HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2)

by JACKIE ELLIOTT

  Vega didn’t bother to point out most people only met him in tragic circumstances. It went with the job.

  Now, Vega sat on the bed in his small room. He wanted a shower but didn’t have the energy.

  It seemed a lifetime ago he’d boarded the floatplane.

  The forensics team had taken several hours to conclude the remains were likely those of Ricky Havers. They had found a belt buckle and scraps of fabric which matched the description Sandra had given them when Ricky disappeared. It would take days for DNA testing to confirm Ricky’s identity conclusively, but Vega felt he had enough information to speak to Sandra and Dennis Havers.

  After the briefing, he went to the Haverses’ home. Joanna, their housekeeper, let him in. She was red-eyed and subdued. Despite Vega’s efforts to keep a lid on all information flowing around the town, he was sure Dennis and Sandra had surmised the bad news. Joanna led him into the living room. It was dark, and Coffin Cove’s night lights twinkled through the magnificent picture window.

  Vega had thought about all the families in Coffin Cove that night. Some of them slumped in front of the TV or shouting at their kids. Getting ready for work the next day or eating a late meal. Normal people doing normal things. But there, in that room, it had been Vega’s job to take away any hope of these two people being “normal” anymore.

  Logically, it wasn’t him who’d ruined their lives. It was the person who’d killed their son. But Vega knew from experience it would be him who endured their initial grief and anger.

  The meeting was harrowing. Sandra Havers had obviously tried to pull herself together since their previous encounter. She’d put on some make-up and changed her blouse. She sat in silence with Dennis’s arm around her shoulder, as Vega gently laid out the few items in clear evidence bags for the Havers to identify. Dennis just stared. Sandra broke down. Dennis nodded.

  “Yes, the buckle is from Ricky’s belt,” he said. “Inspector, how did Ricky die?”

  “We can’t be certain yet,” Vega replied carefully, “but we can’t rule out foul play at this time.” Vega needed to keep that information to himself as long as possible.

  “I see.” Dennis nodded and gripped his wife a little tighter. “When will you be able to do that, Inspector?”

  “We have a full investigative team on the way, sir. I don’t know when we’ll have answers, but I promise you we won’t rest until we find out how and why your son died, and who else, if anybody, was involved.”

  Sandra’s crying abated a little. Dennis held her arm but she pulled free and screamed at Vega.

  “This is your fault! I told you something was wrong! I told you Ricky wouldn’t just leave . . . this is all your fault!” She crumpled to the floor, her withered fists pounding on the rug, her body heaving with sobs.

  Dennis knelt down beside her, but Sandra fought him too.

  “It’s your fault too. You never loved Ricky, not like me!”

  Gradually, she calmed enough for Dennis to coax her back to the couch.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs Havers,” Vega said, and reiterated his promise to do the best he could.

  “Too late, Inspector!”

  Dennis shook his head in apology and asked Vega to leave.

  When the door closed behind him, Vega thought Sandra Havers had a point. They had failed Ricky. Vega remembered Charlie Rollins’ pale face at the briefing and wondered how much searching for Ricky Havers had really taken place. Not much, thought Vega grimly, given Ricky had never left Coffin Cove. At least, that was how it seemed. Although it was highly unlikely Ricky would be taken out of Coffin Cove, dead or alive, just to be dumped back there again.

  There would be time to find out exactly what Charlie Rollins had done. And he, Vega, should not be feeling self-righteous. Sinclair had sent him to Coffin Cove just after Ricky disappeared, when Sandra Havers was causing a stink with the higher-ups and Sinclair wanted to make sure they’d crossed every “t” and dotted every “i”.

  Vega groaned. What a shitshow. He’d been as complacent as Charlie Rollins. He’d been satisfied to assume a forty-two-year-old dopehead would amble away from his hometown of his own accord. He’d taken at face value the eye-rolling and shrugs about flaky Ricky who’d always lived on handouts. Only Andi Silvers had suspected foul play. Vega remembered how he’d dismissed her theories as conspiracies or the product of her overactive imagination.

  Well, he couldn’t afford to ignore anything now. He had to check every detail, no matter how small.

  Vega had watched Sandra and Dennis closely. This was the worst part of his job, and also the most important. Murder victims almost always died at the hands of someone they knew, and Ricky most certainly had been murdered.

  On the face of it, they behaved as he would have expected. Shocked and grief-stricken. Vega had left them both huddled on the couch, Sandra cradled by Dennis as if she were a small child. He wondered if it was the most affection the couple had shown each other in a long time, if ever. Vega had heard the rumours of extramarital affairs, and Superintendent Sinclair’s information was fresh in his mind.

  He would have to consider the couple as suspects until he could eliminate them.

  Vega drove back to the detachment to find the small building deserted and locked. He cursed. He wanted to sift through the preliminary information and set up the murder room the way he liked it. It was his ritual at the beginning of every investigation. He made a mental note to tell Charlie and his young constable his team would need 24-hour access to the detachment during the investigation. Not only that, the two of them would be on call. Charlie would not coast to retirement, Vega thought. He was still angry.

  He sat in the parking lot, not wanting to go to the motel just yet but knowing he should get some sleep. His team would arrive in the morning and he needed to be fresh. He turned his phone over in his hand, and on impulse, called Andi Silver’s number. He told himself he should at least thank her for helping Sandra Havers.

  “No problem,” Andi said, less than a minute later. “Fancy meeting for a drink?”

  Vega smiled into the phone. “Because you’ve been missing my company or because you want a scoop?” he teased.

  Andi hesitated and then started to say something.

  “Too late!” Vega laughed. “That told me everything I need to know.”

  He heard Andi laugh too. “Seriously Andi, thanks for helping me out with Sandra Havers, I appreciate it. I’m sorry we can’t get together, but I promise you a large glass of wine when this is over.”

  “Is it Ricky?” she asked quietly.

  Vega sighed. It wouldn’t make any difference if she knew now. “Yes. I’m afraid so. There’ll be the usual press briefing tomorrow morning. But that’s all I can say, Andi.”

  “You’ve told Sandra?” Andi asked.

  “Yes, I’ve just come from the Haverses’.”

  “Oh God, Andrew, that must have been awful for you.”

  Andrew Vega felt an unexpected surge of emotion. It was awful. His job meant he shared the darkest moments some people would ever experience, and although he knew how valuable his work was, there were times when it weighed heavily on him.

  “It was worse for them,” he managed to say.

  “Poor Sandra,” Andi said. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” She paused for a moment. “Andrew, look, there’s something you should know.”

  “OK,” Vega said slowly. “What have you done?”

  “It’s not what I’ve done, it’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Go on,” Vega said, his tone sharper.

  “Sandra thinks Dennis had something to do with Ricky’s disappearance. She asked me to help her after . . . well, after you guys stopped looking.”

  “The case was open, Andi.” Vega felt defensive, but he knew she was right. “Have you found anything?”

  “Not yet, Andrew. But I will not stop looking. I promised Sandra.”

  “Damn it, Andi, you know that woman is grieving. She’s looking for s
omeone to blame. Who knows what damage you’ll do to their marriage, their lives? Whatever you think of Dennis, Ricky was his only son. You can’t destroy a man just because you’re looking for a story.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line.

  “The damage was done, Andrew, when you — or at least, Sergeant Rollins — failed to do his job. And now you’re closing ranks.”

  Vega exploded. “How dare you, Andi? I’m here to investigate the death of Ricky Havers. If — and only if — there’s evidence of foul play, we’ll find it. And if anyone has been derelict in their duty, then we’ll find that out too. Let us do our damn job.”

  “You do your job, Inspector, and I’ll do mine.”

  Vega sighed. “I can’t stop you, Andi. I don’t want to stop you. But if you get in the way of my investigation or hold back any information . . .” His voice tailed off.

  There was another silence at the other end. Vega wished he hadn’t lost his temper and opened his mouth to apologize.

  Andi said, “Good night, Andrew,” and the phone went dead.

  He put his cell down after the call. He regretted his outburst. Why did he let Andi Silvers get under his skin? At least Andi sounded more like her old self, he thought ruefully. He remembered visiting Andi in hospital after she’d been shot. It was a wake-up call for the intrepid journalist. The last time they’d met — just after Ricky’s disappearance — he’d thought she seemed subdued. He sighed as he thought of Andi’s disguised probing for information a moment ago. He was used to getting rid of journalists. But Andi was different. He really hoped their separate investigations wouldn’t clash this time because he knew she would already be looking for that all-important story and wouldn’t rest until she got it.

  Vega looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was after midnight. He only had a few hours to get some sleep before he was up and back to the detachment. But instead of heading to bed, he opened his laptop and grabbed files from his briefcase.

  The first hours of an investigation were usually the most crucial, but this investigation would be different. Ricky had been missing for months. Any evidence at the scene would surely be compromised, and the killer or killers were, most likely, far away.

  Vega knew what he had promised the Havers. His team would not rest, but a definite conclusion to this investigation — well, it seemed unlikely. He cursed himself and Charlie Rollins again. If only . . .

  But he checked this train of thought. It wouldn’t do Ricky any good now. Besides, whoever killed Ricky Havers probably did so at the time of his disappearance. There wouldn’t have been a reason to keep him alive unless they wanted a ransom — and nobody asked for one.

  He mulled over what Andi had told him. Sandra suspected Dennis. Hopefully, he’d bought himself and the team some time. All the Haverses knew at the moment was that their son was dead. And that was a hard enough burden to bear.

  He shook his head. Facts first, he told himself. And there was one major fact in this case: Ricky had seriously pissed someone off.

  Vega groaned and finally fell back on the bed. He rolled over and closed his eyes and slept fitfully until his alarm rang.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Andrew Vega was an early riser, but he always programmed the alarm on his phone just in case. He hated being late. Plus, he’d stayed at the Wilson Motel in Coffin Cove before and knew that Peggy Wilson walked her dog in the morning. He did not want to bump into her.

  She was a gossip.

  Peggy had probably already broadcasted Vega’s arrival and booking to her network, and his every move from now on would be the subject of speculation.

  Vega wasn’t about to give away any gossip fodder, but he still didn’t want the distraction, so he rose as soon as the alarm sounded, showered and left his motel room.

  He stood outside the door and looked around. Peggy had done some long-needed renovations. The entire building had been repainted. Outside every door was a hanging basket and there were new room numbers on the wall.

  Vega had noticed the new sheets, comfortable mattress and fluffy towels, in sharp contrast to his last stay.

  The upgrades must be working, he thought, as he saw a brand-new Mercedes parked in the bay next to his room.

  Vega hadn’t had time to see the rest of the town, but he’d heard the new mayor was determined to make Coffin Cove a tourist destination and had implemented improvements. He’d also learned about the plans to demolish the old fish plant and thought it could only be a good thing. Apart from being an eyesore on the waterfront, the derelict building had been the scene of a murder just a little more than a year ago. It was a reminder of a traumatic time, and pulling it down would mark a fresh start.

  Vega hoped he could put this investigation to bed as soon as possible. The most probable theory, given Ricky’s chosen career and his associates, was that he had made some unfortunate choices and enemies of the wrong people. It was tragic, but these things did happen. But Superintendent Sinclair’s “bad feeling” about Dennis Havers bothered Vega, especially now that even his own wife suspected him. If Andi was helping Sandra, then she must think there was some substance to whatever Sandra was telling her.

  Andi also had her own suspicions, Vega remembered. She’d thought Jade Thompson, the new mayor, and her mother, Summer, were hiding some connection to Ricky Havers.

  Vega hated relying on “bad feelings”. Chasing down dead ends based on somebody’s pet theory or gut reaction wasted so much time.

  But Coffin Cove was a small town and its residents didn’t like outsiders. They talked among themselves and shut everyone else out. News and gossip spread like a fanned fire. Vega was sure someone knew something about Ricky’s disappearance. He just needed to find them and persuade them to talk.

  In the meantime, he and the team would gather as much evidence as possible and make this case watertight. Then, when they found Ricky’s killer, he or she wouldn’t get off on some technicality.

  He’d left his car at the detachment the night before because he’d wanted to clear his head with a walk after talking to Andi. It was also another way he could slip in and out of the motel without being noticed, and besides, he needed the exercise. A stroll from the motel to City Hall and the adjoining RCMP detachment took around twenty minutes, a few more if he stopped at Hephzibah’s café to pick up a morning coffee.

  He decided to do just that. The coffee out of the dispenser at the office was terrible, and he could also pick up one of Hephzibah’s famous Morning Glory muffins. That would be a reasonably healthy start to the day. Vega knew he had long days ahead, full of hastily consumed junk food if he wasn’t careful, so starting off on the right foot would be a good idea. He needed his wits about him and a full quota of energy.

  The café was empty except for two fishermen, who nodded at Vega but paid him little attention.

  “Good morning, Inspector, large coffee? To go or for here?”

  Andrew Vega was happy to see the tall woman with wavy grey-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and blue eyes which crinkled at the edges when she smiled. From his previous time in Coffin Cove he knew that Hephzibah did more for the community than just sell excellent coffee and delicious baked goods. The café was a gathering place, a refuge, and often, the only place in town where someone facing financial hardship could get a free meal. She also provided a willing ear for everyone’s troubles and a shoulder to cry on. Vega was pleased to see evidence of repairs and upgrades here too. A fancy new commercial coffee grinder and percolator sat on a new countertop.

  “To go, please, Hephzibah, and one of those muffins too,” he said, pointing to the fresh batch she’d just pulled out of the oven.

  “You’ve got it. You’ll be here to investigate what happened to Ricky Havers,” Hephzibah said, in the form of a statement.

  Vega nodded. It wasn’t a secret. He watched Hephzibah as she poured his coffee into a paper cup and remembered his conversation with his superintendent and with Andi the night before. Maybe
he could do a little digging before this morning’s briefing. He checked his phone for the time. It was still early.

  “Hephzibah,” he said, as she handed him his coffee, “do you have a minute to chat?”

  “Sure, just a sec!” She hurried over to the two fishermen and topped up their coffee, then smiled at Vega. “Let’s sit outside and enjoy the morning sun, Inspector.”

  They both sat and watched the silver-grey morning tide wash against the shore.

  Vega decided to start with Emma Ross’s old investigation and the information he’d got from Superintendent Sinclair. “Hephzibah, what do you know about Hope Island and the women’s commune?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

  “Oh, just doing some research,” Vega answered carefully.

  “Well, as it happens, I practically grew up there,” Hephzibah said, taking a sip of her coffee. “My mother, Greta, took me to the commune to escape my father, who was — and still is, sadly — a drunk. He’s not violent now, but he used to knock Greta around. The commune was a refuge of sorts, I suppose. There wasn’t much protection for women back in those days.”

  “And you grew up there?” Vega asked in amazement. “What about school?”

  “We were homeschooled, I think you’d call it now. I left when I was sixteen, just after Greta died. Turns out my education was better than the one I would’ve got at the school here,” she laughed. “Greta was a stickler for homework, and she loved to read.”

  “How did it work?” Vega asked curiously. “I mean, how did you get supplies?”

  “We grew most of our food, and once in a while, Greta or another of the older women would head out and get flour and stuff.” Hephzibah stopped for a moment and screwed up her forehead, trying to think. “You know, Inspector, we must have had some money, but I’ve no idea how we got it. Greta left my dad with just the clothes she stood up in, and most of the women on Hope Island were trying to escape from something.”

  Vega asked her a direct question: “Do you ever remember Dennis Havers from those days?”