she said quietly.
The woman began to shake violently and the young detective scanned the room for a drinks’ tray. She found one on a side table and poured a measure of brandy, then made Magdalene sip it. Her mobile trilled and she answered it. ‘Boss?’
‘We’ll be searching the house. Is she up to it?’
Amanda glanced down at Magdalene. The brandy was taking effect. Some colour had seeped back to the woman’s cheeks. ‘I think so,’ she said.
Sam and Will arrived ahead of the Scene of Crimes team. The search of the house was quick, but thorough. They concentrated on the office, asking permission to take both computers and a batch of memory sticks for further investigation.
Magdalene suddenly met Sam’s gaze, her large blue eyes now candid. ‘He killed himself, didn’t he?’
The three officers exchanged glances.
Magdalene persisted. ‘I can see by your faces that he did…he couldn’t swim, you see…had a fear of water...’ her voice drifted off.
Sam cleared his throat. ‘What makes you think your husband killed himself?’
She shrugged; it was a helpless kind of gesture. ‘You mean it was an accident?’
‘What made you think he’d killed himself?’ Amanda had taken over the questions after a nod from Sam. ‘Was he depressed?’
‘Who knows,’ Magdalene said flatly, ‘Paul wasn’t like other men. If he was depressed he never showed it. Had to keep up the image, you see; keep the clients happy - or they don’t pay up.’
‘What kind of image, Mrs Bentine?’ Will cut in.
Magdalene frowned, as though she had to rack her brain for an explanation. ‘Paul is a solicitor…was a solicitor.’ She produced the ball of hankie and pressed it to her nose while the others waited for her to continue. ‘He had a practise in Cambridge. She reached for the tea that Amanda had previously made, and began sipping from it apparently unaware, or not caring, that it had grown cold.
‘My father was Judge Henry Carruthers,’ a faint smile touched her lips and she looked around the three faces for any sign that the name would be familiar to them. Amanda nodded encouragingly and Magdalene went on. ‘He was very well respected in Cambridge…everywhere, really…a bit of an icon of the legal world. Anyway, he took Paul under his wing…put in a good word in the right places.’ She paused, staring into the room again, apparently at memories of another life in Cambridge. ‘We were happy then.’
‘Why did you come to Cornwall?’ Sam asked
Magdalene sighed, ‘It was Paul’s idea. I still can’t understand why we had to move. We were settled in Cambridge. Admittedly his practice wasn’t doing particularly well, but I’d set up an interior design business and things were really working for me.’ She shrugged. ‘But Paul decided it was time for us to leave…come to Cornwall…enjoy the fruits of his labour, he said.’
‘What did you feel about that?’ Sam asked.
‘Magdalene shrugged again. ‘My father had died by then, but I still had all my friends in Cambridge, people I’d grown up with. I didn’t want to leave. Our marriage had been going through a sticky patch. Paul was always edgy, there were rows, his business was causing him problems but he would never tell me what they were. Anyway, he came up with this idea about moving to Cornwall…a new start, he said.’ She looked round the room. ‘I had to give our marriage that chance, didn’t I?’
‘And did it work?’ Amanda’s question took Magdalene by surprise.
‘Of course it didn’t. In fact, things were a lot worse between us after we came here. Paul had planned to retire, but then he decided that he needed to work after all. He took on a few consultancies with some of the big companies around here, but he was never what you could call happy.
‘My business, on the other hand really took off. A lot of my old friends in Cambridge had connections here…you know, holiday properties…yachts…things like that. And they were more than happy to recommend my services as an interior designer to their friends down here.
’
She put the cup she had been nursing carefully back on its saucer. ‘Paul didn’t like that, of course. He didn’t want me keeping up with my old friends, said we needed to make a complete break. But I knew he was jealous. My business was a success, you see…and his wasn’t.’
The picture she painted was not one of domestic bliss. Sam went to the window. He could see the gravel drive sweep down to the road. There wasn’t much traffic in an area like this. ‘Your husband did not kill himself, Mrs Bentine,’ he said quietly, before turning to face her. ‘He was murdered.’
The word seemed to drain away what little colour remained in Magdalene Bentine’s face. She attempted to stand, but swayed and Amanda rushed to guide her back down to the sofa. She stared at Sam. ‘You think someone killed Paul?’ Her voice was incredulous.
‘Is that such a surprise?’ Sam asked. ‘From the way you have described him, your husband seems quite capable of upsetting people.’
‘I know he had enemies,’ Magdalene said, ‘But things were better for him after we moved here.’
‘What enemies did he have, Mrs Bentine?’ Sam asked.
But Magdalene shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe enemies is too strong a word. Paul didn’t exactly get on with everybody.’
He was certain she was hiding something, but now wasn’t the time to press her further. They would interview her again.
‘Just one more thing,’ he said, smiling as he turned to leave. ‘You said you were away for the weekend. Where did you go?’
Magdalene coloured. ‘I was staying with friends in Bodmin,’
Sam knew she was lying, but his expression remained the same. ‘It’s just a formality, but we will need the address of your friends.’
Back at headquarters the computers had been examined at length. The smaller laptop was obviously the one Magdalene used for her business. Nothing of significance had been found in either.
Sam was more hopeful of gaining information from the little memory stick now in front of him. He examined the tiny scrap of purple plastic. It had been dusted for prints and none were found, which was odd because he would at least have expected Paul Bentine’s prints to be there. It could be brand new of course, and devoid of any information at all, but he would still have expected to find some prints. This one looked as though it had been wiped.
But the stick was not devoid of information and he’d whistled when they produced the printout of what was found on it. It was a dossier of names. Sam recognised some local businessmen. Each name had an attached file of information – not the sort of details any of them would want to be made public. Bentine was a blackmailer! This morning Sam had no suspects…now he was spoilt for choice!
The pub was packed with lunchtime drinkers when Merrick and Loveday walked in.
‘Who were those two women desperate to catch your attention back there?’ He was referring to Kit and Abbie, who’d been having lunch in a café in the square when they passed. They had knocked the window and beckoned her in, but Loveday shook her head, holding out her hands as though she had another appointment – which she had.
‘They looked pretty determined to catch your eye.’
Loveday explained who they were and he nodded. ‘I’m not trying to avoid them,’ she frowned, ‘But they are a bit heavy going – and they seem to appear everywhere I go.’
The man standing at the bar turned as they entered. Loveday’s eyebrows rose as they stared at each other, their surprise mutual.
‘You two know each other I take it,’ Merrick said, slapping Sam’s back.
‘Miss Ross.’ Sam nodded solemnly.
Loveday inclined her head. ‘Inspector.’
Merrick eyed them, but said nothing. He’d let whatever was going on between them pass for now.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘What’s everybody having?’
Loveday hated standing at a bar and eyed a corner table by the window. Sam had followed her glance.
‘I’ll get these,’ he said. ‘You two sit down and I’ll bring the drinks over.’
‘How’s it going then, Sam?’ Merrick asked when the detective had brought their glasses and set them down on the table. ‘Got it all tied up yet?’ His tone was teasing.
Sam sat down, stretching his long legs under the table as he considered his answer. It would be pointless not telling them, especially as it would be all over the local news by teatime.
They hadn’t officially released the dead man’s identity, but Merrick was his friend and he trusted him. He wasn’t yet sure about Loveday. He lifted his glass and drank down a couple of inches of its contents before wiping his mouth.
‘I might as well put you both out of your misery.’ He frowned at Merrick, but Loveday thought she caught a glimpse of humour in his eye. ‘…Since this is probably why I was invited here in the first place.’
Merrick put down his glass and wiped a foam moustache before widening his eyes. Loveday looked away to hide her amusement at this contrived innocence.
Sam ignored the gesture. He knew Merrick moved in all levels of Cornish society, and seemed to know half the county. He had more to gain by tipping them off now than by letting them wait for the press release.
‘The victim’s name is Paul Bentine.’ Sam watched their expressions for any sign of recognition. ‘Does the name ring a bell?’
Loveday shrugged and shook her head, but Merrick frowned. He knew the name...but from where? Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Got it,’ he said. ‘Paul Bentine. He’s a member of my golf club, or was one.’ He shook his head and put his half empty glass back on the table. ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Paul Bentine. I can picture him now, wheeler-dealer kind of bloke, always ducking and diving. Some kind of legal man, not very popular, though.’ His mouth twitched into a smile, ‘Now his wife…she was popular. Bit of all right, as I remember.’
Loveday frowned at him. She was acutely aware of Sam’s eyes on her.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ Merrick said. ‘She really was a pretty woman. What was her name now?’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Magdalene…yes, that was it. Magdalene. I liked her. She seemed to be the one with the money. Runs some kind of design business.’
An uneasy feeling was beginning to stir in the pit of Loveday’s stomach. She’d heard the name Magdalene already this week. ‘Your talking in the past tense, Merrick,’ she said. ‘Did they give up their membership?’
‘I think they were forced to, at least he was. Some kind of scandal. I can’t remember much about it.’
He looked at Sam. ‘But I can find out if you like.’
Sam nodded his thanks. He’d been watching Loveday, and glanced away, embarrassed when she caught his stare. He liked the way she’d smiled up at him when he’d brought their drinks.
Would she still be smiling at him, he wondered, when she discovered what he had to do next?
The Borlase murder had made the first item on Spotlight that night as Loveday sat in front of the television picking at a pizza.
‘Police have identified the body found at the foot of cliffs at Borlase in West Cornwall on Sunday as prominent local professional man, Paul Bentine.’
She sat forward and turned up the volume. ‘Mr Bentine gave up his legal practice in Cambridge two years ago when he and his wife moved to Cornwall. It is understood that Mr Bentine was semi retired.’
Her mobile rang and Loveday saw Lawrence’s name flash up as she answered the call.
‘Loveday?’ His normally placid voice was urgent.
‘Are you watching Spotlight?’
She told him she was.
‘I knew him,’ Lawrence blurted out, ‘Bentine…I knew him.’
Loveday slid her tray onto the coffee table and stood up. ‘What do you mean, knew him, Lawrence? What are you talking about?’
‘…Can I come over?’
She could hear his breathing. It was too fast.
‘I need to speak to you.’
She was worried now. ‘Of course you can. But tell me what’s
wrong, Lawrence.’
‘When I come over…we’ll talk then.’
She was still staring at the phone in her hand when there was a knock on the kitchen door.
‘Come in Cassie,’ she called. Only her landlady used the back door. Cassie rushed past her, face flushed and animated. ‘It was him,’ she said. ‘…On the news, it was him…Paul Bentine!’
‘Calm down Cassie and tell me what you’re talking about.’
But she had a feeling she already knew. Had all her friends known the dead man? The sinking feeling that had started with Lawrence’s call was deepening.
‘Paul Bentine,’ Cassie gasped. ‘It was his boat we were on at the weekend.’
Loveday sank into a chair. ‘He was Magdalene’s husband?’
‘Magdalene Carruthers. That’s right. She still uses her maiden name professionally. But her husband…’ Cassie continued breathlessly, ‘I recognised his picture on the news just now…it was Paul Bentine.’
After Cassie left, Loveday watched the hands of the wall clock click round. It was almost eleven and there had been no sign of Lawrence. She’d rung his mobile several times but it was going onto his answer phone. She toyed with the idea of going back next door to ask Cassie what she should do, but it was late and she didn’t want to waken the children. Deciding there was no more she could do that night, Loveday went to bed.
CHAPTER SIX
St Ives had been quiet as Sam and Will drove along the seafront. They’d been lucky getting the body identified so soon, and the material they’d found at Bentine’s house was a major breakthrough in the case.
He'd been aware of Lawrence Kemp talking to Loveday on the cliff top that morning but he hadn't spoken to him, having left his team to interview the witnesses. The artist's name cropping up on Bentine’s blackmail list however was too much of a co-incidence to ignore.
His place, when they found it, looked like one of the old buildings local fishermen once used as pilchard stores. His accommodation was on the upper floor and reached by a short flight of stone steps. There was no banister and pots of leggy geraniums had been placed on each step. From the landing they could see into a front room. A wood-burning stove stood in front of a bare stone wall. Artists obviously saved their paint for their canvasses, Sam decided.
