Carol sat down but did not invite them to do so. ‘This is about Beth, I take it.’ She gazed at Jack, the pain evident in her face. ‘Well, obviously it is.’ She paused. ‘You know, don’t you?’
‘Know what, Mrs Harte?’
‘That Beth’s … that she was my daughter.’ What else could have brought them? Rose Trevelyan must have told them because surely neither Sally nor her mother would have spoken out after all this time. Thank goodness John was not back yet. Maybe the truth could still be hidden from him. ‘Did you kill her, Carol?’
‘No. I did not.’ She had no real alibi and it probably seemed suspicious that the children were staying with John’s mother when Beth had disappeared. They had already asked where she was on that Tuesday but doing housework and shopping was not much of an answer. And who would recall seeing her on that afternoon which was now more than a week ago? She was stunned. How could they imagine she had harmed Beth? ‘I didn’t kill her but I blame myself. If I’d faced the music at the time and kept Beth she would have been with me and not with Sally.’ Her hands were clasped tightly around her knees.
Jack knew that platitudes were a waste of time. Her decision then could not alter what had happened now. ‘Will you tell your husband?’
Carol shook her head but it was not a denial. She had no idea if she had the nerve. But he might find out anyway and the truth would be better coming from her rather than another source.
There was not much else Jack could do or say but he decided to question her about her alibi again.
‘Wait,’ she interrupted him. ‘I’ve just remembered something.’ She got up and left the room and returned within minutes carrying a folder. ‘My bank bits and pieces. I’ve got the receipts from my shopping. I always keep them to check against my bank statements.’ She shuffled through the slips and handed two to Jack. On the afternoon in question Carol had made purchases with her Switch card. She had bought petrol at two fifty-six at Safeway’s filling station and had then gone across the road to the store. There was a long list of goods, it would have taken her some time to fill her trolley, pay and pack it all up. That receipt was timed at three forty-one. It would have been impossible for her to have been on that beach. He asked to see her Switch card. The first numbers, the ones shown on the slip, matched the card. This was hardly a breakthrough but it was one less suspect on the list.
He thanked her for her time and left. The female detective who had remained silent, followed him. ‘What worries me, Mandy,’ he said to her as they got into the car, ‘is that there is still a chance this might have been random. Take that little girl in Hayle, the one who was dragged into a car. There have been no other instances of abuse, no cases even vaguely similar. That was random, I’m sure of it. If the person was a stranger to the area we’ll probably never find him.’
Jack started the engine. The rain showed no sign of abating. He flicked on the wiper switch and pressed the one for the demister, then they set off back to Camborne.
‘But you don’t think Beth’s murder was random, do you, sir?’
‘No, I don’t. The sleeping tablets make me think it was planned.’
‘But there doesn’t seem to be a motive. Who could possibly gain by her death?’
‘Ah, but there always is a motive, no matter how odd it might seem to us.’
They drove on in silence. The tyres hissed on the wet roads and sent spray sideways. On either side, the gently sloping hills with their scattered boulders were shrouded in rain.
‘Certainly no one gains financially,’ Jack continued once he’d overtaken a slowly moving tractor drawing a trailer full of manure. And then he recalled that Michael Poole had declared Sally Jones to be an unfit mother. How would he know when, supposedly, at the time, he had no contact with either Sally or Beth? That needed a little more looking into. He would, of course, ask.
Apart from the awful weather it was Rose’s conscience which dictated that she paid Sally Jones a visit. She watched the rain snaking down the kitchen windows, beyond which a small rivulet ran down the drive. This did not deter a male blackbird whose bright yellow beak was tugging at a worm in the lawn.
Rose finished her coffee, pulled on her raincoat and went out to the car. When she reached Marazion she parked as near to the house as she was able but was still wet when she reached it. Her hair hung damply and the hems of her jeans were soaked.
She rang the bell. There was no sign of Norma and no lights shone through the downstairs windows. On such a dull day they would have been necessary if anyone was at home.
‘Who is it?’ a subdued voice enquired metallically through the entry phone system.
‘It’s Rose Trevelyan.’
The door buzzed. Rose pushed it and went inside. Her feet left wet marks on the spotless black and white tiles but as there was no mat there was little she could do about it.
Sally was waiting at the top of the stairs. She looked even thinner than when Rose had last seen her and she smelt faintly of sweat and quite strongly of alcohol. It was ten fifteen in the morning. But to Rose, both were understandable. She had been through the same when David died. ‘Are you up to visitors?’
Sally nodded and led the way into her flat. ‘Do you want some coffee, or a drink?’ She indicated the cider bottle on the floor beside her chair.
‘Coffee, please,’ she said, hoping that Sally would join her.
Sally stumbled to the kitchen, swearing as she knocked something over.
She’s alone, and she shouldn’t be, not yet, Rose decided as she took in her surroundings. But the two sisters would not want to be together and, presumably, Alice Jones had had to go back to look after her business. Norma, she was certain, would have been keeping an eye on her.
Sally returned with the coffee. Rose was about to take a sip when the smell told her that the milk was off. She placed the mug on the floor as there was nowhere else to put it.
Meanwhile, Sally had refilled her glass with cider. ‘So you think you saw who took Beth, do you?’
Rose was surprised by the aggression, both in her face and voice, but Jack had warned her not to let on about her mistake. ‘It’ll make the culprit more confident if he thinks we believe you, and therefore it’s more likely he or she will make a mistake,’ he had said.
Rose nodded. She could not voice the lie for she had been totally mistaken.
Unexpectedly, Sally laughed. ‘Well, it wasn’t much help to the police.’
‘I’m sorry, Sally. I know how very hard this must be for you.’
‘Do you? Do you really? Well you don’t know the half of it.’ She swallowed more cider and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. ‘The bastard, how could he do that to me? And her. I might’ve guessed. It’s always been the same. Anything I’ve ever wanted, she’s taken away from me. And then to give me his child to care for, the child that should have been mine, how could she have been so cruel?’ She inhaled deeply. ‘Bitch,’ she shrieked, as if she meant Rose.
Rose held her breath. This meant that Sally had discovered who Beth’s father was. But had she only found out recently? If so, who had told her, and why? And if this was the case had she taken it into her head to punish both of Beth’s natural parents in one go? Why hadn’t she thought of that before? It seemed the obvious solution. And how much harder the news would have hit a woman who was unable to have children whilst her sister had produced a third one she did not want, and that child being the daughter of her own lover.
‘Who’s a bastard?’ Rose asked quietly. She needed to be one hundred per cent certain she’d got things right.
‘Michael. Who else would I mean? And that whore of a sister of mine. He said he wanted me back, baby and all, but it was Beth he wanted, I can see that now.’
‘But he thought she was yours.’
Sally wasn’t listening. ‘An unfit mother, that’s what he called me. Who does he think he is? He’s hardly a paragon of virtue, is he, the shit. My whole life’s always been the same; I’ve always be
en the loser. Well, I’ll show them.’ She got up and lurched across the room and out into the hall. Rose heard her fumbling in a drawer and then there was silence.
Another minute passed. Rose got up and went to investigate. The silence had become sinister.
Sally was standing beside the sink, tears rolling down her face. There was a knife in her hand.
‘God, no. Wait,’ Rose shouted as she ran towards her.
‘Get away. I’ll kill you first if you try to stop me.’
Frightened that she might just do that, Rose stood still. ‘Sally, don’t,’ she whispered.
‘It was Carol who told me,’ Michael Poole replied to Jack’s question when he took the call on his mobile. ‘She rang me several times to say that Sally was drinking, the place was dirty and that Beth wasn’t being fed properly.’
‘Did you have any proof of this?’
‘None whatsoever. That’s why I asked social services to look into it, discreetly, if it was possible. They were satisfied that nothing was amiss, so it was left at that. I was surprised that Carol had rung me.’
Knowing what he did, Jack wondered if, at the time, Carol had had a change of heart and wanted Beth to be with her father or else she believed she might talk social services into letting Beth live with her. For Poole was indeed the father even if he believed the wrong woman to be his daughter’s mother. Maybe it went deeper than that, maybe Carol envisaged living with Poole and Beth. Whatever was going on it was clear that the sisters were dysfunctional. But then, who isn’t even if it’s in a small way, Jack asked himself.
Every alibi was now being treble checked. Alice Jones had been serving in her shop all day. A girl who occasionally came in to help had sworn that she had not worked for Alice that day because she spent Tuesdays and Thursdays at college. Poole’s whereabouts had been vouched for by several people.
Pressure from above was increasing and Jack did not know how it was possible to have so few leads. No leads, he amended. And if it hadn’t been for Rose the true history of the family would not have come to light.
Where was she now? Out working? He glanced out of the window. No, it was far too wet for that.
He paced his office floor, desperate for new ideas. Men and women who had watched the lifeboat rescue the yacht and its crew were still being sought and questioned. Rose had misled them but another potential witness might be found.
‘Oh, damn it all,’ he said, loudly enough for the head of a passing officer to appear in the doorway. ‘It’s okay, just thinking aloud,’ he muttered. He had been going over and over it; the scene was fixed firmly in his mind; the rainswept beach, the small crowd gathered to watch what might have turned out to be a disaster, the mother with the child she wasn’t watching properly because the drama at sea was too compelling and an opportunist making off with Beth. This was initially backed by Rose’s statement, but that child had not been Beth.
And suddenly he had seen it clearly. Beth was never on that beach. Only one person could have murdered her and it could not have been more premeditated, and that person was Sally, the woman she had believed to be her mother, the woman she would have trusted when she had been given a drink which contained barbiturates. Sally Jones had killed her, then, either cold-bloodedly or in a state of shock and confusion, had wandered down to the beach. And what an opportunity that sea rescue had given her. No one would have noticed whether or not she had a child with her; all eyes were seaward. When she saw a man walk off with a little girl who resembled Beth, she gave it a minute or two then made the most of it. Sally Jones probably couldn’t believe her luck when Rose came forward to confirm her story.
Within seconds two patrol cars were heading towards Marazion. Jack had left minutes before the phone call from Norma Penhalligon came in but its contents were relayed to him as they drove. ‘Get an ambulance there, too,’ he said.
When they reached the house Norma was waiting with the door open so not a second was wasted. ‘I don’t know who’s with her,’ she had said. ‘I was out when the visitor arrived but there’s an awful lot of shouting and screaming and Sally’s threatening to kill someone.’
Jack knew by the way in which the muscles in his neck tightened, that that someone would be Rose. Not again, he prayed, don’t let this be happening again.
Rose watched in horror as Sally drew the blade of the knife across her throat. Her wrists, she thought, I imagined she’d go for her wrists. She was sure she had heard it was impossible to cut your own throat, that the action could not be carried through. Sally had done a good job. There was blood everywhere although her arm had dropped to her side and the knife fell to the floor. Sally staggered; her eyes were wild. Rose, transfixed to the spot, was unable to catch her before she fell. Suddenly she was able to move again. She swiftly grabbed a towel and pressed it tightly to the wound, praying she was doing the right thing. Her phone was in her bag, the bag in the front room. Help was needed urgently but she was afraid that if she released the pressure Sally would bleed to death. Her eyelids were closed and faintly fluttering. Help would not arrive unless she summoned it.
She fled to the front room and picked up Sally’s phone, leaving bloodstains on the receiver. She dialled triple nine and gave her name and Sally’s address.
She returned to the kitchen. The flow of blood was less strong, she wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. The police and an ambulance were already on their way; someone, somehow, had rung for help before her. There was loud knocking on the door. Rose ran to answer it.
Norma, as promised, had waited at the open door. Several pairs of feet thudded up the stairs. Seconds later an ambulance drew up outside and she knew that what she feared had happened. For the past few days Sally had been acting strangely. She went inside and closed her door. The news would arrive in time, it was better to wait for it if it was bad.
Jack surveyed the scene. For agonising seconds all he saw was the blood on Rose. Her face was ashen. An officer took over and Jack helped her to her feet. Her legs buckled so he lowered her into a chair and gently pushed her head down. ‘Some deep breaths,’ he advised.
‘Paramedics,’ she heard someone say through the buzzing that filled her ears, but she was determined not to faint. In no time Sally’s wound had been dressed and she was strapped to a stretcher.
‘Rose?’
She looked up at Jack and tears filled her eyes. Shock, or delayed reaction to the fear she had felt, she supposed, because the tears were not for Sally who had killed the child she loved. Rose was now certain she had done so.
‘Can one of you make some tea, please?’
Cupboards were opened and the kettle boiled. Jack dismissed all the officers but one; he could not afford to be alone with this witness, not just because he knew her but because there was the possibility she could be considered as a suspect. There was only her say so that Sally had cut her own throat. The Scenes of Crime team were on their way. ‘Did you touch the knife?’ he asked once she had a mug of very sweet black tea in front of her.
Rose shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ It still lay on the floor waiting to be placed in an evidence bag. ‘Will she die?’
‘It’s hard to say. Blood always looks more than it actually is.’ But the paramedics had been satisfied that she was still breathing and had a pulse. Hospitals were reluctant to accept patients who were dead on arrival. ‘What happened, can you tell me?’
Rose picked up her mug with both hands, oblivious now to the blood. After a couple of sips she explained, as best she could, the events of the morning. ‘She was very drunk, Jack. I think she’d already made up her mind to kill herself before I arrived. She knew about Michael and Carol, that’s probably what sent her over the top. I also think she might’ve killed Beth.’
Jack nodded but said nothing about his own suspicions. Like Rose, he wondered how and when she had found out. If Sally died they might never know, nor might they be able to prove she had killed Beth. All they had was circumstantial evidence and even
that was shaky – certainly not enough for the DPP to allow it to go to court.
‘Let’s get you home.’ Rose was shivering, shock was setting in. He helped her downstairs and, once in the car, he turned the heater on full. Rose sat in the back with DC Mandy Connors beside her.
‘I’ll go in with her,’ Jack said when they reached the house. ‘Radio the station and let me know immediately if there’s any news from the hospital. Also, get someone to inform the relatives.’
Inside, Jack made more tea and added a shot of brandy. Rose had been silent on the journey home but she would have been reliving the threat and the eventual outcome. ‘I’m not going to leave you on your own. I’ll ring Laura. If she’s not available then I’m sure Barry will come over.’
Rose nodded; she was in no fit state to argue. ‘Jack, Carol found out that Michael was Beth’s father.’
‘Okay, we’ll bear that in mind.’ He had to get back to Camborne, later he would talk to Rose properly. A few minutes later, satisfied that Laura was on her way, Jack left.
The rain was beginning to ease and small patches of blue appeared in the sky as Laura bounded up the drive. She had thrown on a loudly checked jacket of Trevor’s which was soaked across the shoulders, as was her hair. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said, taking in Rose’s bloodstained clothes. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No. Just shaken.’
‘You need a brandy.’
‘I’ve just had one.’
‘Then you need another. I certainly do.’ Laura took two glasses from the cupboard and reached for the bottle. ‘Do you want to talk? If not, I’ll just keep my big mouth shut.’
‘What I really want is a shower and a change of clothes.’
‘That’s fine, but I’m coming with you. You don’t look as if you can stand, let alone walk.’
Rose was grateful for her assistance and felt a lot better once she was warmly dressed in clean clothes.
Laura lit the fire and sat and listened as Rose went through it all again.
Caught Out in Cornwall Page 19