by Anita Waller
‘No sounds from inside,’ they confirmed. Within a minute, the armed taskforce arrived and Dunbar stepped back, taking the two Carter men with him.
‘Let’s leave them to it, now,’ he said. ‘They know what they’re doing.’
All three of them walked back to the car and leaned against it. They watched the activity around and in the house but Dunbar was troubled. He knew there would be nobody inside so why had this happened? Was it just Treverick winding them up, keeping them on their toes? Or had he thought they would bring some of the protection over from Hillside, leaving them vulnerable? But nothing would make Dunbar leave that child in a vulnerable situation. Nothing.
An hour later, calm had been restored and most of the taskforce had left. Dunbar had requested two of the armed men to remain until midday and having rung Mark and asked for one other man to supplement the two already there, he felt his job for the early hours was complete.
He drove over to Hillside and filled Pat in on what had happened overnight. He ached for this woman. She looked so flattened by life; losing her very much loved husband, turned out of her home, control of her life wrested away from her. She was beaten.
‘But why?’ she asked. ‘What on earth can he have gained from that? And where’s he got my bloody key from?’
‘I don’t know where he’s got it from but I’ve seen the door and it definitely wasn’t opened by force. We’ve checked your CCTV and the camera shows him unlocking the door, and, we assume, keying in the alarm code. This explains how he got in last time.’ Mentally he corrected himself. It explained how someone had got in last time. ‘And I don’t know why he’s done it. I had a couple of theories; one was that he wanted us to pull some security people from here to check out Moorgate, leaving everybody here under-protected and vulnerable. Or, that he is just showing us that he’s in command and can have us running round like headless chickens while we try to work out what he’s playing at.’
Grace came downstairs and walked over to them.
‘Nan Pat, are you okay?’ Her face looked troubled and Dunbar marvelled at this child who had experienced so much and yet had turned into one of the sweetest kids he had ever met. He knew this was mainly down to Lauren but guessed Jess had played a massive part in that rehabilitation.
‘I’m absolutely fine, sweetheart,’ said Pat and held out her arms, to give the little girl a cuddle.
‘But he’s done something else, hasn’t he?’ she persisted.
‘What?’
‘Ronald. What has he done this time? Has he killed someone else? Is this all my fault?’
Pat looked flustered. ‘Of course it’s not your fault, Grace. He is a truly bad man but he’s not a bad man because of you. He has always been a bad man. He was a bad man for many years before you were born, so please don’t have thoughts like that. None of this is anything to do with what you did or didn’t do, it’s his fault entirely.’
Grace turned to Dunbar. ‘Is that true, Jake?’
He smiled at her.
‘Of course it’s true. And, young lady, don’t let me hear you query anything that your Nan Pat says in future. Of course, she’s right. She wouldn’t lie, especially to you.’
Grace looked down at the carpet. ‘Sorry, Nan Pat. Sorry, Jake.’
Adult eyes locked and Grace moved to go back upstairs. ‘Tell you what, though,’ they heard her mutter. ‘If I ever see him again I’ll kick and kick and kick until he’s dead. Dead like Granddad David and Aunt Freda. Dead.’
Chapter 44
On Tuesday it rained, and Dunbar breathed a sigh of relief. He knew it meant Jeanette wouldn’t be playing Miss Marple and going down to the harbour to sketch. Although she had promised not to follow if she saw Treverick again, Dunbar wasn’t altogether convinced she would stick to that promise. He had decided that if the day were fine, he would go down and sit in Fran’s car on the harbour road. He couldn’t risk leaving Jeanette there on her own. Effectively, the rain had stopped that plan.
He pulled his chair closer to his desk and switched on his computer. There was an email with the post mortem report for Kenny Raines and he read it through carefully.
He had been alive when his ears, teeth and fingernails had been removed. His heart had stopped at that point, unable to take any more. Treverick had then removed his eyes. Just for effect? Dunbar did note that Kenny Raines’ days might have been numbered anyway. He had had a brain tumour.
He closed down the file and sat staring into space, unsure where to go next. He walked into the main room and looked around. Everybody ignored him, each busy with his or her own work.
‘I’m going out for a while.’
Nobody reacted.
‘Sarah! I’m going out!’
She looked up guiltily.
‘Oh, sorry, sir. I was busy...’
‘I just wanted somebody to be aware. Ring me if I’m needed. I’m going down to the harbour area.’
‘Okay, sir.’
Dunbar shook his head as he left the room. Sometimes he felt unappreciated.
He parked his car on a back street away from the harbour then walked down the sloping cobbled lanes until he reached the harbour wall. There were usually two or three artists in this area, sketching or painting. Today was pretty bleak and the only person braving the bad weather was an elderly male photographer. He nodded at the man. His camera hung around his neck while he used his hands to frame the view he wanted.
‘Not a good day for it,’ he said conversationally.
‘No,’ the man agreed, ‘but I want a dark picture. I am entering a competition and the subject is sunshine and storm. I’m going to have a go at mingling two pictures, same view, different weather conditions. The wife thinks I’m mad.’
Dunbar laughed. ‘She’s not with you, then?’
‘Not likely. Now last week, when I was getting the sunshine one, she was right here with me, eating her ice cream and reading her book. Bit of a fair weather wife, she is.’
‘When were you here last?’
‘Friday, was it? Nice day. Even had a couple of people sketching. Not today, though,’ he said with a laugh.
‘Are your pictures still on that camera?’
‘Yes. Until I get this collection of stormy ones I just keep them all on. These digital cameras are brilliant for that. It was a bit different back in the day when we had to use film.’
Dunbar took out his warrant card and showed it to the man. ‘Can I look through the pictures, please? Let’s go and have a coffee, out of this rain.’
‘Oh. You think I’ve got something in particular?’ The man looked bewildered. He followed Dunbar across the road and the detective ordered two teas.
‘My name’s Eric, Eric Merton.’ He shook Dunbar’s hand. ‘Let me show you how to view the pictures. I haven’t downloaded any yet so these are what I’ve taken over the past four weeks or so.’
He pressed a couple of buttons on the back of the camera and handed it over. ‘Just touch the plus button to move on to the next one, the minus to move back.’
Dunbar began to go through the pictures and paused when he spotted Jeanette on one. She was sketching, head down in total concentration. It was difficult to see much detail because the photographs were tiny. He knew he needed to see them in much greater detail.
‘Eric, I’m sorry to have to do this to you, but I need to take this camera back to the station and get one of my tech team to download all the contents so I can see them properly.’
Eric sighed. ‘My competition...’ he said.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll have it back to you tomorrow,’ Dunbar assured him. ‘But there may be follow up questions if I’m unsure of anything.’ He took out his notebook and wrote down Eric’s address.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘That’s that sorted. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow as soon as it’s released back to me. I’ll take care of it, I promise. Now drink up. You want a doughnut?’
He signalled to the waitress and she brought across a selection of cakes. Half an hour later,
they shook hands and Dunbar watched as Eric walked back to his car.
The camera was in a navy blue waterproof case and Dunbar put it around his neck. He didn’t want to run the risk of dropping it and damaging it before they’d got the pictures on to a computer for viewing in detail.
He started to walk back to his own car and suddenly veered off to the left and up a slight incline to the Carter Security offices. He pressed the intercom and heard Mark say,
‘Come in, Jake.’ A buzzer sounded and he went through the door and into his office on the right.
Mark stood and walked round to the front of his desk.
‘This is unexpected, DI Dunbar. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s Jake, Mark. This isn’t an official visit. I just called in because I was in the area. Thought there might be a coffee in it.’
Just for a second he thought Mark looked uncomfortable but then the look disappeared.
‘I’ll need to pop up to the flat in that case. Just hold the fort, I’m out of milk. Won’t be a minute. If the phone rings, answer it – I seem to work on the assumption these days that it will be connected to the Farmers.’
He walked out of the office, turned right along a small corridor and through the door at the end marked Private.
Dunbar was aware that Mark lived above the office; his dedication to his business and his men was outstanding. Being so close to any information he might need at any time was commendable. It was also damned handy when you ran out of milk.
Mark was back within about a minute, crossed to the coffee machine where there was a pot keeping warm and poured two coffees. He handed one to Dunbar and took a sip from his own cup. His tie, a glorious tartan in shades of red and pink, reflected in the white porcelain of his coffee mug.
‘Taken up photography, then?’ He nodded towards the camera Dunbar had placed on his desk.
‘As if I have time. No, it’s just some photos I need to have downloaded. I’m heading for our tech team when I get back.’
‘Can I help?’ If it’s urgent...’
‘No, you’re ok, thanks, Mark. Although visiting you here isn’t official, that camera is. I’ll save it for the boys; they might need to do a bit of enhancement and suchlike.’
‘Okay, the offer’s there if you need it. So, are we any further on?’
‘No. We know it was Treverick breaking into Moorgate but have no idea why. We got him on CCTV going in and coming out. I’m assuming he’s taken something from the house, unless it was just an exercise in winding us up, committing us to yet more resources for this damn case. I tell you, Mark, without the Farmers stumping up for the costs for your protection, I don’t know what would have happened. We couldn’t have covered them in the way that you have.’
Mark shrugged. ‘Lauren is Amy’s daughter. And John’s, of course. Why wouldn’t I protect them? And just so you know, the profit on this job is minimal. I have to cover costs but I’m not doing much more than that.’
‘Think much about Amy?’
‘Every day. I played a pretty big role in John’s death, you know. That sort of thing sticks with you. I know it was a heart attack but she got me into that bedroom and orchestrated the whole bloody thing with John catching us there. I was like a lamb to the slaughter. Naive.’ And then he laughed. ‘How stupid must I have been? I can still feel Freda’s wrath now. And yet Freda and I came to an understanding as the years passed; I think she realised just what had happened that day. So before you ask, I was a little bit in love with Amy Thornton, maybe even more than a little bit. In a strange way, I also came to admire Brian Lazenby. Never in a million years would I have thought he was Treverick. To be perfectly honest, up to the point when they talked marriage, I always had an inkling he was gay, or at the very least bisexual. In the end of course, he was simply a rapist.’
‘And a murderer. Let’s not forget he killed Amy.’ Dunbar paused, momentarily deep in thought. ‘He’s killed one or two more since then, but the net’s closing now. We’ve a lead that will take us to him, I’m sure of it.’
‘Want to talk it through?’
Dunbar shook his head. ‘I can’t. It’s not clear enough in my head just yet. I need confirmation of a couple of things before I can definitely say it’s a good lead.’
‘Well, anytime you need us, pop in and we can give support as and when.’
Dunbar finished his coffee and stood, pushing his chair away from the desk.
‘Thanks, Mark. I’ll be in touch.’ He picked up the camera and moved towards the door. ‘See you soon.’ He paused outside Linda’s office door and contemplated knocking to say hi but decided against it. It would only disturb her if she were on the phone.
Mark buzzed him out of the front door and he walked around the side of the building. It was a quicker route to his car and he walked past the red door that was the direct entrance to Mark’s flat for those times when he didn’t need to go through the office. He stopped and looked at the picture of Treverick attached to the door, asking people if they knew him. Maybe he should have dropped in the new picture of Treverick, the sketch drawing done by Jeanette. He decided to bring one next time he was in the area and to stress it was for Mark’s eyes only, not general consumption.
A minute later, he was leaving the harbour area and driving towards the police station. He handed the camera over, asking for the pictures as fast as possible and within fifteen minutes he was looking at them on the computer screen.
Slowly, Dunbar worked his way through them all. Most of them were views, but occasionally he would add people to the scene in front of him. He particularly liked one with two children who had climbed up on to a concrete base and were looking out across the water through a telescope. Their positions were perfect, the sunshine on the water was perfect and the picture captured everything about Padstow that he loved.
And then he saw Jeanette again. It was the photo with her head down, beautifully capturing the artist at work. Her concentration on what she was doing shone out of the photograph; it was a breathtaking study. He looked at it intently for quite some time but there was nothing to show Treverick was anywhere in the vicinity.
The next one was taken five minutes later according to the digital record of the time at the bottom of the picture and again showed Jeanette, this time with her head lifted up and staring out across the water. Standing behind her were two people, a man and a woman. Dunbar didn’t feel that they were together. They were both looking over Jeanette’s shoulder at her work, but they were either side of her, not side by side. It was Treverick.
He looked up as he heard a knock on his door and called,
‘Come in.’
A young man popped his head around the door and held out a brown envelope.
‘From Tech, sir. They’ve printed out all the photos for you now.’
‘Thank you.’ He reached across and removed the envelope from his hands. ‘Thank them, please. It’s so much easier with real photos.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He left with a shake of his head. So much easier with a piece of paper? Some of these bigwigs were just dinosaurs...
Dunbar took the A4 sized glossy prints out of the envelope. There were about forty in total. He pushed his screen to one side and laid them out chronologically, according to the times recorded in the bottom corner of each picture. He thanked the Lord for expensive cameras.
He then separated the views from the people, taking care to keep them chronological; he didn’t want to have to sort them out should it become necessary. He put all the views back into the brown envelope and labelled it.
He was left with eleven photographs all containing the people who had either visited Padstow over the past four weeks, or who lived there.
He took a deep breath and pulled the first one towards him.
Chapter 45
The fourth one was the one with Jeanette sketching, head bent, oblivious to the surrounding area. He looked at it carefully using a magnifying glass, inspecting every inch of the photograph. It was a go
od picture; the sun bounced off the white of her drawing paper and cast a warm glow over the entire scene.
He put that to one side and pulled the next one towards him. This time Treverick was clear; he had on the clothes that Jeanette had depicted in her drawing. He didn’t recognise the woman at all and he scanned her more carefully than he did Treverick. In the end he decided there was nothing linking them together and he felt sure Jeanette would have mentioned her presence if in fact they had conversed or sat together.
The sixth picture told him everything he needed to know. The man sitting with Treverick on the bench was nearest to the camera; Treverick was also in focus with Jeanette slightly blurred and a little more into the distance.
The man’s face was slightly turned towards the camera and therefore not hidden by the hood.
Dunbar had all the answers now.
Dunbar put the camera into a carrier bag and went down to his car. He needed to speak with Eric Merton before the final act could take place. He drove fast along the familiar route to St. Merryn. Last time he had driven like this it had been because he feared he might find his wife dead at the end of the journey. This time, it was because he needed to bring down the curtain on the many years of hard work, he and his team had carried out.
Eric came to the door as soon as the car pulled up and welcomed his guest.
‘Good to see you again, DI Dunbar.’
‘And you, Eric. I’ve brought your pictures to show you and I need you to think about anything you may be able to tell me about a couple of them.’
‘No problem. Come through here, we can spread them out on the kitchen table. My wife is making us a drink.’
Dunbar handed him the camera. ‘Returned with many thanks.’
He took the large brown envelope containing the people pictures out of his briefcase and sat down. Eric’s wife placed cups of tea in front of them and disappeared with a book clutched in her hand.
‘Reads all the time,’ Eric said with a grin. ‘She just leaves me to get on with whatever I want to do. At our time of life we’re comfortable like that.’