by Rena George
Sam studied her as she spoke, but his expression remained impassive. Charlie had fired his interest when he’d told him about the museum incident. It could have been the breakthrough they needed. But this was nothing more than fanciful, the product of an over active imagination. He’d been hoping for more.
Loveday saw his eyebrows descend into a frown as she spoke. Her story wasn’t impressing him. Determined not to be put off, she continued. ‘OK, I know it sounds far fetched, but there could be something in it…couldn’t there?’
Sam sighed and spread his hands, ‘I’m sorry, Loveday, but I can see nothing of any consequence here.’
‘Well, look at this,’ Loveday pulled the sketch from her bag. ‘Lawrence asked me to show you this.’ She offered the sketchbook across the table and Sam took it and flicked through the pages.
‘That’s the one,’ Loveday said, stopping him at the Borlase scene. She pointed. ‘That’s the figure he’s talking about.’
Sam glanced at the pencil sketch and shrugged. ‘Could be anybody,’ he said, ‘…man or woman.’
‘Well, yes, but if it really was the murderer – and he thought he could have been identified in the painting - then it might make sense of the vandalism, don’t you think?’ She paused to gauge his reaction. He wasn’t buying any of it. ‘All right, I can see what you’re thinking,’ she said, sighing.
His eyes flickered over her and Loveday wondered if he was assessing her sanity. But she wasn’t going to back down now. She jabbed a finger at Lawrence’s sketch. ‘Look more closely.’ She pointed to the cap. It’s a bit unusual, don’t you think?’
Sam shrugged. ‘It’s a cap. What’s unusual about it?’
The barman brought their sandwiches and left them on the table. Loveday sat back, waiting until he was out of earshot again. ‘How many hats like that have you seen about Cornwall recently, Inspector? It’s sixties retro…straight out of an old John Lennon movie.’
‘If you say so,’ he said. But he did take a second look and maybe she was right. The shape was distinctive.
Loveday’s attention had shifted to the sandwiches. She lifted one and examined it suspiciously before biting into it. Cheese was not her favourite food, but it was sharp and tasty – and she was hungry.
Sam smiled to himself as he watched her attack the snack with gusto, before taking an elegant pinky to brush away the crumbs at the side of her mouth.
‘Very nice,’ she said, ‘Thank you. I was starving.’
She pushed her plate away and glanced up at him. ‘Still not convinced, are you, Inspector?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘The thing is…I thought I saw that hat just before we bumped into each other.’
She met his eyes. ‘You see, Lawrence has this theory about body language and how we all recognise the people we know, even if we don’t actually see their faces.’
‘Go on.’
‘I know this is going to sound weird, but I think I recognised somebody earlier. It was just like Lawrence said…something about the slope of the shoulders, how he held his head.’
‘So who was it?’
‘That’s just it. I’m not sure…but it was somebody I know, I’m certain of it.’ She tapped Lawrence’s sketch with her finger again. ‘…And, he was wearing that hat.’ She glanced at Sam’s face hoping for a flicker of interest, but saw none. ‘I tried to follow him, but he was too quick for me. And then you appeared.’
Sam rolled his eyes.
‘You think I’ve lost my marbles, don’t you…you’re probably right. It does sound crazy.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Sam sighed. ‘It’s far fetched, certainly…and, well, not very likely.’ He ran a finger up the side of his glass and drew a line in the condensation. ‘But we won’t discount it.’
He wasn’t in a position to discount anything at the moment…not even a cockeyed theory like this one. He emptied his glass and checked his watch.
‘Yes I know. I have to get back too,’ Loveday said, anticipating what he was going to say. ‘But,’ she grimaced, unsure if she should go on. Her suspicions about Magdalene would probably be received as even more far out. But she was here now, so she would tell him.
He raised an eyebrow, and Loveday noticed how intense his dark his eyes were.
‘I’m not saying this is true, but…well, it’s about Magdalene Bentine.’
Sam’s shoulders squared. ‘You have something to tell me about Mrs Bentine?’
‘Well, yes, and no,’ she hedged, wondering how wise she had been to start this. But now that she had, there was no going back. She straightened her back and looked directly at Kitto.
‘I think she was having and affair…with a vicar…the Rev Martin Foyle.’ She sat back and waited for his reaction.
‘You know this for a fact, do you?’
‘Not exactly a fact, no, it’s just a theory at the moment.’
Sam’s brow furrowed and he gave her one of his dark looks. ‘Another of your theories, Miss Ross?’
‘I know,’ Loveday muttered, staring into the dregs of her wine. ‘I shouldn’t have started this. Just forget I spoke.’
She stood up to leave, but Sam touched her arm. There was no sign of a smile, but his voice was less mocking. ‘Why don’t you sit down and finish your story?’ he said.
Loveday did, and toyed with the stem of her glass. ‘The affair is just a gut feeling.’ She smiled up at him. ‘But I can usually trust my instinct on these things. Someone rang Magdalene on her mobile the day Cassie and I were at her house – and she was pretty quick to cover it up, but not before I had seen the name that came up on the monitor. It was Martin.’
‘If Mrs Bentine is having an affair with her vicar then they won’t want to be shouting about it,’ said Sam.
‘Exactly. But if her husband found out and threatened to expose them – ‘ Loveday’s unfinished sentence ended in a shrug.
And for the first time that day, Sam did smile. It crinkled the corners of his eyes and made them twinkle.
‘You think Magdalene and the vicar killed Paul Bentine to shut him up?’ he said.
Loveday frowned. ‘Not necessarily…but they could have.’
Sam shook his head, but he was still grinning. ‘I’ll give you this much, Loveday Ross. You’re persistent.’
‘I’m a journalist,’ she said. ‘Persistence in my profession is an admirable quality.’
It was the wrong thing to say. Sam didn’t need reminding that she was a journalist. His mood changed instantly. Just for a few seconds she could have believed they were friends. But the policeman was back. He stood up.
‘Sorry. I really do have to get back to the station. It was an interesting conversation, Miss Ross.’ He didn’t say ‘We should do it again some time.’
Loveday watched him leave, ducking his head to exit the low door. She drained her glass and gathered up her things.
But Sam didn’t go back to the office. Outside in the street he turned the other way and headed instead for the museum. Whatever had been going on there he would have to find out for himself. He knew Laura Bennington only slightly, but as he was soon to be a witness at her and Charlie’s wedding, it would do no harm to renew the acquaintance
There was no sign of her as he walked into the reception area. Until recently the space had been wasted, used only to display a few posters. Now it housed a cafeteria whose coffee and home baking was popular with tourists and locals alike. His nose twitched at the coffee aromas. A woman, Sam estimated to be in her late forties, was sitting at the reception desk. She lifted her head and smiled as he approached. He produced his warrant card and asked for Laura.
The woman’s previous composure slipped for an instant and she looked flustered. Why did people feel uneasy around the police? She lifted the phone and told the person at the other end that he was waiting.
‘Miss Bennington will be right down,’ she said.
Laura appeared on cue. ‘Inspector Kitto…Sam,’ she smiled, extending her hand in greeting. She l
ooked over at the coffee area. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
Sam nodded his thanks and Laura signaled to the woman at the coffee machine, who was settling back to hang on to their every word.
They sat at a table out of earshot. ‘How can I help?’
‘I understand there was some kind of incident this morning…concerning Lawrence Kemp and his painting?’
‘Ah. I see. Andrew told you.’
Sam had to think for a moment to figure out who Andrew was. Like the others at the station, he only knew him as Charlie. Their coffees arrived and they thanked the assistant. Laura stirred her cup, her expression thoughtful. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘…he got quite excited about something in the painting. To be honest. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about. Loveday could probably tell you more.’ She looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry. Loveday Ross…she’s a friend of his. Lawrence called her.’
Sam nodded. ‘I know Miss Ross.’ He drained his cup. ‘In fact, I’ve already spoken to her.’
‘You’ll know more than me then.’ Laura said.
As she spoke Sam was looking round the area. He nodded towards the CCTV cameras. He’d spotted them as soon as he walked into the museum.
‘Do you keep all the footage?’
‘Only for a few weeks, then we record over it.’ She smiled. ‘Budgets, you know.’
‘But you would still have the footage for the day Kemp’s painting was vandalised?’
She shook her head. ‘The other officers asked that at the time. We don’t have cameras covering the local artists’ exhibitions. So there’s nothing of the actual vandalism on tape I’m afraid.’
His team had investigated the attack on Kemp’s painting, but at the time they had been more interested in the artist who had painted it. He remembered Amanda Fox reporting that there was no CCTV footage covering the section of the museum where the local artists’ work was displayed. It had been reasoned, she explained, that the museum, being short of cash, had concentrated their resources on the areas displaying the irreplaceable and valuable artifacts. Though no doubt the works of some of these local artists would also merit that description in years to come.
He turned his attention back to Laura. ‘But you would have a record of who came into the museum that day?’
Laura looked surprised. ‘Why, yes. Could that help?’
‘It might,’ said Sam. ‘Perhaps you could dig it out for me.’
The tapes were duly recovered and put into a thick brown envelope, which Sam took back to headquarters. He set Amanda on the task of going through the footage.
‘What am I looking for?’ she asked, brows knitted.
‘If I knew that then the case would solve itself.’
Amanda shot him a look, and he realised he had spoken more sharply than he’d intended.
‘Well I don’t know, do I?’ he said. ‘But there might be something. See if you can recognise any of the visitors.’
It wasn’t often he had to explain himself to Amanda. It was a sign of how frustrated his team was becoming. More than a week, and they were still no closer to finding Bentine’s killer.
It was just over an hour before Amanda came back to him and he could see by her face that she had found something.
‘It might be nothing, boss, but I think you should have a look at this.’
Sam followed her back to the main office, to the computer screen where she had paused the image. She clicked the picture back into motion and saw her senior officer’s jaw tighten before a slow smile spread across his face.
‘Well done Detective Constable Fox,’ he said. ‘Now come with me, we have a visit to make.’
Loveday walked slowly back to the office after Sam left her at the pub. She had to think, and she could best do that calmly at her cottage in Marazion. Telling Keri she would spend the rest of the day working from home, she collected her things and headed off.
Cassie’s door opened when she heard her friend’s car approaching and rushed out to meet her. ‘Come in,’ said called, her eyes shining. ‘You won’t believe this.’
The old oak table in the Trevellick’s comfortably untidy front room was strewn with printouts of newspaper cuttings. Cassie selected one and handed it to Loveday. ‘Recognise anyone?’ Her eyes glittered with excitement. ‘The name’s different, but I’m right, aren’t I?’
Loveday stared at the black and white image. What she saw didn’t make any sense. ‘This has to be wrong,’ she said.
Adam came and put his arm around Cassie. ‘There’s no mistake, Loveday,’ he said, quietly. ‘Take a closer look.’
She did, but she still couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
‘And there’s this,’ Cassie said, sliding another printout of a newspaper cutting towards Loveday.
‘You have to tell the police about this,’ Adam said. ‘Ring Inspector Kitto.’
Loveday’s brow wrinkled as she stared at the cuttings, trying to work out what this new information could mean. One thing was sure - someone had a lot of explaining to do!
Assuring her friends that she would call Sam, she let herself in the back door of her cottage and dumped her things on the kitchen table. She’d noticed some post on the mat at the front door and went to the narrow hall to pick it up.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
There were three letters, one obviously a bill, another was a circular, and she tossed them aside. The third envelope was hand-written. She picked it up and frowned at the odd way it was addressed.
‘Miss Loveday Ross, the Cottage at the Doctor’s House, Marazion.’ It had a local postmark. Curious, she turned it over looking for clues to the sender, but there were none, so she opened it. Her mouth dropped as she read the first words.
‘Dear Loveday,
‘I killed Paul Bentine, but then I think you already knew that. I’m coming clean now because I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the clueless little wimp act. You saw through that too, Loveday, didn’t you?
‘But don’t feel bad about it because Bentine deserved to die. I was just the lucky one who got to him first.
‘It was easy for me because I’ve done it before. I don’t like bullies. My Barry was a bully. Now he’s dead. I stuck a knife in him.
‘Bentine was my brief back then. He said if I pleaded guilty he could get me off on diminished responsibility, or something like that. But he was a rubbish lawyer and I got seven years. So you can see why he had to die, can’t you?’
Loveday’s hand was over her mouth, her heart hammering as she read on.
‘Abbie was the perfect cover – the posh, bossy one that everybody thought was in charge. It suited me to go on playing the part of poor, downtrodden Kit.
Not even Abbie suspected I knew how to handle a boat. She believed me when I told her I went for long, solitary walks. She’d no idea about the car, or the boat and trailer I had hidden in a lock up near here. But there’s a look in her eye now that makes me think she’s getting suspicious. I can’t let her live if she knows about me. You can understand that, can’t you, Loveday?’
There was no signature
Loveday dropped the letter and the pages scattered across the kitchen table. It was what Cassie had suspected when she’d spotted Kit’s picture with the report of her trial. She’d recognised her from seeing her and Abbie leave Loveday’s cottage the other day. Loveday’s hand trembled as she lifted the letter again. To see an account written down so graphically admitting she had killed Paul Bentine, as well as her husband, was chilling.
Why hadn’t she gone to the police when she had the chance? Abbie’s life was now in danger, and it was all her fault! Her mind did an instant replay of the scene in her friends’ house. Once again she was scanning Cassie’s printout of the newspaper cutting, with the headline screaming out at her – ‘Killer Wife Gets Seven Years.’
It was a report of Jane Smith, alias Kit Armitage’s trial for the murder of her husband, Barry Smith. The prosecution alleged that she had premeditatedly kille
d her husband in cold blood by ramming a kitchen knife into his stomach. Smith had pleaded guilty to murder.
Her solicitor told the jury that Barry Smith had engineered his own death, taunting his wife and urging her to kill him. He explained the man was a manic-depressive who had, on numerous occasions, beaten his wife. He told the jury that Smith had previously miscarried a baby after her husband assaulted her, and described other previous assaults. But Jane Smith was still convicted of murder and jailed for seven years.
She had to contact Sam. Poor Kit was obviously deranged - and now she was going to kill Abbie! Sam had to see this letter.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost four o’clock. Would Sam be in the office? She chewed her lip anxiously as the dialing tone connected and the phone rang out at the police headquarters in Truro. But Sam wasn’t there. He’d gone off somewhere with Will and Amanda.
She ran a hand through her hair, unsure what to do next. Then she remembered that Sam had called her when he was trying to contact Cassie. His mobile number would still be in her phone. She found it.
‘Loveday? What’s wrong?’ He sounded anxious.
‘This is all my fault,’ she gasped. ‘I should have told you before.’ Her words were coming out in a garble. ‘Kit Armitage killed Bentine…and now she’s going to kill Abbie.’
‘Loveday. Calm down. Just tell me quietly what all this is about.’
In a jerky voice, Loveday read out Kit’s letter. She heard Sam shocked intake of breath.
‘Christ!’ he said. ‘Where are you now. At home? OK. Don’t move from there. I’ll send someone round to collect the letter...And don’t touch it again, Loveday. It’s evidence now.’
She watched the seconds tick by on the kitchen clock. Patience wasn’t her strong point. She eyed the letter with unease as though the pages might spontaneously combust before her eyes. She didn’t want it in her cottage.
