by Anita Waller
‘Didn’t you have your mobile phone?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t have one. Until that day I’ve never needed one,’ she sighed.
‘Right. Tell us what happened, Jeanette, from the beginning.’
She paused, gathering her thoughts before speaking. ‘I’d been off work poorly for a couple of weeks and was starting to feel better. That’s why I had the doctor’s appointment yesterday evening; he wanted to see me before giving me the go ahead to go back to work. And it’s why I was in Padstow during the day instead of on my flower stall. It all boils down to my illness, really. I wouldn’t have seen him at all if I hadn’t had this infection.’
Again, she paused and they waited without speaking.
‘I decided to make a day of it doing some sketching around Padstow and I got there about eleven o’clock. It was a bit cold at first so I did some doodling to get my fingers warmed up and then I went down on to the harbour to sketch figures. I like doing landscapes but they come to life if they have figures in them and that’s what I enjoy doing, faces and figures. I sat for an hour or so and then became aware of a man standing just behind me. I didn’t take much notice at first because it happens a lot – people like to watch artists. Sorry, am I talking too much?’
Dunbar shook his head.
‘Not a bit. If only all our witnesses were as articulate! We need the full picture; sorry about the pun.’
‘He stood there for quite a while and he actually unnerved me a little bit, partly because I couldn’t see him and partly because he didn’t move at all. He just stood and watched me. I kept rubbing out bits because he was stopping me concentrating and then suddenly he moved. He went as far as the next bench along and sat staring out across the sea. But as he left, he came into my vision and I knew his face. I had already drawn it, after all.’
She shivered, and then carried on. ‘He has the sort of face that can change expression easily but I knew him. I didn’t know what to do. As you well know, there’s never a policeman about when you want one,’ she glanced quickly at the two officers, ‘so that was no help to me. I had no idea where the nearest phone box was, so first of all I packed up most of my stuff so that if he moved it would only take seconds for me to throw everything in my bag and follow him. It was him, DI Dunbar.’
‘I don’t doubt it for a minute. Did he move?’
‘Not at all. He just sat there.’ She handed her sketchpad over to Dunbar and he showed it to Sarah. The drawing was a picture of a man they instinctively knew was Treverick. His face was at rest, and he was clearly in a contemplative mood. His hair was now dark and the beginnings of a moustache showed. Dark glasses rested on his head.
‘But then I had the best luck,’ she continued. ‘The sun came out. It actually became quite warm, warm enough for me to take off my jacket. And so did he. He had the tattoo visible for about ten minutes before the sun went back in and the skies darkened. He put his coat back on and sat there still staring out across the sea. And then this happened.’ She handed over another sketch.
It showed Treverick closest to her drawing position and another man at the side of him. There was no face to see, he wore a hooded sweatshirt and the hood covered his head, concealing his features.
‘They talked for ages but I couldn’t see anything other than what you’re seeing there. His jacket, by the way, is a Fat Willy’s one. I couldn’t get all of the logo on the drawing but everyone in Cornwall knows Fat Willy’s surf shack. It’s a sort of dark blue, but it’s not as dark as navy. I had to pack up and go because of my appointment and they were still sitting there. But they were deep in conversation and had been all the time from the second man’s arrival. After my appointment, I ran back down but they’d gone. I worked on the picture last night making sure it was as accurate as anybody could get it and then I rang you this morning. I’m really sorry I had to leave the area. I was only away about half an hour and in that time they’d disappeared. A later appointment time, and I would have been able to watch where they went.’
‘Just out of curiosity, Jeanette, if they had walked away while you were there, what would you have done?’
‘Followed them,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to help myself. And I think it’s because I know what this man’s done.’
There was silence in the room for a moment. Both Dunbar and Sarah looked at Jeanette and she said,
‘What? What have I done?’
‘Nothing, thankfully,’ Dunbar said drily. ‘Now listen to me. I went to Truro the other day to, of all places, the Cathedral. A body had been discovered down one of the little lanes that surround the building. That body had no ears, no fingernails, very few teeth and no eyes. And no heartbeat. Who do you think killed him?’
Her face visibly blanched. ‘No!’
He pushed relentlessly on. ‘Yes, indeed. That man had been tortured for information, information he couldn’t give because we believe he didn’t have it. But whether he’d had it or not, Treverick would have killed him. Make no mistake about that. So what I’m really saying, Jeanette, is what do you think he would do if he had any inkling at all that you were trailing him?’
‘Sorry. I promise not to follow him. Ever. But what do I do if I see him again?’
Dunbar wanted to scream. She didn’t seem to be getting the main issue; there was no more dangerous man than Treverick and she didn’t seem able to grasp that.
‘Why would you see him again?’
‘I draw around Padstow all the time. Why shouldn’t I see him again? You see, DI Dunbar, I am actually the only person who has seen him and who knows who he is so it makes a lot of sense for it to be me in Padstow looking for him.’ She grinned at him. ‘But I promise not to follow him. Don’t forget he thinks I’m one of the local artists, which I am – he watched me for ages. So why shouldn’t it happen again that he comes and watches what I’m doing? My question is, how do I get hold of you?’
‘If I get you a phone,’ he said tiredly, ‘you’ll be able to get me. I can’t instruct you not to go but I would rather you didn’t.’
‘I don’t want a phone.’
‘It’s only until Treverick is behind bars. I’ll have it back then.’
‘Okay. I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off so it will be next Tuesday before I’m on the harbour again – and that’s only if it’s not raining. There’s not much point drawing in the rain.’
‘No, I can see that,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I want your solemn promise that you will do nothing except either ring or text me.’
‘Text? You might have to teach me that one. And of course, I promise. I just hope he comes again because let me tell you this; I’ve never seen him down there before and I go there a lot. Let’s hope he enjoyed his trip out yesterday and he wants to do it again.’
Dunbar organised with Andy Johnson to take the mobile phone to Jeanette and to stay with her until she was fully conversant with it. It had been programmed with his mobile number and to save confusing her it was the only number in it.
He laughed when he received her first text,
I’m no longer a text virgin!
He just hoped he was doing the right thing giving her the phone. Part of him wanted her never to see Treverick again; the other part hoped she would.
Chapter 43
‘This is so frustrating.’ Pilot was standing by the patio doors, staring outside. The weather was starting to warm up now and he enjoyed getting the lawns ready for the summer. The sit and ride lawnmower was a big part of that enjoyment. Surely, something would happen to unearth Treverick soon. Get him out of their lives forever. But Pilot knew this was wishful thinking and that the man could never be completely out of their lives; he’d killed so many of his family. And Grace would never be free of him. They had difficult issues to deal with in the future; things that would have to be explained to her in great detail and she would always know just how different she was to Olivia. They looked very much alike facially but Olivia wasn’t far off Grace’s height despit
e being nearly four years younger. Grace’s early years of undernourishment would always be an issue although she had grown an inch since her arrival at Hillside. She needed to grow many more.
He saw Dunbar’s car pull up outside. The policeman used to ring to check that they were in before coming to see them; now he knew they were in. After the tirade he had directed at them, would they dare go out? Pilot waited until Jay King, Mark’s man of the day, moved across to the door and then he went to open it.
‘Jake. Good to see you. You just after a cup of coffee or imparting information?’
Dunbar looked at Pilot then laughed.
‘Do you have any idea how like your father you are, Pilot? Because I can tell you, sometimes when you speak it’s like he’s in the room with me.’
‘Well! Where did that come from? It never occurred to me I was like him.’
‘Oh you are. Looks, language, sense of humour – just like him. Is everybody available?’
‘Would we dare to be anything other than available? You have news?’
‘A little bit. Something to show you to add to your collection of rogues gallery portraits of Treverick. But this one I can’t make public because he would guess where it came from and that would put my informant in considerable danger.’
Pilot nodded. ‘No problem. I’ll get everybody here.’
They opted to sit around the dining table and before Dunbar passed around the photocopies of Jeanette’s drawing, he explained what had happened as briefly as he could. They already knew about his first contact with her so he just told them about her trip to sketch in Padstow. And then he took the copies out of the folder and passed them around.
‘This,’ he explained, ’is how he looked two days ago. He doesn’t know we have this and I am deliberately not making this public. As I explained to Pilot, it would put the artist in a lot of danger but it would also highlight the fact that we know how he looks now. He would immediately change his appearance.’
They all remained silent as they studied the picture. Pilot spoke first.
‘Are you sure it’s him?’
‘Definitely. He took off his jacket when the sun made the air quite warm and guess what’s on his right arm?’
‘Beautiful.’ Lauren breathed the word quietly.
‘So why did your artist sketch the other chap?’ Josh lifted his head and looked at Dunbar.
‘He came and sat with him and they talked virtually nonstop for nearly an hour. He’s the one I want you to look at. Does anything about that drawing make a connection in your brain? The way he’s sitting, the angle of his head, his clothing; is there anything at all?’
‘But it’s only a sketch,’ said Brenda.’ How accurate can it be?’
‘Just treat it as a photograph. Believe me, if she says this is how it was, this is how it was. She is uncannily accurate in her drawing skills, an amazing artist. We’re so lucky he went to her flower stall.’
‘Is that a Fat Willy top?’ Josh asked. ‘Pilot’s got one. It’s quite distinctive, darkish blue.’
‘Huh!’ He snorted. ‘I definitely have got one but when a certain mate called Josh arrived from the States he borrowed it and it doesn’t seem to be in my wardrobe anymore.’
Dunbar felt cold. He didn’t want to think the obvious. ‘Is it here?’
Josh looked at Pilot.
‘I thought I’d given it back to you.’
‘No, but I’d kind of like it back,’ he grinned. ‘Nip up to Newquay and get your own.’
Josh stood and moved towards the stairs. ‘I’ll see if it’s in my wardrobe then,’ he said sheepishly.
Pilot looked at Dunbar and didn’t like what he was seeing on his face. ‘Jake, half the population of Cornwall has a Fat Willy tee shirt or sweatshirt. 90% of the tourists go home with one. It’s Cornwall’s biggest export. Just don’t get too excited that this is some sort of clue. Even my kids have Fat Willy hoodies.’
Josh came back downstairs.
‘I don’t have it, honestly. Are you sure I didn’t give it back?’
Pilot looked puzzled. ‘I’m certain. The last time I saw it you had it on when the two of us went to buy some Christmas drink.’
And then Dunbar interrupted.
‘So it would have been at Moorgate when Grace’s present was left there?’
Josh nodded. ‘I guess.’
‘Okay. That’s all for now. But if you can both have a thorough search, please, and if it does turn up let me know immediately.’
He stood to leave. ‘Study this picture. Make sure you know what he looks like now. And you’re all still grounded,’ he said firmly.
His unease continued all the way back to the station. Pilot? Josh? Could the mysterious figure be either one of them? Surely not?
This opened up another possibility. Maybe it hadn’t been Treverick who had breached the defences at Moorgate to leave the gift; maybe it was someone else, someone with more reason to be there legitimately.
He called Sarah into his office and they sat and stared at the picture. He explained his thoughts and she looked up at him.
‘I know we’re right, sir. He has somebody facilitating his activities, someone in the know: and someone who has access to Moorgate. Possibly access to Hillside as well and that’s a scary thought.’
‘Maybe he does have access to Hillside but he’d be hard pushed to get by the protection that’s in place up there. Moorgate was easy with only one man on duty. Hillside has more protection officers than people living there.’
Sarah gathered up her papers and walked to the door. ‘Sorry, sir, but I have to ask this. Do you really suspect either Pilot or Josh?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Initially maybe, but they genuinely had no idea where the sweatshirt was. Apparently, Josh had borrowed it because they’d brought limited clothes with them. As far as Pilot was concerned, Josh still had it and I actually think Josh was quite put out that it now seems to be missing.’
‘I’m glad you said that. I don’t think I could bear it if it turned out to be a family member who’s helping him. Why would they do that?’
Sarah went back to her work-station feeling disgruntled and out of sorts. Although it wasn’t definite that Treverick was in the Padstow area, the sighting of him near the harbour was a positive step. Finding him wasn’t going to be easy.
Dunbar stared out at the main room where several of his team were working on different things. It was a good team; they needed very little instruction, came to him if they needed advice or direction – yes, a good team.
In his meditations on the current issues, a name suddenly jumped at Dunbar that startled him in its intensity. Amy Thornton. Everything that had happened to this beleaguered family had at the heart of it a woman called Amy Thornton.
The attack on her as a child had kept Treverick at the forefront of everything. He hadn’t been a particularly clever child but his years of imprisonment had certainly improved his brain-power. It had also bolstered his deviousness. He had planned out his entire life around getting back to Amy. Dunbar wasn’t sure if marriage to Amy had been the ultimate goal or if it had just been to kill her. In the end, both had happened.
But, Amy had touched so many others’ lives. John Thornton had loved her once, of that Dunbar was sure. Dawn and Josh had come into her world after John’s death and Pat had been friends with her since they were eleven years old.
It seemed like she was the central pole in a maypole, and all the ribbons danced around her. The Lauren ribbon now had three little extensions attached to it.
He mulled all this over, knowing he was missing something. Missing somebody.
He stood up abruptly and called into the main office as he left for the day.
‘I’m going home,’ he said and they all looked at him as if he suddenly started reading the Bible or the Koran. Going home?
‘I need some time out’ he said, somewhat sheepishly when he saw their expressions. ‘See you all tomorrow. Anybody need me before I go?’
He didn’t go in. Dunbar walked down to the harbour and looked around. Jeanette had seen him purely by chance; perhaps he could be lucky too.
He sat staring out to sea for quite some time but then walked slowly back to the hotel feeling chilled to the bone. No sighting today.
He went up to his room, opened his briefcase and took out some papers. He had been reading them for five minutes when he started to fall asleep. He slept soundly through the afternoon, woke up briefly around ten o’clock and then went back to sleep. His telephone woke him at just after five and he answered it automatically.
‘Dunbar.’ It came out as a growl.
‘Sir? It’s Martyn Pearson, Carter Security. We’ve had an attempted break in at Moorgate.’
‘Have you caught anybody?’
‘No, sir. We just have a minimal protection detail here and we patrol the perimeter of the property most of the time. On our third check tonight, we found the side door open. It wasn’t open half an hour earlier. We have one key and it’s for the back door because that leads into the kitchen and that’s our base when we’re not patrolling. The side door has been opened with a key.’
‘Have you checked inside the property?’
‘Not yet. I rang you as soon as we saw it.’
‘Stay where you are. If this is Treverick, we know he has at least two guns. Don’t walk into gunfire. I’m calling for armed officers. They’ll be there within minutes. I’m coming over now.’
‘We’re outside the open door, sir. We’ll stay here until you tell us otherwise.’
He put down the phone and cursed. What the fuck was Treverick doing? He must know nobody was inside Moorgate, that they were all resident at Hillside now.
He picked up his phone again, called for armed back up and then set off for Moorgate.
He found Martyn Pearson and Gerry Williams still by the open door.