Daniel had arrived home bone weary and she had got up, wrapping her satin dressing gown about her, to answer the door. The policemen wouldn’t tell her why they wanted to be admitted. Somehow she didn’t believe there had been another accident but asked the question anyway.
‘No, Mrs Kittow,’ one of the detectives said sternly, removing his knocked-about trilby. Tall, middle-aged, dominant, his black mackintosh having seen better days, he eyed Grace balefully as she shivered in her fluffy blue mules. ‘There’s been no accident. We would like a few words with your husband, Daniel Kittow. I believe he should be home at this time. Would you rouse him, please.’
‘Um, yes. Do sit down. We have an electric fire. Would one of you switch it on? It’s cold in here. And please could you keep quiet. I don’t want our daughter woken up.’
Grace dashed upstairs and shook Daniel violently. He fended her off, half asleep. ‘Not now, Grace. I’m bloody whacked.’
‘You have to get up, Daniel,’ she hissed in his ear. ‘Two policemen are here with the village constable. They want to talk to you.’
Daniel swore and sat up. He was wide awake and reaching for his clothes, groaning as his shirt hit the long deep scratches on his back. ‘What do they want?’
‘I don’t know. They wouldn’t say. Have you been up to something criminal, Daniel?’
‘Course I bloody have. How do you think I’ve got so much money in my pocket? I thought I’d been careful though.’ Had there been a raid on the house in Plymouth where he’d been three days ago? How had the coppers traced him? He swore again. He would get a heavy sentence for handling stolen jewellery.
He hurried into his clothes and went downstairs, leaving Grace still getting dressed. In the sitting room the two detectives were sitting idly, Constable Burt was standing to attention with his notebook and pencil. The electric fire had been switched on. ‘You’d better have a good reason for getting me out of bed,’ Daniel snarled. ‘I’ve only just got to bed after bringing my boat in from nearly two months of almost useless bloody hard slog.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone, Mr Kittow,’ the detective who’d spoken to Grace said in a hard tone. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Keith Grant. This is Detective Sergeant Tony Trewoon. Constable Burt I’m sure you know.’
‘What’s this all about?’ Daniel kept up his hostility and lit a cigarette.
‘Can you tell us what you were doing on the afternoon of August twenty-first last year?’
‘Eh?’
Grace joined them and stood at Daniel’s side. They glanced at each other with puzzled expressions.
‘It was a Sunday,’ the sergeant, an effeminate looking individual with a twitch in his right temple and a bad case of dandruff, added. ‘A fine sunny day. Perfect for taking a stroll across the cliff.’
‘So?’ Daniel snapped irritably. ‘Get to the damned point or get out! And I don’t remember what I was doing on that day. Why should I?’
Inspector Grant looked at the constable. ‘PC Burt has been making inquiries into the circumstances of the death of one of your fellow fishermen. Frederick Jose. It seems some of the villagers think you might have had something to do with it.’
Putting his hands on his hips, Daniel looked incredulous. ‘Now you’re being plain bloody ridiculous. I had nothing to do with that pipsqueak falling or jumping off the cliff. He couldn’t stand up on a fishing boat without going ass over heels. No wonder he ended up at the bottom. Good bloody riddance. He wasn’t good for anything.’
‘Daniel!’ Grace was horrified and not just because he was being unkind to the dead. She was thinking of his threat against Fred Jose on the first day she had met him.
‘For your wife’s sake if not for ours, I think you ought to curb your language, Kittow,’ Inspector Grant said sternly. ‘Go on, Constable.’
PC Burt read from his notebook, his fresh face pink now that he was the centre of attention. ‘There was no investigation at the time of Mr Jose’s disappearance because there was no indication of foul play. I made inquiries on learning that Mr Kittow had publicly threatened to get even with Mr Jose – it’s thought Mr Kittow blamed Mr Jose for his prison sentence. He also encouraged his previous boat’s crew to continually harass Mr Jose.’
‘All hearsay,’ Daniel scoffed, sitting down in an armchair and casually crossing his legs. He looked at Grace. ‘You go back to bed, darling. There’s nothing to worry about here.’
‘I won’t be able to sleep. I might as well stay,’ she said, sitting on the arm of the chair. Daniel put his arm round her and grinned loftily at the three policemen.
Constable Burt cleared his throat and continued, ‘The day following Mr Jose’s disappearance, pages of the Daily Mirror were found on Hidden Beach and a rolled-up towel belonging to Mrs Jose. Fred liked to read the Daily Mirror and Mrs Jose believes he’d gone to the beach to relax immediately before he disappeared. Mr Kittow was seen coming down off the cliff in the direction of Hidden Beach the same day Mr Jose disappeared.’
‘Were you there, Kittow?’ Sergeant Trewoon demanded, walking about the room.
‘I might have been.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘I can’t remember what I do every Sunday.’
‘Did you see Fred Jose that afternoon?’ Inspector Grant pressed.
Daniel thought he had better tell the truth. The witness might be reliable and respectable, and if he backtracked later he would look guilty. ‘Yes, I came across him on Hidden Beach when I went there to be alone. That’s something I often do. The runt was leering over the Jane cartoons in the paper. I made fun of him and told him to bugger off. He’s always been nervous of me and he scarpered like a rabbit, leaving his things behind. It’s no secret I’ve always despised that pathetic little coward but I’ve not made any public threats to him and anyone who says I have is a liar. As for my old crew, they lived next door to him and they liked a bit of fun. He was an easy target for them.’
‘Why did you get convicted criminals to man your boat? It’s been suggested your motive was to get revenge on Porthellis.’
‘I had to get a crew quickly and start earning again. I’d spent all my money on this house.’ The detective’s eyebrows rose. Before another line of inquiry started – Grant had obviously assumed Grace owned the house – Daniel reluctantly added, ‘The money came from the insurance on my late grandfather. Anyway, I was broke and none of the self-righteous bastards in the village would’ve worked for me. As soon as I was able to arrange for a decent crew to take over, I sacked the other lot.’
‘Sacked them? Was that before or after they were arrested for attacking another local fisherman, a man you are purported to hate? Why didn’t you tell the Joses or the authorities you had seen Fred Jose on the day he’d disappeared?’
‘I didn’t care less what had happened to him. Any number of people could have seen him on any day after me. No one knows exactly when he died. According to the papers, there were no injuries on his body to suggest he’d been the victim of violence. The only reason you’re here is because someone’s been stirring up trouble for me. Whatever they’re saying, you have no proof.’
‘Is there anyone in particular who would want to cause trouble for you, Kittow?’
Daniel clamped his mouth tight. Hannah had vowed revenge on him. Was it her doing that the police were here? A terrible pain gripped his heart. He got to his feet, muttering thickly, ‘Try the whole village. Now if you’ve finished—’
‘Not quite.’ Inspector Grant moved in front of him. ‘We’d like you to come down to the station and make a statement.’
‘What the hell for?’ Daniel thundered, balling his fists.
‘Hush, Daniel.’ Grace caught his arm. ‘You’ll wake Melanie.’
‘If you’ve got nothing to hide about Jose’s death, you won’t mind making a statement about your movements on the day in question, will you?’ the sergeant said calmly, mockingly.
‘All right, but not now. You can’t drag me out of my house unless you arrest me. I’ll come v
oluntarily during the morning. Now get out and let me get some sleep!’
‘Ten o’clock, Mr Kittow,’ Inspector Grant said, putting on his hat ‘Not a moment later.’
When the three policemen went into the hall, they saw a little girl with two armfuls of toys and a scrap of blanket huddled nervously on a lower step of the stairs. Daniel shoved his way through the policemen and picked her up, cradling her possessively. ‘Bastards!’ he said under his breath. ‘She’ll be too frightened to get back to sleep on her own.’
On the way back to St Austell, the policemen talked over the interview. ‘Bolshy sod, ain’t he?’ Sergeant Trewoon remarked.
‘I wouldn’t have liked to have tried to arrest him,’ Constable Burt said from the back seat. ‘He put up quite a fight when he was last taken in. Left me black and blue on the village quay.’
‘Think he did it, boss?’ Trewoon asked his superior.
‘No. His venom alone would frighten a bloke like Jose to death. I reckon he told him to clear off, nothing more, and Jose was too scared to come back. If Jose was as timid as he’s made out to be, he would’ve felt life wasn’t worth living. My hunch was he jumped. And like Kittow said, there’s no real evidence. Still, you never know what a second interview might turn up. I’m looking forward to giving him a hard time.’
Daniel carried Melanie upstairs and put her in his bed. When she was sleeping, relieved of all her toys except the felt piskie and curled in tightly to Grace, he said to his wife, ‘I swear on Melanie’s life I never touched the miserable little sod. Satisfied?’
‘Yes,’ she answered after a few moments.
‘Had to think about it though, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t think you could murder anyone, Daniel, but you are probably responsible in some way for that poor man’s death.’ He turned away and thought about the woman in Plymouth, but her ruthless lovemaking, during which she had taught him a few tricks even he hadn’t known, wasn’t enough to keep his thoughts away from Hannah. He had to know if she’d started the rumours that he had killed Fred Jose.
Chapter 27
Matt tossed the last inch of the pasty he was eating out of the door of the old cottage. A batch of gulls flew down into what had once been the tiny front courtyard and squawked and fought over it. He laughed, enjoying the commotion. Lighting a cigarette, he took the pencil perched behind his ear and mulled over his plans.
It had taken more work than he’d expected to turn the two up, two down building into a shop. The gale had torn off most of the roof tiles. The floor timbers in the two bedrooms were rotten. The back wall needed shoring up. He had needed the help of tradespeople, family, and friends to complete the work, then they’d taken out the wall dividing the kitchen and living room and built a new wall lengthways to make a small storeroom and large shop floor. Most of the frontage had been knocked out to make way for a large display window.
He was now doing the electrical work. The dark pine counter and shelves he had designed were being made in the carpenter’s shop; he would install them himself. Hannah was often here, doing what she could, making sure he wasn’t over-exerting himself, but today he was alone and it was good to feel in control of his project; to dream about what the future might hold and wonder which of his two trades Nathan would follow.
He and Hannah would have to adapt to a new way of life, no longer governed by the departure and return of the fleet, the seasons, the peculiarities of the tide, sky and sea. His routine would be ruled by discipline and sound judgement rather than intuition, experience and hard graft.
He’d rig up a couple of movable lights over the shop window next, to illuminate the goods. Climbing the stepladder, he paused to gaze across the waterfront to the quay. All the luggers were out, long-lining down at the Lizard. The sky was clear, the wind blowing light northerly, perfect for ray. The last time out, the Misty had caught one of the biggest turbots ever seen, well over thirty pounds in weight. And Alan Weekley had suffered the agony of being spurred by a weever fish. Matt would have liked to have seen the turbot hauled aboard; been there to dash Alan’s hand into a bucket of salt water. He shook himself. No point in getting melancholy. Get back to the job in hand. He had a company rep calling later. Must telephone that paraffin supplier in St Austell, go up to the carpenter’s shop…
* * *
Leah was turning the nursery into her own private little place where she could sit and daydream, something she had done all her life. She was making this room in the big house a nest for herself and her baby, a safe haven where they’d both feel pampered, important. It would help her endure life here while Feena Opie was alive. She’d considered Hannah’s suggestion of a few months ago, to tell Greg she was unhappy and wanted to live in a house of their own. She’d thought about it then discounted it. She wouldn’t be driven out. Her child belonged here even if she did not; it was unthinkable it should be born elsewhere. And just as her baby was daily growing stronger inside her body, receiving her love and nourishment, the cocoon she was creating was doing the same for her.
She loved Greg deeply, she was sure of his love for her, and although she did not regret marrying him she admitted people had been right to worry about their match. The differences in their age, background and personality made Greg a little remote from her. She was on her guard to make sure they didn’t drift apart. He never made fun of her more common manner and speech, he only corrected her if absolutely necessary, careful not to make her feel a fool or inferior. Occasionally when he had been stubborn about something, he’d shower her with affection or bring her a thoughtful little gift. He doted on her, was kind and gentle. When she was older, she hoped he would love her as a mature woman deserved.
She wasn’t pleased when Lily, working out her last week before her wedding, announced that Mrs Opie wanted to see her in her suite.
‘Is Hannah here?’ she sighed. Lately when Hannah came she was invited by Mrs Opie to join their tête-à-têtes. Leah wasn’t fooled into thinking she suddenly counted to her grandmother-in-law; it was Hannah’s doing.
‘She is, but she’s gone riding.’ Lily wasn’t fooled either. The first thing to impress her when she had started work here was the way Leah was disregarded. ‘Mrs Opie wants to see you alone first this time.’
‘She can wait,’ Leah muttered obstinately, sliding down in her chair, making her swollen middle mushroom out all the more noticeably. ‘Have you got time to chat for a bit, Lily?’
‘Can spare you ten minutes, Miss Leah,’ Lily giggled, shovelling more coal on the fire. ‘That’s better, ’tis so cold today, the fire’s burning blue.’ Folding her apron carefully, she perched on the stool. ‘Look at you, you dear little thing. Seven months gone and a belly stuck out like a molehill on a twig. You won’t be able to walk soon. Wonder you can still climb the stairs up here.’
Leah joined in her giggles. ‘Oh, I’m going to miss you, Lily. Anyway,’ her face became fierce, ‘you’ll be able to come back to visit me any time you like. Just think, you can take tea with me like a lady, served by the new girl.’
‘Like your Hannah, eh?’ Lily preened, imagining herself sipping from the fine china in the drawing room. ‘From servant to exalted visitor.’
‘Not quite the same as Hannah,’ Leah said cuttingly. ‘Do you know the new girl? I caught a glimpse of her after Mrs Opie interviewed her. She seemed a bit stiff.’
‘Never seen her before. She’s called Mary Grayson, is twenty years old and comes from St Austell. She’s a younger version of Miss Benson if you ask me. Well, I won’t have to worry about she.’ Lily saw the suppressed anger in Leah’s great dark eyes. She looked relaxed but hot spots were burning on her cheeks. Lily sought to encourage her friend. ‘You are glad, though, that Mrs Opie is showing some regard for you now, aren’t you? And not just because the baby’ll be an Opie. She seems to have grown a bit of a soft spot for you.’
‘Has she? Huh! I’m not going to lick her heels and pretend I’m a grateful little idiot just because she’s taken me
shopping and doles out cups of tea when Hannah’s here. I don’t trust the woman and I don’t want her interfering in the baby’s upbringing.’
‘Well, you can’t blame her entirely if she does,’ Lily said, hoping to dilute her bitterness. Leah would be isolated without her to confide in, to have a bit of a laugh with. Her life could become unbearable if she became eaten up with resentment and frustration. ‘Grannies always make a fuss of their grandchildren. Be a crying shame if they didn’t. You should see the way my mother drives my sisters up the wall harping on about their kids. I expect Mrs Rouse will do the same when Jowan and I produce a child, which,’ Lily tittered, ‘could be sooner than later.’
‘Oh, Lily, you haven’t,’ Leah grinned, struggling to sit upright. ‘Have you?’
‘Well, we didn’t dream of it till the wedding day was set.’ Lily made a show of mock primness. ‘But all the Rouses were out one evening, helping Matt Penney with his shop renovations, and we got carried away. Crumbs, what a performance! Neither of us had a clue what to do. In fact,’ Lily roared with laughter, the cosy dark room seeming to vibrate with her gaiety, ‘I could still be a virgin for all I know about it. Poor Jowan, you should’ve seen your cousin’s face! He was more ’fraid than a cow going to the knackers. Now he’s worried he’ll never be a man. Well, we’ll get it right one day, even if we have to break our backs trying. Here, I’d better get going or I’ll be getting the sack.’ Both girls fell about laughing.
Leah kept Mrs Opie waiting exactly ten minutes then waddled along slowly to her suite. She had been told there was no need to knock and she walked straight in, holding up her bump which was now a heavy weight bearing down on the top of her legs.
‘That girl took her time,’ Feena complained. ‘I ordered her to ask you to come to me several minutes ago.’
‘I was busy,’ Leah said, closing her face but putting her wits on guard.
Porthellis Page 27