by Fiona Leitch
It was a beautiful day. We walked along the cliff path and, for the first time since I’d seen him in the shop that day, Tony seemed to relax. Although he’d been excited about the wedding, I could imagine that Cheryl had been wound up about it (I could understand why now, if she was worrying about Craig turning up and ruining everything) and that would have made Tony stressed too. He was such an easy-going person normally.
Germaine ran ahead, sniffing out rabbits, although I suspected she wouldn’t know what to do if she actually came across one. Daisy chased her, laughing, while Mum, whose knees were a little on the arthritic side these days, accompanied us as far as a big, flat boulder overlooking the sea, plonked herself down and announced she’d wait there for us.
Tony and I walked on. I watched him breathing the sea air deeply, colour returning to his cheeks. He almost looked happy. Almost.
He saw me watching him and laughed. ‘What?’
‘Nothing. It’s just good to see you looking more like your old self.’
He grinned. ‘If you’re waiting for me to wipe my nose on my sleeve…’
‘Yeah, not that much like your old self would be best.’
We walked on. The sea shimmered turquoise in the heat, sunlight glinting off the ripples. I looked at them, eyes squinting against the glare.
‘You see the way the sun makes the waves go all twinkly?’ I said. ‘I thought about that when I was in labour with Daisy. I was trying not to have any pain relief—’
‘Why on earth not?’ Tony was incredulous. ‘I’d have wanted every drug going. Actually, I’d have wanted to be unconscious.’
I laughed. ‘Yeah, I did change my mind halfway through and get an epidural. Blow all that natural-childbirth nonsense. Anyway, it’d been going on for hours and I was exhausted, and the midwife told me to think about my happy place, to visualise something that made me feel good, and that’s what I thought of. The sea off the North Cornwall coast. You and me and the old gang, swimming that day off Widemouth beach when we saw the dolphins, do you remember? I’ve been to places where the ocean’s a lot warmer, but it’s not the same colour as it is here on a sunny day. This place never leaves you, even if you leave it.’
Tony smiled at me. ‘Of course I remember that. Does that mean you’re back for good?’
‘Never say never and all that, but yeah, that’s the plan.’
‘Your mum will be happy to hear that. So am I.’
We stopped and turned to face the sea. Behind us, on top of the hill, stood the Laity camp site.
‘Do you still want to do this?’ I asked him.
‘Find Craig? Too right. Although, thinking about it, we could have just had a stakeout at Roger’s house and followed him when he went out.’
I thought about how angry DCI Withers had been when he’d come round last night, after Laity had made a complaint about me.
‘Yeah, not really. I think old Rog is already this close to getting a restraining order on me and if he’d spotted us following him…’ I smiled ruefully. ‘Okay, let’s do this. But don’t go blundering in there. That’s my job.’
We walked up the hill and followed the footpath into the campsite. It was the first week of the summer holidays; the whole of Cornwall – apart from the beautiful but slightly bleak and family-unfriendly clifftop we’d just come from – was rammed, and the campsite was no exception. We wandered through the camp, past the caravans, towards the small shop and site office, being careful to look out for Roger Laity; I really did not want him to see us. But there was no sign of him.
Every single caravan showed signs of being occupied. There were children playing, beach towels hanging up outside, sandy flip-flops on the door steps – all the signs of a Great British seaside holiday. None of them looked like they were harbouring a fugitive, but then, what would that look like anyway?
Tony looked at me. ‘On to the next one, then.’
We traipsed back down the hill, collecting dog, child, and mother on the way, then drove a few miles up the coast towards Bude. We stopped on the way to have lunch at a café overlooking a pond and wildlife reserve, and I almost forgot that we were not just having a nice family day out. But one look at Tony – who sat restlessly pushing his food around the plate, not able to eat more than a mouthful – was enough to remind me that we were searching for a murderer, in the unlikeliest of places.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We finished lunch – a mackerel salad with fish so fresh it was practically still swimming – and ordered another pot of tea, with a chocolate milkshake for Daisy that looked so good that even Germaine – whose breath was suspiciously fishy, despite the fact we had all agreed not to give her any scraps – licked her lips.
Tony’s phone made a blip noise, and he picked it up.
‘Message from my mum,’ he said. ‘They’ve had a lovely cream tea at St Juliot.’ He gave me a meaningful look, which I took to mean, Nothing else to report.
‘The Bude campsite next then, I reckon,’ said Mum. Tony and I exchanged guilty glances, and she laughed. ‘I’m not quite the daft old biddy you think I am, you know.’ She looked at Tony’s plate. ‘You not eating that?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m just not that hungry…’ His voice trailed off and we watched in a mixture of embarrassment, disgust, and a smidgen of pride – because, after all, we had paid for it – as she wrapped up his fish in a serviette and put it in her handbag. I was just glad that Daisy was too busy fussing over the dog to notice, because at the age of twelve that would have made me die of shame.
‘The campsite backs on to the marshes,’ I said. ‘We could walk along by the canal and then cut across, if Mum’s feeling fit enough.’
‘It’s nice and flat,’ said Tony. Mum rolled her eyes.
‘I told you, I’m not an old biddy. I can walk, you know.’
‘We know,’ I said, grinning. ‘And you can always stop and eat your fish if you get tired…’
We set off. The café was popular with walkers, and the canal path that wound its way alongside the water often got busy, particularly later in the season when the families had gone home. Today though it was fairly quiet, most of the holidaymakers enjoying themselves on the sandy beaches at Widemouth Bay and Summerleaze.
Daisy proudly held Germaine’s lead – we couldn’t let her off the leash here, in case she decided to follow a duck into the reeds and ended up in the canal – and chatted happily to Tony as I walked behind with Mum, who, despite her fighting talk, was puffing and panting a bit.
‘We can always go back to the car and drive there,’ I said, but she shook her head.
‘No, it does me good to go out and get some exercise.’ She smiled and nodded towards our faster walking companions. ‘Look at them. Getting on like a house on fire.’ She looked at me slyly. ‘You see? You could’ve done worse.’
‘Stop it, woman,’ I growled, although my heart did do a little flippy thing as I saw them getting along so well. It was more to do with the fact that my beautiful daughter hadn’t had much chance to spend time with her actual father, just hanging out and talking, going for a walk, laughing, like she was doing with Tony. We’d never had a proper family holiday. Even when we’d come down here to see my parents, most of the time it had just been the two of us. When we’d got married, the brass weren’t too keen on couples working at the same nick, so I’d moved (because I was always the one to make any sacrifices), so Richard had been able to say that he couldn’t get time off or swap shifts and I’d been none the wiser. It was only when I bumped into my old sergeant from that station and mentioned it to him that I discovered it was all lies and that he was getting time off after all, only he chose to spend it with his girlfriend and not his own daughter.
We walked on, smiling hello at other walkers as they passed us, most of them heading for the café we’d just left and looking forward to a cream tea. We crossed a small, quiet road and went over a bridge onto the other side of the canal. Here the waterway began to widen, and mirrored the
river Strat on our right. In between them were the fields that would eventually lead into the marshes and, beyond that, the town itself.
I’d thought the walk across the clifftops had been good for Tony, but here he was so relaxed I almost expected him to break out into a happy whistle. He pointed out different plants to Daisy who, bless her, probably wasn’t that interested but she did a good impression of it. She stopped while Germaine cocked her leg against a tree stump and we caught up with them.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ I asked, and they both smiled.
‘Yes! Tony was telling me about birdwatching,’ said Daisy. I looked at him in mild surprise; I couldn’t imagine him coming out with a pair of binoculars. He laughed.
‘Don’t look at me like that! I used to come here with my grandpa. All sorts of birds round here, not just seagulls. Black kites, reed buntings, even the odd kingfisher. I used to love coming here with him. I haven’t been for ages.’
We walked on, passing a group of kids kayaking, then turned off, away from the town and over the Strat, with the marshes on our left. Germaine gave a joyful bark and threw herself at a bird (I didn’t know what it was, although Tony might have) which was minding its own business on an old fence post surrounded by straggly loosestrife, almost hidden by the purple flower spikes. The bird, of course, flew away from the fluffy white miscreant with something of a disdainful look, and the daft dog got her lead tangled around the old misshapen post.
‘Oh, you berk,’ I said, wading into the undergrowth and fighting with the leash. It took a while – during which time the others were no use at all, and just stood there laughing as the dog re-tangled the bits I’d untangled – but eventually we climbed back onto the path, both somewhat dishevelled and out of breath. Tony reached out and picked something out of my hair, and then held it out to me.
‘A flower, milady,’ he said, smiling. I took it from him. ‘Hang on, there’s another one; you’ve got it all over you…’
I dropped the stem he’d given me and flapped at my hair and back. ‘What? Where?’
He gently slapped my hand away. ‘If you stand still, I’ll get it off you.’ He held up a flower spike and examined it with interest. It had a slightly sticky, hairy stem, with lots of tiny yellow flowers and acid-green leaves clambering up it. ‘You’ve actually chosen a very rare plant to fall into. Yellow crosswort. This is the only place in Cornwall it grows.’
‘Thank you, David Attenborough,’ I said, then stopped. I reached out and took the plant from him again, looking at it more closely this time.
‘It doesn’t grow anywhere else? Only here?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Down here, yeah. It mostly grows up North.’
I looked at it again to make sure; but I was sure. ‘Roger’s Range Rover had this sticking out of the grill when DCI Withers and I went to see him on Sunday.’
‘What? Are you sure?’ I nodded. ‘Then that means he was here, on the marshes.’
‘But there’s nowhere to hide out on the marshes,’ I said. ‘And there’s no reason to drive through here to get onto the campsite.’
‘No…’ Tony and I looked at each other thoughtfully. Without speaking, we turned to look at the path that led across the marsh to the hide, where local birdwatchers could sit and watch the Canada geese that migrated here. There was a gate at the other end of the reserve, where the local wildlife rangers came in to do regular checks.
I turned to Mum. ‘Why don’t you and Daisy stay here and get your breath back?’ I said. ‘Tony and I want to have a quick look at the wetlands, and Germaine’s not allowed in there because of the birds.’
Daisy began to protest but Mum leant heavily on her arm.
‘Oh yes, you stay with me and help me find somewhere to sit; my knee’s playing up,’ she said, and gave me a wink. Thanks, Mum.
We climbed the stile into the reserve and walked along the path. It was still beautiful and sunny but for some reason I felt cold. Neither of us spoke.
We reached the hide. It was empty. We peered through the slats in the wood, looking out onto the reed beds, but could see nothing.
‘It’s so quiet,’ I said. It was, eerily so. Tony reached out and took my hand, and we followed the path.
This area was out of bounds to the public. A rough driveway led from the lane down to the gate, and on the other side of that were piles of old wood and vegetation set up as insect and hedgehog habitats. We looked around, but it was deserted. We inspected the gate, expecting it to be locked; there was a chain wound around the gate post and part of the gate itself, but the padlock holding it in place was rusty and didn’t close properly. Anyone could have unwound it and opened the gate to drive through.
We climbed over. Despite the hot sun, the ground here was always soft, and there were tyre tracks in the mud. We followed them. They stopped abruptly, not far from a small reed-filled patch of stagnant water.
I looked at Tony, not sure I wanted to go any further; and I could see that he didn’t really want to either. But we had to. We walked on to the edge of the water, and all of a sudden everything seemed surreal: the glare of the afternoon sun on the still water, the buzzing of insects in the bushes and reeds, and the chirping of the birds … and the two of us, standing here.
Blip. The not-very-loud sound of a text message reaching Tony’s phone made us both jump.
‘It’s Callum,’ he said. ‘He says there’s one caravan at the Trebarwith site that’s a possibility. It’s the only one that looks empty.’
‘Craig could be lying low in there,’ I said, but I doubted it.
‘I don’t think so. What’s that?’ said Tony, and his voice sounded husky and dry. I followed his pointing finger.
Amongst the reeds, something floated. Hunched, misshapen, swollen with moisture. The sun was so bright on the water that it took me a while to make out the dark hair and the white shirt. It was impossible to tell from here if it was striped through with grey or blue thread, but I already knew it was.
We’d found Craig Laity.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in me asking you what you were doing here?’ Withers looked at me, an eyebrow raised sardonically.
‘Tony only wanted to show me his weedy wobbler,’ I said, smiling innocently. Tony snorted, trying to suppress an hysterical laugh.
‘Reed warbler,’ he said, controlling himself. Just. ‘It’s a bird.’
‘Yeah, I got that.’ Withers rolled his eyes. ‘And you just happened to come across the body of a possible suspect in your ex-wife’s murder case?’
‘Yeah,’ said Tony. ‘What are the chances?’ The two men glared at each other. I flapped my hand in front of my face, as if trying to swat a pesky fly.
‘Phew, there’s a lot of testosterone flying around here, isn’t there?’ I said. Tony dropped his gaze while Withers turned to me.
‘So, come on then, Miss Marple,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘Tell me why you thought it was a good idea to bring the main suspect—’
‘Main suspect?’ Tony interrupted. ‘You let me go, remember?’
‘…Why you thought it was a good idea to bring the main suspect with you to find the only other possible suspect we’ve got at the moment? You didn’t think it might look suspicious, the two of you leading us to Craig’s body?’ He put on a sarcastic voice. ‘“Oh, look, there he is, fell in the marsh and drowned, case closed.” You didn’t think it might look a bit convenient?’
‘To be honest, Detective, no, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘Because we weren’t expecting to find him dead. We thought he was holed up in one of his dad’s caravans.’ I explained to Withers about noticing the yellow crosswort while we were having an innocent walk along the canal path; I didn’t think he needed to know that we’d set out to search the Laitys’ campsites, and had already come up empty-handed at three others further down the coast. I told him how I remembered seeing that same yellow flower on Roger’s car, when he had taken me there. He looked thoughtful.
‘I remember his car was pretty muddy,’ he said. ‘I can’t say I noticed any weeds sticking to it though. But anyway, you decided to walk across the marsh, why?’
‘There’s a campsite just the other side of the field,’ I said. ‘I think it’s one of Roger Laity’s.’ I didn’t tell him I knew full well it was, and I didn’t doubt for a moment that he already knew I knew. ‘We thought maybe some of his land encroached onto the marshes, and maybe he’d moved a caravan or tent or something down this way so Craig could lie low there. As we were already here, we thought we’d just have a quick look before we called you. I mean, we wouldn’t want to call you out unnecessarily.’
‘And how did you end up here? The campsite is right over there.’
‘We saw something,’ said Tony.
‘From the footpath?’
‘Yes.’
‘The footpath over there? The one that’s about four hundred metres away, through a load of reeds and with a birdwatching hut in between it and here?’
‘Hide,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘It’s called a hide. And no, of course we didn’t see the body, but there were a lot of birds swarming around here and we thought they were all over an animal carcass or something, and we just thought we’d look.’
‘Sounds plausible,’ said Withers. ‘Complete rubbish, of course, but plausible. I suggest you go home, Mr Penhaligon, so we know where to find you.’ Tony and I both opened our mouths to protest, but Withers carried on before we could say anything. ‘You’ll want to know if we get any news about Miss Laity, won’t you?’ He turned to me. ‘And you, Jod— Ms Parker, please remember that your elderly mother and your teenage daughter are not exactly Doctor Watson material, so if you must go poking about where you’re not supposed to be, at least leave them at home.’ And with that he turned and walked away, leaving a uniformed officer – the nervous young guy I’d seen at the hotel – to escort us from the marshes.